#Wyoming or Montana or something

[spicysucculentz]

currently having a fig tree moment

[savethepinecones]

wyoming mention!!

phil's bucket list

[piratesfromspace]

Just Like Old Times (Price x Reader + poly141)

Pairing: Reader x Price (& Reader x 141) Rated: Mature Word count: 2.9k Summary: A cottage in the snow. A Captain you knew in another life. His rugged and attractive men. Will you let them into your life? Note: This is a fic I wrote for @literatecowboy for the Secret Santa event organized by @bunnyreaper! I tried to make something soft and sweet and it's taking place during the winter, it's not smutty but if you like it, I can make a part 2 with some action 👀

EDIT: we have a PART 2!!

Content: ex-military!fem!reader, mention of food & alcohol, a little bit of angst but it’s mainly fluff, smoking, flirting, praise kink, sharing body heat

MASTERLIST // PART 2

It had been Laswell’s idea. 

The team needs to be ready for snow conditions, do whatever you think is best. You have 3 weeks. And I’m talking extreme weather, Price, not a little trip to your local ski resort.

Those had been the instructions Kate had delivered to an unphased Price.

He knew it was only a matter of time before this kind of mission would be required from them. Of course, the men of the 141 have already trained in the cold of England, have seen and tested the winter gear. But Laswell is about to send them somewhere at the very East of Europe, and there is a small difference between surviving winter in London and surviving winter in places where the cold could kill you in minutes if you didn't have the proper equipment or knowledge. Over there, more than usual, tiny mistakes could have big consequences. And Price would rather not have his team freeze to death because of a lack of training. 

It’s December and the month is cold already. But it’s nothing compared to the cold Soap feels when he steps out of the helicopter. It’s like Price has picked the coldest place he knows in America. He’s pretty sure they are somewhere in Wyoming or Montana, the only thing he can see are mountains all around them. Spruce and fir trees sprawl in dark patches contrasting with the stark white of the snow covering everything. He crosses the large glade to reach the tree line, as the helicopter takes off, sending the fresh snow flying in every direction. The sky is a light gray, and while the whole scene is stunning - makes his head spin with equal awe and wonder thinking about nature’s force and brutal beauty - it means there is no sun to warm his face. 

“Come on soldiers, let’s move, we still have a two-hour hike to reach our B&B!”

“You mean someone will be there to make us breakfast Captain?” Soap chimes, unbridled joy coming through his voice at the prospect of warm home-made meals instead of MREs.

Price has a hard time hiding a smile as he starts walking on the thin winding path, only recognisable for those who know it’s there. ”There will be someone, but I’m not sure they will cook for you, Sergeant.”

Ghost lets out a dry chuckle and follows the steps of their Captain, leaving Soap and Gaz a bit puzzled.

❄️

The sun is already setting when you hear loud voices outside, and soon after a series of knocks on your door. You’re a little stressed when you rise from the floor in front of your fireplace to go open the door. You have agreed to shelter those 4 soldiers for 3 entire weeks only as a favor to Price. An old acquaintance who saved your life, a decade earlier, before you left the field to heal your wounds - body and mind. The large wood cabin had been your home for a few years already. You keep it open for women like you, in need of time away from the world, although it’s pretty rare they come during winter time when the road is blocked by snow. It’s an old building, but well-kept and you made it as cozy as possible, all warm natural tones, plush carpets on dark wood floors, dark gray stones in the bathrooms. 

You welcome them with a soft smile, delighting in their surprise - seems like John had not told them he planned on using your cottage as a back-up base for this training expedition. John’s team members are not really what you expected: there is one Scott with a mohawk that seems simultaneously annoyed and happy to be there (he has terrific blue eyes), a young and calm brown-haired Brit (he’s really cute, like movie-star cute), and a behemoth with a literal skull mask (his size alone has your head spinning). You can’t complain about them though, as they are polite and friendly, praising your home - and for sure taking in the comfort and warmth one last time before heading off for days of rudimental camping in the icy woods. You don’t envy them, remembering that one mission you did in Siberia when you were still in active duty, that wasn’t really fun. They settle in their rooms easily and you all share a quick dinner you had cooked - except for the masked giant. The banter goes fast between them, especially after you offer them beers. You like being alone, but you have to admit they are fun to be around.

❄️

The living room is silent and dark, the only light coming from the fireplace across your couch. After dinner, you had trouble finding sleep in your room, so you went to read a bit in front of the fire. But you must have dozed off, because you wake up suddenly, gasping, arms flailing, sitting up immediately. Your frantic eyes, wide open, scan the room for the reason of your awakening, survival instinct going overdrive. Someone is standing in your living room, frozen in place on their way to the front door. It’s the behemoth with the skull mask - the scariest of them all, of course.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” he apologizes. In the darkness of the room, it looks like his jaw is not even moving beneath the dark fabric covering the lower half of his face, like the sound just pours out of him or like he’s speaking directly inside your head. He might actually, you’re not entirely convinced the giant is not some sort of supernatural being John brought back from a cursed battlefield. It’s unnerving to say the least. 

“I’m sorry, it- it happens sometimes, I can’t help it, my instinct thought you were a threat…” you blurt out before realizing you may have offended him in some way by implying he’s not worthy of your trust. But instead of scoffing, he lets out a thoughtful hum, lowering his head to look at his boots, almost sheepish. 

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” His voice is low, calm, and at the same time you can feel something else, sadness, maybe disappointment, in what or who, you’re not sure.

“Care for a smoke?” he offers after a beat of silence, nodding to the front door. You don’t smoke anymore, cut the nasty habit years ago. That’s why you don’t know what compels you to accept, but you’re not gonna be able to sleep now, so you follow him outside, grabbing your coat on the way. 

You half expect him to smoke through the mask, but he pushes the fabric up enough to reveal a strong jaw covered in light stubble, and plush lips. So he’s human after all. The slick and heavy storm lighter looks ridiculously small in his giant hand when he lights his cigarette. He takes a deep puff before handing it to you.

“Sorry, last one.”

Your fingers graze his, and you bring it to your lips to drag a small puff that immediately makes you cough.

“You ok?” he rasps, humor tilting the corner of his mouth upwards.

“Yeah, it’s been a while, that’s all” you provide. He hums in approval at your explanation. 

When you hand him the cigarette, you take a moment to look at his mouth, the way his throat works when he inhales, the way the silver smoke dances between his open lips and fades into the night sky. Something warms your gut when you realize his lips are set just where yours had been a few seconds ago. 

You don’t know what’s more attractive, this or the fact he doesn’t try to make conversation for the sake of it. He doesn’t bother to explain why he couldn’t sleep and felt the need to smoke at 3 in the morning. He knows you understand. You are just glad to bask in the soft noises of nature at night - wind in the threes, the hooting of an owl. Fuck, you’ve been alone up there for too long to thirst on John’s colleagues just like this, just a few hours after their arrival. You shake your head, driving out the thought, and take the cigarette again from his fingers.

❄️

The next morning, you wake up pretty early after a short night, only to find one of them - the pretty one, Gaz - is already fixing coffee in your kitchen like he belongs there. You honestly could get used to this. The thin long sleeves of his shirt are doing nothing to conceal the muscles underneath, rolling as he’s going about this mundane task of preparing breakfast. His kind eyes and soft voice when he asks for your choice of eggs makes your heart flutter with a yearning for this kind of intimate domesticity you had never really allowed yourself up until then. It’s kinda concerning, at this rate you’re gonna ask one - all? - of them to stay with you in your cottage instead of going back to whatever missions at the other end of the world. 

The rest of the day is not making you change your mind. Price had asked if anything needed their help around the house, and you gave them the tedious task of moving the gigantic pile of wood logs stocked at the other end of your garden closer to the house. It would have taken you days to do it by yourself. But by lunch time, the pile had dwindled to a fifth of what it was thanks to the hard work of the four men. The two younger ones were down to their long-sleeve compression shirts despite the cold, sleeves rolled up their elbows, showing off strong forearms, various scars slashing across the discreet swirls of black ink from old tattoos. Some disappear under the black gloves they are all sporting. Sweat plasters the fabric of their shirts to their shoulders and chests. You can’t deny they look fucking good. 

You had accepted Price’s demand without much after-thought, but now you couldn’t be more happy about it, ogling those four rugged men laboring away for you. Despite being older than his men, Price is far from looking bad. He’s built like a brick house, a healthy layer of fat covering muscles he’s been honing for two decades. Dark hair peaks from the open collar of his jacket, your eyes follow the line of the thin garment which is hugging his tapered waist, down to his thick thighs. Fuck. You remember what it was like to be close to him - literally and figuratively. He was your colleague, an equal, a couple years older than you but you shared the same rank. He was a mentor, a friend, a lover - only briefly, after that fateful mission where he saved your life on the field. You parted ways in good spirit after you announced that you wanted to retire, needed to get your head straight before committing to anything. Today, you ask yourself if maybe you could take this back from where you left it.

❄️

You want to train with us today, love? Just like old times.

Price had asked you the question the next morning and you had not been hard to convince. It was more about being able to look at them than to train your body, but they didn’t need to know that. Even if you keep a pretty healthy lifestyle, you can’t compete with elite soldiers, and by the fourth set of push-ups, your arms are giving out. You’re about to stop and reach for your water bottle, when Price notices. 

“Come on, you can do five more, I’m sure!”

You groan in response, but you go back in position.

“Breathe, love. Back a little more straight. Elbows in. That’s it… Good.” 

Price’s deep voice is calm as he’s encouraging you, gently correcting your posture.

“Don’t look down, chin up. Perfect, you’re doing good.” he goes on, and you cheeks warm under his praise, enough to make you forget the stinging cold. Your whole body is clenched with the effort, you’re letting out little cries with each push-up, your muscles are hurting, but you want nothing more than to make the captain proud.

“Just one more. Done! You did great darling, I’m impressed.” 

He helps you get up on shaking legs and when you almost stumble, he secures you upright against his chest, keeps you there for two seconds more than he should for it to not look intentional. When you raise your head, you’re suddenly so close to his face, blue eyes staring down at you with a glint in them you can’t ignore. You reluctantly part before reaching for your water bottle again, playing coy.

The three others are not oblivious to the little game between you and Price. You notice how they exchange knowing looks and little smiles whenever you both interact. Worst, they also seem to pick up on your love for being praised and soon enough they take every excuse to whisper how good your aim still is during target training, or how smart you are for knowing everything about the local fauna during your afternoon hike. It never sounds like they’re mocking you though, never feels like it’s not genuine. It’s not fair, really. At this rate, you don’t know how you’re gonna survive living under the same roof with four attractive men for three entire weeks. 

The answer to this torture of yours is revealed quickly. After a few days of acclimatization at your cottage, Price and his men are ready for a long expedition higher in the mountains, with just tents and even a short surviving-in-extreme-cold workshop. They will be gone for at least ten days. You watch them pack their gear and leave your place with a pinch in your heart you couldn’t expect when you first opened your door to them.

❄️

Days go by, pretty uneventful, until your heating system breaks down. It’s not the first time since you’re leaving up there, it’s not that scary but you’ll have to wait a few days for the repair team to come by. In the meantime, you resort to live and sleep in your living room, where the fireplace provides enough heat to keep you warm in the heart of the winter.

They come back the day after that, and when you see their silhouettes emerging from the treeline, just before the sun sets down, you can’t prevent your lips to form a smile so big it hurts your cheeks after a couple minutes standing in the biting cold. 

The fondness in Price’s eyes is not dulled by the news your heater is out of order, nor is the relief on Soap’s and Gaz’s faces at the promise of a solid roof and comfy beds after days of rudimentary accommodations.

You all work to prepare some food, and to bring a couple mattresses with all the duvets you can find in front of the fireplace - the only sane solution for you all to sleep without suffering too much from the freezing temperatures. It reminds you of your years of service, when you sometimes had to share a single room with your whole squad - you’re not missing the stress and the harsh living conditions, but you’re definitely missing the camaraderie, the jokes and fits of laughter, the bodies of trusted people around you. 

They leave you the couch - gentlemen that they are - the objectively most comfortable option, but once again you can’t find sleep. The piece of furniture is the farthest away from the fire, and you’re on your own, no one next to you to share body heat with you. 

It’s only because I’m cold. That’s the poor excuse you give yourself - and the one you whisper to Price - when you step down from your couch to seek a place under the cover next to John. He’s sleeping next to Gaz; Soap and Ghost are sharing the other mattress. You slide yourself against him, immediately melting into his chest, the man radiating heat like it’s his only purpose in life. He doesn’t even have to ask you if it’s okay to hold you against him because you plaster yourself to him and nuzzle against his chest, old habits taking over your sleepy brain. A sense of safety and comfort envelopes you at the same time his warmth does. You forgot how good it felt to be in his embrace, to be tucked against his broad chest, surrounded by his smell - manly, ambery wood, and the rich spice of his cigars. 

He chuckles silently as you settle at his side and let out a little content sigh. He missed that too, he won’t say it out loud, but having you like this, soft and pliant in his arms, it makes him wonder how he could be such a fool for not seeking you sooner. He suddenly wants to kiss you, to make you feel good, here and now, no matter the fact his men are sleeping just a few inches from you. Should he care? He’s not blind to the fact you spend a good amount of time leering at them since they’re here, and to the fact they are watching you back. He can not ignore the shameless flirting going on between all of you five actually. John has never really been in a situation like this, doesn’t know where this will lead him - where this could lead them. But he’s ready to follow you. He takes a deep breath before he talks. 

“Just like old times?” He asks, voice low, chest vibrating with it under your palm. 

Just like old times… The words echo in your head, echo in your heart. He gives you the opportunity to lead him - to lead them - wherever you wish.

“Just like old times.” You repeat back to him, before you capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

PART 2

[patriottruth]

Dumb donald Chump crossed all my lines, so I told his crimes to the FBI. 'Cause Kamala needed cold hard proof, so I gave her some. Now she's got the envelope, where you think she got it from?

To report donald j. trump and all of his potential allies to the FBI for the federal crimes of 2024 election fraud:

https://tips.fbi.gov/home Choice 1: Federal Election Crime

Choice 2: Voter/Ballot Fraud/Corrupt Election Official

For the "Subject" information, choose "This subject is a business" Business Name: Electors and governors attempting to elect insurrectionist Donald J. Trump in violation of Sec3/14A

When did the crime occur? 11/05/2024

Where did the crime occur? Specific location: AL, AK, AZ, AR, FL, GA, ID, IN, IA, KS, KY, LA, ME, MI, MS, MO, MT, NE, NV, NC, ND, OH, OK, PA, SC, SD, TN, TX, UT, WV, WI, WY

How did you discover the election fraud? Donald J. Trump is an impeached, congressionally investigated, criminally indicted and prosecuted insurrectionist attempting to hold federal office in violation of Section 3 of the 14th Amendment.

What false information was provided? The lies that a U.S. national popular vote, or a ruling of the U.S. Supreme Court, could clear Donald J. Trump's insurrectionist disqualification, instead of a two-thirds vote of the House and Senate.

Did the individual receive something in exchange for their illegal voting activity? Unknown

Did the subject vote multiple times or vote when ineligible to vote? Yes

Did an election official violate a voting law? Yes

Were ballots from the election destroyed? Unknown

Were vote tallies falsified? Unknown

Was there a voting machine/tabulation/software malfunction? Unknown

Please provide a brief description of the incident: On December 17th, 2024, state electors and governors from Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, North Carolina, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, West Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming will be faced with the choices of engaging in fraud by an elections official or other individual, conspiracy against the United States, corruptly obstructing, influencing, and impeding an official proceeding, and conspiracy against rights by giving aid and comfort to disqualified insurrectionist Donald J. Trump in violation of Section 3 of the 14th Amendment of the U.S. Constitution. State electors and governors attempting to vote for and create certificates of ascertainment to elect Donald J. Trump would be instantly disqualified from holding office per Sec3/14A, thereby rendering all their actions unlawful.

Are you reporting on behalf of yourself or someone else? Someone else

Victim Information: First Name: Kamala Middle Name: Devi Last Name: Harris Date of Birth: 10/20/1964 Phone Number: Business: (202) 456-1111 Email: vice.president@whitehouse.gov Address: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington, DC 20500

Complainant Information: Please uncheck any fields you would prefer not to answer. You don't have to enter your personal information here if you don't want to.

Reported To Law Enforcement: Have you reported this information to another law enforcement or government agency (local, state, or federal)? No

At this point, you can click "Show All" to review your tip. Once you're satisfied with it, just click "Submit Tip" and you're good to go.

For anyone suggesting this is inaccurate, here you go (compiled from Wikipedia):

Article 2: Clause 3: Electoral College See also: Twelfth Amendment to the United States Constitution, Twentieth Amendment to the United States Constitution, Contingent election, Electoral College abolition amendment, Efforts to reform the United States Electoral College, and National Popular Vote Interstate Compact The Electors shall meet in their respective States, and vote by Ballot for two Persons, of whom one at least shall not be an Inhabitant of the same State with themselves. And they shall make a List of all the Persons voted for, and of the Number of Votes for each; which List they shall sign and certify, and transmit sealed to the Seat of the Government of the United States, directed to the President of the Senate. The President of the Senate shall, in the Presence of the Senate and House of Representatives, open all the Certificates, and the Votes shall then be counted. The Person having the greatest Number of Votes shall be the President, if such Number be a Majority of the whole Number of Electors appointed; and if there be more than one who have such Majority, and have an equal Number of Votes, then the House of Representatives shall immediately chuse [sic] by Ballot one of them for President; and if no Person have a Majority, then from the five highest on the List the said House shall in like Manner chuse [sic] the President. But in chusing [sic] the President, the Votes shall be taken by States, the Representation from each State having one Vote; A quorum for this Purpose shall consist of a Member or Members from two thirds of the States, and a Majority of all the States shall be necessary to a Choice. In every Case, after the Choice of the President, the Person having the greatest Number of Votes of the Electors shall be the Vice President. But if there should remain two or more who have equal Votes, the Senate shall chuse [sic] from them by Ballot the Vice President.

Electoral College Elector Selection Process Article II, Section 1, Clause 2 of the Constitution requires each state legislature to determine how electors for the state are to be chosen, but it disqualifies any person holding an Office of Trust or Profit under the United States, from being an elector. Under Section 3 of the Fourteenth Amendment, any person who has sworn an oath to support the United States Constitution in order to hold either a state or federal office, and later rebelled against the United States directly or by giving assistance to those doing so, is disqualified from being an elector. Congress may remove this disqualification by a two-thirds vote in each house. (Wikipedia)

Conspiracy against the United States, or conspiracy to defraud the United States, is a federal offense in the United States of America under 18 U.S.C. § 371. The statute originated under a federal law enacted in 1867 that was codified in the Revised Statutes of the United States in 1874, in a subsequent codification of federal penal statutes in 1909, and ultimately in the United States Code in 1948. The crime is that of two or more persons who conspire to commit an offense against the United States, or to defraud the United States.

Statute 18 U.S.C. § 371 provides that:

If two or more persons conspire either to commit any offense against the United States, or to defraud the United States, or any agency thereof in any manner or for any purpose, and one or more of such persons do any act to effect the object of the conspiracy, each shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than five years, or both.

Corruptly obstructing, influencing, or impeding an official proceeding is a felony under U.S. federal law. It was enacted as part of the Sarbanes–Oxley Act of 2002 in reaction to the Enron scandal, and closed a legal loophole on who could be charged with evidence tampering by defining the new crime very broadly.

This part of the Act later became known as a charge against defendants associated with the 2021 U.S. Capitol attack for attempting to obstruct that year's Electoral College vote count, as well as former President Donald Trump for broader alleged activities to obstruct the election. In June 2024, the Supreme Court ruled in Fischer v. United States that the statute could only be applied when the defendant impaired a physical document or object used in an official proceeding or attempted to do so, a higher bar for conviction than had been used in trials to that point.

Legal basis The crime is codified as 18 U.S.C. § 1512(c)(2). The relevant subsection reads:

(c) Whoever corruptly—

(1) alters, destroys, mutilates, or conceals a record, document, or other object, or attempts to do so, with the intent to impair the object's integrity or availability for use in an official proceeding; or (2) otherwise obstructs, influences, or impedes any official proceeding, or attempts to do so, shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than 20 years, or both.

The term "official proceeding" is defined in 18 U.S.C. § 1515(a)(1) to include proceedings before federal judges, Congress, federal government agencies, and regulators of insurance businesses.

Conspiracy against rights is a federal offense in the United States of America under 18 U.S.C. § 241:

If two or more persons conspire to injure, oppress, threaten, or intimidate any person […] in the free exercise or enjoyment of any right or privilege secured to him by the Constitution or laws of the United States, or because of his having so exercised the same;…

They shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than ten years, or both; and if death results from the acts committed in violation of this section or if such acts include kidnapping or an attempt to kidnap, aggravated sexual abuse or an attempt to commit aggravated sexual abuse, or an attempt to kill, they shall be fined under this title or imprisoned for any term of years or for life, or both, or may be sentenced to death.

Charges of conspiracy against rights concerning federal election offenses cover activities subverting the integrity of federal elections and do not require direct action towards an individual voter. Election conspiracies prosecuted under conspiracy against rights can be classified as either public schemes (where public officials commit a §241 violation under color of law) or private schemes (where conspirators impinge on the ability for voters to vote).

Michigan Attorney General Dana Nessel announced on July 18, 2023, that she had charged sixteen individuals with eight felony counts each, including forgery and conspiracy, alleging they had knowingly signed certificates of ascertainment falsely claiming they were "duly elected and qualified electors" for Michigan. One defendant entered into a cooperation agreement with prosecutors in October 2023 in exchange for charges against him being dropped. Nessel's office disclosed during an April 2024 court hearing that Trump, Meadows, Giuliani and Ellis were unindicted co-conspirators.

On August 1, 2023, at the request of Jack Smith and the Justice Department, a federal grand jury indicted Trump on charges of conspiracy to defraud the United States, conspiracy against rights, obstructing an official proceeding and conspiracy to obstruct an official proceeding. The indictment accused Trump of orchestrating a criminal conspiracy to subvert the 2020 election, and identified the fake electors scheme as part of the conspiracy.

On August 15, 2023, Trump and eighteen others were indicted in Georgia. The defendants, who included Trump, Giuliani, Eastman, Meadows, Chesebro, Sidney Powell, David Shafer and Shawn Still among others, were charged with a variety of offenses, many of which related to involvement in the fake electors plot. On October 20, Chesebro pleaded guilty to conspiring to file a false document and was sentenced to five years of probation; he also agreed to testify against the other defendants. Three other defendants (including Powell) also pleaded guilty to charges.

On December 6, 2023, a Clark County, Nevada, grand jury indicted six Republican party officials, including the chair of the Nevada Republican Party, on two felony charges each of submitting fraudulent documents to state and local officials.

By December 2023, 24 fake electors had been criminally charged in three states, and Chesebro was "a witness in all of the cases". However, in January 2024, the Attorney General of New Mexico stated that the fake electors couldn't be prosecuted given the laws of that state.

An Arizona grand jury named eleven alleged fake electors in an April 2024 indictment. Among those named were former Arizona Republican Party chair Kelli Ward and Tyler Bowyer, chief operating officer of Turning Point USA. Names of seven others charged were redacted from the indictment, and Trump was listed as "Unindicted Coconspirator 1". The Washington Post reported the redacted individuals were Mark Meadows, Rudy Giuliani, Jenna Ellis, John Eastman, Christina Bobb, Boris Epshteyn and Mike Roman. The Post reported that names of those indicted who were not in Arizona were redacted until they could be served with their indictments.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

the cowboy boys and where they live with reader !!

Cowboy!rafe- lives on a large farm in Oregon with a vacation home in Indiana. Has a shit ton of animals, gets it by a lotttt of dirty money.

Cowboy!pope- lives on a small ranch in Utah. you both have a lil puppy along with your horses

Cowboy!jj- lives in a small lil cabin that always has something wrong with it. But being the handy guy he is, always fixes it. you both have a big dog who loves your horses. You guys travel around a lot though, never in one spot for long.

Cowboy!john b- lives on a old ranch in Wyoming. has a cow and some horses !

Cowboy!barry- lives in a small town in Montana in a cabin. has no other animals but takes care of the rich people’s horses for money.

[gullemec]

Responsibility

Bitten - Part IV

Bitten Masterlist ao3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: A glimpse into the beginning of your working relationship with Joel. Rare moments of relief scattered amid pain. You try to break through the impenetrable forcefield that is Joel Miller.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, gun use, description of injuries, Tess is here <3 (and a little mean but she's allowed), 24/7 365 ANGST, blood

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 8.3k

A/N: I'm going to try and get these chapters out on a more reliable schedule going forward! I just finished golden cage so of course i have to start another series alongside this one lol. big love to everyone who's commented/liked/reblogged or otherwise shown love for this series!

You squint against the sunlight as it reflects, painfully bright in the glare of fresh snow. The first snow of the season. The stark white landscape stretches out around you, broken only by the dark silhouettes of bare trees clawing up into the pale blue sky like skeletal fingers.

A bonafide Montana winter. 

It’s beautiful in a way that feels cruel, indifferent. The kind of beauty that doesn’t care whether you live or die.

Your fingers tremble as you unfold the map in your hands, the stiff paper crackling in the stillness. You trace the crisscrossing roads and the snaking blue lines of rivers, trying to pinpoint your location. If your navigation is correct, and there’s a decent chance it isn’t, you’re a couple of days’ hike from the Wyoming border.

You huff out a breath, the air materializing in front of you in little dancing clouds, then dissipating into nothing. The cold bites at your exposed skin, seeping through your mismatched layers of clothing.

Joel walks a few steps ahead, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the snow, his rifle slung low across his back. The weight of his presence is as steady and unyielding as ever. It’s a quiet sort of reassurance, even now, even after everything.

You’d left the cabin early this morning, Joel sufficiently convinced that you’d healed enough to travel again. The weight of your pack digs into your shoulders with each step, the dull ache in your side a persistent reminder of how fragile you still are. But you don’t say a word about it.

You can still feel the way Joel’s hands had ghosted over your side earlier, inspecting your stitches, his touch tentative and fleeting as he helped you prepare for the journey. It sent shivers down your spine, a sensation that was both delicious and unbearable.

In another life, that touch might have meant something different. Something softer. The way a lover might gently wake you, their fingertips trailing over your skin with reverence. But here, now, it’s tainted. Blood-stained. An act of survival, not intimacy. Of necessity, not affection.

The pain flares again as you shift the pack on your shoulders, but you stifle the wince before it can reach your face. You grit your teeth and force yourself to keep moving, one foot in front of the other.

Because you know Joel would stop if you asked.

He’d find you both a safe spot to rest, grumbling all the while about how you’re slowing him down, about how daylight’s burning. But he’d do it. Without hesitation, without complaint that mattered.

And that’s exactly why you don’t ask.

His care, however gruff and begrudging it seems on the surface, is a kindness you’ve decided you don’t deserve.

You glance up at him again, his figure framed against the stark white of the snow. He’s quiet, as he often is, his focus ahead as though the horizon holds all the answers. There’s something almost comforting about the way he carries himself, all rugged determination and quiet strength. 

Your North Star. Strong and dependable and a thousand miles away. 

The space between you feels lighter than it did before you reached the cabin. Ever since the night he held you after your nightmare, the tension had eased. The conversations felt lighter, his gaze less accusatory. Still, there is an undeniable distance here that neither of you knows how to cross. 

The fresh snow crunches underfoot, the only sound in the otherwise silent wilderness. You focus on it, on the rhythmic sound of your steps and his, on the steady cadence as you push forward. Anything to distract yourself from the gnawing ache in your side and the heavier ache in your chest.

Your eyes drift back to the map in your hands, the lines and symbols blurring slightly as your eyes readjust. Wyoming is out there somewhere, a distant promise of… what? Safety? Redemption?

You’re not sure.

It was what all the rumours said, what you’d heard from fellow QZ residents.

Heard they’ve got a place out in Wyoming. Some kinda safe haven. No FEDRA, no ration cards. Just people lookin’ out for each other.

"Sounds like a fairy tale,” Joel had said when you first told him about it.

And it had seemed like a fairytale back then, but it was enough. Once upon a time, it was enough.

…

You were perched on an overturned crate, tucked in the shadows of the alleyway behind Joel’s apartment. The cold, wet air seeped through your patched coat and settled in your bones. You were distantly aware of the faint hum of generators, the barking shouts of FEDRA soldiers. Always in the periphery. Never for a moment were you allowed to forget where you were, this hellscape of endless grey. The skies, the crumbling building facades, the soot-streaked faces and desperate eyes of the people you passed on the street. It all faded into the same monotonous shade of fucking grey.

You inhaled deeply, your lip curling with the rot and diesel that constantly tainted the air around you. A woman down the alley cursed as she spilled water from her ration jug. The sound of a scuffle broke out somewhere further down the street. Life in the QZ was a constant grind, a relentless struggle just to eke out another day of painful existence.

That was why you were there that day. A promise of something better, if only marginally. The tiny spark of something new, something exciting, something to disrupt the miserable monotony.

You hunched forward, rubbing your gloved hands together for warmth. Your fingers traced the map Joel had sketched for you earlier. Routes through the city, marked with coded notations on where and when to avoid FEDRA patrols. It was all a blur of lines and numbers you still hadn’t fully decoded.

The sound of boots crunching on debris pulled your attention. You tensed automatically, only relaxing  when Joel stepped into view. His presence was steady, familiar, a lighthouse on stormy seas. Your newfound friendship, if you could even call it that, was barely a few months old, but he put you at ease regardless. He didn’t speak right away, just tilted his head for you to follow as he strode toward the mouth of the alley. His hand rested on his hip near his pistol. Always prepared, always scanning.

“Let’s go,” he said gruffly, glancing back to make sure you were keeping up.

As you rounded the corner, you saw her.

Tess.

She leaned so casually against the brick wall, but there was nothing relaxed about the way she watched you. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe. She radiated a cool, unspoken authority, and you immediately felt like an intruder in a sacred space.

She eyed you up and down, the mask of cool indifference never leaving her face.

Then she turned to Joel, like you weren’t even there.

“You serious? What the hell is she doing here?”

Joel huffed. “She’s resourceful,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “‘Sides, we need an extra pair of hands.”

“An extra liability, more like,” she snapped back.

Joel didn’t flinch under her scrutiny, but his jaw tightened slightly. “She’s good.”

She turned her full attention to you then, and the weight of it made your stomach churn. “What’s your story, then? Joel might think you can handle yourself, but I don’t work with people I don’t know.”

Her words were sharp, but it was the way she said Joel, so casually, so familiarly, that caught your attention. You weren't sure why it stung, but it did. Like you were peeping through a window, trespassing into something you didn’t fully understand.

“I can hold my own,” you said quickly, straightening your spine. You tried to keep your voice steady, to sound confident, in spite of the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’ve been outside the walls before. I know what I’m doing.”

Tess arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. “Is that so? And if things go sideways, what then? You planning to scream and hope Joel comes running?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Joel cut in before you could speak.

“She ain’t some kid,” he said, his voice firm but calm. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

Tess’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she shifted her weight, clearly biting back whatever sharp remark she wanted to throw at him. Instead, she turned to him, her voice low and clipped. “You’re really putting a lot of faith in someone you just met.”

“She’s earned it,” Joel replied simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

There was something unspoken in the way they looked at each other, a brief but loaded silence that spoke of history and mutual understanding. It wasn’t lost on you, and though you didn’t want to dwell on it, you couldn’t help the tightness in your chest.

Tess finally sighed, scowl falling over her face. “Fine. But if this goes south, it’s on you.”

Joel gave a curt nod, and the tension between them seemed to ease, though Tess’s wariness didn't disappear entirely. She turned back to you, her expression still hard, but her tone slightly less biting. “Stick close. Don’t do anything stupid. And for God’s sake, don’t get us caught.”

You nodded quickly, your pulse still racing. “I won’t.”

And you didn’t. For a few good months, the three of you managed to function as a team, A tense, fragile team, but a team nonetheless.

You tried to find your place in their dynamic, but you always felt like you were treading on thin ice. Tess’ coldness toward you never thawed, her clipped words and skeptical glances a constant reminder that you were an outsider here.

And Joel… Joel never wavered in his defense of you. At first, it brought you comfort, but with time it only seemed to aggravate the rawness you felt, a constant reminder that you were an intruder here.

You watched them carefully, studying their rhythm, desperate not to disrupt the well-oiled machine of their partnership. Tess moved with a confidence that came from years of experience, efficient, calculating, always one step ahead. Joel was her counterbalance, quieter but just as capable, following her lead without question.

So where did that leave you?

You noticed the subtleties between them, how Tess would already be at Joel’s apartment when you arrived at the crack of dawn, leaning casually against the counter like she belonged there. The way her hand would brush his arm as they planned jobs, the easy familiarity in their movements. The quiet, murmured exchanges you weren’t meant to hear, their words too low to catch but their meaning clear in the way they glanced at each other.

At first, you ignored the uneasy twist in your stomach, brushing it off as your misplaced sense of intrusion. After all, they had history. You were the newcomer, the outsider trying to wedge yourself into a partnership that didn’t have room for a third wheel. It made sense that Tess would resent you, that Joel’s defense of you would only deepen the divide.

Later, with the gift of hindsight, you would realize that what you were feeling was jealousy, pure and green.

You hated yourself for it, for the bitterness that crept into your thoughts, for the way you resented their bond even as you relied on it. But the feeling was there, buried deep, a quiet truth you couldn’t bring yourself to face.

Whatever semblance of teamwork and trust the three of you built together came crashing down on a grey, overcast winter day.

You were in Quincy, delivering goods to a warehouse. It was a beast of a thing, a decaying skeleton of its former self, all broken windows and rusted metal and cracked concrete floors. You stuck to the shadows, three sets of boots crunching softly along the concrete. Tess led the way, her gun drawn, eyes sharp as she scanned the interior of the warehouse. Joel trailed behind you, close enough that his presence felt like a shield at your back.

The buyer, a sketchy looking man named Lyle, stood at the center of the warehouse, flanked by two burly men. 

“Right on time,” Lyle said, his voice carrying a false cheer that grated against the tension in the air. His hands fidgeted at his sides, his fingers drumming against his thighs. “Tess. Joel. Nice to see you. And… your friend.”

Tess didn’t respond, stepping forward to place a duffel bag on the table with a thud. “Let’s just get this done,” she said curtly, unzipping the bag to reveal the spoils inside—pills, antibiotics, ammo. The usual. 

Lyle whistled appreciatively. “Looks good. Real good.” He waved a hand toward his men, who stepped forward to inspect the goods. Tess’s hand twitched near her holster, but she didn't draw, her body rigid with vigilance.

Joel shifted beside you, his eyes scanning the shadows. His voice was low as he leaned toward you. “Keep your eyes open. Somethin’ feels off.”

Your grip tightened on the pistol in your hand, the weight of it uncomfortable in your hand. You've always been better with a blade, but they'd insisted on you taking a firearm. You nodded silently, your heart thudding in your chest as you followed his gaze.

The tension in the air snapped like a rubber band when one of Lyle’s men drew a knife from his belt.

“Don’t move,” the man snarled, lunging toward Tess.

Chaos erupted in an instant, the scene unfolding before you in slow-motion. Tess ducked and slammed the man’s wrist against the edge of the table, his knife clattering to the floor. Joel pulled you behind a cinder block pillar, pressing you tightly against his body, his rifle already raised as gunfire rang out. The second bodyguard fired blindly into the shadows, his bullets sparking against the metal beams.

Lyle scrambled backward, shouting orders at his men, but Tess was already moving. She drew her pistol and fired once, twice, dropping the knife-wielding man where he stood. Blood sprayed across the table as Lyle dove for cover.

“Move!” Joel barked, pushing you toward a side exit as gunfire erupted at your back. You ducked low, your pulse roaring in your ears as you sprinted across the open space. Tess followed close behind, firing off shots to cover your retreat.

A bullet whizzed past your shoulder, causing you to stumble, your breath catching in your throat.

“Joel! Grab her!” Tess shouted, voice raw. 

Joel grabbed your arm, steadying you as he fired a shot over his shoulder. The echoing crack of the rifle drowned out the chaos for a moment, your vision narrowing on Lyle collapsing to the ground.

The three of you burst through the side door into the cold night air, your lungs burning as you ran toward the tree line. The warehouse disappeared behind you, the sound of shouting and gunfire fading away like a spectre.

By the time you reached the outer fence of the Boston QZ, your breath came in ragged gasps, your limbs heavy and burning. The distant glow of the QZ’s lights were a beacon of safety, but the nearby cacophony of a FEDRA patrol sent a chill down your spine.

“Shit,” Tess muttered, her face flushed from exertion. She glanced at Joel, her expression tight. “We can’t go through the main gate like this. They’ll search us.”

Joel nodded grimly, his eyes scanning the perimeter. “There’s a blind spot near the east fence. Should still be clear.”

The three of you crept along the fence line, your movements careful and deliberate. A soldier came scarily close, his flashlight sweeping across the ground. You held your breath, pressing yourself against the cold steel of the fence until it was gone.

Joel pulled out a pair of wire cutters from his pack and quickly cut a gap in the chain-link. He motioned for you to go first, his gaze flicking between the fence and the empty street behind you.

You crawled through the gap, wincing as the rough edges scraped against your coat. Tess followed, her movements quick and efficient. Joel came through last, yanking the cut section back into place before leading you both back into the shadows of the QZ.

By the time you made it back to Joel’s apartment, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving exhaustion in its wake. You slumped into a chair near the table, your body trembling from the cold and the strain. Tess, however, was far from calm.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she snapped, rounding on Joel as soon as the door closed behind him. “Bringing her into this was a mistake.”

Joel stiffened, his jaw tightening as he set his rifle down. “She did fine.”

“Fine?” Tess let out a bitter laugh, throwing her hands up. “We almost got killed out there. You think that’s fine?”

“You don’t think I know how close that was?” Joel’s voice rose, his frustration spilling over. “It was her first time gettin’ caught up in anything like that.”

“She shouldn’t have been there in the first place!” Tess shot back, her eyes blazing. “You’re too damn soft on her, Joel. It’s going to get us all killed.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and though neither of them looked at you, the weight of their argument pressed down on you. You sat frozen in the chair, feeling like a scolded child.

“Enough,” Joel said, his tone low and dangerous. “This ain’t about her and you know it. We got the job done. That’s what matters.”

Tess shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re blind when it comes to her. And one day, it’s going to cost you.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, pausing only to shoot Joel a look filled with equal parts anger and disappointment. “Don’t call me for the next one.”

The door slammed behind her, leaving the room in heavy silence. Joel didn’t move for a long moment, his hands braced against the table as he stared down at the scratched surface.

You cleared your throat, your voice shaky. “I’m sorry.”

Joel looked up, his expression unreadable. “Ain’t your fault,” he said gruffly. But the weight in his voice told you he didn’t entirely believe it.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice tentative in the heavy quiet.

Joel glanced at you, his dark eyes shadowed and unreadable. For a moment, you thought he was going to brush you off, the way he usually did, but instead, he straightened up, moving to sink into the chair across from you. He looked tired, more tired than you’d ever seen him. It tugged at something deep inside you.

“Should be askin’ you that,” he said gruffly, leaning back and rubbing a hand over his face. “Wasn’t exactly a smooth run.”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, though the faint tremor in your voice betrayed you. “Shaken up, maybe, but… it could’ve been worse.”

Joel’s gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, his brow furrowing like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he nodded, but it felt more like he was convincing himself than agreeing with you.

“Tess didn’t mean what she said,” you offered, though you weren’t entirely sure you believed it. “She was just… angry. Scared, maybe.”

Joel let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

“Oh, she meant it. Ain’t no sugarcoatin’ when it comes to Tess.” He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “She’s right, though. I shouldn’t have brought you along.”

The words hit like a small blow, even though you knew he wasn’t  trying to hurt you. “I can handle myself,” you said quietly, your words as weak as you felt.

“I know you can,” he said, a surprising gentleness in his tone that caught you off guard. “Doesn’t mean I like seein’ you in danger.”

The way he said it made your stomach twist, not with guilt, but with something else. You glanced away, unsure how to respond, and your eyes landed on his hands, still resting on the table. They were scarred and rough, calloused from years of hard living, but they seemed to tremble slightly as he flexed them.

“Joel…” you began, but you didn't know where you were going with it. You just knew you didn’t want the conversation to end here, not with so much unspoken between you. “Do you ever think about… leaving? The QZ, I mean.”

His eyes snapped up to yours, startled, and you wondered if you’d pushed too far. But then he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest as he considered your question.

“More than I’d like to admit,” he said finally, his voice low and quiet. “But it ain’t exactly easy, headin’ out there on your own.”

“Not on your own,” you said before you could stop yourself. “I mean… if you had someone with you.”

Joel’s gaze sharpened, his lips pressing into a thin line. You could see the wheels turning in his head, the way he weighed something heavy. “Wyoming,” he said after a moment, his voice almost a whisper. “You said before that there’s a place out there. Safe. Quiet.”

The idea still sounded too good to be true, and yet you felt a flicker of hope ignite somewhere deep inside you. “Do you think it’s real?” you asked, leaning forward slightly.

Joel shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling wearily. “Don’t know. But…” He trailed off, his eyes dropping to the table between you. “Might be worth findin’ out.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of his words settling between you like something fragile and precious. The idea of Wyoming felt like a tiny light in the vast darkness you’d been living in, and you could tell Joel felt it too, even if he wouldn’t say it outright.

“Would you… go?” you asked hesitantly. “If you had the chance?”

His gaze lifted to yours, and there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch. “Only if I had a damn good reason,” he said quietly, his voice rough but laced with something softer.

You didn’t know what to say to that, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. He looked at you like he was about to say something more, his lips parting slightly, but then he stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he leaned back.

“We should get some sleep,” he said abruptly, his voice taking on that familiar gruffness that felt like armor. “You should stay here tonight, s’past curfew.”

You nodded, the sudden shift leaving you feeling unbalanced. As you stood and moved to Joel’s couch, you could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze heavy and lingering. But when you glanced back at him, he’d already turned away, his shoulders hunched as he stared down at his hands.

As you pulled a blanket over yourself, you couldn’t help but think about the way he looked at you. Like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t. You didn’t know what it meant, not yet, but the thought of Wyoming and the faint glimmer of hope it brought was enough to let you close your eyes with a little less dread.

Weeks later, the three of you stood in the shadows of a decaying old workshop on the edge of the QZ, a chain-link fence separating safety from the chaos awaiting you just a hundred feet away. The night air was heavy with the smell of oil and rust, the distant sounds of dogs barking and the creaking of a loose gate in the wind.

Your nerves were on edge.

Tess pulled the strap of a worn, overstuffed pack off her shoulder, thrusting it toward Joel.

“Here,” she said curtly, her voice sharp. “It’s not much, but it’s what I could scrape together.”

Joel took the bag without a word, his face unreadable in the dim light. He rifled through the contents briefly, finding a couple of cans of food, a few water bottles, a box of ammo, and a battered first aid kit.

“Should get you through the first few days,” Tess added, crossing her arms. Her tone was brisk, but there was an edge to it, like she was biting back something more.

“Appreciate it,” Joel said, his voice low.

Tess’s eyes flicked to you then, her expression hardening. “You’d better know what you’re getting yourself into,” she said, her words directed at you like a warning. “This isn’t a walk in the park. You screw up out there, and it’s not just your ass on the line.”

“I know,” you replied softly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Tess huffed, shaking her head as she took a step back. “You’d better,” she muttered, more to herself than to you.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on all of you. Tess’s eyes lingered on Joel for a moment, her jaw tightening. “This is stupid,” she said finally, her voice cracking just slightly. “You know that, right?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quieter, almost gentle. “Yeah. I know.”

She exhaled sharply, her frustration palpable, but there was something else in her expression, something softer, something she was trying not to let slip. “Fine,” she said, her voice hard again. “Do whatever the hell you want.”

She turned away then, but before she left, she paused, looking back at Joel, her eyes narrowing. “She’s your responsibility, Joel. Don’t forget that.”

Joel met her gaze, and for a moment, the two of them seemed locked in some silent conversation, something beyond your understanding. Finally, he nodded, the movement barely perceptible.

“I won’t,” he says, his voice low but steady.

Tess looked like she wanted to say more, but she just shook her head and walked away, her boots crunching against the gravel as she disappeared into the shadows.

You and Joel stood there for a long moment after she was gone, the night suddenly feeling colder and quieter. He shifted the bag on his shoulder and glanced at you, his expression unreadable.

“You ready?” he asked.

You nodded, though your heart felt heavy. “Yeah.”

Without another word, the two of you slipped through the hole in the fence and into the darkness beyond, leaving the QZ, Tess, everything behind.

…

Joel sidles up behind you, arm reaching around you to splay his thick fingers against the map. The sudden proximity jolts you. You didn’t even notice him moving closer.

“If we head West, we should hit Laurel by tomorrow afternoon,” he says, voice low, his finger tracing a path across the creased paper. 

Your heart stutters in your chest, caught off guard by how near he is. You barely manage a huff in response, unsure whether it’s meant to acknowledge his words or simply expel the air that had caught in your lungs.

The two of you had always avoided cutting through towns if you could help it. Towns and cities meant more infected, more danger. But supplies were running low, the strain of your injuries and convalescence having burned through food and medicine faster than either of you had planned. There wasn’t much choice left.

You fold the map and tuck it into your pack, slinging the strap over your shoulder with a grimace you do your best to hide. Joel’s eyes flick toward you, sharp, be he doesn’t comment. He just turns, leading the way through the snow laden forest.

The crunch of your boots is crisp in the soft powder, cold air biting at your cheeks. Joel keeps a few paces ahead, shoulder squared and posture tense as he scans the treeline. You trail behind, just focusing on placing one foot in front of the other, the ache in your side having grown less angry, but no less prominent in your mind. You grit your teeth and push on, refusing to let yourself slow him down.

Joel stops suddenly, raising a hand to signal you to halt. Your body tenses, eyes shifting around, scanning for danger. Your ears strain for the telltale sounds of crunching snow that don’t belong to you or Joel, or worse, the dreaded chatter of a clicker.

Instead, he gestures toward a tree to your right. Frowning, you follow his line of sight.

There, perched on a low-hanging branch, is a cardinal. Its feathers are vibrant, blood-red against the oppressively grey sky. The bird tilts its head, its black eyes sharp as it seems to observe the two of you.

“Pretty, ain’t it,” he murmurs.

You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of his observation, the softness of his voice. The gruff, angry man beside you, the man who had seen and done more horrible things than you could ever fathom, was captivated by something so small, so fleeting. All you can do is nod.

For a moment, the weight of everything fades. The two of you stand there in silence, watching as the cardinal flits from one branch to another, its red wings fluttering like a heartbeat against the pale backdrop. The world is quieter, softer, like the forest itself is holding its breath with you.

“Used to see these all the time back in Texas,” Joel says after a beat, his voice distant. “Sarah… she loved ‘em. Used to try and draw ‘em in with feeders she’d make outta old milk jugs. Never caught one up close, though. They’re too skittish.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with memories he rarely shared. He’s mentioned his daughter to you before, always in brief moments like these. You get the sense that she’s always there for him, her presence on his mind like sunlight glittering on the surface of water. He doesn’t need to say it outright for you to know this is why he keeps himself locked up so tightly. You don’t blame him. All the same, you soak up these moments, eager for any glimpse at the man behind the mask.

You glance at him, your chest tightening at the faint wistfulness in his expression. He isn’t looking at the bird anymore but somewhere far away, lost in a past you don’t dare intrude upon.

“Sounds like she was creative,” you offer tentatively.

Joel’s lips twitch, not quite a smile, but something close. “Yeah,” he said softly. “She was.”

The cardinal takes off then, its wings beating a hurried rhythm as it disappears into the trees. The spell breaks, and Joel clears his throat, his face hardening as he turns back to the path. “C’mon. We’ve wasted enough time.”

You press forward, the jagged outline of a town materializing on the horizon. It jostles something in you, the sharp edges and uniform structures standing in stark contrast to the gentle, organic lines of the wilderness you’ve grown used to. Civilization, or what’s left of it, always feels wrong somehow, an intrusion into the quiet simplicity of nature you’ve grown accustomed to.

As you approach a wide, frozen stream, Joel barely hesitates. He steps onto the ice, the frozen surface groaning ominously beneath his boots. He mutters a string of low curses under his breath, each step calculated, his weight shifting carefully as he crosses. When he reaches the other side, he turns back to you, leaning down slightly and extending his hand.

“Here,” he says, his voice calm but firm.

You hesitate, staring at his outstretched hand. There’s a flicker of doubt in your chest, about the ice, about touching him again, but it disappears as you meet his steady gaze. You take his hand, his calloused palm warm against your cold fingers.

He pulls you forward with surprising ease, your feet barely skimming the fractured ice before you’re safely on solid ground again. For a moment, you’re both still, the faint sound of cracking ice behind you the only reminder of what you just avoided.

“You’re not exactly light on your feet,” you say, the words slipping out unbidden, a teasing edge to your tone.

Joel’s brow quirks, his expression hovering somewhere between amused and unamused. “Careful,” he says dryly. “Or I’ll make you carry my pack.”

The faintest twitch of a smile plays at his lips, and before you can stop yourself, you laugh, a real, genuine laugh that feels strange and foreign in the cold, bleak air. The sound surprises you, catching in your chest like it doesn’t quite belong, but it feels good too, like a tiny spark in the frost.

Joel glances at you then, and for a moment, something in his face softens. His gaze lingers, almost like he’s startled by the sound you’ve made, like he’s pleased to have coaxed a laugh out of you in spite of everything. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, a sliver of warmth piercing through his usual stoic exterior.

It’s only then that you both seem to realize he’s still holding your hand. His grip is firm but not uncomfortable, his fingers rough and steady around yours. The air between you shifts, a quiet, unspoken tension creeping into the space where laughter had been just a moment before.

For a second, a single, fragile heartbeat of a second, neither of you moves. The world seems to still around you, the weight of his hand grounding you. Your heart stumbles in your chest, and you wonder if he feels it too, this strange, magnetic pull between you.

But then Joel clears his throat and lets go, the moment snapping like a taut string. He steps back and turns on his heel, his voice gruff as he throws the weight of his pack over his shoulder.

“C’mon,” he says, already walking ahead, his tone businesslike again. “We gotta find a place to hole up before the sun sets.”

You linger for just a moment, your hand still tingling with the memory of his touch. Then you follow, trudging after him as the skeletal remains of the town grow larger in the distance, your laughter left suspended behind you in the quiet hush of the snowy woods.

…

After another hour of walking, a house emerges from the shadows of the trees like a ghost, its silhouette solid against the gray afternoon sky. From the road it's nearly invisible, its walls obscured in a cocoon of bare branches and evergreens. 

It’s a small, squat thing, but it's far more intact than other buildings you’ve found. The doors hang evenly on their hinges, and thick wooden boards cover the windows, their nails weathered and rusted but sturdy. The yard is overgrown, wild grass and weeds creeping up the sides of the structure, but the way the house seems untouched by chaos makes it feel eerie, like the world forgot about it.

Joel tests the front door, his hand on the knob as he presses his shoulder into it. It resists at first, the wood swollen with age, but eventually gives way with a loud groan. The air inside is stale and heavy, a mix of dust, old wood, and something faintly metallic. You step in behind him, your boots stirring motes of dust in the dim light.

Everything is quiet. Too quiet.

The house’s interior tells its story in whispers. The furniture is faded,  but still arranged neatly, as if the people who lived here meant to return at any moment. On the mantle above a soot-streaked fireplace, you notice a line of framed photographs. You brush the dust from one and see the faces of a family—two parents and two children—smiling wide in a life that feels impossibly distant. One of the frames lies face down on the mantel, as though someone had grabbed it in haste but abandoned it at the last moment. You don’t lift it up. It doesn’t feel right.

In the kitchen, Joel checks the cupboards. Most are empty, but a few hold scraps of a previous life. A half-empty can of powdered milk, long expired, a rusted tin of coffee grounds, a jar of pickled vegetables gone cloudy with time. The table is small, meant for four, and one of the chairs is tipped over on its side. Still stuck to the fridge is a child’s drawing, its colors faded but still vivid enough to make out, a stick-figure family standing in front of the same house you’re in now, the sky above them filled with round, yellow sun.

“People lived here for a while,” Joel mutters, running his fingers over the table's edge. His voice is low, reverent, as if he’s reluctant to disturb whatever ghosts linger here.

In a small bedroom down the hall, you find more signs of hurried departure. A child’s bed is unmade, the blanket half-dragged to the floor. A teddy bear lies abandoned in the corner, one of its button eyes missing. A suitcase sits on the bed, half-packed with clothes. Joel picks up a shirt from it, holding it up to the light. It’s small, too small for an adult. He doesn’t say anything as he sets it back down, but the look on his face is heavy.

In another room, the master bedroom, you find a calendar still hanging on the wall. The month is January, the year faded but unmistakably long past. A series of dates have been circled in red, the ink faint and smudged. On the dresser sits a journal, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges. Joel opens it but flips through it quickly, not stopping to read the words. He mutters something about not wanting to pry, but you catch glimpses, notes about food supplies, weather conditions, and, in the margins, small, hopeful scribbles.

Made it another week.

Still safe.

Might try for the city tomorrow.

The bathroom is where things went wrong. The mirror is cracked, shards of glass scattered in the sink. A first-aid kit sits open on the counter, the contents rummaged through. Dried blood stains the edge of the sink and the floor near the tub. Whoever had lived here fought hard to stay alive, but the suddenness of their departure feels almost tangible.

As you and Joel reconvene in the living room, the weight of the house’s story presses down on both of you. It’s clear that a family had tried to make this place a haven, holding on for as long as they could before something—Infected? Raiders? Pure desperation?—forced them to flee. Dust and decay have claimed the house now, but the traces of the life lived here remain like shadows.

Joel moves toward the boarded windows, peering through the cracks at the encroaching dusk. “This’ll do for the night,” he says finally, his voice gruff. “Better than sleepin’ out in the open.”

You nod, but your gaze lingers on the family photo still sitting on the mantle, the faces smiling back at you as if to say, We tried. We did our best.

You wonder if that’s all anyone can do anymore.

The two of you make quick work of clearing the house. It was a process you and Joel have done so many times it’s practically second nature now. Every door cracked open with cautious hands. Every corner checked with a sharp, trained gaze. In the end, the place is wholly abandoned, untouched for years except by the slow creep of decay.

You settle on staying in what must have been the parents’ bedroom for the night. The windows were already boarded up, and Joel adds a thick blanket over them to keep out any sliver of light. He pushes the sagging mattress against the door, reinforcing it with a dresser he drags across the floor with a grunt.

Now, he’s sitting against the wall, his rifle disassembled in his lap, your lantern’s weak orange glow glinting off the polished metal as he works. His movements are deliberate, methodical, his focus trained on the task like it’s the only thing tethering him to the present. You sit against the opposite wall, knees pulled to your chest, staring at him. You’ve been staring for what feels like forever, the words you need to say swirling in your head, their weight pressing against your chest like a stone.

And maybe it’s the brevity you felt earlier, or maybe it’s the way these walls feel protective, like the love that filled this house once upon a time has lingered, but something pushes you to test him.

Finally, you take a breath, steeling yourself. “Joel,” you say softly.

His hands pause briefly, but he doesn’t look up. “Mm.”

“Can we… talk about what happened? Back in the woods?”

His jaw tightens. His hands resume their work, but there’s a stiffness in the way he slots the bolt back into place. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about,” he mutters, the words clipped, guarded.

You knew he’d respond like this, knew he’d deflect. But you’re not letting him off that easy, not again.

“You know that’s not true. I almost— I should’ve died that night, Joel.” You say, voice tinged with frustration.

Joel doesn’t respond, his face tight, his hands working with a little too much force.

The words hang heavy in the air. His jaw works, and though his hands keep moving, they’re rougher now, more forceful. You wait, but he doesn’t respond, the silence stretching long and thin like a thread about to snap. So you fall back to that old, reliable method for forcing Joel to talk to you, the foolproof way you coaxed him out of his shell all the way back when you were barely more than strangers in the QZ.

You piss him off.

“You promised me. If it came down to it… you wouldn’t let me turn.”

That does it. His head snaps up, and his eyes meet yours, sharp and dark, a storm brewing in them. “And you’re sittin’ here breathin’, ain’t you?” His voice is rough, defensive, but there’s something else there too, something raw and vulnerable he’s trying to bury. “What’s there to say?”

You don’t flinch, holding his stare defiantly.

“And what about what I said?”

He freezes, the pieces of the rifle stilling in his hands. For a moment, he looks like he’s been struck, his shoulders tense and his breathing shallow. Slowly, he sets the rifle aside and runs a hand down his face.

“You were bleedin’ out,” he says, his voice quieter but no less rough. “People say all kinds of things when they think they’re dyin’. Don’t mean nothin’.”

The cadence of his voice hits your ear first, the way his Texan accent filters in more strongly when he’s angry. But then his words settle, and they sting.

“Don’t mean nothin’?” you echo, your voice sharp. “You think I didn’t know what I was saying? That I didn’t mean it?”

“You didn’t,” Joel snaps, his voice rising for the first time. “You were scared. Hell, you were half outta your head from blood loss. You—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head as if trying to physically push the memory away.

“Don’t tell me how I feel!”

You’re on your feet before you even realize it, the surge of betrayal snapping you upright like a bolt of lightning. The anger burning in your chest feels alive, a force of its own, crackling and untamed.

“You don’t get to decide that for me!” you shout, your voice trembling. “You don’t get to act like none of it mattered!”

Joel’s eyes flash, and in an instant he’s standing, his broad shoulders tensed and looming. “You think I don’t know what mattered?” he fires back, his voice rough and gravelly. “You think I don’t remember every goddamn second of that night?”

“Then why are you doing this?” you demand, your voice breaking under the weight of your frustration. “Why are you shutting me out?”

“Because it don’t matter what you said, or what you felt!” Joel yells, his voice raw and cracking with something deeper than anger. “It don’t change what I did! I should’ve done what we agreed. Should’ve stopped it right then and there.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you feel the heat of your fury drain away, leaving only an aching, hollow hurt. You stare at him, the space between you shrinking and yet feeling impossibly vast.

“You really think it was a mistake?” Your voice is softer now, trembling with something fragile and exposed. “Letting me live?”

Joel flinches, his expression crumpling for just a moment before he wrestles it back into something harder, more controlled. But it’s too late. You’ve seen it. He looks like a man drowning, like the weight of everything he’s carrying is finally dragging him under. His gaze flickers to the water-stained ceiling, desperate for some kind of escape, but there’s nowhere to go. No way out.

You watch him, a storm of emotions churning inside you, and for a fleeting second, hope flickers to life. Maybe he let you live because he couldn’t bear to lose you, because some part of him believed in the impossible, that against all odds, you’d survive and get a second chance.

But the memory of his face in the early morning light, when he saw you alive, pierces through that fragile hope like a blade. 

There was no reverence in his expression, no relief. 

Only fear. Only disgust.

The thought sinks into you like poison, twisting and bitter. Maybe he hadn’t spared you because he cared, but because he was too weak to do what had to be done. Maybe he’d been tricked, by your desperate, pleading words, or by his own fear of being alone again, of losing everything again.

Your mind spirals further, darker. If he’d known then what you’d become—this strange in-between state, not fully human, but not quite a monster—would he have made the same choice? Would he have let you live if he’d known what would become of you?

The bitterness curls inside you, sharp and hateful. At least you’d had the courage to be honest, to say what you felt, even in the face of death. Joel, for all his strength, couldn’t even bring himself to admit why he’d made the choice he did.

“You’re wrong,” you say, your voice trembling, laced with hurt. “I meant what I said. I meant all of it.”

Joel finally looks at you, his expression taut, torn between anger and something far more vulnerable. His jaw tightens, and his hands ball into fists at his sides, but he doesn’t say a word.

“Don’t,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. “Just… don’t.”

But you can’t stop now, not when the ache in your chest feels like it might split you in two.

“Maybe you couldn’t pull the trigger then because you didn’t see me as a monster,” you press, stepping closer to him, your voice shaking but unrelenting. “But I do, Joel. I know what I am now. You can just admit it.”

He flinches, his composure cracking, his brows pulling together in a way that betrays the cool, guarded exterior he always tries so hard to maintain. For a moment, he looks like he’s been struck, like your words have landed somewhere deep, somewhere he can’t protect.

“You’re not a damn monster,” he growls, his voice louder now, angrier, but there’s something desperate beneath it. “Now quit.”

“Then why do you look at me like that?” you fire back, your voice rising with the weight of the question that’s been clawing at you. “Why is everything different now?”

“M’not lookin’ at you any kinda way,” he says, his tone softer than you expected but still edged with finality. “Ain’t no use diggin’ it up, talkin’ it to death. I’m here. You’re here. Let’s just leave it at that.”

His words hang in the air, unsatisfying and incomplete. Your chest aches with frustration. “That’s not an answer, Joel.”

“It’s the only one you’re gettin’,” he mutters, glancing away, his fingers fidgeting.

You don’t let up. “Why do you do that? Why do you shut me out? Just tell me the truth.”

He exhales sharply, the sound more weariness than anger. “What truth, hm? That I messed up? That I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’ half the time? You think I got all the answers? I’m just tryin’ to keep us alive, alright? That’s it.”

“It’s more than that, Joel, and you know it.”

His eyes snap back to yours, and for a flicker of a second, you see something raw and unguarded, a crack in the wall he keeps so firmly in place. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, and he’s locking himself away again.

“You’re wastin’ energy on somethin’ that don’t matter,” he says, his voice low and rough, like gravel scraping across your heart. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about than what you think I’m feelin’ or not feelin’.”

For a moment, it looks like he might say something more, his lips parting as if he’s on the verge of spilling something he’s been holding back. But then, just like always, he shuts it down. His jaw tightens, and his shoulders hunch as if he’s physically closing himself off from you.

He stands abruptly, the motion sharp and definitive. Pulling his sleeping bag from his pack, he tosses it onto the floor with a thud. “Get some rest,” he says, not looking at you as he busies himself unrolling the bag. “We’re headin’ into town tomorrow. Long day ahead.”

The lantern flickers as he reaches out to snuff the flame, plunging the room into near darkness. He climbs into his sleeping bag, his back turned to you, his silence louder than anything he could have said.

You sit there for a moment longer, your heart pounding in your chest, staring at his rigid form as he settles into place. Whatever you’d hoped for, an answer, a crack in his armor, anything, it feels further away than ever.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you whisper into the dark, your voice barely audible.

He doesn’t respond. The only sound is the faint rustle of fabric as he shifts, facing further away from you, retreating into the unreachable parts of himself.

Taglist: (if you would like to be added just lmk!)

@eviispunk

@javierpenaispunk

[dangerousartisanwerewolf]

To all the Americans on tumblr rn...

I am not American, nor am I old enough to vote yet as I missed being the legal voting age for my province by only about a week- curse my extremely late birthday.

(which weirdly enough has also had such an incredibly tight election that they are still counting the votes right now even though it happened 2 weeks ago because the two parties are basically tied. }

but I am also very worried for you guys way down south. Hopefully America will put the right person into power this time and everything ends up being ok for you all. Not to be too cliché but I am sending thoughts and prayers and I hope you guys all stay safe down there. I honestly can't even imagine how you guys fell- I don't even live there and I've been feeling increasingly nauseous as the hours go by and I have had to offline for the most of the day.

Remember:

To take care of yourselves. Just in general, in whatever way you see fit

You absolutely do not have to live stream the election polling/results thing on TV, doom scroll election content the whole day long, watch the news, or consume any other election related content. As horrible as it feels to say this; the results will be the same regardless of whether or not you are watching it. Sometimes it is just better for you and your mental health to just log off of sm/screens for the night

If it all does feel like its getting too much for you, please log off/take a sm/screentime break

Most importantly, if you haven't already, please vote!!!! I am not American and am barley old enough to be considered a legal voter (Missed my own countries election *tears*) so I can't really help in terms of providing resources but I am sure there are all sorts that can help you I'm sure. I know that its getting late at night; some polls have closed already but not as many as you would think. I found out that most are actually open way later than I thought. As it turns out, some are even open til 1! You learn something new every day I guess!

Just Please, Please, Please go out and cast your ballot and make your voice known, with how close this is quite literally every voice matters!!! GO VOTE!!!

Poll closing times in case you need it (I only included ones that close 8pm and upwards because it is 7:30 at the time of writing this)

8 p.m. ET

Alabama

Connecticut

Delaware

District of Columbia

Florida (Polls in Eastern time zone close at 7 p.m. ET; part of Panhandle are in Central time zone)

Illinois

Maine

Maryland

Massachusetts

Mississippi

Missouri

New Hampshire (Polling hours vary by municipality and are listed by location here)

New Jersey

Oklahoma

Pennsylvania

Rhode Island

Tennessee

8:30 p.m. ET

Arkansas

9 p.m. ET

Arizona

Colorado

Iowa

Kansas (Polling locations close at 8 p.m. ET in all except four counties in the west)

Louisiana

Michigan (Polling locations close at 8 p.m. ET in all except four counties)

Minnesota

Nebraska

New Mexico

New York

North Dakota (Polls close at 8 p.m. ET in all but eight counties)

South Dakota (Polls close at 8 p.m. ET in the east)

Texas (Polls close at 8 p.m. ET for most of the state except three counties in the west)

Wisconsin

Wyoming

10 p.m. ET

Montana

Nevada (The polling location at City Hall in West Wendover closes at 9 p.m. ET)

Utah

11 p.m. ET

California

Idaho (Polling locations in the south close at 10 p.m. ET)

Oregon (Polling locations in Malheur County close at 10 p.m. ET)

Washington

12 a.m. ET

Hawaii

1 a.m. ET

Alaska (Polling locations close at 12 a.m. with the exception of Adak)

I'm not really sure what other useful info I could put as I don't know much about America or it's electoral system but I hope that helps.

A lot of people I have seen have been posting about how they feel sick to their stomach's and that they can't get off the news and how they just feel terrible so...

Things you can do to distract yourself for the rest of the night (And possibly the next few days, idk how long it takes to count votes)

Have an early bedtime/take a late nap (Only go to bed after 9 at least though, otherwise you'll mess up your sleep schedule and make you feel worse.) Just sleep your way througb it if you cant help it.

To add on to point one I often use asmr if I can't fall asleep right away/to distract myself. My favorites are: Jaden Aliana Asmr, Oceans Asmr, Kaitlynn Reha asmr, and my absolute favorite Goodnight Moon ASMR (Check out her babble brook, 1920's, or valley girl series')

Listen to a podcast (I like Rotten Mango- informative true crime, Buzzfeed unsolved- funny true crime/ghost hunting, Look behind you- also true crime, and Chris Chan; a comprehensive history)

Never too late for some cleaning! Clean your house, bathroom, bedroom, closet, do a deep clean.

If your a student like me- do your schoolwork! I know you have some studying or homework that needs to be done! Get on it!! I use the pomodoro method if that does anything

Have a self care night- do an everything shower or fancy bath, make facemasks, mani pedi's ect.

Watch a movie or marathon t.v shows you love/that are comfort shows (Some of my comfort shows are; Bobs burgers, Gravity falls, the moomins 1990, the office, what we do in the shadows, black books, derry girls, moone boy, and all creatures great and small and M.A.S.H. Some of my comfort movies are; Little women, the cornetto trilogy, Emma, Legally blonde, Pride and Prejudice)

Never too late for some cooking! One of my favorite hobbies is cooking and baking (Mostly baking) Make some chocolate chip and snickerdoodle cookies, muffins, cupcakes or try a fun cake.

Go for a night walk! Just make sure you bring a buddy and some flashlights of you're in total darkness like I am right now. (Love me a Canadian fall! Already snow where I am so of course that means everyone now needs to immediately put up Christmas decorations lol. At least the lights are nice at night)

Spend time with loved ones. Call or text a friend, spend time with your family, roommates, whoever. If your on campus at a uni see if there's literally any activities or clubs open at this hour you can go to

Read. I know you have a tbr you keep meaning to get to

Go on a research rabbit hole about something interesting. Try to learn something new. Some topics to get you started relating to where I live cause why not; Try to learn about : The Animals of Canada, Indigenous cultures and peoples of Canada- ex: try to learn some Cree or Halqemeylem phrases, try to memorize all of our provinces and territories.

Get through any chores you still have to do

Make/do something creative: Play an instrument, record a song, make a collage, paint, draw

Play some music, listen to your favorite songs on loop (Spotify's still collecting data for wrapped!)

Download a videogame on your phone- just one to pass the time even if its total addictive trash. Some ones I like: Moomin town- Idle, relaxing, town building, slowpaced, free, Miriam webster quizitative- free, wordgames, has an end to it, Toca boca hair salon- not free, hair salon game, endless, Toca boca town- not free but there are dupes, dollhouse game, bird bnb- townbuilding, slowpaced, as well theres all sorts of cute isle cat games; I like the grocery store and cafe ones

Make sure to:

Drink water

Eat at regular intervals

take breaks from screens (It'll hurt ya eyes)

get some sleep at some point

Don't sleep all day (Try to get up at a normal time)

if you feel like you need- put screen time limits on your phone. Or as well, turn down the brightness if you feel you have to doom scroll.

That's all for now. Hope you guys are doing ok and that the results are what we are all hoping for. Just know that you are in pretty much everyone's minds and we are all thinking of you (Even if we don't live in America). Stay safe and take care of yourself and your mental health.

Love, thoughts, prayers, and support from Canada/Tumblr and have a good night.

Congrats if you managed to get through this absolute brick of text. I commend you. I'll probably check back in tomorrow.

[waywardxwords]

The Fix - Part 2

Summary: Everyone has a past, but yours seemed to haunt you. You've tried to move forward with a normal life, but the day comes when that's not possible anymore. When Sheriff Beau Arlen enters your life, you're certain he is going to judge you just like everyone else in town does. But something about Beau is different.

Warnings: Child abduction, brief mention of domestic violence, language

Word Count: ~2.8k

Beau had met you at the entryway of the elementary school within minutes, concern etched across his face in the way of worry lines that likely matched yours. 

“You alright, darlin’?” He asked gently as he approached with a tentative hand on your shoulder blade. 

Under the weight of his hand, you felt the ultimate collapse. Everything tumbled out of you in a way you didn’t expect (nor did he, by the look on his face). But either way, he used that hand to pull you flush against his chest and wrapped his other arm around your waist. He held you as you sobbed into the lapel of his brown jacket. The material was cool from the bitter wind just outside the door. 

“It’s gonna be alright,” he coaxed softly with his mouth close to your ear. “We’re gonna get her back.” You tried to nod and speak, but only shaky breaths came out. Beau pulled you to his side and stepped forward towards one of the agents. “Beau Arlen, Sheriff,” he put his hand out to greet the agent. 

“Matt Donahue with the FBI,” the man shook his hand. 

“What can you tell me?” Beau asked. He refused to break eye contact with the agent as he asserted his position of caring for the people in this town. 

Matt’s gaze moved back over you—your tear-stained and reddened cheeks, disheveled hair. He knew you wanted answers, but he also knew he couldn’t provide any right now. “Sheriff, as you know, the case of Jackson Lyle is ongoing. There’s nothing I can share right now.”

“I understand the Lyle case is off limits,” Beau spoke confidently. “But now, a five-year-old girl is missing. That changes things. Where are you at with a search party? An Amber Alert go out yet? At this point, Montana, South Dakota, North Dakota, Wyoming and Idaho should all be on alert. Have you talked to border patrol? He could be headed to Canada, for all we know.” 

“Sheriff, we are handling it,” the agent tried to assure. Something told you Beau didn’t trust the agents anymore than you did. 

“Then why the hell haven’t I seen an Amber Alert? As you know, agent—the first twenty-four hours are crucial. The decisions made now could make or break this,” he lowered his voice but you still heard him. 

“We are working on it, you have my word,” Matt sighed. 

“Your word doesn’t mean a whole lot ‘round this town,” he said firmly. “With all due respect, of course.” He added with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t stick around to go back and forth any longer. He turned to you and wrapped his arm back around your waist again as he led you to the door. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” You stumbled over your words but didn’t fight him as you braced yourself for the cold. The air practically took away whatever breath you had left. His grip tightened as you walked towards his truck. 

“We’re goin’ to the station. I have a plan,” his words were firm and his gaze didn’t waver from his truck. Your head whipped to look at him as he guided you. 

“Beau, they said to leave it be,” you didn’t know what the right answer was, and while you didn’t agree with leaving it alone, you also didn’t want to be in any trouble with the FBI. 

“Yeah, well, I say I’m the Sheriff and I can do as I please,” he opened the passenger door of his truck for you to step in. 

“My car’s here,” you thumbed to the parking lot where your truck was still parked. 

“I’ll have a deputy come by and pick it up,” he waved it off as he closed the door and headed to the driver’s side. 

You took a shaky breath. As he pulled open the driver’s side door, you stared blankly straight ahead out the windshield. Every bit of you felt numb, completely wrecked by the events that had taken place. 

“We’re gonna get her,” you realized Beau had been staring at you. 

“How? You heard the agent, they’re running this show,” to say you felt defeated would be an understatement. 

Beau slipped the key into the ignition and turned. As he pulled out of the parking space, his words were clear. “I’m doin’ a press conference,” he said firmly. 

This wasn’t the first time you had found yourself in the local police department, but this was by far the worst. A steaming cup of coffee had been set in front of you, but you didn’t feel like drinking it. You blinked as your eyes focused on the opposite white wall in the tiny interrogation room. 

The door opened, but you didn’t bother fixing your gaze. It wasn’t until he stepped into view and pulled up a chair that you adjusted your eyes. 

“I know you’ve been through this a hundred times,” he started slowly with a sigh. “But I need you to tell me what she was wearing today, and any descriptions. If you have a recent picture, that would be great.” Beau’s words were gentle—more gentle than you’d heard them before. Even though it was always clear Beau felt bad about your circumstances, this seemed different. 

“Do you have any children?” The words fell from your lips with little emotion, but there was a reason you asked and Beau knew that. 

“I do. A daughter,” he cleared his throat. “And I know if I were sittin’ where you are, I’d be absolutely lost. Hell, I’ve been there before.” 

Your eyes bolted to reach his gaze. “She went missing?” There was hope in your words as you realized she must have been found. 

“Sure did,” he nodded. “And we got her back. Just like we’re gonna get Bailey back, you hear me?” He seemed hesitant for the first time that day as he reached out and held your hand in his across the table. “I’m going to get her back.” He said firmly. 

You nodded once and broke eye contact. As you pushed the tears out of your eyes, you spoke. “She’s 43 inches tall. About 39 pounds. She had on denim jeans, with a daisy patch sewn on the pocket. A white daisy, with some green petals,” you closed your eyes as you pictured it. “Bluey sneakers…”

“Sorry, Bluey?” He asked, confused. 

You smiled through the pain of the moment. “It’s a cartoon. A little blue dog,” you continued. “She had on a long-sleeve pink t-shirt, I think it says ‘GAP’ on it in a darker pink. And a lavender puffy coat. I braided her hair today—one braid down the back.” You looked back at him to make sure he had captured it all. 

“You did good, sweetheart. You got a recent picture?” He asked. 

“Of course,” you fumbled through your phone and found a picture you had taken just the night before. Your heart nearly crumbled at the memory of playing hide and seek just after dinner. You handed your iPhone over to him and nibbled on your bottom lip. 

“I’m gonna send this to myself, alright?” You nodded at his question. “Jackson hasn’t tried to reach out to you, right? No family members? Anything?”

You shook your head ‘no’. “It’s been radio silence. I called the last number I have for him but it’s disconnected. I’ve tried his mom, sister, best friend…most didn’t answer, but his mom says she hasn’t heard from him.”

He nodded his head as he sent himself the photo of Bailey. “Alright, thanks for hanging with me, darlin’,” he gave your hand one last squeeze before he slid your phone back to you. Even in the haze of everything happening around you, your body couldn’t deny the feeling of warmth that simple squeeze cascaded through your veins. 

“Now what?” You murmured as he stood from his seat. 

“Now,” he started as he glanced at the door to the interrogation room. “I’m about to piss off the FBI and do a press conference.” He gave you a small smile. 

Beau had decided not to include you in the press conference, even though it was a fairly common practice to showcase the family members. He had said it was too dangerous, but he also didn’t want you in any trouble with the FBI. “I’ll take the fall, don’t you worry,” he had said to you as he headed for the front of the Sheriff’s office. “What’re they gonna do, fire me?” He had almost chuckled, but you didn’t know if that was a possibility. You couldn’t imagine Beau would actually risk his career for this—for you, the ex-wife of a con man he had been trying to hunt down for the last three months—but then again, you didn’t know Beau Arlen. 

You watched from the confines of Beau’s office where he had set you up with a television dialed in on the local news. 

He stepped up to the podium and looked as confident as ever. “Now we have Sheriff Beau Arlen with an important press conference,” the news anchor stated. “Let’s listen in.” 

“Afternoon, folks,” Beau greeted as he looked down at the notes in front of him. “We have a missing five-year-old girl tonight out of Big Sky and we’re askin’ for the public’s help in locating her. We’ll post this photo just after this conference, but she is five-years-old, approximately 43 inches tall and 39 pounds. She left home this morning wearing jeans with a daisy patch on the pocket, a light pink long-sleeved t-shirt that says ‘GAP’, a lavender puffy coat and sneakers with a little blue dog on them, called Bluey.” 

Your heart raced against the confines of your chest as he spoke and more tears yet again flooded your eyes. 

“She is in the presence of Jackson Lyle, who is considered to be armed and dangerous. If you have seen anything or heard anything, please contact the Sheriff’s office immediately,” he said. “We’ll be coordinating a search and rescue team in a few hours and are askin’ for the public’s help, and anyone who may want to volunteer. If interested, you can meet us at the Sheriff’s office at five o’clock.”

You felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. The FBI had hardly attempted to coordinate with the public, but now the word was out and people could start looking for your daughter. 

“Here’s the photo, and this will be posted across news pages and social media here shortly,” Beau finished. “I’ll take any questions now.” 

“Sheriff, is this the same Jackson Lyle who has been on the run the last few months?” A reporter asked. 

“It is,” Beau replied. 

“What is the girl’s relation to Jackson Lyle?” Another reporter asked. 

“Jackson Lyle is her biological father,” Beau stated simply. There were murmurs from reporters in front of the podium. “We aren’t going to discuss anything regarding Jackson Lyle further. Our goal is to get this little girl home as quickly as possible. If you see Bailey Lyle or Jackson Lyle, please call our office immediately. Thank you.” He stepped away from the podium and the screen cut back to the local news. 

They didn’t miss a beat to show the photo Beau had shared—it felt surreal to see your baby girl on the local news. The tears fell from your eyes as they began to talk about the conference. 

“For our viewers who may not remember, Jackson Lyle is the man who was arrested almost a year ago now for drug trafficking and domestic violence,” and there it was. The painful past that made you want to vomit. You reached for the remote and muted the screen, your eyes steadied on the photo of your daughter. 

Almost instantly, you heard the door to Beau’s office open. Your gaze darted there and tried to focus on him, but it was a challenge through the tears. 

His firm demeanor fell when he saw you. “You alright, darlin’?” You shook your head back and forth. “I know it’s a lot, and I’m real sorry for that.” A heavy sigh fell from his lips. “But we need to get you outta here. We’re gonna go out the back to avoid the press.” You stood to your feet and wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand. 

“Aren’t we setting up the search party here?” You asked him, confused. 

He paused and diverted his eyes to the floor below his boots. “I just need to get you somewhere first,” he hesitated, and you knew that he was trying to skirt around whatever it was he wanted to say. 

“Beau…” you started, the pain in your voice strengthened so it was firm. “I’m joining the search party.” 

“I just need you to get in my truck,” his tone was pleading. “I need you to trust me.” His eyes bore back into yours again and you thought if you stared hard enough, you might be able to see his soul. 

Even though trusting people wasn’t really your thing, you nodded once and followed him through the door to the back exit of the building. His steps were long and quick, and for every stride he took, you took two. He threw open the driver’s door and you did the same to the passenger. As soon as you were in and your door was closed, he peeled out of the lot. 

Your eyes studied the side of his face. The worry lines he had acquired over the years, the freckles that matched his green gaze, plus some he had probably gotten from spending his days in the sunshine. His hair swooped to the side of his forehead haphazardly and you realized this day had taken almost as much out of him as it had you. 

“Beau, where are we going?” Your voice was soft but your tone was firm. You didn’t want to be mad at him—he seemed to be the only person taking initiative at finding Bailey. 

He didn’t say anything, and that scared you. But you knew these roads better than anyone, and you knew the direction you were headed. 

“Don’t you dare take me home, Beau,” you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. 

“I need you to listen to me,” he gripped the steering wheel tightly as he turned onto your private drive. “We need someone to stay at the house in case Bailey comes home. Havin’ you out there isn’t gonna change anything. I need you here. It’s the safest place for you.” 

“I don’t give a fuck about being safe, Beau!” Your voice raised as the anger boiled in the pit of your stomach. “All I care about is finding my kid. Did you sit at home when your daughter was missing?! And don’t you dare lie to me.”

“This is my job,” he emphasized. “And in order to do my job right, I need you here.” He shifted the gear into park. You noticed the two deputies already parked just outside your home. 

“You’re something else,” you scoffed, anger flowing freely. “How dare you.”

“You know what, sweetheart? I know you’re pissed. I hear you, and I’m sorry,” he sighed. “You can be mad at me all you want. Hate me, even, I don’t care. But I made you a promise that I’m gonna get your girl back, and I intend to keep it.” 

Your door opened and you recognized the deputy on the other side, it was Deputy Mo Poppernak. 

“Ma’am,” he greeted you with a nod. He was nervous, and you could tell Beau had prepared his team for this moment.

“You told me to trust you,” angry tears settled in your eyes and at this point, you didn’t think it was possible to have any tears left after how much you had cried that day. “I don’t trust anyone–you know that! How could you do this to me? He’s not bringing her back here, Beau. You have to know that. I need to be out there looking for her!” Your voice was broken and tired, but you begged anyway. There was no dignity left, and you didn’t care.

Beau reached across the center console area of his truck and grasped your hands in his. Slowly, so he enunciated every word, he said, “I’m going - to get - her back. You have my word.” He held your gaze for a moment before he looked just over your shoulder. “Get her outta here, Pops.” 

You tirelessly struggled against Mo Poppernak’s hands as he tried to ‘help’ you out of the truck. “I’ve got it,” you grumbled. As soon as your feet were safely on the gravel, the deputy closed the door and Beau flipped it into reverse. 

You prayed he knew what he was doing. 

Surprise! I’m dropping this a day ahead of schedule, because tomorrow is super hectic for me and I just can’t wait any longer (Team No Chill, over here). Thank you for all of the feedback, likes and shares on the last part. I hope I am keeping you hooked! As always, I would love any feedback you may have for me, or just your thoughts and feelings as you read <3. I appreciate you! New installments posted on Wednesdays and Saturdays! (Minus today, where I’m posting a day early [depending on where you are in the world when you read it!]).

A preview of the next chapter:

There were multiple deputies coming and going from your home. Mo seemed to be the constant—he was the only one who actually came inside. He wanted to make sure you had water and he tried to get you to eat (tried being the key word). But you were glued to the television. The search had begun, but they weren’t showing much. You had only seen Beau once on your screen, but you assumed they were trying to be inconspicuous with where they searched, just in case Jackson was watching. 

Matt, the FBI agent, had stopped by. You assured him you didn’t know anything about the press conference or the search. The anger you felt around Beau ditching you had mostly diminished. But now it was replaced by anxiety, fear and despair. 

Mo had been gracious enough to close Bailey’s bedroom door when he spotted you staring from the doorway with tears falling down your face. 

“She’s probably cold and tired,” you muttered as he approached. 

“It’s going to be okay, ma’am. We’re going to find her,” his words were meant to be comforting, but you knew he couldn’t make you any promises.

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[transformationsproject]

Today’s Legislative Updates February 17, 2025

Trans rights are still under attack in the United States. Please visit our website linked below to learn about your state and contact your reps. Here's a thread of today's updates:

Bathroom bills deny access to public restrooms by gender or trans identity. 

They increase danger without making anyone any safer and have even prompted attacks on cis and trans people alike. Many national health and anti-sexual assault organizations oppose these bills.

New Bills:

West Virginia introduced bathroom bill SB456 last Thursday and sent it to the Senate Judiciary Committee.

Old Bills:

Kentucky sent bill HB5 to the House Judiciary Committee last Friday.

Utah’s governor signed bill HB0269 into law last Friday.

Mississippi sent bill HB188 to the Senate Corrections Committee last Friday.

North Dakota sent bill HB1144 to the Senate Education Committee last Friday.

Healthcare bills go against professional and scientific consensus that gender-affirming care saves lives. Denying access will cause harm.

Providers are faced with criminal charges, parents are threatened with child abuse charges, and intersex children are typically exempted.

New Bills:

Rhode Island introduced bill S0270 last Thursday and sent it to the Senate Health and Human Services Committee. This is a healthcare ban that also  includes a provider liability extension.

Texas filed bill SB1257 last Thursday, This bill requires insurance to cover de-transitioning and to cover any adverse effects from gender-affirming care - something already required by default.

Old Bills:

Utah gave bill HB0252 its second Senate floor reading last Thursday.

Georgia sent bill SB39 to the House Health Committee last Thursday.

Georgia passed bill SB30 through its committee last Thursday and sent it to the Senate floor.

Montana passed bill SB218 through its second Senate floor reading last Saturday.

Drag Bans restrict access for folks who are gender non-conforming in any way. 

They loosely define "drag" as any public performance with an “opposite gender expression,” as sexual in nature, and inappropriate for children. 

This also pushes trans individuals out of public spaces.

Old Bills:

Wyoming sent bill HB0134 over to the Senate last Thursday.

Educational Censorship and Student Suppression bills force schools to misgender or deadname students, ban instruction on sexual orientation and gender identity, and make schools alert parents if they suspect a child is trans.

They remove life-saving affirmation and support for trans youth. 

New Bills:

Idaho introduced educational censorship bill H0239 last Friday.

Kentucky introduced anti-DEI bill SB165 last Thursday and sent it to the Senate Committee on Committees Committee.

California introduced educational censorship bill AB600 last Friday.

West Virginia introduced educational censorship and forced misgendering bill SB424 last Thursday and sent it to the Senate Education Committee.

Texas filed educational censorship bill HB2846 last Friday.

Old Bills:

Kentucky sent bill HB4 to the House Postsecondary Education Committee last Friday.

Mississippi sent bill HB1193 to the Senate Universities and Colleges Committee last Friday.

South Dakota failed to pass bill HB1201 on the Senate floor last Thursday. The bill’s sponsors will likely try again after amending it.

Texas sent bill SB983 to the Senate Education K-16 Committee last Thursday.

Trans Erasure bills create legal definitions of terms like “sex” designed to exclude or erase trans identity and insert them into various laws. This can have many different effects, depending on what laws are affected.

They can force a male or female designation based on sex assigned at birth.

Some target anti-discrimination statutes, legally empowering trans discrimination. 

New Bills:

Minnesota introduced trans erasure bill HF700 last Thursday and sent it to the House Judiciary Finance and Civil Law Committee.

Old Bills:

Tennessee sent bill HB1271 to the House Judiciary Committee last Friday. 

Most sports bills force schools to designate teams by sex assigned at birth. 

They are often one-sided and ban trans girls from playing on teams consistent with their gender identity.

Some egregious bills even force invasive genital examinations on student athletes.

New Bills:

Rhode Island introduced sports bill S0304 last Thursday and sent it to the Senate Judiciary Committee.

Old Bills:

Utah passed bill HB0424 through its committee last Friday and sent it to the House floor.

Indiana passed bill HB1041 through its committee last Thursday and sent it to the House floor.

In other bills that either fit multiple categories or stand on their own, we have:

New Bills:

Missouri introduced bill SB704 last Wednesday. This bill prevents refusal to accept a child’s gender identity from being defined as child abuse and from being considered when deciding custody.

West Virginia introduced anti-DEI bill SB474 last Friday and sent it to the Senate Judiciary Committee.

Old Bills:

West Virginia bill HB2033 had a hearing today in the House Human Services Committee.

Utah passed bill HB0283 through the House last Friday and introduced it in the Senate.

It's not too late to stop these and other hateful anti-trans bills from passing into law. YOU can go to http://transformationsproject.org/ to learn more and contact your representatives!

[peterparkersnose]

Needy

Part 2 to Give In

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut (f receiving oral), broken leg, pain, depression, anxiety, longing, needy joel, reunion of sorts, cringe nickname from maria, malnutrition, descriptions of not eating and weight loss and physical changes due to that, brief grief

a/n hi i wrote smut. god help me, i hated writing it. i hope you guys like it, i tried to make it somewhat good. this takes place after the first game, or when the series ends. spoilers definitely. the middle where you don’t see ellie and joel for the four years there just living in jackson, right when joel comes back from saving ellie.

summary Y/N gets invited to Jackson by her Aunt Maria

masterlist

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read time: 12 mins 25 seconds

After a few days you realized Joel wasn’t coming back. The sad realization sink in and really took its toll on you. FEDRA officers came to make sure you weren’t dead in your apartment, and with that made you go back to work.

Same day, over and over again once again. Take care of the babies in the QZ. Watch people get hung in the square. Eat the same, boring, disgusting meal FEDRA gave to you. Live in the empty memories that lingered all over town.

Tess was gone too. You figured they were both dead in a ditch or moved on to something better and bigger than this damn QZ. Part of you wondered if Joel just wanted an out; if he was sick of having you as a responsibility and left because of you. And it ate you alive.

It had been a month. You were still trying to reach your Aunt over the radio, just as Joel had been trying to reach his brother. It’s something the two of you bonded over the last few weeks he was here. Your Aunt Maria was located somewhere out west. You weren’t really sure where, but you knew she was still alive. You felt her spark. Ever since your mom and your uncle died when you were small, she had watched you until she was promised a ‘better life’ somewhere in… Wyoming? Montana? Idaho? You weren’t sure. She left you in the QZ because she thought it would be better for your safety. You were a preteen at the time, and for what it was worth it was probably a better idea than to track across country.

Sitting, scrolling through channels you hopelessly looked for Maria’s signal. She always used the lower frequencies, usually this specific one you were listening to. Just as you were about to click the machine off, you heard it.

“Lovebug?”

You gasped and cheered. Lovebug is what she called you when you were younger, a nickname of sorts.

“Auntie?” you called back, hoping this wasn’t one of your delusions seeping back in. “I’m here!” she called. You could hear a group of people cheering in the back.

She gave you a quick set of coordinates and cut off communication. It was brief and that hurt, but life finally had its purpose back. No more Joel, no more overthinking, no more hurting from how he left you.

-

You basically crawled towards the gate of Jackson. Unsure if this was even the right place, you hoped your topography skills were as good as you thought they were. From stealing four cars, foraging for gas (which there was barely any of) and walking over three thousand miles, you prayed this place was anything close to heaven. You had avoided getting bitten or scratched, but killing countless infected on the way. At least you would get to see your Aunt one last time.

The people had their guns pointed at you as you expected. “P-please.” you pleaded with your hands up. You were sure to be almost unrecognizable. Hair was greasy and matted, you had lost a significant amount of weight, and your clothes were tattered. Even in the apocalypse you liked to stay neat, but at this point in your journey you had stopped caring.

“Maria—she’s my a-aunt.”

“I’m going to need Maria at the east gate along with a medic. Stat.” a person called through the radio. The doors opened slightly.

“Y/N?” you heard your Aunt cry. You raised your head enough to see her run towards you. She held you in her arms and cried. The medics were weary behind her, letting this sweet family reunion continue.

You hugged her and tried to hold on to her shoulders the best you could. There was something different. Blinking a few times to get the icicles out of your eyelashes that had formed you realized she was pregnant.

“Y-your pregnant?” you asked. She shook her head and smiled. “I have a lot to explain. I’ll come with you to med.”

They had a makeshift stretcher with a thick piece of fabric held together by two refined pieces of wood. A blanket was placed over you as they carried you across this town. From what you could see, you were in heaven. Dead, no longer here. This whole thing was a mirage.

“It’s real, I promise you honey.” Maria assured you. “H-how?”

“I can explain once your stable. You’ve been out in the cold for too long.”

You closed your eyes, praying it wasn’t for the last time.

Awake. Is what you were. You weren’t sure where, or how, but you were awake. It was dark outside. The little log cabin you were in had a curtain hanging to divide you from other stations and medical supplies. You tried to move.

Your leg was stiff. A large groan escaped from you as you tried to move it.

“No,” you heard from your side. A man sat there. He had dark hair that was longer than the usual cut. His thick black mustache sat upon his lip. He had a tanned skin tone and from what you heard, a thick southern accent that reminded you of Joel. What was a southerner doing so far North?

“Try not to move it. You got a small fracture. Nothing serious, but you will be in the boot for a few weeks.”

His eyes darted to the medical walking boot that sat against the wall. “Who are you? Where is Maria?”

He chuckled at your enthusiasm. “I’m Tommy, Maria’s husband.”

It started to click. “Oh,”

Didn’t Joel mention his brothers name was Tommy? Or was it Timmy. You couldn’t remember. A southerner out west, you doubted it was the brother Joel was looking for. God, why are you still thinking about him? Even now, after you nearly died crossing the country? Sneaking out of the QZ? You were ashamed that your first thought after a brush with death was Joel Miller.

“I let her get some rest, she was here all day. It’s a lot of stress you know…”

Tommy was baiting to see if you knew. “For the baby.” you confirmed.

He shook his head. “Crazy, isn’t it?” he said.

Tommy explained Jackson. How it was functional, safe, and everyone was happy. Maria was right, this was heaven. He explained that there wasn’t any availability in Jackson at the moment, but Maria insisted of inviting you after she found out she was pregnant. Tommy explained something about jealousy and families, but it didn’t make sense to you. Apparently he had just gotten some family back, and Maria wanted hers back too. Since there was no availability, you were going to be staying with a girl in her house. Her name was Ellie. She was quite a few years younger than you, but Maria thought your personalities would get along well. You trusted your Aunt’s judgement, but was concerned when you found out you were to be living with a fifteen year old.

“Get some shut eye. I can help you move in tomorrow. It’s gon’ be difficult on that boot.”

-

It was early morning and Tommy was walking back to his house. Jackson was almost silent, besides for the early birds chirping in the trees and the sounds of the chefs getting ready for breakfast in the nearby mess hall. He stopped in front of Joel’s house and sighed. The large, two story garage behind the house is where Ellie lived, and where you would be staying until they could build you a house. But building a house took time and resources. He prayed that you and Ellie got along. It was either living with Ellie or Joel—Ellie definitely seemed like the safe choice in that situation. Joel wasn’t too friendly to strangers.

Slowly, he entered his own home. Maria was asleep on the couch, cradling her stomach. Tommy watched his beautiful wife for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall. She seemed so peaceful in that moment. Maria was due in a few weeks, and Tommy knew he wouldn’t have the luxury of this for much longer.

“Maria,” he whispered, stroking his hand over her hair and gently waking her up. She jolted awake, like most people did in this world, and was at ease when she found out it was just Tommy.

She put her coat on and grabbed the one she had gotten for you and followed her husband to the medic ward.

“Good morning,” Maria announced, dropping the coat on your stomach. This woke you. Groggily, you looked up at your Aunt with a displeased face. Tommy reached for the boot in the corner. You slowly moved your legs off the bed, groaning in pain. “Are you sure you don’t have anything for the pain?” you gasped. “Not for pain like this, I’m sorry.” Maria assured you. Tommy slowly guided your leg in to the medical boot and tightly strapped it close.

All night you had prepared for the depression that was going to follow with this damned boot. Not being able to move around, depending on others. It hurt too much to start to care about someone else, let alone have them take care of you. You hated to admit it, but this town could be gone within the span of a day.

“Now, you won’t need crutches. Give it a go.” Tommy said, extending his hands to you. They were coarse and dry, and that was a bit off putting to you. The second you put pressure down on your leg it felt like fire was streaming in your veins. Maria noticed your face tense and your hand grip harder on her husbands forearms. You sat back down on the bed, subduing your pain somewhat. “Shit,” Tommy sighed. “Do you think it was worse than we thought? Could the doctor have measured it wrong?” Maria whispered to Tommy. You heard bits and pieces of their conversation after that, but all you could focus on was your leg throbbing.

Ultimately, the two of them decided to get a wheelchair for you to use temporarily and be on strict bed rest. Yay.

“I dunno how I’m supposed to…” Maria said, grunting as she began to lift the handles of your wheelchair. “Don't!” Tommy yelled, stopping his very pregnant wife from potentially harming herself or the baby. “You wait here, lemme get Joel.”

Ice seemed to jolt through your veins when he said that. “Joel?” you asked suddenly in an alarmed tone. Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, he can help us get down the steps.”

You froze as Tommy began to walk away. You looked up at Maria.

“What’s his last name?”

“Miller. He did spend some time in the Boston QZ… maybe you’ll recognize him.”

No no no no, no no no. This cannot be happening. This is a fever dream, you convinced yourself. This isn’t happening. This isn't real.

“You alright?” Maria asked, looking down from behind you. She was concerned at your lack of response. As she asked that, Tommy began to return. And along side him walked the man you had to convince yourself you weren't in love with.

Maybe he wouldn't recognize you.

You had lost a significant amount of weight. You sliced off half of the length of your hair while you made your journey just simply because it was annoying. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize you. You prayed he didn't. Oh god, what if he thought you were the weird stalker girl who followed him here simply because she wanted to be with him? That’s terrifying. Stalkers existed in the fungal world, but you weren't one in the real world.

“This Ellie’s new roommate?”

His voice filled your skin with goosebumps. Not looking up, you kept your eyes glued on your feet in the wheelchair footrests. “Yup, she’s all yours.” Maria said chipperly, giving Joel jurisdiction to the wheelchair handles. Tommy counted down from four as the two men struggled to make a clear way down the wooden steps of the medical ward. Hearing Joel grunt brought back to many explicit memories, it honestly made your core begin to warm. Joel wheeled you all the way to a house. “Your gon’ have to build a ramp,” Tommy teased Joel. Joel sighed, picking up the wheelchair once again in synch with Tommy as they struggled to make sure your wheels didn’t bump the old, cracked wooden stairs of the house.

As they wheeled you inside the house, the two middle aged men were out of breathe.

“You know…” Joel said, catching his breathe by holding on to the side of his wall. “Those damned brick stairs are gonna be hell. If she wants, she’s welcome to my couch until she’s well enough to walk.”

As Tommy spun around your wheelchair, your eyes met with Joel’s for the first time in over five months.

And he recognized you. Oh, he totally recognized you. His facial structure seemed to shift as he realized that the girl he just offered to live on his couch was you.

“Alright,” Tommy said, not realizing what was going on. His smooth voice luckily interrupted the longing look you and Joel were sharing. “I’m gonna go fix you up some breakfast from the mess hall. You good from here?” You nodded your head slowly.

“Don’t bother, I got plenty here.” Joel offered. Your eyes widened, realizing he wanted to get you alone with him. “You sure?” Tommy questioned. “Go find your wife, take her to a nice breakfast.” Joel suggested. Tommy agreed and promptly left the house.

Joel sat in an old recliner across from you. Your finger scratched at the old medical sticker stuck to the wheelchair’s arm.

“How did-” “Are you-”

The two of you let out an embarrassed scoff. “You go,” he offered. “No you-” you insisted. After bantering for a few seconds, Joel broke the awkwardness.

“How did you find me?”

You sighed. So you did come off as the stalker-ish, jealous girl. “It’s not like that, I promise you. M-Maria is my aunt, the one I was trying to find when…”

“When I was searchin’ for Tommy, yeah.” Joel finished your sentence. “She invited me here, gave me coordinates. I didn’t know you were here until five minutes ago, Joel.”

His name sounded weird coming off your lips after filling your head for so many months. Joel let out a sigh of relief. “You look different,”

“Yeah, well two months across country with almost no food and no ammo can change a person.”

He sighed. “And you…?” he asked, gesturing for you to ask your question.

“Are you mad?”

Joel chuckled.

“Your wondering if I’m mad?”

“Well yeah, I mean we didn't necessarily end on good terms.”

“Good terms?” Joel laughed. “I thought about that damned kiss for months, Y/N.”

A smile sparked to your lips, but slowly left when you remembered. Tess.

“And where is Tess? I’m sure she would be happy to see me.”

Joel’s eyes darted to the floor.

“She didn’t make it,” he said bluntly.

Memories flooding back of the good times you and Tess had made you sad. She was gone. The closest thing you had to a friend was Tess.

“Well,” Joel said, breaking the awkward silence. “Would you like some breakfast? Better than those sardines…” You chuckled a bit.

“Will you help me?” you asked, looking now up at Joel. He nodded, reaching out for your hands. He pulled you up, and the wheelchair rolled backwards. As you tried to steady yourself, the movement of the wheelchair put you off and you began to slip. “Shit,” you yelped as your boot hit the floor. Joel them promptly picked you up under the armpits and held you up unnaturally high. Naturally, your good leg wrapped around his waist, as the other one did its best attempt at following your other leg. His hands rested under your butt, one hand grasping on to it. You now looked down at him as he held you. “Giving me flashbacks,” you chuckled, a hand coming to steady yourself on his back. The other hand traveled just below his hairline on his neck. It was within seconds that Joel’s mouth was on yours.

He was eager. He hadn’t been with you for a good seven months. He needed something, even if it was just a taste of you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling away. “I missed that.”

Your hand had traveled up his head, now grasping his graying hair. Both of your breaths were heavy. “Joel,” you whispered. “Please.”

He nodded and slowly put you down on the couch. Your leg hit the ground with an oompf. He stood in front of you. The bulge in his pants was very prominent.

“May I?” he asked you, coming down to his knees. Joel was never this respectful back in Boston. He would take what he wanted when he wanted, with your consent of course. He never asked for permission because he was always confident that he had it; and he did. Something in him had changed. It was very obvious that it did. You weren't sure if it was Tess’s passing, the brutal crossing of the country, or the argument the two of you had before. But something had definitely changed.

With the confirmation he was granted, he slowly lifted your butt off the sofa to remove your pants. Once your pants were by your thighs he yanked them off. One leg stayed trapped over your boot. There was the Boston Joel coming back, seeping through this new shell of a man he was. Your panties were soaked per usual. “Always so wet for me,” Joel muttered, pushing your stomach back on the couch. He took his middle finger and pushed your panties aside, but also coming back and giving a quick swipe between your folds. A soft moan came from your lips. You adjusted yourself so that you were on full display. Your hips rocked back as Joel wettened his fingers from you. His other hand rested on your thigh, holding it firmly as his thumb made soft circles on your inner thigh, dangerously close. You stirred as he finally inserted two fingers. “J-Joel…” you moaned, clenching around him.

“Just like that,” he said, slowly pumping in and out. “Good girl.”

The praise was almost enough to send you over the wall. He never gave you anything like this back in Boston. It was always to satisfy himself. You feel like this time Joel really, truly cared. He moved his hand from your thigh to your lower back, moving yourself closer to his face. His thumb brushed circles around your clit. “Do you want it?” he asked you. You looked down to his eager eyes. They seemed to melt at the sight of you. You shook your head. “With words…”

Boston Joel’s dominance had returned. “Y-yes.”

“Manners?” he asked, giving another deep circle around your clit. “Please, Joel. Please.”

You knew he liked when you used his name. “Good job,”

His tongue softly darted to your folds. A plethora of slurred swears and moans came from you as he began to eat you out. The sucking and slurping noises were almost pathetic; Joel was so needy. Both of his hands rested on your thighs, tightly holding on. As he took a second to re gain some air, his lips moaned against your clit. That was almost enough to make you cum. He licked his lips, and went back in. This time he could tell you were close. You were already contracting and he could feel the release building up in your core. “Come on baby, beg for it.”

“Let me cum Joel, please! I-I… please!”

He pulled away and kissed your folds. “Since you asked so nicely,”

His tongue seemed to dissolve inside of you as your orgasm began to hit you. “So good, good job baby. Ride it out.” he said, moving away from you. His thumb delved into your clit that made your legs begin to shake. “It’s okay, you got it.” Joel re assured you, holding down your knee on your injured jeg so it wouldn’t hurt. Once you came down from your high, he helped you put your pants back on. Slowly, he helped you get up and pulled your pants back up to your waist.

Holding you in his arms, the two of you stood.

“God, how I missed this.”

“God, how I missed you.”

-

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @mandoloriancookie @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25 @nyotamalfoy @milly-louise  @undeniableadrenaline @evyiione @qualitypudding @jmillerswife @mxtokko @randomstory56 @misshoneypaper​ @sloanexx @jbcalway​​

[martiancount1877]

jokes

What do Barack Obama and George W. Bush Jr have in common?

They both love Dick.

---

What do Israeli Jews have in common with Palestinian Muslims?

They both hate Turtle Necks.

---

How many Jews does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

None, the shabbos goy will do it.

---

Why did Eve give Adam a bite from the apple instead of something nicer?

Man hadnt yet invented the housewife.

---

How many hours does it take to walk across Alabama, Arizona, Arkansas, Colorado, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Michigan, Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New Mexico, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, West Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming, respectively?

No idea, I fly over.

---

There are plenty of fish in the sea, they said.

I'm no ichthyophile.

---

What do you call a gay country fella with a thick booty?

Hubba Bubba

---

How much beer does a dolphin drink?

5 cans

---

What game do Dwayne Johnson, the Pope & Ellen Degeneres play?

Rock, Papal, Scissors

---

What does a gay Cholo and Asian men have in common?

They love doing their éses

---

How do transpeople cross the road?

One splat at a time.

---

Nothing worse than getting fired,

from a canon.

---

What's John Oliver's drunk irish cousin's name?

Seán O'MacLiver

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What do women and transwomen have in common?

Nothing.

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What do proud and out gays and indians have in common?

They love holding hands with men.

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Recently a family of indian immigrants got food poisoning at an lgbt restaurant.

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What do they call jokes in india?

Delhihihihihi

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Fin

[doueverwonder]

me: man I have no motivation to write :\

me, sees this post by @welcome-under-the-table: wow I have the worst idea known to man.

anyway I wrote a really cracky technically nsfw fic, there's nothing explicit but I'm still kindly requesting minors stay away. All but like I think 2 states are mentioned? Have fun, I wrote this in an hour and a half.

(also shant if you want me to untag you or even delete this all together just let me know haha)

~~~~~

The all state meetings were a bit more rare than region, belt, or any other assorted states meeting. By consequence they usually had afterparties, they started off normal enough but always spiraled into something ridiculous. This time it was playing ‘never-have-I-ever’, it started tame enough, most states targeting others with specific instances; but once the floodgates opened there was no stopping it. 

With so many people playing it took awhile to get around the circle, but everyone was on their third never-have-I-ever and it had come back around to North Dakota. “Never have I everrr…um” they stopped looking around the room trying to figure out something that hadn’t been said yet, targeting specific states wasn’t really fun anymore, far more fun was saying the most outlandish things and by proxy getting states to admit to things they wouldn’t otherwise. Their eyes settled on Virginia just long enough to come up with one, “Oh! Never have I ever slept with all of the original thirteen” 

Most questions like this were met with plenty of laughter, a state or two trying to discreetly take the shot to stay unnoticed, this one however was a long silence, most of the laughter coming from the thirteen. 

No one had taken one yet when Oregon raised his hand, “Like all in one night or different instances” 

North Dakota thought about it for a second, “Either works” 

Despite the clarification question there was another long silence, they would have moved on if the thirteen weren’t still trying to stifle laughter, like they knew something no one else did and didn’t want anyone to know. 

“God, you’re all so bad at this” Nevada was the first to take a shot, she grinned widely “Massachusetts ego IS compensating by the way” then mouthed something, her fingers pinched together. This finally spurred more laughter from everyone, except Mass, whose face was quickly turning an unhealthy shade of red. 

Florida threw a shot back, before adding loudly “So is Jerseys!” 

Another wave of laughter, halfway through it California took the next one, but promptly launched into a lecture: “The obsession with size is really silly. I mean, at the very least it's an unfair standard–”

“Who was the best fuck Cal?” someone–no one really paid attention to who–interrupted. 

California answered the question without pause, “New York, but as I was saying–” 

The assortment of laughter, whistles, and jokes that followed drowned out whatever he was going to say next. New York wouldn’t have heard anyway, too busy being smug towards Massachusetts and New Jersey. Once most of the chatter died down, and California accepted he wasn’t going to be able to finish his speech everyone seemed ready to move onto the next question, some quite anxiously. 

“Now hold on,” North Carolina interrupted before South Dakota was even able to come up with a new question, “I don’t think we’re done with that one yet” 

It got quiet again, no one else willing yet to admit it. Not before someone else did. “C’mon y’all,” South Carolina added, “Game ain’t no fun if you don’t answer truthfully” 

Texas made sure to find each of the thirteen and look them in the eyes personally before declaring “All y’all are whores” and taking a shot. 

“Fuck it” Washington took the next one, Montana shrugging and falling in line taking the next as well as handing one to Wyoming, who dropped his head shaking it for a moment before downing it. At the very least guilty by omission. 

“Seven?!” North Dakota seemed overly excited, “what's the most out with one question so far?” 

“Oh we aren’t done yet” Pennsylvania was the next of the thirteen to speak. 

Now at least that the ball was rolling it was easier for people to come out with it, Ohio sticking his tongue out at Pennsylvania before taking his, Illinois did as well, then the most surprising–at least yet–Indiana added to the conversation; “I don’t like that we all didn’t just do this when the question was asked and instead are doing this individual humiliation thing” then took his. 

Tennessee held his up to Kentucky to cheers, except Kentucky put his hands up; “Be a cold day in hell before you get me in bed with Virginia” 

This unfortunately was overheard by Mississippi who was mid-admission-of-guilt-drink and laughed hard enough to get it up his nose. 

Alabama did his best to stifle his laughter when asking, “You alright?” 

Mississippi was leaned over, trying to hide from everyone watching him and also combat the absolutely horrid burning sensation; “I just admitted to getting gangbanged and have vodka up my nose, I’m just dandy” 

Alabama rolled his eyes at the sarcasm, and took a drink hoping Mississippi’s unfortunate predicament would distract everyone from him. There was a clink as Michigan, Wisconsin and Minnesota cheered before all drinking. Little did anyone know they had prepared for this exact scenario while on one of their fishing trips, you run out of stuff to talk about eventually, and they had decided they would go down together if it ever came up. 

North Dakota did another count, “That’s 17… how many states have you all slept with?” 

“Thirty-Two” New Hampshire answered casually, “And I think the better statement would be ‘how many states have slept with all of us?’” 

Vermont was sitting snuggled up next to New Hampshire, having been the actual first to drink, no one was watching though so only Hamp had noticed; “I don’t think the wording matters too much” 

“It absolutely does V” 

Nebraska took the next drink, sitting not far from the two “Now is certainly a time to act like an old married couple. We’re talking about your husbands affairs Vermont,” 

“It’s not an affair if I know about them” Vermont winked, making New Hampshire’s blush harder to hide and enticing a couple laughs from people close enough to hear. 

Speaking of affairs, “It was before I met Illithiya” Utah felt the need to announce before taking a drink… it wasn’t even alcohol, Utah was still sitting on this funny line where he would break some rules but not others. So he was just drinking soda water, and instead of ‘play until you're too drunk’ he had ten then was out. 

Colorado raised his hand, “What if you don’t entirely remember you have, like you’re pretty sure but also–” 

“You have” all of the thirteen answered in sync, giving each other looks over having all answered at once. 

“Oh! Sick” Colorado took a shot. New Mexico tried not to roll his eyes too hard, he had spent the last ten minutes watching Coco try to count to thirteen and fail miserably, it was almost sad regardless of how drunk one was. He and Arizona had been so entranced by it they had to be reminded there was still a question to answer. Of course like everyone before they both took a shot.

Oklahoma tried to discreetly take a drink, Texas noticed and started laughing. “Oh hush! Y’ain’t no better than me!” 

“Sure I am,” Texas answered, “I topped more than you did” 

“Oh bless your heart” Georgia smiled pitifully at Texas, “I think your memories are goin’ bad” 

Texas went red all the way to his ears, while Oklahoma fell off the couch from laughing so hard. 

Florida had been having fun watching the chaos unfold as everyone admitted to it, he had a sneaking feeling it was way more than anyone could have guessed but this was wonderful. 

“C’mon Loui, everyone else is going your turn I know you’ve–”

“Not Mass” Louisiana countered, “That’s my brothers brother, couldn’t do that to Maine” 

“Thanks?” Maine asked, though he sounded confused, honestly he had never really thought about if he would mind Loui and Mass being romantically or… he shivered, otherly, involved with each other. He appreciated the sentiment though. 

Oregon despite being the one to have asked the question that finally spurred people answering hadn’t drank yet himself. All his neighbors had except for the one whos opinion he cared about most; 

“Have you done it?” Idaho asked, looking over the thirteen in the same way most states had in the past couple minutes. 

“Have you?” Oregon asked without answering. They both just looked at each other for a long moment, then laughed and both drank. 

“This is crazy!” North Dakota said to South, “I didn’t think this many people would have to drink over this one” 

“Yeah… crazy,” South answered, looking at his drink. He didn’t really care if North knew about it, what he did care about was the fact that North hadn’t and in drinking he was technically admitting defeat. It wouldn’t be as bad if anyone else had asked the question. He was faced with a horrible decision, cheat or admit defeat to his twin… yeah he was going to cheat. “Good thing I’ve never done it” 

“Like you could dream of getting that many people to like you!” North joked, South looked him directly in the eyes and drank. 

“Welp, I feel left out” Iowa stated watching almost all his neighbors admit to it, right after he took not one, but two shots, mumbling about how he wasn’t going to admit to it but now that everyone else was he felt like he had to. 

Missouri, Arkansas, and Kansas were the only three left; everyone else had either denied it or drank. They were the holdout. Missouri was the first of the three to cave, admitting to have slept with all of them but heavily noting it was not in one night. 

Maryland tried not the laugh, “Y’all everyone knows the number, and you two are the only ones left” 

Both seemed to realize this at the same time and both sheepishly took a shot; “I kept my dignity longest though” Arkansas looked for some sort of victory, counting the fact that he set his glass down after Kansas as a win. 

“I guess I’m the only one left” Everyone jumped a bit having entirely forgotten Alaska was there, he took a swig out of a flask, no one was entirely sure what was in it but he had been using it the whole game so far. “That’s 32” 

North Dakota just sat there in absolute shock, they had expected to get two or three out with this question, not over half the states. “What is up with this anyway?” 

Virginia smiled, joking “Didn’t you hear? Ain’t a real state til you’ve slept with all the thirteen”

[firefly-ace]

i like folksy country songs about alcohol, the land, and guns but not in a RAAAAA AMURICA!!🦅🦅🇺🇸🇺🇸🏈🏈🍺🍺🍺 way, moreso in a i’m a lesbian 1870’s cowboy in wyoming or Montana; maybe even napping against a tree trunk as the law chases after me, unable to find me because they think i’m off doing something dangerous and exciting but i’m just sketching my horse.

[atomicwinnerdreamland]

I didn't expect "Table News: 104 Ways to Ruin Our Planet" to be coated with Valentine's Day energy, but it is :D This is probably my fav interaction on there:

California: I got the video [of Gov falling], who wants it?

Gov: Et tu, California?

California: Dude, I tolerate you at best.

New York: Gimme that vid, imma play it at Times Square.

Poor Gov, even California wouldn't wanna be friends with him :( but on a side note, California and New York are gossip buddies and I just KNOW they have those nights where they eat dinner together in each other's rooms and talk about the latest tea. Sometimes these turn into dates ☺️ they are too lovely omgg

To add onto the episode (and kinda off-topic), but get yourself someone that'll love you the way Louisiana loves Florida: Flo was saying something ridiculous like, "Make the guy that punched your mayor your new mayor" and Loui added onto it by saying, "Yeah you right, my Mayor stopped a fight at a show." Loui is always ready to add onto Florida's shenanigans; they love each other so much i swear-

And Montana/Wyoming arguing about the flooding (they're adorable) and the West Coast wanting the water... lowkey I wish someone would want me the same way the west coast wants water

This Table News was so Valentine's Day coded, at least that's how I see it lol. Happy Valentine's Day to you 💗

[olderthannetfic]

/724781513472868352 I resonate with this on a deep level. I get told at college all the time that I don't look LGBT+ (they refuse to say queer, respectability politics is a helleva drug), I don't act it, no queer person is into my major or my hobbies, and it's weird that I'm queer but not into astrology or dressing more aesthetically ("are you a cottagecore or a dark academia gay?" I'm neither I'm a me) or playing Pokemon because outgrowing Pokemon is for cishets. People talk about gays/LGBT+ not being able to drive or do math or sit normally and then act like I'm some kind of ridiculous weirdo for not laughing at what they assure me is a true statement that does not apply to them or to me. People encourage me to experiment with my style or hair and "come out of your shell". I am informed I need to listen to certain musicians because all LGBT+ people are into them. It's weird that I'm not. It's even weirder I don't like The Owl House or hate Steven Universe or keep up with Heartstopper like the good queers do.

Basically it all boils down to, "Why can't you be more normal? Why can't you be like us?"

Because I'm not. My dad is a Pashtun Muslim and my mother is a Bukharan Jew. I have lived in the Deep South half my life and Wyoming the other half. My media interests are unrelated to queer rep and wholly based on liking the plots of things. I grew up on oldies and TV shows like Starsky and Hutch that my parents loved, pirated and played on repeat. I don't believe in astrology, I'm not a witch and I'm not an atheist with a Christocentric worldview who assumes all religions are Christianity Lite. I don't listen to the correct musicians mostly because I discover music entirely by accident and have a mishmash of genres and bands in rotation. Pokemon fell off and I'm not into it. I would sooner die than dye my Pashtun red hair that people made fun of me for as a kid. I like wearing button downs, clean shirts, nice jeans and my Magen David. None of this is incompatible with being queer. No one is going to kick me out of a gay club for not having played Pokemon Violet or listening to Tracy Chapman or trusting in science over crystals for healing.

And I really hate that after years of being avoided and pitied in high school by jackass backwards rednecks for being weird, I got to my dream university, the university in the most liberal city in Montana, and get the same fucking treatment.

Commenters like the one anon mentioned remind me of all the people who act like I'm doing it wrong. What is 'it', in that sentence? Living my life. Being queer. And when it crops in fandom - and I've gotten it sometimes for writing queer characters who are like me, Southern and into uncool shit and not sharp dressers and religious - it just makes me want to start screaming.

I am queer. I am not incorrectly queer. I am who I am and therefore, because I am queer, that is a correct way to do queerness.

Some gripes about Gen Z are overblown but this weirdly narrow view of what queerness is allowed to look like or be is 100% as awful as other generations say it is and it's fucking exhausting to live through. I don't have to sit differently in order to be doing queerness right or be unable to drive. I exist and I am queer and that is all I need to do and be.

I wish fandom was different from real life. I wish it was more open to the reality that queer people have a multitude of backgrounds and lived experiences. We're facing enough shit IRL, can't we just have one place where we're NICE to each other?

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As a 40+ queer, I'm laughing myself sick at the current crop of "required" queer interests.

In my day, it was oldschool cis gay male culture for the men (think being obsessed with Bette Davis) and But I'm a Cheerleader and Dykes to Watch Out For for the women or something.

Not that you have to like any of those things either. It's just hilarious how clueless people are about what's a temporary trend that will probably be different in 5 years.

[theywhoshantbenamed]

Idk if you’ve see the “friend who never responds in the group chat (their location is unknown)” and then it’s pictures of a guy like hiking and canoeing meme but every time I see it I think of Montana, Wyoming & Alaska. They have never responded to the west gc and they aren’t starting now ✌️

lol yeah I’ve seen those

California finding out what Alaska did yesterday by seeing him in his daily news site “Man tracks grizzly bear across twelve counties for stealing his favorite hat” depicted with a photo of Alaska looking the most haphazard he’s ever looked with the rescued ushanka in hand.

Gov will summon Montana and Wyoming and they’d be like “I’m in the middle of something rn” and the something will vary like it could be skydiving it could be staring at the others ass