#blob's miller time

[wajjs]

BLOB'S MILLER TIME: BATMAN: YEAR ONE #1

Originally published one year after The Dark Knight Returns. Written as an attempt to revamp Batman's origin story after the event that was Crisis on Infinite Earths.

For an initial approach to the comic, you can check out the wikipedia page here.

Batman: Year one. Chapter one: WHO I AM / HOW I COME TO BE

Before delving into the comic itself, right from the start we are told the nature of the story that will be told. It will be a revision of a life that's been lived. The initial quote promises a story of greatness, of a hero who overcomes hardship and forges himself anew to fulfill his purpose.

Yet in the title itself of this first issue there's a dichotomy present: the different states of being bring forward the undercurrent of energy brought by the winds of change. The self of "who I am" has the potential to turn into the self it "comes to be".

Even when we are static, we are always changing -- even if in this case the character may be anything but static. This can be reminiscent of the philosophical debate about the nature of the being: is it endless and unchanging at its core (what changes is only the appearance), or is it in a state of permanent change that maintains the dynamic equilibrium of all beings?

The comic itself starts in media res. It begins with the end of a journey, having the incipit be the time and place of the story. And right off the bat (pun intended), we are already told that going to Gotham, being in Gotham, is akin to being sent to hell as punishment. It's what one deserves. It's self torture.

Aside from this, we are presented with the comic's binary pair: Jim Gordon / Bruce Wayne.

I say binary pair because they're both connected, and replacing one with the other would result in a simple inversion of the roles in their status quo. Their stories are also set up in a way that they complement each other, the actions in one serving as backdrop to the happenings in the other.

Aside from that, we are also presented with the idea of Gotham being smokes and mirrors, from afar offering an illusion of civilization and order. Meanwhile, from up close, traveling through it, what can be seen is the true nature of it: the chaos, the danger, the possible enemies that lurk around its streets, hide among the crowds.

The differences in their arrivals to Gotham don't end there. Bruce is native to it, while Jim is moving into it for the first time, and thus he experiences its gnarly nature as a newcomer. While Bruce is composed and arrives with perceived calmness to the airport, surrounded by glitz and glamour and paparazzi, Jim arrives to a packed train station while holding on for dear life to his luggage.

It's a pretty unsubtle nod to their differences in social classes, but the good thing about easy visuals is that they drive the point home faster.

After this, we immediately follow Jim's meeting with the police commissioner, a sketchy man named Loeb. We immediately know he's sketchy because we are treated to a single panel of a tv news show talking about Harvey Dent withdrawing conspiracy charges against Loeb, all after a key witness "mysteriously" disappears.

His corruption is hammered home in obvious ways via having him talk about keeping mistakes away from the media, or not worrying about police (in this case, Jim's) honesty.

As a side note, how many easter eggs/references are in this office? And what fucking kind of office is this?

There's a clown painting. A wine bottle shaped like a penguin, or a bird with a top hat. A traffic stop sign, with a fire hydrant right next to it. A sculpture of The Thinker, but sitting on the toilet. A SNOOPY LAMP.

What's most poignant, however, is the mirror and its shatter pattern that resembles a gunshot, placed right besides/behind Jim's head. This immediately lets us know that, even though he's a cop, Jim is not safe here. He has entered the viper's nest. It's not subtle, but it is still a good visual.

After the meeting is over, we get to see Jim being driven by a fellow coworker named Flass. And, in typical Miller "I do not know how to be subtle" fashion, we are now treated to the comic's first depiction of police brutality:

Here we are privy to Jim's impotence and his reluctance to get involved beyond being a witness to Flass' actions. He knows he can't act just yet. He's biding his time, learning the lay of the land. We are also given an understanding of his standing with the police force and the delicate position he's in: he has moved to Gotham because his past mistakes involved jumping the gun too soon without having enough information.

He knows he can't make the same mistake twice. This time, he's willing to bide his time, even if he does not like what comes with that.

Visually, and in stark contrast to Gordon's colorful and packed scenes, we are given in juxtaposition single panels showing Bruce's side of this story. They all lack color and action, and the rhythm of these scenes are significantly slower. This is the most poignant in this single panel that comes right after the scene of police brutality:

Bruce, alone, kneeling by the place where his parents lay in their final rest.

-

Time skip: it's now one month later in the story. February 12.

Jim's a Lieutenant now. The panels start with harsh action lines, with Jim and Flass inside a police car while they're speeding towards a crime scene. The dialogue shows the changes to how things were a month before: Jim is, from what we can tell, no longer a witness to the things that happen around him. He's cranking down on those around him, showing his teeth, so to speak, and thus jeopardizing his position.

Flass warns him that he needs to relax. It is pretty easy to infer that what Flass is telling Jim is that he needs to stop working so hard, or that he needs to start looking the other way.

Seeking actual justice may not be the way of Gotham PD.

There are three other time skips, the first two within the same month:

February 21: we are shown a short training montage, Rocky IV style. Bruce's appearances are still in juxtaposition to Jim's. Though this time they have color, they're still limited to one panel per action. This makes it so it looks like Bruce is moving slower, like he's taking his time to develop. And, narratively, that is exactly what's happening: while he's training, Bruce recognizes that there's something missing. There's something he has yet to obtain. He's not quite ready yet to make the jump into becoming Batman.

February 26: the build up of tension between Jim and Gotham PD is reaching it's zenith. Now, the corruption of Gotham's police force is in plain view, completely exposed for the viewer to see. The breaking point shows itself when Flass complains to the commissioner about Jim refusing to accept bribes and, instead, suspending other cops for accepting them. The commissioner asks Flass to wait before attacking Jim, to wait two weeks when he'll be gone for a conference.

March 11: Two important things happen:

Bruce makes his first moves into what will later allow him to become Batman. He assumes his first fake persona, dons his first mask.

Jim gets ambushed by the other cops and beaten up by them... as a warning. He sticks out like a sore thumb among the corruption of Gotham and its police force, and he has made a bigger target of himself by refusing to adapt to his new environment, by not letting himself become corrupted as well.

After the scene of the cops attacking Jim, and in something that's a first in this issue, we are now no longer shown all of what happens to Gordon, instead the story switches focus to Bruce and him making his way through the slums of Gotham.

The way he describes everything, it is easy to infer mild disgust coming from his character, as well as there being a clear view of "us" versus "them". Bruce is an outsider to these parts, and even when he tries to fit in, he still sticks out (he gets mistaken for a cop). He can't understand them. He sees them as completely different from what he is.

After getting propositioned by an underage prostitute, Bruce fights her pimp, defeating him easily while Selina Kyle watches on from her window right above the street. The fights, compared to Gordon's scenes, all seem to be moving in slow motion, matching the rhythm of Bruce's thoughts and how he's constantly in deep contemplation. Like he's viewing the world and what's happening around him through a glass that keeps him at least a degree detached from it all.

In the fight, he ends up bringing more attention to himself, failing his initial plans of just getting information and not getting involved in anything. He's attacked by the prostitutes, and he ends up breaking the wrist of the underage girl. This makes it so that Selina jumps from her window and intervenes, and Bruce still tries to reign himself in but ends up making a bigger mess of things:

While fighting with Selina, the cops get there. Bruce gets shot by one of them and he's bleeding severely, while the other cop complains that Bruce was following their order to 'freeze'. This is yet another scene in which we see cops represented in a less than good way, abusing their authority and being too trigger happy.

He's cuffed and shoved in the back of a police car, disoriented by the way he's losing blood fast, until he manages to break out of his handcuffs and attacks the cops from behind, making them crash. While the car is going up in flames, Bruce manages to escape, noting that the fire will reach the gas tank in seconds and only in passing thinking "they probably have families".

(The cops survive.)

He manages to get back to his car and drives away back to the Manor. This is when the point of view changes yet again, using the car as transition. From a closeup of Bruce's bloodied hand turning the key in the ignition to start the car, we are then immediately shown a beaten up Jim driving his police car with a baseball bat in the empty seat right next to him. He's asking about Flass' whereabouts using the police radio and confirming that he was indeed part of the group that came to "soften him up".

Interestingly, this is when Bruce and Gordon's paths actually cross for the first time:

This is also when Bruce finally finds that thing that he's been looking for, the final missing key to his mission:

The next following scenes are the culmination of the buildup that has been laid out throughout the entirety of this issue.

Jim gets his revenge. He waits patiently for Flass to come out of the house he's gambling in, lets him drive away until they're in a lone patch of the road, with no other cars passing by. Jim makes himself known, lets Flass know who he is, and then fights him, knocks him down quickly and efficiently, leaving him injured just enough to make him feel it while keeping him out of the hospital.

He then leaves him naked and cuffed by the side of the road, knowing that Flass won't report him. Knowing that he can count on Flass' pride for that part, and with this done they won't come for his wife, who is pregnant.

Jim now knows what he must do, and what it takes to stay alive in Gotham. What it takes to stay with his head above water in the middle of the corruption of the police force.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Gotham, we have Bruce who finally made it back home, who made it into his father's study and is now bleeding out in his father's chair. In the final scene of this issue, we are finally reaching the crescendo of Bruce's quest for his sense of self and sense of duty. He's finally hitting head on the questions he's been asking himself: what is he, what is he missing, what must he become in order to carry out his mission?

What is his "self"?

This is when we get a first answer to the question posed by the very title of the issue: who am I? How I come to be?

Aimless, without direction, what Bruce needed was a harsh impact with reality, with real life, outside of his contemplative thoughts and solitary training. He needed to almost fail -- no, he needed to be afraid to realize that fear is precisely the element that he's been looking for. That it is the key to the puzzle of who he's meant to be.

And, like this, Batman is finally born.

-

All in all, I think that this first issue is a good attempt at revisiting Batman's origin story. Having the point of view change from Jim to Bruce lets it become more agile to read, while also presenting interesting parallels: either new to Gotham or native to it, the city itself bares its teeth without discrimination to anyone. It's a dangerous place to be in, it is ruled by fear and corruption. And because of it, the self is challenged into either becoming complacent or refusing to become one with the nature of things.

Both Jim and Bruce refuse to give in, to give up on those things that form who they are, their convictions and beliefs. They both now fight an uphill battle. They believe that a change can be made, and so they will cling onto that thought come rain or come shine.

It is also refreshing that, as far as origin stories go, the death of Bruce's parents is only shown in quick flashbacks. Even if Bruce's narration is charged with melancholy and a constant contemplative state, he's moving forward. The past has helped define who he is now, but it does not trap him. He is who he must be in this present.

[jakeotters]

Would you be able to take a request for Scott from Twisters and a reader who is new to Storm Par? The plot and everything else can be up to you

omg yes ofc!! the “scott x reader who’s new to storm par” has been one of my favorite self inserts tbh

An Ego Problem (scott miller x reader)

this ended up being longer than i anticipated

warnings: swearing, scott being an ass (per usual)

a/n: this is my first time writing in a while so i apologize if it’s not the best! also writing for scott means i can use all of my fancy weather knowledge (i’m a meteorology major) and that’s very special to me <3

You aren’t new to storm chasing. You’d grown up in tornado alley— you were more than used to the hell that the sky unleashes.

Tornadoes don’t scare you, you’ve always been fascinated by their power; the way that the atmosphere is capable of creating something that can produce catastrophic damage in a matter of seconds. You were so drawn by it.

But, here you are, driving through the middle of nowhere Oklahoma, and you’re nervous. You don’t know the last time the thought of chasing made you nervous.

“Y/n?”

The sound of your name snaps you out of your thoughts and you blink, your head perking up.

“You nervous?”

Your friend Javi turned his head to look at you, eyes leaving the road momentarily. You’d known Javi since college, and you’d chased with him before, but you were chasing with his crew for the first time this season.

“Nervous? No.”

You turned your head to meet his gaze and managed a smile. You tried to keep from fidgeting, feeling more and more uneasy as you neared the gas station his crew was waiting at.

“You sure? You seem awfully quiet.”

Javi knew you better than anyone, it wasn’t hard to tell that you weren’t yourself. He knew that chasing excited you more than anything, it was weird for you to be so reclusive.

“I’m fine. Promise.”

You didn’t mean to be short with him but you couldn’t help it. Javi shrugged, not believing you but not pushing any further. You swallowed thickly as he pulled into the gas station.

Javi parked before shutting off the truck and hopping out. He opened your door, helping you out of the passenger seat. You stepped out and looked around. Storm chasers were crowded in the parking lot, preparing their instruments and looking at laptops. You watched the groups of chasers as Javi walked you towards where his crew was standing.

You turned to look at his crew as you were introduced. They were dressed in white button downs, Storm Par sewn onto the front pocket of their shirts, shirts tucked into their black pants. You’d never seen storm chasers dressed so neatly. They looked so professional— it was a stark contrast to the chasers around them. Even you could admit that it was a little… odd.

Javi told you where everyone had gone to school, who was with the National Weather Service, who had PhDs, this and that. You scanned the group until your eyes landed on the guy standing in front of you. He was tall, iPad in his hand, hat on his head, and sunglasses hiding his eyes. He was looking at you, the expression on his face serious. Javi said something about him going to MIT. You instantly felt intimidated by him.

“This is Scott,”

Javi put his arm around the tall man, but his expression never changed.

“He makes up for it with his beautiful, amazing personality.”

Scott gave an insincere smile before his face went back to his stern, blank expression. You wondered what his eyes looked like behind the veil of his sunglasses.

“So, y/n, where are we headed?”

Javi took the iPad from Scott and handed it to you. You looked at Javi before looking at the tablet in your hand. A radar image was pulled up, the colorful blobs of developing thunderstorms dotted along the screen.

“I, uh- um-”

You stuttered. Your mind couldn’t seem to focus, it was like you’d forgotten everything you knew about weather and storm chasing. You immediately felt embarrassed as you felt the eyes of Javi and his crew on you, but the feeling of Scott’s eyes focused on you made your cheeks flush bright red. He was standing close to you, too close—

“What’s wrong? Can’t read a radar screen?”

Scott’s voice rang out above you. He raised an eyebrow when you looked at him. He’d taken his sunglasses off and tucked them into his shirt pocket, his blue eyes bearing into yours. The condescending tone in his voice pushed out any embarrassment you felt.

“Excuse me?”

Scott looked at the iPad and looked back at your face, a sly smirk forming on his lips.

“Need help knowing what you’re looking at? Do I need to teach you how to read radar?”

You stood there. You knew he was trying to push your buttons, obviously testing you. You knew you were good, you’d been chasing longer than most of the people in this parking lot, but his comments stung. You pushed the iPad into his hands and walked away, not wanting to show your emotions in front of the crew.

It wasn’t long before Javi found you, standing on the grass at the edge of the parking lot, watching the sky. You felt his hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, don’t let Scott get to you. He’s like that with everyone, must be an ego problem.”

You chuckle at Javi’s comment.

“Am I riding with you?”

You didn’t take your eyes off the tall clouds that formed the building storms in front of you.

“Actually, no. You’re gonna have to ride with Scott.”

Your head immediately snapped towards Javi. You felt like the air had been taken out of you.

“What?”

“Don’t worry, it’s just for today.”

“Oh.”

Your voice became small and you swear you could feel your insides coil up.

“Javi! Time to go!”

You heard Scott yell from the distance. You didn’t want to move from where you were standing, in fact, you wanted to run in the opposite direction. You wanted to get as far away from this place, and Scott, as possible.

“Sorry, y/n. It’ll be fine, just listen to what Scott tells you to do.”

Javi sounded sincere with his apology. He squeezed your shoulder as the two of you walked towards the vehicles.

———

You sat in the passenger seat of Scott’s SUV, Javi’s truck not far ahead. He hadn’t said anything to you, minus the grunt of disapproval when you got in the vehicle with him before the two of you pulled out of the parking lot.

Scott kept his gaze on the road, eyes occasionally traveling to look at the towering supercell that took over the sky in front of you. You watched his jaw move as he chewed his gum.

“So, how’d you start chasing?”

You attempted to make conversation, even though he intimidated you, you hated to sit in a silent car. Scott made a noise in his throat.

“I’m surprised you picked the right storm.”

He finally spoke. His tone was flat, just like the expression on his face when you’d first seen him. You weren’t sure how to answer.

“What’s wrong? Don’t like what I said?”

That stupid, sly smirk played at Scott’s lips again.

“You have a lot of words for someone who isn’t calling the shots here.”

Scott scoffed at you.

“Not calling the shots? Honey, I’m the reason Javi has Storm Par. I’m the reason he’s able to do any of this.”

You stared straight ahead, watching a wall cloud lower just a few miles away. The rotation was evident and you tried to focus on the counterclockwise motion in the sky.

“Can you tell me what we’re looking at or do you need me to teach you that too?”

You could see Scott’s eyes move to look at you from under his sunglasses. The smirk was still on his lips, he looked so cocky.

“Wall cloud with rapid rotation. Supercell has a defined meso. Tornado is imminent.”

Your tone was serious, almost as stern as Scott’s. You wanted to tell him to fuck off, to pick on someone else, but you didn’t. You could tell you shut him up by the way his jaw clenched. His stare was fixed straight ahead again.

It wasn’t long before a funnel emerged from the wall cloud, condensation meeting the ground in a beautiful, perfectly lit cone. That was the perfect tornado, the tornado that made chasing worth it. For a few seconds, you forgot that Scott was in the car with you. You felt as mesmerized as you always had. It was peaceful.

———

Scott pulled into the parking lot of the motel you were staying at. He shut off the ignition and got out without saying anything, you were weary to get out but you did. You hadn’t realized just how tired you were until the drive back, you almost fell asleep in the car.

You got out of the SUV, ready to get to your room. You began walking past Scott, not in the mood to talk to him— or deal with him.

“Hold on.”

You felt Scott grab your arm as you walked past. He was strong and his grip was tight, almost too tight. You sighed and rolled your eyes, not wanting to hear what he had to say.

“The fuck do you want?”

You didn’t care that you swore at him, you figured he deserved it. You stayed in his grasp, afraid he’d only make it tighter if you did.

“You don’t like me.”

His blue eyes were focused on yours.

“How’d you know?”

You scoffed, wanting to laugh at how stupidly obvious his observation was.

“Javi made you out to be the best there is. He painted a picture of you that made you seem like you’re a saint. I can’t say I agree with that.”

Scott’s stern expression didn’t change. He was sharp and direct with his words and you felt yourself squirm.

“Well, I’m sorry that I think you’re a dick-”

“Uh-uh, honey. You’re gonna be on this crew, then you’re gonna have to learn to like me. After all, I’m the one who calls the shots here.”

Scott’s eyes looked over you before he let go of your arm. You watched him walk away, joining the other Storm Par members next to their vehicles. It was clear he wanted some kind of authority over you. You sighed, too exhausted to let him upset you. You walked off to your room, glad to be away from him.

An ego problem, you thought to yourself.

my inbox is open for requests! rules for requests

[darknight3904]

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joel run into Jackson's biggest threat.

Warnings: Violence, guns, minor character death, racist remakes, ageism (sorta), language mentions of slavery/ slavers.

Word Count: 2.9k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

May 2024

The first thing Joel registers in the morning is how cold he is. He must’ve nodded off while keeping watch. The second is Louis, who is shaking him awake like the world was ending…again. 

“Get up, man!” 

“What’s wrong?” Joel mumbles, his eyelids peeling open to the unwelcome morning light. His back is stiff from leaning against the old porch’s support beams.

“She’s gone!” 

Joel follows Louis’ pointed finger to where the horses had been tied last night. Sure enough, one is missing from its fence post. 

“Fuck.” 

Your trail is easy to follow. The ground is soft from the spring rain and Pepper’s hooves have sunk into the Earth, leaving a clear path to wherever you’ve run off. Joel sighs as his own horse, Turnip trots along. At the very least, he knows you haven’t been taken from the cabin. If raiders had found you all last night, well, you’d all be dead in said cabin. 

“Thought you had it under control.” Brett huffs from Joel’s left 

Despite the comment being meant for Joel, Louis responds. 

“Women are unpredictable. Everyone knows that.”

Joel chooses not to comment. It’s true many women were unpredictable, not you though. Or well, Joel thought you weren’t. He could’ve sworn he had been getting to know you in the past months. Last night had been so perfect, laying next to him, smiling and laughing like everything was normal. 

You and Joel had switched with Louis and Brett sometime around 2 am. Joel had sat down next to you on the rickety front porch, eyes fixed on the treeline in case anything were to come out of it. When the hell had he fallen asleep? You must’ve slipped away sometime after 4 am, surely he had made it at least two hours? 

“Hold up. Look, two o’clock.” Brett points 

Joel’s eyes scan the woods, eventually landing on a motionless blob on the green forest floor. He flicks Turnip’s reins and moves towards the human-shaped thing, praying it’s not your lifeless body. Relief floods his system when he sees it’s not you but a dead infected. 

Louis jumps off his horse with ease, something Joel hasn’t been able to do in twenty years, to examine the corpse. A single bullet hole rests in the face of this Stalker, it’s a perfect shot, and Brett takes the time to point it out. 

“Let’s keep movin’. She’s close, I can feel it.” Joel says, his eyes roaming around, making sure there aren’t any more infected lurking in the bushes. 

They make it about another half mile or so before it happens. There’s a shout and then the crack of a gun. Brett shouts a loud curse as his horse panics. A searing pain rips through Joel’s shoulder, the feel of the bullet is unmistakeable as he reaches for the rifle he has strapped to Turnip’s saddle bag. A whistle sounds and before Joel can warn him, an arrow has made its home between Louis’ eyes. Joel’s hands land on the rifle, ready to pull it free but a deep voice has him stopping as Louis’ body falls from his horse with a thump. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” 

The cocking of a gun has Joel’s hands freezing. From above of all places is where they lurk. Three men, descend from the trees, dressed in dark green, mud smeared to their faces in an effort to blend in. 

“Get off the horses. Slow.” One of them orders. 

Joel lifts himself from his saddle, his shoulder burning as he does. Warm blood trickles down his skin and gets caught in the soft fabric of his shirt, the same shirt you were resting on last night. 

“We don’t want any trouble,” Joel says as his feet hit the ground, his eyes fixed on his gun that sits in his saddle.

Brett’s eyes are locked on Joel, he looks scared out of his fucking mind. Joel should’ve expected this would happen. He was at most 25 maybe 26. Too fucking young. 

“Let us pass, we’re looking for someone,” Joel says, his eyes fixed on the one who spoke first, he has red shoelaces. 

Brett looks at him, his eyes almost saying “Are you kidding? They just killed Louis, we need revenge!”. Revenge of course was the last thing on Joel’s mind. He needed to find you, fast. Who knows how many more of these tree-climbing fuckers there were. 

“These two look strong.” Red shoelaces says, ignoring Joel’s request. 

One of the other men gets in Joel’s face, his horrible breath nearly kills Joel’s entire sense of smell as he stares at him. 

“This one’s like…sixty fucking years old. He won’t be any good.” 

“Well, I’m not the one who shot that one in the fucking face, am I?” Red laces seethes, looking at the last man, who has his bow slung over his shoulder. 

“Don’t see why it matters, buyers hate the ones that aren’t white anyway.” Louis’ killer shrugs.

“They don’t want grandpas either, you fucking idiot.” Red laces says, shaking his gun at Joel, “How old are you?” 

Joel stays silent. He’s said what he wants. Whatever these men need young bodies for, doesn’t matter to him, he won’t be sticking around to find out. 

“Does it even matter? Let’s take them back, and get the boss's opinion.” The man with the bow says 

Joel’s mind begins to plot a way out of this. He can take at least two of them but the question is if Brett will be able to take out the third. Joel can see he’s shaking a bit, scared now that his friend has been killed. 

“We’re looking for a woman.” Brett’s shaking voice fills his ears 

Joel wants to punch Brett in the face. Why would he tell him that? He should’ve just brought Tommy, this naive fucker was going to get himself killed. Joel’s glare could probably freeze hell over as he tries to telepathically tell Brett to shut the fuck up. 

“A woman?” Red laces smiles, “We got women. Brought a nice looking in earlier, she’s got a nice ass.” 

It’s not you. Joel’s mind swirls as his eyes fixed on the path Pepper’s hooves have left. They lead further into the forest. It can’t be you they’re talking about. There’s the crackle of a radio suddenly, Joel doesn’t catch what’s being said, not that it matters since the one with the bad breath is slamming the handle of his pistol right into Joel’s temple, knocking him unconscious. 

You groan a bit as you stretch out on the ground. Your back protests as you try to rearrange here in this bush. The Walrus’ camp is only a few thousand feet from you. This bush conceals you nicely as you get a good head count on everyone. Counting The Walrus, there are two other armed men. You hadn’t meant to stumble upon their camp, you’d heard it, the laughter of men as you were riding through the trees, hoping for a clue of where Adam had come from. You hadn’t expected to find everything, just sitting here in the woods. 

The two men that work with The Walrus aren’t familiar to you. You wonder if there are any left from your time with him, perhaps Adam had been the last one. One of them listens to the crackle of a walkie-talkie, their patrol must’ve found something. 

You’re not sure where this patrol of theirs is all you know is that they hadn’t seen you, otherwise, you’d probably be sitting in the mud with the four other people they’re holding captive. Two young men, probably around Brett and Louis’ age, and two women are tied to trees. One of the women, her greying hair the only sign of her age occasionally calls out to the younger girl who has a dinosaur t-shirt on. You decide that they are mother and daughter and that they’re going to get out of their ropes first. 

Where the fuck was Joel? You swore he would’ve found you by now, he’d gone on and on about his tracking skills a few weeks ago, why hadn’t he found you yet? Your hands grip your rifle, could you take the three of them by yourself? Certainly not…of course you could pick them off from here. But, you wanted to see The Walrus, you wanted to get up close and watch him die, the same way you had with Adam. You needed it. 

You remain curled up here in your bush, hoping that you’d tied Pepper off well. You’d left here about a mile away, whispering into her mane that you’d be back soon. Hopefully, that wasn’t going to turn into a lie.

The loud whoops and yells of men have you fixing your gaze back on the camp and shock fills your system. Three more men have appeared, no doubt the ones who were on patrol. They drag two unconscious bodies with them, Brett and most importantly, Joel. 

Joel wakes up right as they drop him face-first into the dirt. His tongue tastes the ground below him as someone laughs at his misfortune. His head hurts a bit, nothing serious though, bad breath didn’t hit too hard. His focus was on his shoulder which was still slowly bleeding. It hadn’t hit anything major, Joel was sure of it, otherwise, he would’ve bled out by now. 

Joel pushes himself up, Brett who must’ve been hit harder has been left face down in the mud as their captors stare down at Joel, sneering, whispering their thoughts about him. Their guns remain pointed at him and Joel wracks his brain for ways to take them out without Brett’s help. He really should’ve brought Tommy. 

Joel looks at the other four people who look terrified. A woman and a teen girl are what catches his eye though. They’re clearly related, with similar facial features along with matching scowls as they stare at him. Joel’s been alive a long time though, long enough to see that they’re both terrified despite their best efforts to look at him with disdain. As for the men, Joel can’t quite place their emotions, he knows they’re not related though. All he can manage right now is relief, you’re not here. You must’ve slipped through their patrol somehow, maybe they were lurking in other trees when you passed through.  

“Time to meet the man.” Red Laces says suddenly, his voice giddy with anticipation.

A tent unzips and a man approaches, a long beard adorns his face, and greasy unwashed hair sits atop his head and when he opens his mouth to speak, Joel notices he’s missing two of his front teeth. No doubt about it, this is Adam’s boss.

Joel listens to your quiet voice as you explain who Adam is and what he did to you. Joel nearly gets up four times, ready to rip the man apart limb from limb. You seem so small and fragile, curled in on yourself under the blankets here on his couch as you talk about how you lost your beloved cat. 

“There was another man…missing two teeth who killed Loki and turned him into a fucking bowl of soup. He used to hurt me too, for fun.” 

If there weren’t five guns pointed at his head right now, Joel would be up and ripping the head off his toothless fucker for what he’s done. The thought of leaving you and Ellie behind has him still in the dirt. He eyes this “leader” the other men seem to respect. What was there to respect? The fact that he was a fucking psychopath who fed girls their pets and cut them up for fun?

“Oliver shot the other young one. Says it was an accident.” Red Laces throws his patrol partner under the bus immediately. 

“Fuck you, man. The brown ones don’t sell anyway!” Oliver defends himself behind obvious racism. What a fucking pig.

Joel looks at the leader and his missing teeth, he’s yet to speak, listening to the way his men bicker. 

“And you think someone as old as him will?” Red Laces argues back, pointing at Joel, “He’s got more fucking gray hairs than all of us combined!” 

Joel watches as Brett begins to stir, his eyes pulling open as his hand flies up to his temple where he’d been hit. A small groan escapes his lips as the one with the bad breath pulls him up and into a kneeling position, mimicking Joel’s current stance. 

“Now that we’re all awake…Let’s get some things straight.” 

Laces and Oliver stop their arguing, their boss's voice has them rigid as they shut their mouths for once. The boss turns to Oliver and even though Joel has just met this man, he can tell he’s angry. A deep frown on his face as he practically spits in Oliver’s face as he yells.

“I fucking told you! I wanted them all alive!” 

“I’m sorry!” Oliver cowers, “I didn’t mean to, I was aiming for his arm, I swear!” 

The boss grabs Oliver by the collar, shaking him as spit flies into his face, 

“Shooting them in the fucking arm is damaging the goods!” 

He whips around and gestures down to Joel, “Age doesn’t matter if they’re strong! You’ve cut into my profits…Who shot him?” 

Silence follows as their boss, whose face has gone red with anger demands an answer. Joel deduces that these men must be selling to slavers. He’d heard that in some areas communities used captive people to build their societies, treating the people they bought as literal machines. There was of course the second option as well, there was a flesh market down in Mexico he’d heard about years ago. Some gang that had been big back before the outbreak was now running the border and bought and sold people to be used for other’s pleasures.

Fuck…He couldn’t be sold off to some slaver somewhere. He needed to find you and get back to Jackson. This man and his group needed to die, he’d done too much to you, not to mention they’d clearly been planning to take Jackson for their own personal profits. 

Suddenly the boss is leaning down, a pungent smell of body oder and who knows what else assaults Joel’s senses as he speaks, 

“Who shot you?” 

Joel nods to Red Laces who seems to be nonverbally pleading with him not to rat him out. Of course, Joel doesn’t give two shits if Mr. Laces is punished, why should he? 

Red Laces is given a good right hook by his boss who threatens him, 

“If you shoot another piece of my cargo, I’ll sell you the next time we go down to Kansas, Got it?”  

Joel listens as he gives the same ultimatum to Oliver who begins to grovel and apologize for murdering Louis earlier. He looks at Brett who seems to be about two minutes away from pissing his pants. Joel nods towards the knife that sits tucked into the bottom pocket of the leader's pants. They hadn’t been tied up yet, this was their chance and Joel was going to take it. Brett shakes his head in fear and Joel shoots him a look. 

The leader turns back to Joel, satisfied with his speech to his men, 

“They said you’re looking for a woman.” He motions towards the woman tied to the tree behind him, “That her?” 

Joel remains silent and stares back at this stinking reeking sorry excuse for a human being. Joel could grab the knife if he just took a step closer. There was a pistol tucked into the front of his pants, Joel could easily shoot quicker than this man’s people. They were young, and unseasoned, the oldest, Laces was surely no more than 40. Joel was a better shot than all of them combined. 

“Quiet, huh? Whatta shame.” 

The leader turns on his heel, ready to go back to his tent. He takes a few steps before tossing his order over his shoulder,

“Tie the younger one up. Shoot the old man, he won’t sell.” 

Red Laces pulls his gun out from its holster and points it at Joel’s face. Joel’s thighs tense, it’s now or never. As if it’s in slow motion like some action movie from years ago, he lunges for the gun, ready to hit it out of his would-be killer's hands. 

Before his hands can make contact with the metal of the gun, the sound of a single shot rings out. At first Joel’s sure he’s a goner, that the gun has gone off and there’s a bullet in his head. 

Instead, a warm splatter of blood is raining down on him, and a metallic taste of iron fills his mouth as Red Laces drops to the ground, the top part of his head has been ripped open by one well-placed shot. 

You curse as your foot gets caught in a tangle of weeds. Nearly tripping over your own feet, you burst out of the bush. The one who was standing over him is dead, you’re sure of it. Your legs burn as you sprint towards the camp, rifle slung over your shoulder as you pull your beloved Colt Python from its holster. You cock your gun, you have to get to him. You’re closing the distance now, closing the distance between you and him. 

Between you and Joel. 

Next Part

Justice will be had for Loki the cat.

If you're reading this, please leave me a comment or reblog. It's lonely just getting likes on my fics. I yearn for your opinions and feedback.

Been feeling kinda down recently, I don't really know what it is. Oh well, here's a Joel pic from Pinterest:

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter, I carry the tags over to each part.

Tags:

@lunaticgurly  @orcasoul  @snowlycanroc  @freythecrazyfae

@person-005 @greenwitchfromthewoods

@elli3williams @yawnzzzzzzzz @am-3-thyst  @concrete-jungleeee

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@sarahhxx03 @loveisacowboyyy @amyispxnk @lou-la-lou @dancinglotusbud

[pedge-page]

I'm new to ur page idk if this is done but I...I want Joel to piss inside a plushie....

Puddles - a Plushies x PK drabble

Notes: I've been waiting to write this one so here we go! Can read more plushies!Joel through Plushies Series masterlist, though they can all be read as standalone fics

Warnings: Pisskink!Joel, piss kink, Drunk!Joel, solo masturbation with a stuffed animal, yes he is pissing inside poor plushie, plushie fucking briefly

18+ ONLY

- - - -

He may have gone a little bit overboard when Tommy invited him for the crew’s so-called ‘happy hour get together’. He knew they all liked to go out and celebrate with a few drinks after completing a project, and this last one they just wrapped up for some posh client with outrageous requests was no different. 

Joel usually liked to skip out on them. First, because he didn’t want to know what these clowns might be up to when they get tipsy, letting whatever sober-less things go on follow his mind to the next job site. But also because he’s getting too old for that college level shit. Hangovers aren’t nearly as fun when you’re pushing well past middle age. 

But, he didn’t want to be home alone since you were going to be working late.

So, two beers turned into twelve and a few more various alcohol spiked beverages here and there, and boom. Joel’s swaying side to side along the sidewalk with Tommy guiding him all the way up the front door.

“You sure you don’t need me, brother?” Tommy asks hesitantly. 

Joel, with lolling eyes and a grin, confidently waves him off after successfully entering his key into the door after 6 tries.

He stumbles through into the dark alone, and the first thing that hit him is how badly he wants to curl up on your plushie filled bed. He thought about you all night; your shampoo filling his nose when you cuddle him, the smooth streak of your naked back when you finish a shower, the wet indulgence of your pussy when he eats you out.

He’s never going to admit it, but the man is clingy as shit when you’re around. And he’s craving some much needed plushie pussy time.

Shit, the alcohol is really swimming in his brain. 

And, he realizes, with a firm and shiver-some squeeze to his crotch, elsewhere in his body. 

Ironically, the bathroom is not what beckons him.

With a devious smirk, he instead tumbles into the bedroom. Through the moonlit drapes, a wave of beady eyed babies stare back at him.

“Hello freaks,” he chuckles. They probably miss you too. Honestly it’s really rude, if you think about it, the way you abandon your buddies here AND Joel all in one night? Atrocious behavior. Someone ought to teach you better.

“Daddy’s home."

He falls forward, his knees catching the edge of the bed. An array of colorful volunteers practically jumping up and down at his presence to be engulfed by the precious aroma of Joel Miller.

That’s how drunk-Joel is seeing it. In reality, if they could run for their fluffy lives, they would. 

A quick hand snatches one yellow blob by its neck. His eyes struggle to get a clear picture—whether from the alcoholic haze or the darkness obscuring his vision. Possibly both. The dark bill and flappy arms come into focus.

“Duck,” he muses to himself. “Bet ya name is Duckie, some shit like that. She ain't good with the namein.” He rolls the unfortunate one over to its back, inspecting its caliber. Its definitely older: matted fur smushed down in certain areas, lack of vibrant coloring, some faded and torn edged fabric on its bow tie. Bitty holes sewn up here and there with mismatched (and poorly seemed) threaded needle. Your college waitressing job used to be for a place called the Quavern, so this little guy’s gotta be your graduation farewell from that team.

“Well mister Quakers. You n' me gonna get to know each other real well right now. Got something I need ya to hold f’me,” Joel slurs. One hand frees the button of his jeans while the other begins to prod at a loose tear in poor DuckDuck’s underside. He pokes and prods and scissors a little too harshly with his sausage fingers before a tell-tale rip echoes in the room. “Oops,” he chuckles with very little guilt as he forces the hole a bit wider and palms his crotch a bit harder. 

Yeah, he gets hard when touching your stuffed animals. He can’t help it! With all the naughty activities you do with them, they’re practically hug buddies by day, sex toy by night. His mind feels foggy, but the building sensation along his lower stomach is the only thing churning his actions. With a few lazy pumps, Joel slots his mushroom tip at the cottony hole he’s made in the poor plush. He pushes through, groaning with his head tossed slightly back as dry softness envelops his pulsing length. 

“Shit—that’s it. Take it little guy.” He bites his lips and peers below, watching his dick penetrate the stuffed animal.

He knows he should put it down, sew it up, put it back, and go do his business in the bathroom like a good, well trained boyfriend. But then again, he knows how fucking pissed you’ll be if he defiles your plushies again. Then you’ll never leave him unattended at home, and that means more pussy drinking and rubbing on these fuckers for him.

Joel doesn’t even realize he’s pissing inside the poor animal until it starts to sag heavily with the weight and wetness coating his hand. “Ooohhhhhhhhhh,” he gasps with furrowed brows. As his bladder empties, the duck grows damper and darker, the fur and cotton soaking it up from the inside out until it’s dripping down his ballsack.  He thrusts inside a few times, the warm wet sensation making him choke out a curse. It’s not quite like your pussy, but the heat is better than nothing. He pushes it flush against his pubic bone, another rush of liquid hissing through and muffled by Mr Quack’s soft innards.

If he wasn’t so fucking wasted right now, he’d fuck it into oblivion. give it the good ol'Miller beating. Fertilize its eggs, if you will. But with his bathroom situation now relieved, Joel yanks the thing off and chucks it to the ground. His brain collapses just as he falls towards the bed, drowning in his own much needed slumber.

-

you shake your head and laugh, hands on your hips at the sight in front of you.

Joel’s out cold face forward in your bed. His jeans are loosely wrapped around his hips and his old tee still on, so if it wasn’t for his loud snoring, you’d assume the man was dead. He hadn’t even made it fully on the bed, his tip toes still holding him up on the floor and legs dangling at an angle.

A few of your stuffed animals had managed to crawl out from underneath him, scattered around when he most likely dropped onto the bed. You pick them up one by one: dusty Carly the Crow, the now famed Mr Oinkers (with battery pack turned OFF), Whiskers the Cat, and poor old Puddles the Duc—

Your disgusted screech has Joel sitting up so fast he nearly capsizes off the bed. The confused, hungover lump is met with his bewildered and screaming girlfriend who’s yanking him by the neck and wringing him viciously with as much might as you can muster.

“STOP—FUCKING—PISSING—IN—MY—PLUSHIES!” You roar with wild eyes and gritted teeth, choking him within an inch of his life. You shake his neck up and down like you’re going to hammer his head into the bed post. 

It takes him a moment, with wide eyes and hands wrapped around your wrists, before his gaze lands on the poorly discarded evidence of last night: a very overly yellow duck soaking into the floor boards in a puddle of liquid gold.

- - - -

Taglist:

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[chdarling]

CH, do you have any book recommendations? I’ve been reading all the dark academia trying to find a vibe close to your series, but I’m coming up blank. Anything similar (or just your fave books!) would be amazing!

Oh man, I have the perfect book recommendation for you…except tragically I haven’t written it yet. 😭 Gimme ten years and I’ll get back to you. 😂

Jk jk. I have some real book recommendations that don’t just live as a nebulous blob in my brain. I wouldn’t say they’re like TLE (they’re SO MUCH BETTER 😭) but here are a few books I always recommend:

1. The Secret History by Donna Tartt - if you’re looking for Dark Academia, this is the sacred text.

2. The Broken Earth Trilogy by N.K. Jemisin - the first book is “The Fifth Season” and it’s one of those books I wish I could induce temporary amnesia to read again for the first time

3. Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett

4. The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

5. Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

6. The Girl With All The Gifts by M.R. Carey

7. Possession by A.S. Byatt, specifically for the academia vibes, if that’s what you’re looking for!

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers, which is not only one of my favorite books of all time, but is also hella dark academia, since it takes place at Oxford. The hitch is that it’s part of a series (the Lord Peter novels) and you absolutely cannot start with it first, there are several books you have to read first.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 6.7k (🤡🤡🤡)

chapter summary: You go on a date with Tommy Miller.

warnings: angst (mild?? a lot happens this chapter), tension, joel being joel, both brother's being on edge, misunderstandings

Chapter Six || Chapter Eight

It’s 5 AM when you tiptoe into the kitchen, hesitantly flicking the lights on .

The quiet of the early morning is broken as the kitchen buzzes alive. Picing up a glass from the cupboard. You pour yourself a glass of orange juice. You hate orange juice. Always have. You despise the aftertaste, but you risk the nausea you’ll get and drink it with large, loud gulps. 

You need to talk to Joel. 

Tommy's voice lingers in your mind, haunting and distant. He sounded so out of it, almost like he was afraid of something. You wanted to ask him what was going on, ask him if he was in any kind of trouble. But you answered him with silence. Normally, you would’ve pried for more information but the weight of his question stunned you.

You couldn’t say anything to Tommy. How could you? 

This…thing with Joel. There’s something there. You can’t be making it all up.

The mere thought of Joel sends shivers down your spine, a sensation that creeps along your skin like a ghostly caress. You can't deny the reality of it all, the stolen glances, the gentle touches that linger just a second too long. It's a feeling you've only ever encountered in the pages of a novel or the strokes of a painting, a visceral need to be close to him that consumes your thoughts.

And that’s why you need to have everything out in the open. 

Your stomach twists into knots as you fill your glass with water. What if you have been imagining things? Perhaps your own grief and loneliness have turned a harmless connection into something more, something that isn't real. You don’t know. It wouldn't be the first time; you thinking there was something else when in truth it was nothing but friendship or less than that. 

The uncertainty gnaws at you, chipping away at your confidence and leaving you questioning everything.

You take a sip of water. The taste of citrus lingers on your tongue. With a grimace, you spit into the sink and wipe the sweat from your brow. Sweat clings to your skin. You feel sick. It’s 5 AM. When does Joel wake up again? Seven? Eight? 

Should you go to his room? 

Placing the glass in the sink, you head back upstairs. You'll just have to bide your time until you hear the sound of his footsteps, and then you'll make your move. Shouldn’t be hard with how wound up you are. 

You inhale the heady scent of coffee. But no matter how many inhales you take, you can’t concentrate. Every time you’re finished with an order, you don’t miss the disappointed looks of the customers as they look down to their cups and see the latte art you made. It’s definitely not your best work; your swans are misshapen, and your tulips look more like blobs than delicate flowers.

Of course, you overslept. 

You saw none of the Millers that morning. No Sarah, no Tommy, and, most importantly, no Joel. 

He did leave you a blueberry muffin on the kitchen counter though, and coffee. Which you ate on the way to work, a goofy smile on your lips.

“What the hell is wrong with you today?” Olivia chides, taking a piece of apple pie to serve. 

“Just tired.” 

“Well, that’s an obvious lie.” 

The conversation grinds to a halt. Olivia serves an older woman her slice of pie and you hand her a cup of black coffee. She turns to you as the customer leaves, a scowl deeply etched into her otherwise round features. 

“Tell me what’s bothering you. Nightmares again?” 

“No…nothing like that,” you pick up your stashed latte and bring it to your lips. You take two quick sips before hiding it away again. “Tommy asked me out.” 

“Oh?” she gasps, clearly excited on your behalf. Which is the opposite of what you’re feeling. “The younger Miller? He’s cute. What did you say?” 

“Nothing.” 

“What do you mean nothing?” 

You grind the heel of your palm against your forehead, the heat already prickling at your skin. The words overwhelm you, yet all you want to do is express yourself. Olivia shakes her head. With a breathless laugh, she reaches over to squeeze your hand.

“Please don’t tell me you just hung up on him?” 

“Oh god no!” you answer with a huff. Funnily enough the accusation calms your racing mind. “I just said I’d think about it. He said he understood.” 

“Well…I guess that’s better than hanging up on him—I think. Why the hesitation? Is it Joel?” 

“That obvious?” 

“Not really. Just the best friend privilege.” she grins. “So what are you gonna do?” 

“I wanted to talk to Joel this morning but the entire family was gone before I could see him.” your shoulders drop. “Maybe it’s better I don’t say anything. What good will it do anyway? He has a girlfriend.” 

“That’s true, but you did say their relationship wasn’t all that serious. So who knows.” she taps her forefinger against the corner of her jaw. “My question is…do you actually like Tommy? If Joel wasn’t a thing, would you want to date him? Because if your answer is still no, I don’t think you really need to think about it.” 

She's right. If you have no interest in dating Tommy, regardless of Joel, then entertaining the thought is pointless.

You spend the rest of the day pondering the question. You continue to serve the incoming rush, your hand becoming more steady with every pour. The rich hue of the dark roast coffee reminds you of Tommy - a kind, dependable person who's been there for you through thick and thin. He has a way of making you laugh, and when he gets too close, your heart skips a beat. He always knows how to make you feel better, no matter what.

If Joel wasn’t his brother—if you felt nothing for Joel—would you want to date him? 

Yes. Your answer would be yes. 

Your eyes flit to the glass doors in panic. Gray clouds hover aimlessly in the sky, lighting strikes, the sound of thunder following. Normally you’d smile, turn to Olivia, and say how happy you are to see rain. Your muses always seem to dance aimlessly under the heavy pour. 

But today. Today it feels ominous. 

Heavy drops start to strike the windows, more people seek shelter in the small coffee shop. Orders come pouring in; Mochas, Lattes, Espressos. You welcome the workload, your fingers working faster than your mind. It’s a pleasant shift in energy. 

During your lunch break, you sneak a peek at your phone. 

> TOMMY: 

> Sorry about calling you so late last night. 

You stand frozen, eyes glued to the screen. Another message pops up before you can answer the first. 

> TOMMY: 

> But my question still stands. I meant it (just saying in case you thought I was drunk or soemthing I wasn’t.)

You smile at the typo. You think about making a joke, a weak attempt to lighten the tension you can feel cracking through the screen. You decide against it. And briefly, you think about not answering at all. With a frown, you shake your head. That would be just mean. 

Some fucked up part of you wonders if Tommy told Joel. Would the older Miller brother be jealous? Would he see it as a missed opportunity? It's an irrational train of thought, but you can't bring yourself to believe that the tension between you and Joel is just in your head.

You never thought of yourself as desirable. Hell, you barely had a proper boyfriend before all of this. A sick sense of power twists in your gut. It’s nice to be wanted. 

You start to type.

> YOU: 

> It’s okay. I was awake anyway… It’s a busy day at the coffee shop. I’ll let you know tonight.

Staring at the unsent message, you begin to think not answering at all might’ve been better. You should be honest with him. Tell him that there’s someone else. Even if you misread Joel, that still doesn’t give you the right to date Tommy as a consolation prize. 

You delete the text and write something more honest instead. 

> YOU: 

> It’s okay. I was awake anyway… I don’t think I can Tommy sor

Your fingers hover aimlessly over the keyboard. Saying no via text just seems like a shitty thing to do. You look up at Olivia, who checks her nails and adjusts her apron with a small pout. Boredom never sat well with her, and with all the customers happily sipping their coffees and biting into their pastries, there isn't much to do.

Your gaze drops back to the screen. You don’t want to string him along, but you also don’t want to reject him with a shitty text. 

So you decide to mix the two answers together. 

> YOU: 

> How about we talk tomorrow face to face? I think I can explain myself better that way

You let out a frustrated groan. This was just a no in disguise. 

Fuck it. 

You delete your answer and shove the phone back into your bag. You’ll just get back to him later. He knows you’re working today. He knows that you’re stressed about the power still not being back on in your house.  

You fidget with the hem of your apron. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. The last thing you want is to hurt him. 

Joel side-eyes his younger brother as he drops the phone onto his lap. His leg bobs nervously, his knuckles white from where he holds the steering wheel. Tommy’s been on edge all day. He’s been particularly snappy towards Joel and nearly cut his entire damn hand off. Joel’s not the best at addressing his worries. He’s definitely not good at it like his brother, who seems to have a natural capability to make people feel better. 

He’s seen it play out god knows how many times. He’s seen the way the tension would drain away from your body at something Tommy would say. Joel hates the toxicity rolling in his gut. He really needs to talk to you—about Tommy, about himself, about everything. 

The truck rounds the corner and Asha’s apartment comes into view. 

The inside of Joel’s mouth is like sandpaper. He wants to ask Tommy what's been bothering him all day, but the words seem to stick in his mouth like glue. Tommy's eyes dart from the road to his phone, checking it for the umpteenth time today.

“You waitin’ for a call or somethin’?” Joel forces a weak smile, he’s highly aware that it probably doesn’t look as smooth as it does in his head. Tommy raises an eyebrow and stuffs the phone into his pocket. He drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. 

“Nah, it’s nothin’ important. Don’t worry about it.” the truck comes to a slow halt, the tires squeaking under the weight of the vehicle. “I couldn’t sleep last night that’s why I’m a bit all over the place.” 

“A’right then.” 

Joel knows Tommy’s lying, but he also knows that if he presses for more information it’ll backfire. He looks up to Asha’s apartment instead. He doesn’t want to leave the comfort of the truck. 

“What are you waitin’ for, get out old man.” Tommy teases, a small grin playing on his lips. Joel feels like he can breathe again, the playful tone of his brother a gentle shove for him to go on with his plan. He takes a deep breath and opens the door. 

“See you t’morrow, Tommy.” 

“See ya. Take it easy.” 

With that, he’s off. Joel stares until the truck turns the corner. His heart is restless, beating too fast and straining his breath. The apartment complex looms over him. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to have the “talk”. He wants to go home, have a cup of coffee, and, preferably, talk to you. 

He does manage to take a step forward seconds later. Joel didn’t raise himself to be a coward. Asha would understand, they had some great moments together but both of them knew that this relationship didn’t have a solid enough ground for them to keep walking on. 

Asha buzzes him in and Joel climbs the stairs, every step heavier then the last. When he arrives, the door to Asha’s apartment is already open, light pouring out into the dark hall. 

“Hey there,” Asha greets him, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed over her chest. “Looks like you had a shit day.” 

“Uh…somethin’ like that.” 

He’s not a fan of the way she’s staring him down. Her gaze is piercing, slowly moving up his body and remaining glued to his face. A small smile touches her red lips. 

“You want to come inside or do this here?” 

“Asha,” Joel warns, his tone dropping. She hugs herself tighter, averting his gaze.

“Sorry, I know you hate me being a know it all.” she shakes her head, arms dropping to her sides. “I don’t mean to get defensive. I knew it was going to happen, I just…I don’t really know what I was expecting.” 

Joel closes the distance, and he reaches up, cradling her face with two hands. Asha’s smile never wavers as she leans into his touch. Her lips find the curve of his thumb, pressing a kiss into his skin. 

“We had fun didn’t we?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

Joel smiles. “That we did,” his mouth finds the crown of her head, his lips move against her skin. “I’m happy we met. If you ever need anythin’ don’t hesitate to call.” 

Her sudden burst of laughter makes him feel lightheaded. Joel pulls away, hands dropping to her hips. She playfully smacks his shoulder, rolling her big eyes at him. 

“Yeah, you better believe I’ll give you a call if my table breaks down.” Before he can come up with a quip of his own, her lips touch his cheek. She smells like cherries. “See you around, Joel Miller.”  

The sky now clear but the pavement still wet, your boots make a squishing sound with each step, echoing through the silence of the afternoon. You love the wide street, trees on each side, leaves rustling with the wind. The rain clouds had cleared up, leaving a lovely crispness in the air. Gray clouds now a muted white, you look up. You take in the rainbow of the sky, orange hues mix with the pinks. A beautiful harmony of color. 

Your heart thrums loudly in your chest. Every step brings you closer to him.

To Joel. 

Finally, after a day of hoping and dreaming, you’ll finally see what reality has to offer. In the distance you see Joel working on the garden. His shirt stretches taut over the expanse of his broad shoulders, the fabric damp with sweat where it clings to the curve of his spine. The muscles in his arms flex as he tends to the plants, the veins visible beneath his skin. 

The closer you get, the louder the grunts and huffs become. Your cheeks warm at the sound; your imagination taking you places that it shouldn’t go. Not yet, at least. 

“Hey, there neighbor,” you call out, opening the gate. “Lovely to see you actually giving the flowers the attention they deserve.” 

You stand next to him and he stills, planting the sharp end of the small shovel into the dirt. Your hold your breath at the sight of him slowly lifting his gaze. The corners of his lips turn up in a small smile, his gaze soft. Your pulse quickens. You have his full, undivided attention. 

Pulling away your gaze, you fall next to him, crossing your legs as you stare at the flowers ready to go into the ground. 

“They ain’t the only ones I’ve failed to give attention to,” he mutters, his eyes dropping to your lips. You don’t see it, not clearly, but you feel it. A scorching hot iron against the sensitive skin. You hear him swallow. “How’s your day been?” 

“Uh…busy. I—” 

Suddenly, you turn to him, slightly taken aback when you catch Joel’s gaze already fixed on you. You breathe heavily through your nose, your nostrils flare. Every muscle is taut over your bone, begging you to stretch and release the tension. 

Joel, on the other hand, looks relaxed, like he’s finally let the world drop away from his shoulders. 

As if on cue, you both begin to speak simultaneously, each blurting out, "I need to tell you something."

You both burst into giggles, unable to contain the nervous energy that crackles between you. Joel offers a gentle smile and a slight nod of his head. "You go first," he says, gesturing with his hand.

The warm afternoon sun casts a soft glow on the colorful flowers Joel had been planting in the garden beds just moments before. Their sweet fragrance fills the air, mingling with the fresh scent of the earth. You take a deep breath. 

"Okay," you say, smile wavering. Your mouth goes dry when he stares at you with wide, expectant eyes. Your stomach clenching, you shake your head, trying to calm your fried nerves. “Okay, okay— The thing is…well…Tommy asked me out.” 

“He…” Joel blinks, eyes dropping to where the small shovel is buried. “He asked you out?” 

“Yes but–” 

“I’m happy for you two, that’s good.” 

You watch him wide-eyed as he speaks, his words tumbling out in a rush. Your eyes flicker to the frantic rise and fall of his chest, the sharp movements of his hands. There's something unsteady about him now, something off-kilter. It sends shivers down your spine, makes your heart race in your chest.

“No, wait.” you attempt to place a hand to slow him down but he jerks away. Like he’s been burned. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t…I didn’t say yes.” 

He huffs, refusing to look at you. “Did you say no?” 

“I didn’t…I didn’t really give him an answer yet—I actually wanted to talk to you first.” 

“Why? You want my blessin’ or somethin’?” 

“Joel!” you finally snap, your chest heaving. “Can you just—fuck. Can you just listen?”

Your sudden outburst seems to do the trick but he’s still not looking at you. The afternoon wind blows cold between you. The flowers softly moving with the breeze. His knuckles turn white around the handle of the shovel. You’ve seen him mad before, but that anger was never directed at you. It makes you fumble with your words, not really knowing how to defuse the situation. Even if you frequently entertained the thought of something unspoken lingering between the two of you, he has Asha. You’re not even sure what you’re expecting now. This was a mistake, you shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. 

“I just wanted to say that…I think,” you let out a sigh. “I know this might seem sudden, or maybe even a bit unwanted, but I have—” 

Joel cuts you off with a sharp turn of his head. You were right. He’s angry. 

“You should go out with him.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“My brother…” he shakes his head, finally dropping the darned shovel. With a furrow, he stares into the hole he made. Both figuratively and literally. “He’s a good man, tries to be one, at least. He’ll take care of you. Help you. You’ll never find anyone like him, someone that will love you with every fiber of his being. You deserve that. You deserve to be happy and supported.” 

“But–” 

“Nothing else matters.” he leans forward. Fingers touching your chin, Joel forces you to look at him. Really look at him. You only see your frightened expression reflecting back at you in his eyes. His voice cracks when he speaks again. “He’s my brother, sweet tea.” 

You part your lips and he interrupts again, shaking his head. 

“You’ll be happy. You’ll be close.” 

It almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself rather than you. As if this is the only way. The right way. Tears flood your lashline and as they threaten to spill, you quickly turn away. If he noticed, he doesn’t say anything. 

Waves of emotions come crashing through, cresting like a tide, it swallows you whole. Your mind is screaming—screeching—at you to head inside, pack everything and return to your lightless home. Fuck. You’re a joke. He doesn’t care about you, not in the way that you’ve been hoping for. Your stomach churns, and your chest caves in. Lungs having trouble breathing. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be on the verge of confessing your feelings to him. He doesn’t want your burden. He doesn’t want you. 

You’ll be close—what the fuck does that even mean? 

"Fine," you answer through gritted teeth, forcing yourself to stand up despite the dizziness and disorientation that overwhelms you. You try to ignore the sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach as you choke out, "Thanks for your blessing."

Bitterness seeps through every word, dripping with venom and resentment. The taste of bile rises in your throat as you turn away from him, leaving him there among his unplanted flowers. The colors seem to fade and dim, robbed of their vibrancy and life. Even the sky above seems to lose its luster, the once-beautiful colors now muted and tasteless.

A butterfly follows you into the house.

It’s the next day, and by some miracle, you managed to steer clear away from Joel in his own goddamn house. It’s been easy actually. When Sarah asked why you weren’t joining them for lunch, you simply said you had a breakthrough and had to paint. Which was a big fat lie but what else could you have said? In all honesty, your muses have never been more asleep. 

The clock on your bedside table clicks menacingly. It’s about 7 PM, meaning that you have to get ready soon for your date with Tommy. 

Honestly, you have half the mind to call and cancel but you can’t do that to him. Besides, there’s no harm in going out. Perhaps some alone time together is just what you need to ignite the spark that’s missing.

You try not to be petty, but you're still angry with Joel. Maybe it's irrational, but you can't help the hot flush of resentment that prickles beneath your skin. As you enter the bathroom, you purposefully leave the door open, relishing in the small act of rebellion. You turn on the music, scrolling through the radio channels until you find the perfect song to fit your mood. "Take On Me" by A-ha begins to flood through the cheap speakers, a classic '80s hit that you can't resist.

Whenever he passes the doorway, you feel his eyes on you, even though you don't turn to look. You can sense the weight of his gaze, the tension between you thick and charged with unspoken words. You adjust your skirt, tugging it down a bit, but you know it's a futile effort. The material slides up again as soon as you start walking, baring more of your legs than you intended.

You can't help but feel a small sense of satisfaction at his obvious discomfort. 

“Wow, you look amazing.” 

You jerk away from the mirror, your fingers barely an inch away from your hair where you were trying to fix it. You see Sarah standing at the door, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“You going on a date?” she wiggles her eyebrows, which prompts the playful roll of your eyes. 

“Something like that,” you answer, smiling. She’s holding a sketchbook. “Did you want to show me something?” 

“Uh, yeah but I can show it to you later if you’re busy.” 

“I’m never busy for you,” you answer, grinning. “Come on, show me.” 

Before she does, Sarah calls out for her father, which makes your blood bubble underneath you nails. Your breath catches in your throat, and in an attempt to distract yourself, you reach for Sarah's sketchbook, flipping through the pages. 

Despite Joel's overwhelming presence by your side, you find solace in the fluid dance of Sarah's art on the pages before you, momentarily forgetting the weight on your shoulders.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to the intricate details of her drawings. The lines are delicate and precise, each stroke carefully placed to capture the essence of the natural world. You can see the subtle variations in the shading, the way the light falls on the leaves of the trees, the way the petals of the flowers seem to dance in the breeze.

You lean in closer, unable to tear your eyes away from the page. The texture of the paper under your fingertips is rough, but the drawings are so precise and detailed that it feels like you could reach out and touch the leaves, feel the rough bark of the trees.

Joel leans closer and your elbows touch, he’s just as stunned as you are.

“Holy shit,” Joel mutters, eyes moving to Sarah. “Baby, these are amazing. Is there anythin’ you can’t do?” 

“Nope!” she grins, taking the sketchbook back. Your hands feel naked without the inked paper, a sudden chill washing over you. “But I can’t take all the credit. I had a great teacher.” 

It takes you a moment to realize that Sarah’s talking about you. Both Millers' gazes fall upon you, waiting for you to respond. You shift from one lef to another. A nervous laughter bubbles in the back of your throat and you shake your head. 

“This is all you. I simply gave you a couple of tips, you’re a natural.” 

“If you two inflate my ego any further I think I might float away,” she answers, laughing at her own joke. “Anyway, I’m off. The Adlers insisted I come over.” 

Joel gives Sarah’s head a gentle pat before she leaves, the teen leans into her father’s touch, smiling to the widest. She waves you off, “Have fun on your date.” 

Joel's jaw tightens, grinding with tension after she leaves and he fixes you a stern look. You expect him to leave, but against his better judgment, he decides to stay. He watches you, his darkened gaze taking in your short skirt and low-cut blouse. It’s his form of self-inflicted torture. 

Joel moves right behind you, observing as you put on your lipstick. You  see his reflection in the mirror. His eyes a heavyweight lingering on your skin, a tingle running down your spine. You push the thoughts away. He’d made himself perfectly clear yesterday. 

You can't help but think about how unfair it all is. He had no right to be mad, especially when he's the one who told you to go out with Tommy. And yet, here he is, scowling at you through the mirror. 

Your gaze meets his, and you can see the wheels turning in his head.

"You look great," he grunts, his voice low.

You watch his reflection getting closer, your heart racing in your chest. Your breath catches in your throat, body aching for his touch. His eyes are on your lips. 

"You think so?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

He nods, his gaze moving from your lips to your eyes. "Yeah, I do."

Joel watches you like a hawk through the reflection, his hands hovering an inch away from your waist. You’re abundantly aware that this might be a breaking point for him. He’s not touching you, but he’s not exactly not touching you either. 

He takes a deep inhale, and on the exhale, his hot breath fans your neck. “You smell good too.” 

A shiver runs down your spine as his warmth lingers. Your body responds to his presence. An itch that you just can’t seem to reach. You want to lean in, feel the firmness of his chest against your own. You want him to touch you, feel those calloused hands you admire so much trailing down your skin, finding purchase above your sex— 

His arms drop to his sides, and he takes a slow step back. Every movement strained. 

Another shudder overwhelms you. You’ll be close, is what he’d said the day before. Now that your frustrations have dwindled, you’re starting to think maybe what he’s doing is more sacrificial rather than an attempt to get rid of you, or to push you away. You swallow thickly, the knot in your throat making it impossible to say anything. 

From his reflection, it almost looks like he’s about to say something. Maybe he was going to take back what he said. Maybe he was going to let you admit what you’ve been feeling all this time. Maybe he’s going to allow you to tell him; It’s you Joel. It’s always been you. 

But he doesn’t say a word. He chews the inside of his bottom lip and just on cue, a loud honk echoes into the night. Tommy. Both of you turn to stare out the window. Both of you seeing the little headlights of the familiar truck. 

Joel’s eyes drop to the granite floor, face contorting with regret and shame. 

“Have fun.” he says, disappearing into the hall. 

The drive to the 360 Overlook is a silent one. The truck winds its way up the narrow road that leads to the top of the hill. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the trees and the occasional glimpse of the view beyond.

When you reach the top of the hill, Tommy parks the truck and you both step out, taking in the chilly night air. The night sky stretches out before you like a vast canvas, illuminated by the shimmering stars above. The air is cool and crisp. You pull your jacket a little tighter around you, a subtle shiver overtaking you. But Tommy seems unfazed by the chill, and he lays out a soft blanket on the ground.

Taking in the view, you feel as though you're standing at the edge of the world. The lights of Austin stretch out before you. Like a galaxy of stars come to life. The cityscape glimmers and shimmers in the darkness, the buildings, and landmarks standing out against the inky blackness of the night.

The Colorado River winds its way through the heart of the city, its surface reflecting the dazzling lights. You can see the cars moving like tiny dots on the highways, their headlights glowing like fireflies in the distance. The downtown skyline rises up like a glittering jewel, its sharp edges cutting through the sky.

Beyond the city, the rolling hills and forests of Texas stretch out as far as the eye can see. The stars above seem to twinkle brighter here, free from the light pollution of the city. The sky is a deep, velvety black, and you can make out constellations you never knew existed.

“You never been to the Overlook before?” Tommy grins, taking his place next to you. You both lean back against the front of the truck, your shoulders brushing as you settle down. 

“How’d you know?” 

He points at you, gently tapping your nose. In a surprise, you blink twice, a tad too fast, and smile. “From the way you’re lookin’ at the view, sweetheart.” 

“It is a very pretty view.” you smile, turning your gaze back to the horizon. “I always loved staring at the city lights. It’s always so bright.” 

Tommy opens the bottle of wine with a pop, and answers between clenched teeth. “I assumed you’d be a more nature-lovin’ type of gal.” 

“I am. Which is why I love them. They look like stars but on earth. Like stars casted away from the sky.” 

“Like fallen angels?” 

You nod, your mind scattered. Your body still tingles from where Joel almost touched you, and now you’re with his younger brother. Drinking wine and talking about fallen stars. 

“I guess this is a bit awkward for both of us,” he mutters, taking a sip. “Sorry about that.” 

You feel his fingers on your chin, slowly turning your gaze to meet his own. A small smile blossoms on his lips, slightly red from the wine. “But let me say that you look gorgeous tonight.”

“Y-You too.” 

“Me too?” he barks out a laugh as he throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. “I couldn’t be half as gorgeous as you. You’re shining brighter than the stars above.” 

“Very smooth,” you tease, welcoming the normalcy of the banter with open arms. “I bet you say that to all your dates.” 

“No, I don’t. And I usually take them to bars.” 

“This answers a lot of questions.” 

“Does it now?” he cocks an eyebrow, eyes tinged with amusement. “And what questions might those be?” 

You grin and playfully shove him in the shoulder. “Why you’re still single, for starters.” 

You don’t expect the following silence. You part your lips, an apology already forming in your head but he beats you to it. 

“It’s hard to let people in,” he sighs, voice almost drowned out by the rustling of leaves. “Ever since I came back…you’re the only person that makes me comfortable in me bein’ me. If that makes sense. I feel broken. And well,” he swallows, your feel the twitch of his fingers above your shoulder. “I’m gonna sound a bit of an asshole but you also bein’–” 

“Broken?” you absent-mindedly complete his train of thought, and he nods. 

“It made me want to know you. It made it easier. And after knowing you, it made me want to pull you between my arms and never let go.” a smile ghosts over his lips. “I enjoyed bein’ the one you came to when you needed someone.” 

You look at him baffled, furrowing your brows. “Why the past tense?” 

“Well, I’m not really the one you come to anymore now am I?” he’s still smiling, but now it only unnerves you. You suck in a breath. “You go to Joel.” 

“Tommy…” panic flares underneath the surface. Does he know? 

“I understand why. He’s a natural caretaker, has been takin’ care of my ass ever since.” a breathy chuckle escapes him. “He’s good at it. And to be fair, I haven’t really been returnin’ the trust you’ve given me. Haven’t been exactly openin’ up. It’s just hard for me to talk.” 

“You don’t owe me an explanation.” 

“Good, because that’s not what I’m tryin’ to give,” his gaze meets yours, a crease deep between his brows. He looks like Joel when he’s like this. “I don’t want to explain myself. I want to tell you about myself. I want you to know me. I want you to see the fucked up parts of me.” 

You’re speechless, your lips parting and closing in a daze. Tommy’s not looking at you. It’s almost like he’s afraid. You never thought of him as fucked up. How could you when he was the one constantly lifting you up? Making you laugh whenever you were drowning in your head. He’s been a light ever since he made himself an essential part of your life. Your cheeks burn as you realize you never actually realized he was having troubles of his own. You’ve been a bad friend. 

An image of Joel gazing at you through the mirror’s reflection flashes before your eyes, shortening your breath. 

You’ve been a really bad friend. 

“Tommy,” you say, placing a hand over his knee. He turns to you and you squeeze, encouraging him. “I’ve never seen you as a fuck up. You’re not a fuck up. I’m sorry I haven’t realized you’ve been struggling, but I’m here now. I’m here to listen.” 

He’s staring at you with hope. Your heart breaks when confronted with the emotion, your hand feeling like fire above his knee. You exhale a shaky breath. Tommy’s lips part, a faint curl at the edges as the words flood all the way to the tip of his tongue. 

You both jump when your phone buzzes.

“Fuck, sorry,” you murmur, pulling it out. You try not to think how relieved you are at the distraction. Cold sweat clings to your skin, but when you see who the text is from, a contrasting warmth spreads in your chest. 

> JOEL: 

> Electricity is fixed. Thought you might wanna know.

“Who is it?” Tommy asks, nuzzling closer. You mention it’s Joel and you don’t miss the way he grimaces, a subtle roll to his eyes. “Of course it is,” he grumbles, covering your phone with his palm, he pushes it down to your lap. “What does he want?” 

“He’s letting me know the lights are back on,” you answer, smiling. “Finally.” 

But before you can say anything else, he pulls you into his arms, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing kiss. Tommy sucks the air from your lungs, licking your bottom lip and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. You’re stunned. Your one hand still lingers on his knee, and the other instinctively dives into his soft curls. 

The kiss is desperate and urgent as if he’s trying to convey everything he’s feeling through it. Your body stills when you feel it. It’s good, very good, and it feels like you’re walking on air, but it’s not the same for him. It’s more to him than it is to you. It’s him letting you know that he’s not here to play games. He wants you. Every fucked up part of it. 

You’re the one to pull away. His lips leaving a bittersweet taste on your skin. Tommy rests his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I was going to kiss you that day,” he rasps, taking you by surprise. 

It takes you a moment to remember what he’s talking about; the moment in the kitchen, him leaning in seemingly for an intimate kiss but kissing your cheek instead. You don’t say a word, the only noise coming from you the gasp that parts your lips. His gaze drops to them, his tongue swiping over his own. 

“I was—but…but you looked so fuckin’ scared I couldn’t. I hated seeing you like that.” he meets your gaze, looking almost frustrated. “And here it is again. You lookin’ like a fuckin’ dear in headlights. Scared. Just tell me if you don’t want me. Tell me you just want to be friends. I’m okay with that as long as you’re honest with me.”

This is it. He’s giving you an out. After everything, he’s still looking after you and your well-being. Joel was right, you would be happy with Tommy. Perhaps even happier than you would be with Joel. 

But you just can’t. 

Even if Joel never becomes an option, your heart isn’t in the right place for you to date Tommy. 

“I’m sorry,” you answer, voice shaking and tears blurring your vision. You can’t breathe. “I care for you. I really do, and I meant every word that I said but I just—I can’t. I don’t feel the same.” 

The first tear slips and you find yourself being pulled into his chest, strong arms caging you in. Without thinking you bury your face into him, taking deep breaths. He smells like pine trees with a hint of sweetness. Your fingers dig into his shirt, stretching the fabric as you pull him closer. His hands stroke your back, the warmth of them calming your raging heart. 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers and you feel the soft press of his chin above your head. “It’s okay. I’m not…I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. You don’t need to feel the same as me. I only want you to be happy, and if us staying friends does the trick, I’ll happily fulfill that role.” 

You look up, tear streaks glistening under the city lights. 

“You still want to be friends?” you ask, your voice shaking more than you preferred. 

“Fuck, ‘course, I do.” his arms tighten around you. “I’m a big boy you know, I’m not gonna throw a tantrum just because you don’t wanna date me.” 

He smiles at your soft chuckle. Tommy cradles your face with both hands and kisses your eyes, thumbs moving in circles. 

“Thank you,” you answer, your voice low. 

Tommy pulls away from you slightly, his hands still resting on your cheeks as he studies your face. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and it's both comforting and unsettling at the same time. But all that disappears when he smiles. 

“You’re welcome, sunshine.” 

You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of his cologne, and for a moment, everything feels okay. 

[joelsleftknee]

Part 2

pairing: Joel Miller!Reader | post-outbreak/ jackson era

WC: 2.6k

multiple part series: series masterlist

- part 1

content warnings: canon divergent obvi cause joel doesn't go golfing in this one, ANGST ANGST ANGST (literally wrote this cause there's not enough agnst to read out there), age gap (reader is around 28, Joel is 52), reader has hair and is shorter than Joel but no physical descriptions other than that, cute winter romance, bookworm reader, eventual fluff, eventual hurt/comfort.

(a/n): part 2 is here!!! thank you so much for reading! this is my first time writing here, so sorry if my formatting is kinda mid lol.

tags: @macaroni676 !!! :)

Joel half-heartedly untied the shoelaces of his leather boots before climbing the stairs to his room and getting in bed, pulling the covers up to his chin as the cold slowly seeped off his bones.

He spent all morning out on patrol with Harry, a twenty-something-year-old kid who’d joined Jackson just over a year ago. He had married one of the girls in town. Young and very pregnant, she had some coffee ready for both Harry and Joel before they headed out the gates.

As he sipped the hot drink, Joel couldn’t help the pathetic stab of jealousy that had him furrowing his eyebrows at the kiss on the cheek Harry received from his wife.

Harry had been in Jackson for such a short time, yet he had managed to build a life that seemed to make the damn Apocalypse worth living.

As for Joel… He tried to count his blessings. He really did.

He had Ellie, whom he loved more than anything. He had Tommy, and even Maria, who had become something like a sister to him.

But Ellie was building a life of her own, having recently moved into the garage and spending almost every day with Dina. And Tommy and Maria had each other.

Joel threw his arm over his brow, trying to block the shaft of sunlight that made it through the fraying curtains of his bedroom window.

Perhaps sleep would keep his mind off the pitiful downward spiral he was setting on. So he closed his eyes, lips parting with an exhale as he filtered off his thoughts. Exhaustion helped, and soon he was drifting off into an easy, weightless nap.

Joel’s rest was short-lived. Outside, excited squeals and laughter woke him about an hour later.

He grumbled against his pillow, pushing himself up on his elbows to try to blink away the sleep. He padded to the window, peering through the curtains.

It had snowed. In the past hour, Jackson had been covered in a thick blanket of freezing white. Now townspeople of all ages ran around making crumbling snowmen and snow angels. He spotted a couple of simultaneous snowball fights. If you could call the fluffy blobs snowballs at all.

He was scanning the crowd gathered downstairs all over the street, looking for Tommy.

Instead, he found you.

You were wrapped in a thick coat, head falling back in laughter as you watched Maria hurl a handful of snow at an oblivious Tommy, who turned around in shock, flakes clinging to his hair.

Joel closed the curtain, eyes catching on the books on his bedside table. The one you’d picked out for him a couple of days ago. And then two more—ones he’d found on patrol this morning.

He didn’t recognize the titles, but they seemed to be in pretty good condition. He’d initially planned to save them for later—a last resort excuse to go see you again. Still, he had scolded himself for even thinking that as he rode his horse back into the perimeters of Jackson this morning, lost in thought while Harry rambled about something beside him.

You were so young. And so beautiful. And so joyful and bright, that he felt that he was doing you a disservice by even staring at you for too long.

He was fifty-two years old, for goodness’ sake. Ancient in comparison. He was no better than a dirty old man. In fact, he was a dirty old man.

The realization hit him like a brick to the back of the head. He grabbed the books he’d found and stuffed them inside the squeaky bedside table drawer, slamming it close before darting downstairs. He pulled on his boots and his jacket, zipping it up to his chin.

Closing the door behind him, he stepped out onto a veritable winter wonderland.

“Joel!”

He turned his head to find Ellie jogging toward him, pulling a red-nosed Dina by the hand.

“Hey, kiddo,” Joel said, offering Dina a nod and a smile.

“Joel, you need to come to the hot and cocoa board game night,” Ellie started. “It’s tonight.”

Joel blinked, his gaze—unwittingly, of course—focusing behind Ellie and on the unnecessarily thick bright red winter coat you were wearing, still laughing beside Tommy and Maria.

Ellie waved a frantic hand in front of your face. “You listening to me?”

Your eyes met Joel’s. His heart jumped before he immediately looked back at Ellie, whose eyebrows were raised in amusement.

Joel missed the smile you flashed him.

“Did you fall off your horse this morning or what?” asked Ellie. “Tipsy Bison. Tonight. Hot cocoa. A game of Dutch Blitz. Get ready to be destroyed.”

Joel ran a hand over his face, fighting the urge to check whether you were still looking at him. “What time is this? You know I’m too old for these things.”

“Oh I know, you’re, like, a hundred years old,” Ellie said, earning a laugh from Dina, who added, in a stage whisper, “There’s also gonna be booze. Main reason I’m going.”

Joel scoffed, suddenly liking Dina more than he already did. “That might do it.” He pinched Ellie’s nose, who wrenched off his grip with a dramatic sneeze. “I’ll be there. But don’t expect me to be there all night.”

Ellie looked more than pleased. “I would never. You’ll have to go home and cry when I crush you at every game, anyway.”

Joel only shook his head, amused, as he watched Ellie drag Dina away.

Left standing at his front door, Joel’s heart almost stopped when he saw you walking up the couple of steps of his porch.

“Hey Joel,” you said, snowflakes clinging to your hair, catching the sunlight in an angelic aura.

“Hey,” Joel breathed, heart hammering inside his chest. “It snowed.”

What a stupid thing to say.

But you still smiled, chuckling as you said, “It did indeed. I actually came over because I heard from Harry that you found books on patrol today.” You looked at him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I did.” Joel half-turned to go back into his house. “I can get them for you right now.”

You raised both hands, stopping him. “No need! You can bring them to me another time. I don’t want to expose them to the snow.” You gestured around you just as a shiver in response to the low temperature took over your body. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you smiled at Joel, and he thought it shined as bright as the ball of fire that is the sun when it rises every morning.

“I just wanted to thank you,” you continued, “for taking the time to find the books.”

Joel wanted to do a lot of things in that moment. Things like running his fingertips, calloused from years of playing the guitar, down your soft cheek. Things like running his thumb across your plump bottom lip, tantalizing him like forbidden fruit.

Instead, he nodded with an “It’s my pleasure, darlin’.” And before he could stop himself, he asked, “Are you going to the board game night tonight? With the hot cocoa.”

Joel gulped as your eyes widened. He had no business asking you, he realized. Would you catch on to his sorry crush on you? Could he play it off as just friendly fellow townspeople behavior?

“I’m planning to, hopefully,” you said. “Are you?”

Warmth spread in his core at the question, and his cheeks reddened in shame at the realization that he was so lonely that something so simple like this exchange could make his heart race.

“Ellie sort of bullied me into it,” he admitted with a nervous laugh. But suddenly energized by the prospect of getting to see you again, he added, “Though I figure it should be fun. Just somethin’ to do in this weather.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Tell me about it. I’ve been cooped up in the library the past few days, trying to organize things and restore some books. So I could really use a night off.”

Joel wished he could somehow get all your work done for you. Even though he had not one damn clue of what restoring a book entailed.

But you were too sweet and too soft to be stressed, he thought.

“Well, I’ll see you later Joel,” you said, bringing him back to earth. “And don’t hesitate to bring any clothes to me that mind need fixing, yeah?”

He nodded, recalling your deal. “I’ll see you later,” he said, unable to stop the timid smile stretching across his lips as he waved goodbye.

He watched you return to where you’d been standing, coming back to Maria’s side. Maria, who shot Joel a knowing smirk from across the street.

Not having even left the porch, Joel turned back inside, deciding he had had enough of the cold wind today. And, above all, wishing to hide from any eyes that could pick up on the slight trembling of his hands and the permanent red in his cheeks when he talked to you.

He was acting like a schoolboy. At the grown age of fifty-two. But he couldn’t help it.

Back in his room, Joel climbed in bed once more, in more age-appropriate fashion, shooting for a second nap to stop his mind from reeling through the hours until he saw you again tonight.

“Goodness,” you signed, resting your forehead on the pile of books on your desk that you were trying to classify.

After the snow craze had died down and everyone had gone back inside to their respective daily tasks, you came into the library to meticulously clean and dust off books.

Naturally, you’d been sneezing nonstop for the past hour, nose irritated from blowing it every other minute.

A box sat on the ground by your feet, containing many more books that the townspeople had donated, found all over their homes, tomes long forgotten through the outbreak. You had to go through those still.

You just wanted to be done.

The thing was, you loved your job. You had dreamed of working at a library, of living among books, before the outbreak even happened. It is nothing short of a miracle that you got to pursue your dream even after the world went to hell.

But that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve gotten maybe a collective eight hours of sleep over the past three days. Maria keeps telling you to slow down, to take your time, and rest.

But you want this thing to work. And you’re going to work yourself to the ground if that’s what it takes. You’re hoping for a grand opening, even if the library and its books are already open and available to the public. You want to host a special event, nurture some enthusiasm for reading. Make it look cool.

You’ve had a few visitors ever since you opened the doors to your half-finished project last week. But with the weather and all, many prefer to stay inside instead of exploring what’s new in town. And you’ve pointedly asked Maria to not announce that the library’s open yet. Because you want that grand opening to be people’s first impression.

So here you were, at 10:57 pm, still paging through books, stacking tomes, and sneezing your brains out.

You wiped from your eyes the tears triggered by your allergies. Much to your dismay, you were already late to the board game night. You debated showing up anyway, but decided there was no point.

The reason you were going to begin with would probably be gone by them.

Joel Miller.

Tommy’s impossibly handsome, endearingly quiet older brother. One of your first visitors to the library. And someone you had been stealing glances at since the first time you saw him, almost a year ago, after your arrival at Jackson.

His hardened exterior and just the sheer size of him managed to draw everyone’s eye. You were well aware of all the other women in the commune who drooled over him, entrapped by the alluring danger that emanated off of him like a challenge.

But to you, he wasn’t dangerous. Sure, he was dangerous in the sense that he looked like he could kill any man in a matter of seconds. And in the sense that you’d heard of all his patrolling prowess. And of his many years of survival prior to his arrival to Jackson, the stories passed around like legends through town gossip.

But you knew there was more to him than that. Way more.

And you’ll be damned, but you wanted to know everything about him.

You were smart enough to know that you had plenty of competition. Because Joel was handsome beyond reason.

His rough features that softened when he smiled. The salt and pepper beard that made you go week on the knees when you saw him walking around town. His broad chest and shoulders—and the flannels that hugged him perfectly, so perfectly it was almost lewd.

You blew out a mouthful of air, snapping yourself back to the pile of work before you. You had no business thinking of Joel Miller this way.

He was beyond your reach. Mature. Experienced. Serious and reserved.

Much older. Old enough to be your father.

The realization had you closing your eyes and leaning back in your chair. There must have been something wrong with you because the thought made a desperate wave of warmth spread low in your stomach.

You had half the thought to put on the tight, long-sleeved shirt you had bartered for recently—funny enough, with the pathetic intention of catching Joel’s eye—and pulling up to the Tipsy Bison, down some liquid courage, and challenge him to a round of poker or something.

But you knew better.

You knew you would chicken out halfway through. And you knew there was no way Joel was still there. He had better things to do, you were sure. So even if he showed up to make Ellie happy and appease Maria, you doubted the hot cocoa and game cards would be enough to keep him for long.

Resigned, you returned to your books, pushing the image of Joel and his quiet smile away from your mind.

Joel left the Tipsy Bison at midnight. When the clock hit 12:01 am, he stood up from the table he’d been sharing with Ellie, Tommy, Maria, and Dina.

He had arrived early to the event. Both to have enough time to ease his nerves with the booze he disguised by pouring it in a mug and also just in case you’d arrive early, too. He sat facing the front door, and he watched it all night, waiting for you to walk through.

His heart raced every time a gust of freezing wind flowed into the room when someone walked in, expecting it to be you.

It was never you. And he felt like the biggest idiot in the world for having spent the entire night disappointed by your absence.

His mind couldn’t help but start making up reasons as to why you weren’t here. Maybe you took a nap and slept through the game night. Or maybe something had happened to you. What if you didn’t go because you knew he would be there, and you didn’t want to see him?

He had the brain to stop himself from wallowing into further dramatics lest he drive himself insane, but he could not help the false hope that popped like a balloon every time that door opened and it wasn’t you who walked in.

He waited. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spent socializing for so many consecutive hours, but he was grateful that the people he loved made it more bearable.

He won enough rounds of Dutch Blitz to secure at least a month of immunity from Ellie’s teasing, and he managed to wipe off the sad puppy look off his face for most of the night.

He had no reason to be disappointed, he told himself. It wasn’t like you owed him your presence. He’d just met you, for goodness’ sake.

That still didn’t erase the pang in his chest as he walked back to his house after offering some help with the post-event cleanup and sharing a cup of hot cocoa that Ellie convinced him to drink.

He had brushed his hair and put on the cleanest, most presentable flannel he owned. He even groomed his beard and put on some cologne that Ellie had gifted him when he turned fifty-two.

He’d felt silly watching himself in the mirror, knowing no nice clothes and no amount of cologne could change the truth of his age. Or erase the reality of how undeserving he was of a sweet light like you.

Still, he figured that, even after so many years of pain and grief, an ember of hope lived within him, fanned by the past two years of living peacefully in Jackson.

So he had hoped to see you tonight, hoped to indulge in the knowledge that there still was beauty in the world, and that you were the clearest evidence of that.

With snow crunching under his boots and his shoulders slightly slumped in defeat, Joel went home.

[joelsmochi]

closer

rating: E 18+ pairing: tortured artist!Joel x black!girly!f!reader summary: Joel hits a creative block with a mural, leading him down a road of discovery and intimacy in ways he's never felt before. warnings: au/no outbreak, unspecified drug use + marijuana use, unprotected piv, sex while under the influence, consenting adults!!! age is not specified but we can assume joel is mid 40s, brief mentions of death + abusive relationships, ooc!Joel (he is not the same person he was 1/2 pill ago…), third person pov but most of it is from joel’s perspective, very fluffy sex they may have said i love you wc: 5.3k a/n: Happy New Year everybody! This was inspired by Closer by Goapele and Prisoner by The Weeknd & Lana Del Rey plus I was thinking too hard about the time I ate an edible that had too much THC for me to handle and I produced whatever this is. Hopefully tortured artist!Joel hasn’t happened yet because I felt creative with this one…

masterlist

ᝰ

The frayed paintbrush relentlessly slapped against the concrete wall, coating the discolored brick in thick layers of different browns, reds, and whites. Opaque smoke blurred his vision, yet he only let it inspire the strokes of his hand, creating a beautiful image that wasn’t clear to him yet.

Before he knew it, the sun had set; he sat on his hard leather sofa, massaging the twinge that had settled into his wrist while his face wore a disappointed scowl. He was displeased with his progress, the blob that was already half dry on the wall of his loft.

A rumble snuck into his stomach, forcing him to stand up and absentmindedly walk into the kitchen area. However, his disappointment grew when he opened the fridge to find nothing suitable for a proper meal. As he glared at the half-eaten yogurt and scarce 24-pack of beer, he decided to go and get Chinese food.

He lit up a cigarillo to accompany his walk around the block and across the street, tossing whatever was left into a sewer drain just in time for him to open the door to the restaurant.

“Miller,” a worker greeted with a smile, “your usual?”

Unknown to him, the smell of his cigar caught the attention of a waiting customer. She waited until he was done chatting with the employee to ask, “Cream?”

He did a double take, unsure if she was talking to him at first. She was tall, maybe five foot nine or five foot ten, with big hair and brown skin, and dressed in something far too lovely for her to be eating Chinese for dinner.

“I’m sorry?”

“You smell like cream-flavored cigars,” she said, sounding amused.

He felt unsure of how to respond, not wanting to seem rude, watching her diamond earrings gleam from the low yellow lighting. He paid for his food and answered. “Yeah, just had one.”

“Black and mild or swisher?”

“Blacks,” he answered, growing a little uneasy from the stranger questioning him despite the mundane topic. 

“My favorite,” she boasted, earning another look from him after he put his change in the tip jar. “They’re much smoother.”

The man didn’t respond, only offering a tight smile in return. The pair stood a few feet apart silently, listening to people chattering and utensils clanking behind the counter as they waited.

She smelled like expensive brown sugar perfume and cocoa butter, a sickly sweet combination that tickled his sense of smell. Her scent was reminiscent of a freshly baked cookie a kid couldn’t wait to dive into. She was dressed in a lovely skirt and a prissy top paired with a mix of gold and silver rings and necklaces and bracelets — two colors he usually hated paired together, but somehow, she made it blend beautifully.

Her makeup was soft, or so it seemed. It wasn’t too heavy, but her eyebrows were bold, as was the line drawn around her vermilion border. He noticed she blinked slowly but held her eyes wide as if she anticipated something to happen.

The employee’s voice brought the two adults out of their daydreams.

“Beef and broccoli and chow mein?” They asked.

The artist waited kindly for the woman to grab her bagged styrofoam container before reaching for his own; he walked a few feet behind her, suddenly feeling bad for his cold demeanor earlier once they were outside.

“You want one?” He called after her before she got too far away; she turned around with a frown, confused at his offering.

He reached into his pocket and held up a couple of fresh cigars. She grinned, secretly desperate for a smoke. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she strutted back towards him. She strutted like a cat, one leg crossing the other.

She allowed the man with the messy hair the privilege of placing the stick between her plump lips, keeping her eyes on his as he watched where he was lighting.

She took a long drag, waiting for him to get his cigarette lit before asking, “What’s your name?”

His eyebrow cocked up, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was amused. But he answered anyway.

“Joel.” He sharply inhaled; she responded with her name and a smile, thick smoke spilling out from the spaces between her teeth as she gently exhaled. “You from around here?”

“No,” she said, “I like to travel. See new places. Find new things… Right now, I’m fixated on museums—art museums precisely.”

That piqued his interest. “Art? What kind of art d'you like?”

“Any art that speaks to me.”

Joel smirked at her answer as if it were funny. “Oh yeah? What speaks to you?”

Instead of her usual quick response, she pondered momentarily, trying to locate proper words to avoid rambling. “Suffering or excitement.”

He could only narrow his eyes at the vague response, but she spoke again before he could ask for an elaboration.

“You must like art,” she guessed correctly.

“I’m uh…” And there’s a long pause; the rhetorical shame of confessing what his job was had risen, but for what purpose? After a short internal debate, he finally admitted, “I’m an artist myself.”

Her eyes widened with excitement, which Joel found adorable. She asked him various questions: what kind of art he created, how long he’d been painting, his favorite creations…

He admired her interest in the subject and how she listened carefully and intently, clearly trying to understand as much as possible about him.

“How do you stay inspired all the time?”

Shit.

Joel’s mind ran blank for a few seconds, and he watched the woman’s face contort into confusion. She worried she’d brought up an unhealed wound and persisted that he didn’t need to answer.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Joel assured, “I’ve honestly been at a block lately…”

“Oh.” She sounded relieved. “Do you do anything to help get over that?”

He sucked on his teeth as he thought of an appropriate answer, yet nothing came to mind. He couldn’t lie even if he wanted to. “Just wait for it to pass.”

“…Could... Could I see your art?”

For the first time, she seemed to be shy. Her teeth grimaced, and eyebrows crooked out of fear of rejection, but Joel was sure he was far more nervous than she was.

"Uh, sure..." He said hesitantly. "What I have at home is nothing special, but-"

"I'm sure it's beautiful," she interrupted. "I'm free right now if that works."

ᝰ

This was unlike him: inviting a girl he'd just met into his home. She had something that enamored him. What was it, he wondered with each passing minute, was it her beauty or curiosity? Was it the way she smiled or how sweet her voice sounded? He couldn't ponder for much longer as she had already begun complimenting his home.

"A loft," she said while taking in the brick walls of his home that were littered with several paintings that all seemed to be works in progress. "It's cozy." Joel watched as her painted nails gently trailed over the armrest of his stiff couch just before she reached up to feel a painting of what seemed to be a little girl.

His staring made the woman laugh, and while he could admit he was being a bit precarious, he just wanted to ensure she wouldn't mishandle that particular piece. She didn't. She just reached to stroke the texture meant to resemble the girl's curly hair; she touched it for only a moment before pulling away and turning around.

After realizing the painting was sacred to him, she asked, "Is that someone you know?"

His shoulders and chest rose as he sucked in a melancholic breath, and she couldn't ignore the sadness that swarmed his eyes.

The woman was satisfied with no answer and moved on quickly. "May I eat with you?"

Joel gave her a stiff nod, his thoughts still filled with the traumatic memories of the girl in the photo.

They sat quietly and slowly ate their food, the lack of heat from their containers making the meal invaluable. The silence comforted him as it felt much different than the cold silence he was used to. No. Her silence was warm and comforting... Like a mother caring for a sick or sad or sleeping child. She didn't offer any awkward glances or stiff smiles. She didn't hide her joy or her optimism despite his distant demeanor.

Her eyes weren't as big as they were just an hour ago. Perhaps the food made her sleepy, he thought.

"Where ya from?" He figured he should at least be a good host.

"Rockport. It's a small town in Massachusetts. You?"

"Born and raised here," he answered.

"Really?" She squinted at him while poking at broccoli with a fork. "Never wanted to leave?"

Shrugging, he said, "Thought about leaving, never needed to."

"Is that painting supposed to be the same girl?"

She pointed to the spontaneous mural partly done on the big red wall opposite to them. He looked at it, forming different opinions and thoughts on his work.

"No. Not entirely sure what that one is yet," he grunted. "Needed to paint something, but I can't quite figure it out yet."

"You should do a self-portrait," she suggested with a wide grin. "I'd love to see how you see yourself."

"Nah, if I did that, it'd just be a college-ruled notebook with a bunch'a scribbles in it."

She chuckled at his pessimism, gaining a confused look from him. "So? Maybe someone would see something between the scribbles."

"I don't like painting myself," he said firmly.

She couldn't care less about his seriousness; she saw his need for perfection and keeping busy with work. Seeing the distress on the average person's face wasn't unfamiliar to her; all she wanted to do was take it away.

"Your art is lovely, Joel," she spoke truthfully, "For what it's worth, I think you'd paint yourself beautifully."

He chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds, taking in her warm smile and gentle words.

"You're very kind," he admitted, "thank you."

The temptress walked and stood in front of the mural to admire the thick blobs of paint that were still tacky. She saw the vision but just as quickly saw the block.

"You seriously do nothing to help the creative blocks?"

With a slight frown, he shook his head to confirm. "Just try working on something else until I find my rhythm again."

"Why not? Why not music or movies or going outside for more than Chinese on a Thursday evening?"

Feeling a bit antagonized, Joel scowled at her. "I paint what's in my head, not around me."

"Maybe that's the problem." She sat close to him on the floor and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Maybe you've painted all you know, and you're stuck right now because there's nothing new inside that pretty little head a'yours."

"Flattery only gets you so far, sweetheart."

"It got me in your apartment, did it not?"

His scowl grew, and he felt no need to hide his annoyance from her.

"Just tryna help," she smirked.

"I don't need your help."

"Clearly not," she simpered; she pulled a bag of ground weed from her purse and held it up for him to see. "Maybe you need Mary's help."

"You're fucking joking."

"It helps me," she said softly. "When I don't smoke, I'm a very anxious and shy person."

Joel's eyes fell to her hands, which were beginning to work the weed into a paper very carefully, watching her roll it precisely. "Really?" He asked incredulously.

"Mock me all you want, Joel, but I must say that even a couple of hits can make you feel ten times better."

"Not interested," he quipped.

"Well... If weed isn't your speed, then maybe..." She licked the paper shut and placed it on the table, then reached in her purse again for a bag containing different colored pills. "...ecstasy would be more fitting."

"You expect me to take drugs from a stranger?" He asked.

She leaned her chin on his shoulder and whispered, "I'm no stranger, Joel. I'm your inspiration."

He found himself laughing at her choice of words, not paying her any mind as she climbed into his lap. She placed a pill between the rows of her teeth and bit down to break it in half, offering him whichever half was smaller.

"You don't have to if you really don't want to... But it will help."

Her voice was so enticing that Joel was sure he was already high from the affection she persisted in giving him.

"Help me paint?" He asked, still not entirely convinced.

"Help you create."

Joel thought about it: he had nothing left in his life to live for other than his talent for painting, and he even felt that it was being wasted on unproductive days and constant disappointments.

For months, all he wanted was to create one last masterpiece and to feel proud of it. If all it took was to give in to some strange form of peer pressure, then that's just what needed to be done.

Almost an hour later, however, his worries about art were set aside.

With his head lying in the pretty woman's lap, he tried remembering why he had been so angry before. He let her stroke the curly hairs on his head and trace his lips over and over again.

"You're doing good," she cooed gently.

"You're very, um," he swallowed between his heavy breaths, "nurturing."

He noticed the woman's eyebrow shift upwards, and an amused hum left her mouth. "Hm. No one's ever said that before."

"Really?" Joel began to realize how dry his throat became. "Well, it's a compliment."

"Thank you," she giggled. "Thirsty?"

"Mmhm," he moaned.

Reaching over to grab the water bottle on the floor, she took a long sip as she felt parched before holding his head up to help him drink some. He felt her sticky lip gloss around the rim and found himself latching even harder onto the plastic container.

She let him drink as much as he needed before closing the bottle and helping him stand up, urging him to paint something.

He felt a wave of heat envelope his body, the hairs along his arms and neck dancing along his skin. He wanted to laugh, but nothing was funny, so he tried to hold it in. He followed her around the room and watched the ends of her hair bend and curl around her arms. She opened a few paint bottles, squeezing some onto his stained palette and holding the brush out for him. She couldn't help but laugh at the elation in his wide eyes; he was definitely in a much better mood than before.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, not bothering with the meaningless utterance of words and just giving into his need to kiss her. She wasn't surprised by the gesture, inviting his tongue into her mouth for more. She tasted the cigar on his breath and lips, ignoring how bitter it seemed.

The paintbrush smeared itself against Joel's elbow, causing him to jolt back in shock, only to laugh when he realized the purple-coated paintbrush was bending on its own. He took it from her hand and approached the wall, immediately getting to work.

While he worked and ranted about how the piece was "basically painting itself," she undressed slowly while prancing around the room and humming to some tune that found its way into her head. Joel saw the colors blend and separate, waiting for the wall to respond with where his next brush stroke should be.

The woman found herself looking at that painting of the little girl again. She was unable to quiet her curiosity.

"Is she your daughter?"

Her voice broke the string tying him to his work, and he stumbled around a bit before turning around and facing her with an asking face. He let his tools go and followed the sound of the siren, looking deeply into her wide eyes.

"She was my daughter," he admitted freely, something he refused to do as often as possible.

"Where is she?"

He noted how concerned she seemed and took it as an invitation to confide in her.

“She uh… She died ‘bout ten years ago.”

Joel felt her fuzzy arms weave around him, encompassing him with a sense of comfort. It was the first time he could talk about the tragedy without bursting into tears. Her lips pressed warm kisses into his forehead and temples as she attempted to bathe him in consolation.

He removed his head from the crook of her neck to look at her face. Her eyes, although appearing a bit lopsided, were still wide and curious, like she was still waiting for something. He tried to focus on just her, but all he wanted was to paint wanted was to paint wanted was to paint wanted was to pai-

A shriek broke him out of his trance: the woman seemed surprised about the splatter of paint that got on her bare chest and arms. Joel blinked rapidly and tried to decipher what had happened between talking about his daughter and... Now.

Had time managed to escape him? Was he too out of it to realize that? And who put on the jazz music?

The brown liquid dripped down her body and hid her nipples; he found the motion fascinating. How happy she seemed to be coated in the cold dispense helped him feel more at ease and join in laughing with her. Her hair, frizzier than before, somehow gave the illusion that she was underwater. It just flowed so freely.

"You are a mermaid in the most beautiful depths of the sea," Joel shouted dramatically.

"Wh-what?" She giggled before smearing a finger-lengths of paint onto his forehead.

His hand absentmindedly poked the paintbrush into her collarbone, tickling her in the process. "You are free... And kind... Did you turn the music on?"

And she's giggling again. God, he couldn't get enough of that sound. She was a siren, manipulating him with her songs of joy and laughter.

"You told me to," she answered; only Joel took a few minutes to process it. She covered her hand in yellow paint, cradled his cheek, and let the print of her hand stick to his face as if she were marking her territory. "I'm glad I met you tonight, Joel," she said quietly.

Instinctively, he beckoned for her to close the space between them. "Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

Her arms snaked around his neck as she looked at his aura and vented. "I was supposed to go on a date tonight with my ex-boyfriend. He wasn't the greatest guy. Abusive. Angry. But my parents love him, and they say he's changed, so... I wanted to try again."

Joel's drug-induced nosiness got the better of him. "Why didn't you?"

She sighed, a smirk daring to grow on her face. "I wanted to make him feel stupid."

He wrapped his arms around her waist at her wise words, holding her close as if she would blow away had he exhaled too hard.

"M'glad I met you too," he admitted. "Did I spill paint on you?"

"Just a bit, but it was my fault. You were in a daze," she admitted bashfully.

The pair took a few minutes to look at each other, feel their spirits, and soak up the serenity between the small gap in their lips.

"Do you wanna fuck?"

Those words would have left Joel speechless in any other scenario at any other time on any other day. But he was high out of his fucking mind, and once his brain had fully processed her question, he answered with a short and sweet "Yes."

He waited patiently as the vixen undressed him, and she took her precious time; her knuckles grazing the wiry hair along his pelvis sent hot shivers across his abdomen before his jeans pooled around his ankles. Lifting his arms to aid in the removal of his shirt, he flinched and giggled childishly when she placed a kiss or two along his collarbone.

She gasped at the nails digging into her sides, his hands begging for more because his voice was too weak to. The desperation grew in his eyes, and he wanted to feel close to her. To feel all of her depths and shallows and curves and grooves. Her essence rendered him helpless. The smell of her perfume was even more sickly than he recalled, but all the much more sweet.

Their bodies danced onto the floor, bending and curling around each other like snakes.

"I was always afraid of this," he spoke as she worked her hand around him, not that he needed it. "Feeling close with someone. After my last... You know."

She smiled at his words, telling him with her eyes: I know.

"I was so scared to feel close to someone..." She admitted. "After him, I wanted to be left alone. Untouched."

"What changed that- oh, fuck," Joel moaned, feeling her wetness encapsulate him.

"Someone found me, ha-ah, hmm... And took care a'me, just like I'm doing for you."

Joel clawed at her back, reaching for her hair, but his arms were too heavy, with the quick rushes of euphoria soaring through his veins. Her moans and pretty little sounds coaxing him into blindness. He couldn't see her face, covered in the universe of her bangs littered with stars and planets, until she leveled her happy face with his. The shimmer in her glossy eyes let him know she enjoyed this just as much as him.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, ever s-seen," he moaned.

Finally able to lift his arms, he used them to hold her face gently. He admired her refreshing beauty. She moaned something about how sweet he was, though it went unregistered to him.

All he could feel was her thighs flexing against his hips every time she rode down, and he felt his cock brush that sensitive sponge deep inside of her. Her hands pressed painfully into his ribcage, but he didn't mind. He loved that she needed him so much that it hurt.

She laid her body down on his chest, bringing her lips to his chin; he whimpered at the softness of her lips, his warm breath hitting her nose and making her body shudder. His mouth parted to stick his tongue out for her to lick and suck, which she did graciously.

He never knew his tongue could feel so ticklish or that having it licked would feel so damn good. It made his cock throb against her walls, forcing a moan out of the both of them. Her nails scratched his scalp tenderly, hips rocking back and forth, creating the perfect rhythm.

Her breasts dragged against the hairs on his chest, making some of the dried brown paint flake onto him; her nippled peaked, vulnerable from the friction.

Joel wrapped his forearms around the base of her spine and rolled over as carefully as his intoxicated body would allow. With hair splayed out, she looked so ethereal, like a walking painting herself.

Then, he noticed a bucket of paint sitting nearby and dipped two of his long fingers inside, dragging the white liquid down the valley of her breasts until he reached the peak of her belly. He noticed how her body reacted: all of the little shakes and shudders signs of appreciation made his heart swell.

His hand reached around her hip to grip her ass as he rested his body weight on her and enveloped her in more kisses. His hips rocked gently and slowly, careful not to hurt her. He wanted to feel her cum and hear her beg him to keep going.

To her, it felt like he pushed deeper with each thrust, begging her body to swallow him whole and allow him the grace of becoming one with her. Her eyes were so low, yet she was seeing more clearly than ever. Seeing his aura radiate off of his broad shoulders and tousled hair - it was a haze of blue and purple. But hers were shades of reds and oranges in his eyes, a fiery tyrant that bullied him with praise and adoration.

His nose tickled her chin while his lips made their way up to plant another kiss on her sweet, sweet mouth. The alcohol in her perfume singed the hairs along his face and nostrils, pilling the hairs on his arms.

"Harder, ngh- please," she murmured.

He saw her blown pupils roll gently beneath her eyelids as beads of sweat formed along her hairline. Her breathing was shallow and short. She was close.

Licking his reddened lips, he pushed her knees back until they were flush with her jawline and shifted his body weight from his knees to his toes, then changed the force of his hips without changing the rhythm.

She loved that he listened to her: harder did not mean faster, and he fucking perfected it. Almost like he knew just how hard to go.

Joel drove into her deep enough to make her cunt squelch and clench around his thick cock. He felt clumsy inside of her like he was tripping up over his own orgasm. He felt all of her ridges and curves, the smooth and the rough; everything intensified in a way that could only be described by the God he didn't believe in.

But she had him questioning that in the back of his mind. He would have believed that she was God herself if he wasn't aware of how high he was. She looked celestial, her mouth forming an 'o', and her hair sprawled around her shimmering face. Even with her mascara flaking and running slightly, she seemed so content, so pleased.

Joel's desperation to come inside of her was almost primal, instinctive... If her nails weren't digging so sharply into his forearms, he wasn't sure whether or not he would have been able to hold back.

He didn't ease up on her throughout her orgasm. Honestly, he didn't think too much about it. He never wanted right now to end. With a sense of ecstasy coursing through his veins, he managed to turn into something he tried so hard not to be. He craved her body, her kisses.

He pulled her into his lap before resting his cheek on her breast. He inhaled the musk of her sweat deeply, cherishing the divine woman she was. She felt as beautiful as she looked. She fucked just as sweet as she smelled.

His clammy hand ran over her flexed calve as she bounced on him. Her movements were sloppy from his tight grip, not that either of them cared. She was sure not to go too high or come down too hard, allowing her pussy to drip white remnants of her orgasm onto his balls. He licked and kissed and bit her tits as a submissive thank you.

She kissed the top of his hair, strumming her fingers along his scalp. "Joel," she moaned, "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby," he grunted almost instantly.

Raising his head to look back at her blissed out face, he pulled her even closer. His chin dug into her clavicle, but his neediness only made her laugh softly.

Joel's face twitched as his body proposed its orgasm, his dick throbbed roughly against her sensitive walls. She gasped, taking it as a sign to fuck him faster despite the burning in her legs. He winced at her arms weighing heavier into his collarbones but just clawed at her ass to power through the pain.

She placed a hand over his heart and pushed gently, forcing him to feel the thumping against his chest. He felt so much of his anger and pain dissipate beneath her touch, instilling love and peace in place of it.

"You're so precious," he whispered. A lovely smile rose onto her face, one that drove him crazy. He looked at her with big puppy eyes that threatened to fill with tears. She licked along her teeth and bit her bottom lip. "I love y-you..." He knew he didn't mean it and that she didn't either, but he missed being able to say those words. "Tell m- oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Tell me you love me," he pleaded. "Tell me you love me 'til I cum, baby."

"I love you, Joel.”

His eyes screwed shut, face falling into the curve of her neck.

“I love you, baby. I want you to cum for me,” she moaned, breathless from exhaustion.

His nails dug deeper into her flesh, he was clinging onto his climax as much as possible, wanting to wait long enough for it to destroy him.

“Oh, Joel, fuck!” She yelped. “I love you, I love you!”

And he broke.

His nails scratched lines up her back whilst he screamed into her chest. Her pussy throbbed against his sensitive cock from the arrival of her second orgasm, heightening his sensitivity.

A few tears shed his eyes at the closeness; Joel felt like he was falling into the Earth. He was so dizzy and confused, cornered by the affection clouding his judgment.

“I love you,” she whispered into his scalp, placing one last kiss before climbing off of his lap.

He hissed at the last stroke of her cunt but helped her lay down, using his t-shirt to prop her head up.

“I love you,” he said before kissing her head.

“You should drink some water.”

As soon as she said that, he felt the itchiness in his dry throat. He grabbed water from the table a few feet away and chugged as much as his stomach could handle.

“Will you bring me the joint and a lighter?”

Joel fulfilled her request and sat the water next to her, immediately looking back at his work in progress while she got herself situated.

A few moments passed before she spoke again. “Are you coming down?”

Confused, he looked down at her but saw that the colors weren’t so loud anymore. “Think so…”

“Take a few hits. It’ll help.”

He hesitated but sat down and did as she told him. 

“Thank you,” he said after briefly coughing and handing the joint back to her. “I think whatever that… Pill was actually helped.”

“If it wasn't the pill, it must’ve been the sex,” she teased, earning a laugh from him. She tapped his shoulder and pointed her head towards his mural.

ᝰ

A rough pounding woke Joel up from his slumber. He groaned, pressing the meat of his palm to his forehead and slowly sitting up before remembering the girl was still next to him.

He watched her sleep soundly, mouth slightly parted and a gentle snore creaking from her throat. The memories of last night flooded his mind, and while they were somewhat fuzzy, he remembered clear as day how it felt.

He felt most of his questions had been answered by something more complex than communication. It was frightening yet calming at the same time.

Her body stirring regained his focus, and he knew she must have been feeling the same tension headache as he was when she groaned before her eyes fluttered open. She squirmed from the cold air and looked up at the hungover man, smiling as she remembered the night before.

“Morning, Joel,” she said with a playful tilt.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said. “Your head hurtin’?”

“Yep,” she grunted while sitting up. “Ever been to that café on thirty-fourth street?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll take you there for some coffee and breakfast. My treat,” she told him.

Her eyes landed on the big, dull wall that had been taunting Joel for weeks, only to find it was a brightened, complete piece of art.

She admired the woman's beauty and asked him without looking away, “S’that me?”

Joel smirked and reached for his boxers, standing to put them on.

“She’s beautiful, ain’t she?” Joel kissed her head and walked away, leaving the woman alone to admire his masterpiece…

Her.

[wannab-urs]

The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol 22

Good lord y'all I am never doing a 2 week edition of the Spreadsheet ever again this is actually insane. Like this is the longest post I have ever made. There's like 35 fics on here :)

Anyway as always you can find the spreadsheet here and the masterlist of my recs (that is currently unupdated lol oops) here.

Recs below the Pedro!

Joel

Mothman Fever a one shot by @beskarandblasters

You meet a really hot guy at the Mothman Festival and almost hook up with him, then you meet him again at the Mothman Stakeout except this time he's not just Joel... he's MOTHMAN!!! This fic is so good. It's funny and hot and amazing. Lil element of sex pollen in there and ya know, my favorite, monsterfucking. Also the shirts reader wears had me hollerin'.

Deliver Me From Nowhere a series by @atinylittlepain

Joel got his sheep ranch in a sleepy Colorado town and decided to slow his life down finally. Delores comes speeding into it, literally, in desperate need of help. As of right now there's a prologue and chapter one out, but I've got a little insight into the full story, and just trust me. This fic is worth your time. It's soft, gentle, and sweet, but do not forget that Joel Miller is capable of so much violence. And he's a protector, a caretaker. I love the way the town feels like a character and the way Joel can't help but help her, and AGH. This fic, man.

No closer could I be to god a one shot by @proxima-writes

Okay so this is set in Jackson... you're the town preacher's wife and you are hooking up with Joel Miller. This fic is super hot. I fucking love infidelity fics and I love when there's a lil blaspemy and sacrilege in a fic and this is just such a good fucking example of that. And the ending is so good.

Guard Dog a one shot by @romana-after-dark

TW Dub con, but it's Joel not reader. Raider!Joel fucks with the wrong girl. Reader fucks Joel at gun point and like there's a gun blow job in there and he's so submissive and he's also obviously pretty into it? And then he's obviously very into it. This is was so unreasonably hot. Just like... oh my god? Joel on his knees and whimpering and begging to cum? Good dog…

Jizz Fingers a Joel (and others) series by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

This is probably my favorite crackfic ever. A splorgimum (alien boy) from another planet can shape shift into anything you want and has various other special space boi powers that make hooking up with him a really good time. This so funny, like you will probably cackle out loud and have to find a way to explain what you're laughing at, but ummmm it's also pretty hot. And I refuse to be ashamed of wanting to fuck amorphous blob boy turned HBO Joel Miller. I mean have you seen what those Jizz Fingers can do?

Not so tough now, is she a one shot by @walkintotheriveranddisappear

Your cute lil raider group gets taken over by Joel's much scarier one. He needs to show your group that you are no longer in charge, and he chooses to ruin any authority you could possibly have by fucking you in front of them. TW NONCON. This is depraved and hot and terrifying. I loved the different ways the men in the group reacted too, from boldly participating to obvious disgust. Really shines a light on the spectrum of human depravity oof.

Oblivion a one shot by @thesummerpetrichor

Your boyfriend's dad is a sweet older man who you go visit sometimes, bake him things, talk about photography... Your boyfriend cheats on you. So you cheat back and let the guy take pictures. He sends those pictures to your boyfriend's dad... and suddenly sweet old man Mr. Miller is not so sweet anymore. TW Dub con, you totally wanted Joel but this is not how you wanted him. This is really hot and a little scary and just FUCK Yes. This is so fucking good

Pillow Queen a one shot by @beskarandblasters

You watch a porn video while Joel is sleeping beside you. He wakes up while you’re watching it. You tell him you want to try that position and he calls you a pillow queen. You prove him wrong. One thing I love more than almost anything else is proving a man wrong lmao. This is so fucking hot it's unreal. That got rode within an inch of his life lmao

All I did was what I had to do a series by @corazondebeskar-reads

I'm not 100% sure why I read this because if someone pissed even in my general direction in real life I'd literally cut their dick off and feed it to them... anyway that is not how I feel about it in fic apparently. Your raider!Joel's little pet or whatever and a new recruit thinks he can make a pass at you. Joel pisses in your mouth right in front of him and then shoots the fucker in the dick. Then he makes it up to you with some overstimulation :)

truth or dare a one shot by @joelscruff

Mean scary neighbor Joel, fuck yes!!! Your friends dare you to "see how far you can get" with your neighbor Joel during a game of truth or dare. You go over there and end up locked in his garage. There's elements of TW DUBCON here, but also he does give you a brief opportunity to leave. This is brutal. He's rough and a little gross about it and it is so hoooottttttttt!!!! And then there's this bit with a flashlight.... anyway I also would ditch these friends since you literally disappear for god knows how long and they don't even bat an eyelash like???

Something wretched about this a series by @covetyou

This is gonna be a series, but so far I've only seen chapter one,,,, Wherein Joel is a drug dealer and you need pain meds for your dad who is very ill. He can't work so you don't have ration cards, but you need ration cards to buy pain meds so he can work to get ration cards. Viscious cycle. Thankfully, Joel is accepting other methods of payment. The main kink in this one is pussy spanking and is so delicious oh my god. Reader is shocked by how much she likes it, honestly I think Joel is shocked by how much she likes it.

Joel + Veracruz

A Lesson in Blackmailing a one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles  

No reader in this one! Just Joel domming comandante Veracruz and Veracruz liking it way more than he probably should. Joel is so fucking mean and Veracruz is a brat but he ends up just being a pathetic mess jacking himself off in an alley and I love every second of this.

Dave

Notes on Tutoring a series by @honestly-shite

Dave is your new music tutor and you are down real bad for him even though he's a major fucking asshole. You end up fucking him and then a lot of shit goes down and literally any other summary I can think of is full of spoilers. But this fic, y'all. Oh my god. The way Dave is characterized is so frustrating and so so good. It's perfect. Every detail that is slowly revealed about him is so perfect. The instrument(s) he plays, the music he likes, his background, where he's from, what went down before you met, all of it, is so perfect. The ending may possibly make you mad? But I liked it. I thought it made perfect sense for these two characters.

The Princess and the Duke a series by @theywhowriteandknowthings

Originally just Murder Daddy Kinktober Day 3 prompt "Daddy please" and then followed up with Kintober Day 4 prompt "Risk of getting caught," this is now a series so I'm reccing it as such. And FUCK it is hot. Dave is very much still Murder Daddy but he's so soft and sweet for reader... I mean he's still a scary and dominate motherfucker, but it's hot and the fucking tenderness and vulnerability he shows with reader has me fucking reeling dude.

Din

Taungsdays, am I right? a one shot by @theywhowriteandknowthings

You and Din get attacked by some sort of horny tentacle monster alien thing and it gives you both the fuck of your life, basically. The horny tentacle monster basically wants to fuck you both but also wants to you and Din to fuck. If you like tentacles and/or sex pollen and a lil m!receiving assplay, this fic is so for you. Also even though you didn't exactly consent to getting railed by a tentacle monster, you and Din love each other and are pretty sexually adventurous so it's a good time for everyone involved lol.

Bleed for me a series by @saradika

Din is the mand'alor and a vampire and you are his chosen one, the one he will keep to feed and fuck and whatever else... but you have a secret reason for even volunteering to be chosen in the first place... I'm obsessed with the world building, with the suspense, with the characterization. I'm in love with this fic UGH. It's so fucking good. Din is so hot and scary and perfect in every way. Reader is such a badass too like... girl that is a terrifying situation you have put yourself in. The plot twist is everything. I love thissss

A Place of Safety a series by The_InvisibleWoman (AO3)

Okay so you're a bounty and Din picks you up and he goes to take you in, actually does take you in, but something is just fucking off about the whole thing. And then there's a lil grogu situation, reclaiming the bounty and all that. He decides to try to find her somewhere safe to live and in the process he falls for you and you fall for him and it is so fucking sweet and beautiful and perfect and I love it so much. There are currently 34 chapters and it's ongoing and I am ravenous for this fic fr.

Whispers in the Dark a series by @kewwrites

TW NONCON!!! This is the darkest Din fic I've ever read. It's fucked up on so many levels, man. Read the warnings and be fucking careful because it's got probably 99% of all the triggers possible. Kew, baby, are you okay? That being said, I loved it. It didn't feel like it was glorifying Din's behavior or justifying it or anything. It was just a beautiful and painful representation of what a broken man is capable of and what it can mean for a person to be wrapped up in that with him. If you can handle it, you should read it. This one will stick with you

Frankie

A Fond Farewell a series by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Angela has written something so beautiful and so painful. It's real, raw, and it fucking hurts. If you're looking for angst this is the fic for you lol. I really loved Frankie in this. I also really really adored Santi's character. This fic is gorgeous. It's one of those things where shit keeps getting in the way of something that should be easy and it makes you want to scream and cry and throw shit. It's also largely based on real events, which just makes it hurt a little more because Ang is my soul mate :')

Slumber a one shot by @write-and-buried

A filthy, lovely, consensual somno fic with a bit of squirting. Frankie is feral and he is so hot in this oh my god. I loved every single second of this fic. Frankie is so in love with you it's adorable and maybe a little gross. Which is just very Frankie. I've read this three times in 2 weeks.

Frankie + Tommy

Group Therapy a one shot by @beskarandblasters

we're pretending therapists don't have a code of ethics because holy shit this is hot. Frankie goes to therapy for his trauma and meets Tommy Miller (who says he looks just like his brother Joel). Frankie and Tommy both have their eyes set on one of the group's therapists. They ask you to go for a drink at the American Legion next door and it's not long at all before you've found a back room and then you fuck them both... Frankie is so soft and adorable through almost the whole thing and then he's fucking you and goes feral and it is so hot dude

Javi P

Drenched a one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Me and Ang had some brainrot about Javi P wherein we discussed the fact that we would let this man do things we have never let any man do before. This resulted in a beautifully wet fic where you get covered in spit and cum. And it is so hot.

Carmen: Darlin' Darlin' a series by @thesummerpetrichor

You're the ambassador's daughter and you get dragged to this weekend get away thing for the DEA and Javier Peña is there. What follows is flirting and teasing and getting fucked in public and it is amazing. I love the reader character so much. Fiesty little mean ass bitch that she is, she's just like me. This whole thing reeks of daddy issues, and again I say, she's just like me. This fic is so hot.

Video Games a one shot by @thesummerpetrichor

Yes, I did in fact read the whole masterlist, don't look at me. DADS BEST FRIEND JAVI P???? I have never read a dbf!javi, I'm pretty sure. This is so angsty and hot and perfect. The way they dance around each other for literal years (yeah I'm pretty sure that's grooming, but I don't think it was intentional... moving on) and then finally they just crash together and it is so hot. The way he talks you through it and he's so tender and soft and perfect fuck. It's like the Javi from those scenes with Helena or Elisa where that asshole exterior is gone and that overwhelming tenderness you know he has in him comes out and just UGH. Perfection.

Off to the races a one shot by @thesummerpetrichor

I told you. The whole masterlist. Anyway. In this one, you're a sociology student doing research at the embassy and you're relegated to the DEA offices where you go about making Javier's life a living hell. Eventually he caves and fucks you over his desk. And then it becomes a whole toxic thing that is just so perfectly Javi and I love it so much and also the smut is ungodly hot.

Murder Daddy Kinktober Day 5: Who Does This Belong To? a one shot by @theywhowriteandknowthings

dude... Javi kissed another girl and you want to remind him who he belongs to so you tie him up, get him all worked up, make him confess his sins, and then untie him and leave the apartment, where he is left to pathetically jack himself off and be ashamed of himself. FUCK this is so hot. I love bratty whimpering pathetic Javi.

Dieter

Candy a one shot by @secretelephanttattoo

Dieter takes you to a closed down carnival and you suck his dick in the house of mirrors and it is delicious. I'd like to go on random adventures with Dieter... *sigh*

Crumbs, sloppy seconds, and backwash a one shot by @chloeangelic

Dieter is not so great at the whole monogamy thing, and you know this. You're actually into this, which means you've gotten yourself into a toxic cycle of encouraging the behavior and then regretting it. I love how desperately they need each other and how much you can tell they care for each other. I really fucking love the ending. I love how it’s a bit toxic, but there’s little hints in there that Dieter is trying to be what she wants. AHHH I can't believe this is her first Dieter. 

Unwind a one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

You have a terrible day and you start your period and it's just awful. Dieter takes care of you and it is the sweetest most lovely thing. So fluffy and perfect and wonderful ughhhh I love him so much.

Ghost in the sheets a one shot by @proxima-writes

As a lover of shitty paranormal investigation shows, this was fucking incredible. Dieter is such an annoying little shit in his somehow endearing way and I love him. I loved all the ghosty bits and the flirting and the bickering and AGH. I don't think I'd be down to fuck in a haunted attic irl, but maybe Dieter could convince me lol.

Max Phillips

Lust for a vampire a one shot by @idolatrybarbie

You're a bartender at a vampire themed strip club and after your shift the whole vampire thing gets a little too real. Max is so hot and he fucking turns you and it's so good FUCK. I love the freakiness of the location he takes you to also, really adds to the vibe.

A Real Challenge a one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Oh my god? Max making you wear a plug to work and then making you push it out and then fucking you in a conference room and then making you fucking leave the office in a very embarrassing way that I won't spoil. I'm panting.

Oberyn AND Max Phillips

a court of fangs and foxgloves a one shot by @psychedelic-ink

Oberyn is the lord of a vampire court and you were turned in order to serve him, but you left, uncomfortable with the bond formed when a vampire lord turns you. You regret this decision and come crawling back and Oberyn makes your life hell about it. He isn't exactly ready to forgive you, but instead of killing you for being an insolent little shit he fucks you and his other little pet Max about it. Well actually he fucks Max and Max fucks you... semantics. This is hot.

Maxwell Lord

Working Overtime a oneshot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles 

Dismantling internalized homophobia one rim job at a time! Maxwell doesn't think he'll like getting his lil ass ate out but oh boy is he wrong. And his jizz covered desk is pretty clear evidence of that.

---------------

I'm not even gonna rec my own fics because this is unreasonably long lmao.

[cowgurrrl]

Rockstar Joel Miller finding out he’s going to be a dad again ✨pretty please ✨

It’s not that you weren’t trying, but you definitely didn’t think it would ever happen. Maybe you’re on set and you pass out after a particularly strenuous day and they call your emergency contact (Joel) on the way to the hospital. When you get there, they run all the tests and give you fluids to make sure that you’re healthy and Joel is there by the time you wake up. He holds your hand and makes sure that you know that he’s right there with you, no matter what the results are. When the doctor comes in with an official looking clipboard and a nurse carting in some equipment behind him, he announces happily, “Well, it looks like you just had a little dizzy spell. You probably just need to drink some more water and maybe an iron supplement. All your vitals are normal and you and the baby are totally healthy.” And you and Joel blink at the doctor, your heart suddenly going a million miles an hour. “Did you… not know that you’re pregnant?” “Does this look like the face of someone who knows she’s pregnant?” You ask. Your mind is going five thousand directions all at once as the nurse says something about doing an ultrasound. The second you see the tiny peanut shaped blob on the screen, everything else fades away. She says something about the baby looking great for ten weeks and that they are developing normally.

When you and Joel are finally alone again, you turn to tell him that you’re sorry, you didn’t know, you can fix this, it’s okay, but he beats you to it. He wraps his arms around you and holds you, a few tears falling from his eyes and onto your neck. “We’re gonna have a baby,” he says. Once you get over the initial shock, you go through a million different emotions. Happiness because you and Joel are going to have a baby. Frustration and guilt because you’ve definitely been drinking and doing god knows what else but you didn’t know you were pregnant. Fear of how being pregnant/having a baby could affect your career. Things were just starting to fall into place and you weren’t sure if you were ready to give it all up but Joel assured you that he would never make you give up your career and you two would figure it out.

You two keep the pregnancy a secret for as long as you can, only telling the really important people in your lives about it. Sarah and Ellie are ecstatic if not a little worried for both of your sanities. It isn’t until you are about six months pregnant that you feel comfortable telling the world. You join Joel on a red carpet for one of your mutual friend’s TV show premieres and you wear a beautiful flowing gown that accentuates your baby bump and Joel stands proudly next to you with a hand on your stomach. All night, you each field questions about the baby. “How far along are you?” “Do you know what you’re having?” “How long have you known?” “What did your girls think about this news?”

You are a little more reserved in your answers, wanting to keep some things for yourself. You lie about not knowing the gender and keep your due date thinly veiled. “We aren’t sure what we’re having yet, but I know the girls have bet money on us having another girl. Everyone’s very happy and healthy and we’ll have a baby in our arms come summer.” Everyone congratulates you and wishes you a healthy delivery which is very sweet. You interrupt Joel doing an interview with a different reporter by kissing him on the cheek and wrapping an arm around his middle, cutting him off mid thought. His hand rests on your bump again and he smirks as he looks at the reporter. “I did that.” He says, and you smack his arm almost immediately.

The next day, flowers flood your kitchen with well wishes from costars, producers, other people in the music industry, and even the Russo brothers who you’ve never worked with but you know they were eyeing you for an upcoming film. You feel so loved and cherished and you know that you and Joel can face whatever is next as long as you have each other.

Bonus: instagram story posts during your pregnancy 🫶

[wajjs]

As was promised if this post reached 200 notes (it did!), I shall begin my journey through Frank Miller's comics. Specifically: Batman Year One, The Dark Knight Returns, The Dark Knight Strikes Again, and The Dark Knight III: The Master Race.

Originally I was not going to include Batman Year One, but I decided to add it to the list last minute. This way we'll go through Bruce's life in its different stages: from his beginning as Batman, to his retirement.

But before I get into the actual reading of the comics, I thought it would be nice to start with a little bit of an introduction! So without further ado, let's get to it:

Frank Miller is, to say the least, a controversial figure in the world of comics and superheroes. His stories are politically charged and his portrayal of politics is often myopic, often due to his inability to separate his belief in stereotypes from his writing. This makes it so that the way he writes political arguments is less than nuanced or subtle.

(Take as prime example of this his extremely criticized comic Holy Terror, which is known as a reactionary propaganda comic with anti Muslim / Islamophobic sentiments after 9/11. Miller does not even try to disguise in any way whatsoever these sentiments and reduces everything to insulting stereotypes.

It is perhaps relevant to point out that Miller has gone on record to say that while he does not want to erase the comic from his publication history —in a what's done is done move—, he would not be able to write something like it again.)

His writing has also been accused of being misogynistic, sexist and needlessly violent. Some people even link his works (in particular, 300) to an uptick of white nationalist ideas in the USA.

Being as much of an influential figure as he is, Miller is often tactless (or, perhaps, careless) in the way he expresses his opinions. His comments against anti capitalist protestors (more than 11 years ago!) have led to pushback and criticism from fellow writers in the comic book world, with Moore calling him out on his views and his preference for violence.

However, regardless of how his statements are reproachable, it's impossible to deny that his Batman comics are a before and after when it comes to the character. What's more, Miller's comics are also a before and after for the industry and the superhero genre as a whole.

The Dark Knight saga is considered globally by many as one of the most influential comics of all times. It has not only changed the course of how Batman would be depicted in the years to come after The Dark Returns was first published, but it has also spearheaded a whole new era of comics being darker, edgier, aiming for more mature adult audiences.

In many ways, Frank Miller's writing and art have become a blueprint that, to this day, many still follow.

ABOUT THE DARK KNIGHT SAGA: WHY IS IT A BEFORE AND AFTER?

Up until the first part of this saga was published, the character of Batman in the public eye had become an equivalent to that of a clown, a comedy relief that starred in whacky stories with even whackier antagonists. Many blame the 60s show for this, but the censorship of the 50s cannot be left aside so easily.

During the early 50s, and following a moral panic caused by a book titled Seduction of the Innocent, the Comics Code of Authority (CCA) was established. The purpose of this code was one of control and censorship, with strict regulations on what was permitted to be depicted within comics and what wasn't.

(While the CCA was not explicitly mandatory, many editors and publishers still followed its guidelines and forced their writers and artists to do the same.)

Why did Seduction of the Innocent cause a moral panic? In summary, the book attempted to trace and pinpoint the source of teenage and juvenile delinquency, finding it in comic books and superhero stories. An interesting thing to come from it is the analysis of comic stories and how they (for the author) carry hidden themes.

For example, the author of the book found in Batman and Robin "hidden homosexual themes", in which their interactions could be read as that of gay lovers. Similarly with Wonder Woman, who had more evident bondage and dominatrix themes, and who could be taken as a lesbian for her independence and her strength.

An important thing to keep in mind is that during this point in history, queer identities were considered illnesses or mental disorders. Hence the moral panic, as comics were still viewed as meant for kids.

With the forceful changes that happened after the CCA was first implemented, and with the whacky 60s show, by the 80s Batman's image was mostly innocent and simple. So when in 1986 Frank Miller published the first issue of the Dark Knight Returns, the shift of Batman's public perception began.

This Batman was jaded, gritty, disillusioned and restless. This is a Batman that went off the deep end and did not come back quite alright. One could say that Miller attempts to write a story that's not about redemption, but about realizing one shouldn't have given up and thus one starts to take the steps to correct this mistake.

The subsequent popularity of the comics caused a paradigm shift that allowed other writers and artists to follow in his footsteps. Characters were reinvented to fit a more skeptical view of things, and the worlds in which superheroes lived turned more dangerous, more merciless.

The Dark Knight saga is still influential to this day. It's been used as inspiration for most of the Batman movies, as well as the way his character is still written in comics and tv shows, among other things.

-

Some links to read if you're curious:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dark_Knight_Returns

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/dec/06/alan-moore-frank-miller-row

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/apr/27/frank-miller-xerxes-cursed-sin-city-the-dark-knight-returns

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/a-rare-interview-frank-miller-871654/

[soft-persephone]

I seen your post about jake johnson fics but I've been too shy to request anything but the jake johnson obsession is so bad rn 😭

I recently watched "Ride the eagle" and omg I love Leif so much Jake is so fine as Leif it's insane so I was wondering if I could request a Leif x black!fem reader and honestly I don't have a specific idea I just want to read about Leif so you can do what you want with it 😭 but I wouldn't mind some hurt/comfort 👀

Sorry for the word vomit I just love Jake Johnson sm (and if you haven't seen ride the eagle I'll take a Nick Miller fic instead 😌) tysm I hope you have a wonderful day 💚

I’ll Follow You Into a Storm (I’m Sorry)

MDNI // rating: M // WC: 1.4k // masterlist //

AN: I’m happy to do a request for you! And very bold of you to assume I haven’t seen ride the eagle! Whatever level of crazy you think I am about this man, multiply it by 1,000 and that’s me!! I am not okay! I’m sure it’s a mental illness. But my pain is your pleasure! Please enjoy!!

The rain was pounding down. You could barely see anything. The heavy drops weighed your clothes down on your skin, adding to the weight of the guilt that sat in the pit of your stomach.

You couldn’t move. Your ankle throbbed like hell.

You kept your head down to keep the rainwater from getting in your eyes.

You just wanted to tell Leaf you're sorry. He was barely gone for ten minutes before you realized you were actually wrong and he was right. You didn’t want to wait any longer and leave him alone in the woods. You didn’t want him to live in a world where you were a fuck up for a second longer.

A bright yellow blob obstructed your vision, distracting you from your thoughts.

You looked to see Leaf in his big yellow raincoat looming over you. The lightning crackles as he wordlessly bent down and shouldered half your weight onto his, taking your arm and wrapping it around him.

The tredge back to the cabin was long, wet, and silent.

Your entire being grew heavier and heavier, making each step even harder as you limped alongside Leaf.

His presence made the weight on your shoulders worse.

“When most people storm out in an argument, ” He opened the door with one hand before keeping it open the rest of the way with his leg. “It usually means they want to be left alone.”

Nora barked at you both as you made your way inside the cabin toward the bathroom.

“I,” you licked your lips as he placed you on the edge of the tub, tugging your wet clothes off your body, “I wanted to apologize.”

He only looked you in the eye as he towels you down. His jaw tight, but nothing in his face gave away any emotion.

“I—“

“—you don’t believe me when I say I changed.” He interrupted you.

Padding out the bathroom he came back in his spare pair of jeans and no shirt, leaving his chest bare and damp as he handed you his only other dry sweater.

You loved to see him in it. You loved how the rich warm red tone brought out the equally as warm and rich brown in his hair and his beard. How it made him look as comforting and cozy as he makes you feel all the time.

“My mother died, I did the fucking list and called you like she said,” he shook his head before wiping his face with a hand, “you told me you wanted this. I gave you plenty of outs.” He didn’t say the rest of it.

He didn’t have to.

“I-I do want this. I do want you, Leaf. But you’ve always. . . I—“ you looked up at him, but he didn’t give you anything, he just stared at you.

“I haven’t been treating you fair. I’m sorry.”

He nodded his head. Plopping down in front of you by the tub, his legs stretched out in front of him. His bare feet and toes barely an inch from you. The ends of his jeans were torn and ragged over his ankles.

“Well, that’s a start.”

Your throat felt tight and you wanted to scream.

He was doing that thing he used to do. The thing you pushed him to do.

It was how he got in the days when you both were younger. Somehow your mom got brought up or even his, and he would get distant and never talk about it. How he never wanted to talk about it. He never wanted to talk to you about it or anything at all, and now that he was, you were pushing him away.

You pushed him away.

Tears rolled down your face.

“I keep thinking about you before. These flashes of who you used to be and. . . I got scared.” You sniffed.

He put a hand on your calf. Slowly rubbing it up and down your leg, not saying anything.

“I just got out of this long term relationship, and with that past and the past memories of you. . . They keep coming up.” Your voice cracked a little. “You’re so perfect now, and you talk about things and make an effort, but I’m not used to that from you, so I got scared and started demanding more. . . I started- I started acting like a bitch and I’m sorry.”

You hang your head down. Forcing your palms over your eyes to keep tears from falling and applying pressure to sooth something within yourself.

“Yeah,” Leaf Dragged his hands up your legs, dipping his head under yours, distracting you from your state of self pity, “you were.” He settled the palms of his hands on your back. Circling the warmth from his body into yours.

You slowly moved your hands from your face to see his. To face this cold exterior you brought out of him and upon yourself, but you didn’t get the chance. As soon as your hands were away from your face, his lips were on yours.

His beard scratched at the corners of your lips. Despite the warring and confusing emotions building up inside you a moan escaped you. Filling up the space between you. His lips were warm and firm against yours, grounding you and sending you spiraling at the same time. Your back arched as he swiped his tongue against yours in the way that you liked. Another sound slipped from the back of your throat. It was high and keening as it vibrated against you both.

“Come here.” Leaf murmured into your face as he broke the kiss. His voice a low pant as it fanned across your face. Digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist he pulled you into his lap, having you straddle him on the bathroom floor.

Sliding your hands from your waist to your ass, he pulled you flush against him, the feeling of his jeans on your bare skin made you hiss. He kept you there. Grinding your hips onto his, he dug his hands firm on your ass. You were definitely going to have little marks from his nails left in the morning.

He didn’t waste any time after teasing you, unbuttoning his jeans and thrusting inside of you with one fluid motion, filling the bathroom with a squelching sound as he stretched you out.

“Leaf.” You pant in his face, putting your forehead on his.

“Fuck, look how wet you are already.” He responded by exhaling through his mouth. A self satisfied smirk and sigh of relief escaped his mouth as it filled yours.

He lightly placed his lips on your forehead before placing his forehead firmly against yours.

“I know you're sorry.” He breathed into your mouth. His hands dug a little firmer into the meat of your ass and he set a hard and brutal pace, making you cry out.

You tried holding onto his shoulders. Your nails scratched his skin as you let out a particularly sharp sound as hips slammed into yours.

He started hitting that one spot and you couldn’t hold on anymore. Keening, you arched your back and collapsed into him. He buried his face into your neck. Washing the skin there with moans and pants as he quickened his pace, leaving you skin blazing with each sound and breath from his mouth. His thrusts as fast as they were hard.

You whined and he sunk his teeth into your neck, sucking hard. His beard scratches against you deliciously, raising a trail of bumps in the process.

“Harder!” you pant onto his back.

He slaps your ass instead, making you jolt and cry spill from your lips as you come.

He fucked you through it. His pace slows, but his thrusts were harder than ever, bruising your hips.

You whined, moaning as he kept fucking into you.

“ I’m sorry,” you mewled.

“I. . . know.” He punctuated with one final thrust as he came, filling you up in the process.

You both sat in silence, your chests heaving, falling up and down, slowing to match one another’s heartbeat.

He sat you up a little bit so he could see your face.

He smiled, cupping both of your cheeks and giving you one final kiss. Affirming his love for you with one swipe of his tongue, letting you know that it was okay.

That he was okay, and everything was fine.

If you’d like to submit your own request send me an ask or dm and I’d be happy to write something for you!! Thank you for reading and I hoped you loved it!! Especially you anon!! My precious baby!🥺

[cantsayidont]

"So each year, hoping he will return, we set an extra place at dinner...for Superman!"

In 1984, the 400th issue of SUPERMAN presented an oversize issue with a series of vignettes about Superman's future, illustrated by a selection of different artists (including Frank Miller and Jim Steranko, among others) and interspersed with pinups and little essays by artists ranging from Will Eisner to Moebius.

The story itself, mostly written by Elliot S! Maggin, is unusual, since unlike most "Imaginary Stories," it's not interested with Superman's future (whom he marries, whether he has children, etc.), but rather with his eventual transformation into a mythic figure.

The most interesting of the vignettes is this one, drawn and colored by Klaus Janson. The narrative captions aren't always very legible, so I'll transcribe them after each page.

"So did the legend wax and wane and wax some more across the ages until, inevitably, the career of Kal-El, the waif from a lost world, passed from the realm of legend into myth… And in the dawning days of the Sixtieth Century--the memory of Superman has passed from reverence to ritual…"

"Meet Riley Benedix-- Even to 20th-Century eyes Riley's mode of dress would appear eccentric… Worry not--there is an explanation. The hat, of course, is the stovepipe of Abraham Lincoln, who lived soon enough before the great age of heroes to be included among them… The eyes wear the distinctive spectacles of Woodrow Wilson, who made the world safe for democracy… The shirt is that of Superman, greatest of all heroes, who fought for truth, justice, and the American way… Over Riley's back is an Eisenhower jacket, reminiscent of the hero of D-Day… On his feet are the highwater boots of Kuhan Pei-Jing, who slogged through the ricefields of Asian negotiating to head off a Third World War in the 1990's."

"Every year Riley and thousands of other history buffs fly hopelessly outdated spacecraft to Arcturus…to the convention of the 'League of Supermen'--for costume parades, sales of ancient memorabilia, parties, and a bit of unabashed fun… Riley's father never understood fun…"

"We join the Benedix family on a night of the year that is different from all other nights…"

"That is a good question, Superman…which you will answer to your own satisfaction soon enough…but for now you are only relatively sure of where you have been. You learned, again, that when the powers you wield are awesome, then the forces that array themselves against you are likewise--when the pulsing blob of chaotic energy nearly entered a star-system close to Earth's…and threatened, but its presence, to skew the orbits of inhabited worlds… Suddenly, not only was the blob of energy gone--but so was the last son of Krypton!"

"Alone, in pain, he found himself swimming through space like a drowning man looking for a life raft…directing himself more through will and instinct than through consciousness--to the blue-green world that has come to be his home. As, not a hundred yards from where the Man of Steel fell…"

"Soon, the stranger opens his eyes, looks around, and wonders…"

"So young Riley Benedix does continue the story of this festive day for his family…and he is the only one who knows that one of the story's main characters is here at the table with them all! It is a story of the days when America was young…and a child who could change the course of mighty rivers came to Earth--to exemplify all that American had and would come to stand for! Some of the story is accurate…some is clouded by the folds of myth and time--but like art and greatness, it is all true!"

"The young man walks the man from four thousand years ago into the sea-breeze of the night, and… For every Miracle Monday after that one, Riley's family set an extra place as everyone else did…but every year through Riley's old age, the food on Superman's dish mysteriously disappeared during dinner! Of course, everyone thought it was a trick--that Riley always teleported it away…but only Riley knew that sometimes legends live!"

Miracle Monday is a recurring holiday in Maggin's Superman stories, celebrated the third Monday of each May. It's explained in Maggin's 1981 prose novel of the same name, in which Superman beats the Devil (in the form of one C.W. Saturn) with some assistance from a time-traveling 29th century historian named Kristen Wells and an unexpected last-minute save from Lex Luthor (who was a very different character in that era and whom Maggin generally presented in a relatively sympathetic light).

(The cover of the novel tends to imply that it's a novelization of the Christopher Reeve SUPERMAN 2, which it's not, despite the glossy center section with photos from that movie.)

Maggin, who was a regular writer of the Superman comics in the '70s and '80s, later returned Kristen Wells in DC COMICS PRESENTS Annual #2 (1983) and #4 (1985), which make reference to the events of the novel.

In any event, the Benedix family's Miracle Monday celebration is very plainly modeled on a Passover seder, with an empty plate for Superman taking the place of the extra glass of wine poured for the prophet Elijah. It doesn't appear they've left the door open for Superman, but his appearance at the open door is obviously intended to evoke that tradition.

There is a lot of Jewish-coded content in the Superman stories of the Silver Age and Bronze Age (from 1958 to 1986) — a lot more than in the Golden Age, unless you really strain, and MUCH more than in the period following the John Byrne revamp begun in 1986–1987, which pointedly did away with most of that stuff — and this is a particularly clear example. In that respect, it's notable that the Miracle Monday seder is expressly an Earth custom; much of what you can most readily identify as Jewish-coded in these stories is associated with the Kryptonian diaspora.

Regarding the story's narrative coda, it may be worth pointing out that while this story has Superman initially thrown through time by a mysterious space phenomenon, the "pre-Crisis" Silver Age/Bronze Age Superman could fly at superluminal speeds, and was capable of both interstellar travel and time travel under his own power. There were some complicated (and irregularly applied) rules about traveling to time periods in which he already existed, but Superman was capable of simply traveling forward in time and then returning to his own time more or less whenever he felt like it, which is how he was able to perform this little parlor trick for Riley. That was one of the abilities that John Byrne removed in the wake of MAN OF STEEL, in the effort to reduce Superman's powers and try to tie them to a specific set of pseudo-scientific rules.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Chandra sees black hole jet stumble into something in the dark

Even matter ejected by black holes can run into objects in the dark. Using NASA's Chandra X-ray Observatory, astronomers have found an unusual mark from a giant black hole's powerful jet striking an unidentified object in its path.

The discovery was made in a galaxy called Centaurus A (Cen A), located about 12 million light-years from Earth. Astronomers have long studied Cen A because it has a supermassive black hole in its center sending out spectacular jets that stretch out across the entire galaxy. The black hole launches this jet of high-energy particles not from inside the black hole, but from intense gravitational and magnetic fields around it.

The image shows low-energy X-rays seen by Chandra represented in pink, medium-energy X-rays in purple, and the highest-energy X-rays in blue.

In this latest study, researchers determined that the jet is—at least in certain spots—moving at close to the speed of light. Using the deepest X-ray image ever made of Cen A, they also found a patch of V-shaped emission connected to a bright source of X-rays, something that had not been seen before in this galaxy.

Called C4, this source is located close to the path of the jet from the supermassive black hole and is highlighted in the inset. The arms of the "V" are at least about 700 light-years long. For context, the nearest star to Earth is about 4 light-years away.

While the researchers have ideas about what is happening, the identity of the object being blasted is a mystery because it is too distant for its details to be seen, even in images from the current most powerful telescopes.

The incognito object being rammed may be a massive star, either by itself or with a companion star. The X-rays from C4 could be caused by the collision between the particles in the jet and the gas in a wind blowing away from the star. This collision can generate turbulence, causing a rise in the density of the gas in the jet. This, in turn, ignites the X-ray emission seen with Chandra.

The shape of the "V," however, is not completely understood. The stream of X-rays trailing behind the source in the bottom arm of the "V" is roughly parallel to the jet, matching the picture of turbulence causing enhanced X-ray emission behind an obstacle in the path of the jet. The other arm of the "V" is harder to explain because it has a large angle to the jet, and astronomers are unsure what could explain that.

This is not the first time astronomers have seen a black hole jet running into other objects in Cen A. There are several other examples where a jet appears to be striking objects—possibly massive stars or gas clouds. However, C4 stands out from these by having the V-shape in X-rays, while other obstacles in the jet's path produce elliptical blobs in the X-ray image.

Chandra is the only X-ray observatory capable of seeing this feature. Astronomers are trying to determine why C4 has this different post-contact appearance, but it could be related to the type of object that the jet is striking or how directly the jet is striking it.

A paper describing these results appears in a recent issue of The Astrophysical Journal. The authors of the study are David Bogensberger (University of Michigan), Jon M. Miller (University of Michigan), Richard Mushotsky (University of Maryland), Niel Brandt (Penn State University), Elias Kammoun (University of Toulouse, France), Abderahmen Zogbhi (University of Maryland), and Ehud Behar (Israel Institute of Technology).

[lord-tekron]

Got your attention? Good, now it’s time for some behind the scenes talk of The Springlock Paradox; today’s subject is as promised: Dave Miller

So, to discuss Dave Miller, we must first discuss two thing: When The Springlock Paradox began development, and what was there before Dave Miller. The Springlock Paradox ended sometime after FFPS and before UCN, bookwise The Fourth Closest had yet to come out. We had many questions, not alot of answers. Remnant was a thing that was casually dropped and never elaborated on, Henry had casually murdered everyone, it felt like an end of an arc. This was when a foolish fool was toying around with one off gags, and one of those gags was the idea of William still being alive, albeit being a bit less than who he was

Armtrap was the name that was coined, and Armtrap sparked what to do with him in The Springlock Paradox. All the other animatronics where burned and damaged, but William? He got it the worse, reduced to nothing but the remaining arm he had left as Scraptrap. Despite that though, all it takes is that one arm to bring back something that should stay dead. 

Then, came a bit of a hiccup in development. If I am going to have this William come back, and all that is left of him is his arm, what does one DO with him? Well since nothing was ever explained about remnant, I decided to go a bit ham with the idea. 

So yes, the original ideas was to have him be a pile of Remnant. But something was wrong with this, and I couldn’t put my finger on what it was until more work on it, and that was simple; Remnant Afton was too human looking. At this point I feel any human appearances would be completely lost, he was a monster, and while I liked him being a slime monster, he shouldn’t be a humanoid slime monster. And as such came the design of “The Remnant Beast”

Faceless. Amorphous. Silent. It actions could only say so much, and even then it is questionable what those actions were trying to say. And that’s when another idea I hinted at applies “Is it still him in control, or someone else?”

And that is when the divide happened.

The plunge into the vat of remnant wasn’t just his soul corrupting it, it was also him basically overdosing on remnant. And then William Afton was split into two from that, the two halves that make him. The Monster known as Springtrap, and the lingering bit of humanity, one that went under the false name Dave Miller.

Now THIS was an interesting aspect to think about, the human that was William, one that feels guilt over what he did, one that felt shock about reuniting with children he once lost, one that wanted the atone for the past despite not knowing what to do or where to start. This isn’t his 2nd chance at a new life, that was Springtrap/Scraptrap, this is his 3rd chance. And while he may not be doing a flawless job, you can tell that he wants to try and is at least doing what he can.

I also want to give a shoutout to his Frankenstein body. I knew that it wasn’t enough to just have a blob and an arm, and when I had the arms ripped off on that one Afton Bot, a lightbulb sparked of him building a body from the bits and pieces of Afton Bots. Special shoutout to Ooftroop once more for the fanart of Dave Miller that REALLY shows off the amalgamation of parts that I would never do with my more “simple and cartoony” style. I won’t tag them though, this is mostly focused on my stuff and I don’t wanna pester them with a constant reminder to finish reading the comic (I’ll wait for them to finish the timeline before I do that :V)

It also reminds me of the hilarious gag I did of him being unable to talk until Chapter 9 where he steals some spare eyeballs and a mouth. That is just comedy right there. But it also let me do alot of other stuff in hindsight, letting him emote, letting him actually talk, letting him show change. And the bit where Charlie being the first to figure it out and forgiving him (despite him not WANTING her of all people to forgive him or feel bad for him) felt powerful to me. A big risk at the time, which is saying ALOT given what modern chapter have done. 

That being said, I do wanna give a bit of bad news. I HATE Chapter 26 - Nightmare Countdown. Specifically the dream sequence. If I could go back I would do something much better instead of just doing a poor man’s “Pink Floyd’s The Wall”

If memories serves, the reason the reference was made was because of The Nostalgia Critic did his “review” (or whatever the hell it was) of The Wall and my cocky little brain was “Well if he can do that, so can I!” and MMMMMM it needed either to cook way longer or just be replaced with a different music number, cause I don’t hate any of the other music numbers that I do except for Nightmare Countdown’s. If someone out there wants to make it better, go right ahead, here are the keys, either make The Trial work or make a better dream sequence.

That being said, it did create two things. The Worm and the scene where Charlie comforts Dave about his fear of relapsing. 

The comfort scene is obvious, but the worm was a bit of unintentional genius on my end. The Worm was just cause of “The Trial” lyrics of having The Worm be The Judge. But it also made a callback to something most people wouldn’t realize until they reread the comic like I do from time to time.

“But once in a blue moon, the worm can somehow outsmart the falcon.”

Dave, was never, the worm. While Springtrap compares himself to a falcon in the analogy, it is actually him being the slimy creature, the thing that wriggles in your brain and suggests evil things. And while it outsmarted the falcon once, it now is reduced to nothing...

Then again, blue moons aren’t as rare as you would think they would be.

[alexlacquemanne]

2024 in 12 movies (1 per months)

January

Pushover (1954) directed by Richard Quine with Fred MacMurray, Philip Carey, Kim Novak, Dorothy Malone, E.G. Marshall, Allen Nourse, James Anderson and Joe Bailey

[First Time]

February

Laura (1944) directed by Otto Preminger with Gene Tierney, Dana Andrews, Clifton Webb, Vincent Price, Judith Anderson, Dorothy Adams, Lane Chandler and Clyde Fillmore

[First Time]

March

The King's Speech (2010) directed by Tom Hooper with Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush, Helena Bonham Carter, Guy Pearce, Michael Gambon, Timothy Spall and Jennifer Ehle

[First Time]

April

One Day (2011) directed by Lone Scherfig with Anne Hathaway, Jim Sturgess, Tom Mison, Rafe Spall, Jodie Whittaker, Romola Garai, Joséphine de La Baume and Patricia Clarkson

[First Time]

May

I Confess (1953) directed by Alfred Hitchcock with Montgomery Clift, Anne Baxter, Karl Malden, Brian Aherne, Roger Dann, Charles Andre, O.E. Hasse and Dolly Haas

[First Time]

June

Casablanca (1942) directed by Michael Curtiz with Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Paul Henreid, Claude Rains, Conrad Veidt, Sydney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre

[First Time]

July

The Truman Show (1998) directed by Peter Weir with Jim Carrey, Ed Harris, Laura Linney, Noah Emmerich, Natascha McElhone, Holland Taylor and Brian Delate

[First Time]

August

Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021) directed by Zack Snyder with Ben Affleck, Gal Gadot, Ray Fisher, Jason Momoa, Ezra Miller, Henry Cavill, Amy Adams, Jeremy Irons and Diane Lane

[First Time]

September

The Mask Of Zorro (1998) directed by Martin Campbell with Antonio Banderas, Anthony Hopkins, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Stuart Wilson, Matt Letscher, Victor Rivers and L. Q. Jones

October

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2011) directed by John Madden with Judi Dench, Bill Nighy, Tom Wilkinson, Maggie Smith, Celia Imrie, Dev Patel, Ronald Pickup and Diana Hardcastle

[First Time]

November

Paths of Glory (1957) directed by Stanley Kubrick with Kirk Douglas, George Macready, Ralph Meeker, Timothy Carey, Joe Turkel, Adolphe Menjou, Wayne Morris, Peter Capell and Richard Anderson

[First Time]

December

Serenity (2005) directed by Joss Whedon with Nathan Fillion, Gina Torres, Alan Tudyk, Sean Maher, Summer Glau, Morena Baccarin, Adam Baldwin, Jewel Staite, Ron Glass and Chiwetel Ejiofor

Honorable mentions :

Strangers on a Train (1951) Une affaire d'honneur (2023) Aviator (2004) Tendre Poulet (1978) Judy (2019) On a volé la cuisse de Jupiter (1980) Iron Claw (2023) Topaz (1969) Poupoupidou (2011) Air Force One (1997) Sister Act (1992) Race for Glory: Audi vs. Lancia (2024) Titanic (1997) Coup de foudre (1983) Suffragette (2015) Boléro (2024) Pride & Prejudice (2005) Absolute Power (1997) The Age of Adaline (2015) Bon Voyage (2003) Family Plot (1976) L'assassin habite au 21 (1942) Le Procès Goldman (2023) Marcello Mio (2024) Magic in the Moonlight (2014) The Mosquito Coast (1986) Ne le dis à personne (2006) A Fish Called Wanda (1988) Le Comte de Monte-Christo (2024) The French Connection (1971) Fly Me to the Moon (2024) Raoul Taburin a un secret (2018) Ali (2001) Letter from an Unknown Woman (1948) Borg/McEnroe (2017) La vérité (1960) Die Hard (1988) The Batman (2022) Cool Hand Luke (1967) Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) A Kiss Before Dying (1956) Arabesque (1966) Bob le flambeur (1956) The Long Goodbye (1973) he Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2015) L'été meurtrier (1983) Baisers volés (1968) Kay Largo (1948) The Sting (1973) Olympia (1960) Monsieur Aznavour (2024) L'Alibi (1937) L'exercice de l'Etat (2011) A Good Woman (2004) Mona Lisa Smile (2003) Le Corbeau (1943) We're No Angels (1955) Boulevard du rhum (1971) The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim (2024) To Catch a Thief (1955) Home Alone (1990) Legend of the Lost (1957) Love Actually (2003) The Blob (1958) It's a Wonderful Life (1946) Ulisse (1954) The Polar Express (2004)