#the big explosion in september | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whatsnewalycat · 7 months ago

Text

SURRENDER

Part Two of Ruthless | Stepdad Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 6.2k+

Warnings: non-canon, Boston Joel, dub con, step-cest, sneaky sex, use of the word daddy in a sexual context, dad kink (that’s a thing right?), age gap, degradation, praise kink, avoidance, silent treatment, sneaking into bedroom at night, angst, collective grief, mentions of explosions and gunshots (nothing graphic), *it’s about the yearning*, hair pulling, no physical descriptions of reader aside from hair can be pulled, reader is 18-19, Joel being a bad dom and a bad caretaker, hot shower, food mention, mentions of religion, unethical D/s dynamics, dry humping, anal sex, physical restraint, face fucking, sub-space unlocked, dirty talk, dd/lg maybe i think, masochism, like a lick of fluff if u squint

A/N: Heeeey buddy. As stated above, this is a second part to Ruthless. Big thanks to my love @frannyzooey for the help and hype, you're the best. Please be mindful of the warnings and tell me what cults you think exist in post-outbreak tlou.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

———

As the 19-year anniversary of Outbreak Day draws near, unrest festers in the streets of Boston.

Whenever August ticks over into September, residents of the QZ seem to divide into three distinct categories: people who want to forget, people who won’t let them forget, and people who are too young to remember.

Born post-apocalypse, you fall into this third category.

Which doesn’t mean the ripples of loss don’t touch you, contrary to what some may think. You still lost something. Everyone did.

This fact is apparent when you take the scenic route home from your job posting at the distribution center.

Rubble crunches under your shoes as you walk down the crowded sidewalk, passing by a message spray-painted over the battered brick building: WE’VE BEEN FORSAKEN.

Graffitied sentiments like these pop up constantly this time of year. Overnight, almost. Your mom and Joel mostly blame Fireflies for the vandalism. The bombs, too. Apparently they stir shit up to make people uneasy, then recruit those who seem susceptible. That’s what your mom thinks, anyway. ‘Leveraging their grief against them,’ she says.

You think it might be more than that, though.

Yesterday you saw three separate arguments break out in the streets. When you were taking inventory of k-rations this morning, an explosion went off so close-by that boxes rattled off the shelves. It was the second bombing this week, and you don’t foresee it getting better until October.

Sure, the Fireflies lay claim to the lion’s share of vandalism and destruction, but their activity is consistent year round. They are the baseline. But this? This is different.

You attribute the excess chaos to this heavy, static feeling in the air. It clings to your skin and gets stuck under your nails like a thick cloud of invisible dust or spores. Microscopic particles embed themselves in the cracks and creases of each person inside the QZ, fertile ground for clusters of violence to sprout up at every turn.

If you had to guess, you’d say this phenomenon probably spans the globe. All of you felt the loss of Outbreak Day, the whole human collective. Echoes of what humanity lost will likely still be heard a thousand years from now.

Some people refuse to accept this.

Like the guy a few strides ahead of you, who walks by an orange spray-painted message that reads REMEMBER WHAT YOU LOST and sneers, “Almost twenty goddamn years, fuckin’ let it go and move on.”

You watch him. See his neck get all red as he mutters to himself and clenches his fists at his sides. He looks around like he expects someone to challenge him. Nobody does.

This doesn’t seem to satisfy him.

Further up the sidewalk, he encounters a memorial made up of candles and wilting flowers hugging the side of a residential building. He kicks it over and repeats his earlier sentiment, this time louder and directed towards the brick wall.

“It’s been twenty fucking years, get the fuck over it already!”

Of course, a passing spectator indulges him.

“Hey—watch it, asshole!”

The two men puff up their chests and start yelling back and forth, so you cut right down an alleyway to avoid the situation completely.

When you arrive home, you find Joel at the dining room table, hunched over a map, holding a glass of whiskey like it’s a lifeline.

Neither of you say hello, but when you glance up while untying your gritty shoelaces, you catch him staring at you.

A jolt of electricity shoots through you.

He corrects himself, returning his eyes to the map as he takes a big swig from his glass.

“Mom home?”

“No.”

Nodding, you rise to your feet and slip out of your shoes, squirming with the excitement that one syllable brings you.

“When’s she gonna be home?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey, too engrossed in his project to spare you attention.

For weeks, he’s been trying his hardest to pretend you don’t exist, which would be typical behavior if he didn’t fuck you dumb a few weeks ago. Sometimes you’re not even sure that what happened between you was real.

But, then again, sometimes… sometimes you feel him staring at you when he doesn’t think you’ll notice. Sometimes he touches your waist as he passes by. Sometimes at night you hear him pacing the hall outside your bedroom, the faint squeak of the warped floorboards giving him away.

When this happens, you stare at the door and will him to do it. Aching with something stronger than want, you pray for him to cross the threshold. But he never does.

You exhale through slack lips and wrinkle your nose at the canned goods.

“Hungry?”

He grunts in response, which is Joel for ‘I could eat.’

Tilting your head at the handwritten labels, you present the options, “Stew or… meat and beans?”

Another grunt, roughly translating to ‘Both options are fucking terrible,’ a sentiment with which you wholeheartedly agree. You grab the stew and empty it into a saucepan on the gas stovetop.

While it heats, you steal glances at Joel, noticing the rigidity in his demeanor. His set jaw and tense muscles. The deep creases in his furrowed brow.

You’ve coexisted with him long enough to understand he’s not immune to the heady thrum of anguish in the air this time of year. Like you said, nobody is.

Joel distinctly falls into the “people who want to forget” category of the forsaken, but carries whatever or whoever he lost on Outbreak Day like a ten thousand-pound weight on his broad shoulders. He white-knuckles his way through the season of chaos and mourning and tries to act like it doesn’t affect him, but it does.

You can tell, not just from the way he holds the grief captive in his body, but also from the obvious indulgence in his favorite coping mechanism: planning.

Joel is a meticulous planner.

Between smuggling runs, he comes home after a long day of manual labor at some job site and unwinds by plotting logistics. Drinking, too, but he clearly has a favorite.

Hours will go by while he pours over reference material, maps or blueprints, making addendums of any notable changes he and your mom discovered. After this, he deliberates. Joel could chew up weeks with this step. He plots out each possible route, taking into consideration all the penciled-in shortcuts and caches they’ve stashed within a 30-mile radius, then determines the most beneficial path for their next big adventure.

Given FEDRA’s current paranoid state, with the increased patrols and surveillance and whatnot, your mom and Joel won’t be making a trip outside anytime soon. But still, he drinks and plots and winds himself up into a tight obsessive knot.

You divvy up the simmering stew into two bowls, placing one next to his glass of bootleg booze while you take a seat across the table from him. He ignores your presence, just flicks his eyes around the map like it’s supposed to give him the answers.

When you’re halfway done with your bowl, you gently prod him, “It’s gonna get cold.”

Sitting up in his chair, he sighs and scrubs his face with his hands, then folds up the map and sets it aside.

The two of you eat in silence. Each wordless second twists hot beneath your skin. Your mind wanders to the dig of his fingertips in your soft flesh. The sting of his flattened palm. The stretch of his thick cock. The things he said to you—fuck.

You’re tempted to tell him to do it again. To tell him that you’re still abiding by his rules. That you don’t sneak out anymore. That you haven’t felt the sweet bliss of release for weeks because you don’t fucking come without his permission.

Over and over, you rehearse it in your head. You imagine yourself telling him, ‘I’ve been so good for you and you haven’t even noticed.’

The sound of him clearing his throat pulls you from your thoughts.

He shifts in his seat a little, studying you, “You still seein’ that boy downstairs?”

Your heart stutters. Heat floods your veins as you shake your head.

“Why not?”

All you can do is stare at him while trying to verbalize an answer. For weeks, you ached for his attention. And now that you have it? The words are stuck in your throat.

You shrug, pushing your empty bowl away to lean your elbows on the table. When you look up at him again, he blinks. Waiting for a response.

A rush of adrenaline makes the world around you buzz.

“Why do you care?”

He clenches his jaw for a moment, then parts his lips to respond.

The apartment door swings open.

Both of you start at the intrusion. You jump to your feet to collect the dirty dishes while Joel turns to greet your mother.

“It’s a fucking madhouse out there,” she grumbles, then pulls out the seat adjacent to him and starts telling him about her day.

———

You step into the shower and hiss in reaction to the scalding hot water.

The fact that it's warmed at all surprises you. Not an unwelcome surprise, even if it hurts a little. Most days the water comes out tepid at best, and you’d gladly accept a third-degree burn over a lukewarm shower.

Besides, the sting feels right on your skin, as weird as that sounds. You relish the pain while washing yourself, thinking, ‘this is what I deserve for feeling this way.’ Hell fire, if the sidewalk preachers are right. If there is such a thing. If you’re not there already.

Only once the water runs cold do you turn it off and go back to your room, leaving the door cracked open behind you. After putting on a big t-shirt and some underwear, you turn off the lights and climb into bed.

For a while you stare at the water-stained ceiling and listen. You hear the roar of FEDRA’s armed vehicles patrolling the streets. Far away, gunshots ring out into the night. Some kid starts crying next door, then his mother lulls him back to sleep.

Closing your eyes, you try to tune it all out and focus on the noises within this unit. Concentrate on the drip-drip-drip of the bathtub faucet. The ripping sound of your mom’s snores.

Then, you hear it.

A creak from the floorboards. Footsteps.

Their bedroom door squeaking open.

Everything goes silent long enough for you hold your breath and scream inside your head, please please please—

It starts again. One careful step, then another.

His presence hovers there at the door for six restless seconds before he opens it and steps inside, closing it behind him.

Your pounding heart squeezes your breath ragged. It comes out this shallow, shaky push and pull that broadcasts your consciousness.

Still, you pretend.

You keep your eyes pinned shut and listen to the advance of his footsteps to your bedside.

Down by your feet, the mattress shifts under his weight. He doesn’t touch you for a while, only watches you, his gaze burning into your skin.

Then, he murmurs, “I know you’re not sleepin’.”

You blink your eyes open to look at him, in boxers and an undershirt, all hunched over at the foot of your bed. Always carrying that weight on his shoulders. The glow of the street lamp outside your bedroom window casts this perfect golden light on him that makes you kind of hate how good he looks.

“What are you doing?” you ask in a whisper.

Over the blanket, he rests his hand on your calf, then takes it back and shakes his head.

You roll onto your side, swinging one leg over the blanket and tucking it between your thighs, a wordless plea for him to touch your hungry skin. Joel shifts further onto the bed, turning his body to stare down at you with a straight spine. His gaze drifts up your exposed skin, fingers twitching in his lap.

This faltering self-discipline compels you.

Joel is nothing if not self-disciplined. That much is true for all the forsaken, yourself included.

Your working theory is that nobody wants after the world ends, they just need. Need to sleep, need to eat, need to fight. Anything to survive one more fucking day. It’s all any of you can ask for.

So do you want him, or do you need him?

And what about him? Joel fucking Miller, with his reinforced concrete walls and heavy heart. Was he ever capable of wanting?

“Joel,” you reach out to touch him, beckoning him to meet you halfway.

His eyes flick to your outstretched hand, then back to your face. He shakes his head, as if declining the offer, but you don’t retreat. You sit up and crawl across the bed to him.

The column of his throat bobs, head rocking back as he watches you come to a stop. He almost lets you touch his cheek when you try again, but snatches your hand away before you can make contact.

“Don’t,” he warns, the tone of his hushed voice deadly serious.

He squeezes your fingers while you study his stonewalled expression, tilting your head at him, “Why did you ask me that earlier? If I’m still seeing Bert?”

“I was curious.”

“Curious why?”

His lips part, then close, gaze dropping to your mouth.

Heat pulses through every inch of your body. You drop your voice to a breathy whisper.

“Were you thinking about what you did to me?”

Something flickers behind his eyes when they snap onto yours. It draws you in, urging you to scoot so close your knees butt-up against his jackknifed leg.

“You fucking loved it, didn’t you?” you ask quietly, smirking a little when his stern face twitches, “You loved how it felt to make me surrender—”

The dull throb of his tightening grip around your hand makes you gasp. A rumble slips from his chest, which could be read as a warning if you had an ounce of self-control left. If you didn’t need him to combust.

You let your gaze drift from his burning gaze down the slope of his nose to his lips, “Do you think about it every time you see me, like I do with you? How fucking good it felt?”

“It was wrong—”

“Then why are you here?”

Your question comes out louder than you expected. It ricochets through the charged space between his body and yours, popping the bubble of awareness around you.

All the little sounds you picked up on earlier seep back into the foreground. FEDRA patrolling. The whiz-pop of firecrackers going off maybe a block away. A faint murmur of conversation in the upstairs unit.

He holds your stare, but doesn’t make a sound until a snore rips from your mom’s chest, signaling crisis averted. When he speaks, his words come out hushed and calm.

“You need to be quiet. Understand?”

The command liquifies your bones.

You lick your lips and nod, “I understand.”

“Good.” He studies you as if deep in thought, finally releasing your hand to pinch your chin and assert, “You know why I’m here. Stop pretendin’ you don’t.”

It’s hard not to fall in line when he’s looking down at you like this, all hot-blooded and self-assured. Cocky, almost. But you try to push his buttons anyway.

“I thought it was wrong.”

“Don’t get cute with me. Yes or no?”

Your pulse flutters. Tongue goes numb. All you can do is nod.

He jostles your head a little, “Say it.”

“Yes.”

“Say yes please.”

“Yes please.”

He works his jaw back and forth, studying you, then tugs your shirt.

“Take this off.”

While you pull the offending garment over your head and toss it aside, Joel moves further onto the mattress, leaning back against the wall.

You follow him, swallowing the static buzzing in your throat as he ushers you onto his lap. The scrape of his rough hands on your waist may as well be a live wire crackling across your skin. He pulls you closer and closer until your belly presses into the worn cotton of his shirt. The heat between your legs settles on his stiff length. When he twitches against you, a heady electric current courses through your body and coaxes a whimper from your lips.

It seems too intimate to look at him, so you cast your gaze downward. Your shaky hands lay flat against his chest, absorbing the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Being with him like this feels strange. Not strange how it sometimes is with a new partner, that clumsiness before you know how your bodies work together.

It’s strange in a fucked up out-of-context sort of way. Of course, growing up around him never conditioned you to think of him like this. Joel fucking Miller, with his scarred-up knuckles and unending apathy. The only man who could make big brown eyes like that seem cold.

All those years, you never considered him anything more than an obstacle.

Even then, if there was some tiny shimmer of attraction lingering under your skin, a piece of you that wanted more from him, you never thought he could feel so solid and soft and alive. You never dreamed he could make you feel so fucking good.

“This stays between us,” he tells you, more of a command than a request.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

The tips of his fingers dig into your hips, and he purrs, “You’ve been good for me, haven’t you?”

You preen at the warm timbre of his voice, body arching into him as you breathe, “Yes.”

Under your touch, his muscles tense. He exhales hot against your cheek and guides your hips in a rocking motion, slow and steady, rubbing all those aching nerves hard against him.

“You liked it, too. Didn’t you? How I fucked you last time?”

A low-frequency hum throbs deep inside you, amplifying every sensation tenfold. You nod, rolling your hips faster, “I did, I liked it.”

“Yeah, you liked it? Or did you fucking love it?” he hisses, “Dirty little slut like you. Bet you loved getting fucked in the ass, didn’t you?”

“Oh my god, Joel—”

“Tell me.”

“Yes yes yes I fucking loved it—”

Too loud.

He ceases all movement, locking you in place with a steel grip. All ten of his digits bury themselves in your skin. The exquisite pain makes you gasp.

“Hush.”

You clamp down on your lips in an attempt to stifle yourself. Each heaving breath wiggles down to your core and back.

“Look at me.”

If you do, you’ll dissolve at the edges. You know it. You are sugar paper and he is a humid room and you are so incredibly fucked.

Pinching your eyes shut harder, you shake your head and whisper, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll come if I do.”

The confession makes him throb underneath you. He husks, “Do it, look at me.”

You do.

Even in the shadows you can make out his features, his parted lips and hooded gaze. The desire etched into his face as he stares at you, looking mystified in a way you’ve never seen before. Heat percolates beneath your skin, sending your heartbeat racing.

His hips arch into you just so, then he pulls you in and pushes you back, rubbing your body against his, “Do you wanna come? Come for me just like this?”

“Please—please,” you whine, feeling pleasure branch out from your middle as he slides you back and forth, “Please I wanna come for you it’s been so long—”

“Will you be quiet?”

Swallowing a moan, you nod frantically.

His eyes flicker around your face and he breathes, “Go ahead.”

You’re not sure if it’s the flames in his eyes or the fact that you haven’t had an orgasm in almost two months, but the second he gives you permission, the ecstasy you tried so hard to contain spills over the edges and floods your body. It pulses through you hot and hard and makes your mind go white. You have to clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle the guttural noises that try to escape.

“That’s it,” he coos from far away, still grinding your twitching body against him, “There we go. That’s my good girl, hmm?”

“Oh my god—” you whimper at the sharp aftershocks that shoot through you, “It feels so good, Joel, fuck—”

“Do you wanna come again?”

Nodding, you link your hands behind his neck and set yourself in motion, rubbing against him a little faster than his set rhythm. His eyelids flutter as he throws his head back, the muscles under his shirt going taught. Beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, he’s hard as a fucking rock.

Releasing the tight grasp on your hips, he roams up your sensitive skin to your breasts and tests their weight before squeezing. It shoots through you, the pleasure and pain indistinguishable, just a throbbing rush of need. Your breathing comes in heaving gasps and you pinch your eyes shut again, tilting your head towards the ceiling as you once again find yourself struggling to keep quiet.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you.

You snap them open and meet his.

“Good girl.”

And—god, the way he looks at you, his gaze hungry and wild. Fucking maddening. Simultaneously, you wish he would stop—the contact too intense, too intimate—and pray that it never fucking ends.

Heat bubbles up inside you. You bury your fists in his hair and roll your hips faster, chasing the scorching need for more.

He hisses and pushes back against your thrusts, murmuring, “That’s it, grind that pussy on me, make yourself feel good.”

“Fuck—fuck yes, it feels so fucking good—”

“I can feel how fucking wet you are, leakin’ all over me. You do love it, don’t you, baby?”

You start to tremble and nod, trying your hardest to whisper when you tell him, “Yes yes yes I do I fucking love it—I wanna come again, can I please come again, please please—”

“Listen to you. So good, askin’ for permission.” He brings a hand to your face and brushes his knuckles against your cheek, “Such a quick learner.”

“Joel—”

“Do it. Make yourself come again.”

Something untethers inside you. Heartbeat pounding behind your ears, you work your body against him in jerky movements, each one more delicious than the last. His eyes burn into yours, all heavy-lidded and lust-blown in the darkness, watching your face twist up with pleasure as the hot gooey feeling between your legs stretches wider and wider, then overtakes you completely.

You give in to it with a shattered breath, burying your face against his shoulder to muffle your moans. He holds you down, making sure you smother your cries in the damp cotton of his t-shirt as wave after electric wave washes over you.

When your spasms start to peter out, and your rolling hips come to a stop, he releases his stronghold to pet your hair. Your heaving chests meld together, breath syncing up into a steady ebb and flow as he smooths his palm up and down your spine.

For a moment, it’s just this. Just the soothing motion of him rubbing your back, calming your boneless body. Soft and quiet with everything else stripped away.

Emotion swells in your chest and tingles up your throat, behind your eyes. You try to hide it, the fact that you’re crying, but it becomes obvious when a sob escapes you.

Joel shifts a little, then tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. He searches your face and frowns, furrowing his brow.

“I’m sorry,” you wipe your tears and cast your eyes downward, “I—I don’t know why this is happening, I’m sorry. I’m stupid.”

“No—hey, no,” he assures you, “It’s fine.”

You shake your head.

“Look at me,” he commands, and when you do, he cups your cheek and holds your gaze, “It-it’s normal to feel… emotional. Really, it’s ok.”

The warmth and sincerity of this—his touch, his eyes, his words—makes your heart stutter. It curls up inside you and sedates your jumpy nerves.

You sniffle and nod, “Ok.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he studies you, bringing his hands to your waist. The longer you stare at each other, the more all the subtle signs of his lust come back into focus. How his tongue peaks out to wet his lips when he looks at your mouth. The heavy thudding of his heart. His strained breath and throbbing cock.

Your gaze drifts to his lips. A needy, aching desire simmers at the base of your spine. It seems wrong to kiss him. More sensual than sexual, rooted in something he will never have for you. But still, you wonder.

You wonder how soft his plush lips would feel against yours. How he would taste. Whether or not he would use tongue, or teeth, or both.

Your fingertips twitch hesitantly towards his mouth. He doesn’t pull away or admonish you, even though you give him ample time to protest. When you make contact, smoothing your touch over the pillow of his bottom lip, he murmurs against your fingers, “I’m not your boyfriend. I’m never gonna be, either, I wanna make that clear. That’s not what this is.”

“I know you’re not my fucking boyfriend, Joel.” You scoff at the thought, “Boyfriend. I don’t want that. I don’t need a boyfriend. What I need…” you watch your touch drift from his mouth to his jawline, where you scrape your nails through his scruff, “What I need is someone to fuck the thoughts out of my head.”

“Fuck the thoughts outta your head,” he repeats, almost a chuckle, “That’s what you need, huh?”

“That’s what you need, too. Isn’t it?”

Something smolders behind his gaze as he searches your face.

“You can use me, you know. Take whatever you need from me. Use me like a fuck toy, Joel, I fucking need it.”

His whole body reacts to your request, muscles flexing taught as he clenches his jaw.

You bat your lashes at him and pull yourself close enough to feel his breath on yours when you ask, “Don’t you need a little fuck toy like me, daddy?”

“You’re a sick girl, you know that?”

“You like it.”

Neither of you can deny the other’s accusation, resulting in a stand-off that tingles beneath your skin and makes your heart pound in your throat.

Subconsciously, you rock your hips forward and suck in breath when his cock throbs against your clit. He pushes back, flooding your veins with fire, “Are you gonna keep quiet if I fuck you?”

“Are you gonna shut me up if I can’t?”

He lets out one single amused chuckle, then asks, “Are you really tryna test me right now?”

Suppressing a smile, you shake your head.

“That’s what I thought.”

Something in the way he says it blooms heat in your chest. His tone teasing, almost playful.

He gives your ass a light smack, then tugs at your underwear, “Take these off.”

You roll off him onto the mattress and slide them down your legs while he stands to strip naked. Seeing his cock makes your body hum. It stands at attention, bobbing a little when Joel catches you staring.

Sidling up to the bed, he beckons you closer, so you follow his silent guidance and crawl over to him, wrapping your hand around his thick length. You glance up at him, licking your lips as you await further instructions.

“Get it nice ‘n’ wet for me.”

Nodding, you bring your mouth to the head of his cock, exploring first with your tongue, licking up the salty dribbles of lust. You taste a hint of yourself on him too, arousal that soaked through his boxers and marked him yours. Temporarily, at least. At least for tonight, or at least for right now.

A pleased rumble erupts from his chest when you wrap your lips around him and start to slide up and down his shaft. He feels solid and warm and fills your mouth completely. The first time he hits the back of your throat, you gag and pull off him, working him with your hands as you catch your breath.

“Do it again.”��

You take him in your mouth, rutting up and down a few times before sitting up taller to drive him down your throat. He buries his fists in your hair and thrusts his hips forward, “There we go, that’s it—fuck, you’re so fucking good at that.”

His praise sparks at your core. You whine around his cock and bob against his thrusts. It doesn’t matter that you can’t breathe. You don’t need oxygen, you just need this. The sting of his grip prodding your movements, the raw stretch of him fucking your airway, the wet squelch that fills the room.

When he yanks your head back and unclogs your throat, you gasp for breath and stroke him with both hands, churning his slick length. Fire roars in his eyes when you look up at him.

He grabs your chin and husks, “Say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

He smacks your cheek and grabs your chin again, “Say thank you for fucking my face.”

“Thank you for fucking my face, I fucking love it—”

“Say please can I have some more.”

“Please can I have some more, daddy?”

Stifling a groan, he crams it back in your drooling mouth, down your throat, snapping his hips in sharp, quick thrusts that make you gurgle with pleasure around him. Far away, you hear him panting, “Take it take it take it—”

The chorus makes your body tingle. You think about your mom sleeping in the other room, how there’s just a wall between her and this. How she could wake up at any moment and follow the muffled, hedonistic noises. How she would find Joel balls deep in your mouth and you giving him something she never could: control.

This time when he pulls you off his cock, he uses his white-knuckle grip on your hair to make you flip over and turn around, ass in the air towards him.

The head of him nudges up against the tight ring of your asshole. You hear a wet splat, then feel the heat of his spit trickling down between your cheeks. Your body clenches with anticipation as he smears it around.

“Remember, you gotta relax,” he murmurs, releasing your hair to smooth a palm against your spine.

You inhale a deep breath and exhale the tension from your muscles, letting your heart melt into the mattress.

“Good girl,” he arches forward, breaching your entrance.

The sharp sensation splits you open. It pulls a wanton moan from your lips that rings through the silent apartment like a siren.

Yanking you up by your hair, Joel secures your back to his humid chest and clasps a hand over your mouth. Stars invade your field of vision as he drives his cock deeper and deeper, only stopping when he can’t go any further. You sob against his palm, so he pulls it down harder, muffling the noise until you stop.

Everything goes silent and still, but you can’t even bring yourself to worry that you woke her. Not when all you can hear is your thudding heart and his ragged breath, coarse with what you assume is rage or lust or both. Not with his lightning rod cock vibrating hot up your middle.

It doesn’t matter that she could walk in to find her common-law husband fucking your ass, or that this discovery would burn all your lives to the ground. All you care about is more. More stimulation, more attention, more Joel—more more more—

You try to move your hips in an attempt to create friction, but his vice grip renders you immobile. So you stay in place and try not to make noise as the flames lick at your insides. You squirm and ache and claw at his arms while he muffles your whimpers.

Then your mom snores in the other room.

He pulls his hand from your mouth and you gasp for air.

Thinking you can get ahead of the inevitable scolding, you plead, “I’m sorry—”

He drags his cock out of your body, then plunges it back inside, all the while hissing, “If you’re gonna be my little fuck toy—”

“Holy fuck—”

“—You have to be fucking quiet. Do you understand?”

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand, I’ll do better, I promise—please just fuck me, please please—”

You strangle a moan in your throat when he slips a hand between your legs and draws tedious circles on your clit.

“Try ‘n’ breathe through it,” he coaches, “I’ll go slow for you this time, ok? Just remember, shut the fuck up and take deep breaths.”

You suck in air until your chest is full, then release it, restricting its flow through a narrow space between your lips. You do it again. Tension begins to melt from your bones. It has a clarifying effect, allowing you to relish in the heat of his touch. You take another deep breath, only hitting a snag when Joel starts to rock his hips.

It feels fucking unreal. Rough and raw, the steady drag of his cock fills you with static electricity over and over.

“Oh fuck—”

“Shhh…”

Your inhale stutters, but you regain control on the exhale. Everything disappears except him. His heated skin sticking to yours. How fucking full he makes you feel with each thrust. The thick swell of pleasure that accumulates every time he flicks his wrist. You surrender to all of it, to Joel, entrusting him with everything except your breath.

“That’s it, baby, let go.”

“It feels ssso gooood,” you whisper, head rolling back onto his shoulder, “Nothing’s ever felt this good, holy shit—”

His lips tickle your ear as he purrs, “Such a good little fuck toy, aren’t you, baby?”

You gasp a little when the velvet of his tongue rolls against your pulse. Nodding, you reach back behind his neck to scrape your fingernails through his curls. He does it again, this time sealing his lips to suck on the sensitive skin. Your heart pounds thick and hot through your body. The edges peel back at the corner of your mind. You push back against his thrusts, panting out subdued whimpers as the fire in your belly begins to spread.

“Do you wanna come?”

“I do, I wanna come—oh my god I wanna come, please make me come, daddy—”

His hand covers your mouth and holds you down so he can fuck you harder, stretching you out wide and filling you deep. He works your clit faster. The bed frame thumps against the wall in a frantic rhythm that matches the wet slap of his thrusts. Tears prick your eyes and heat swells beneath your skin, pressure building more and more until you think you can’t fucking take it anymore—

His palm smothers your moans as you fall apart, breaking into a million pieces and coming back together again with a choked sob. Joel buries his face in the crook of your neck and groans as his hips snap forward, then stutter to a stop.

The two of you go slack propping each other up, too loose-limbed and lethargic to peel yourselves away at first. He makes the first move to separate, though, uncovering your mouth to brush the damp hair from your forehead, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you tell him instinctively, then second-guess yourself and look up to meet his eyes, “I mean, I don’t know. I think so.”

He studies you, nodding.

Hesitation buzzes in your chest when you contemplate whether or not to return his question. It seems unlikely he’d cooperate even if you wanted to know the answer. So instead, you give him his out.

“Is this goodnight, then?”

“Suppose it is.”

A flicker of something passes between your bodies as you stare at each other. It feels so hot to the touch that you chicken out, glancing away as you whisper, “Will you do something for me before you go?”

“Hmm?”

“Tuck me in?”

The noise that comes out of him is half-grunt, half-chuckle. Joel for, ‘You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.’ But he obliges, pulling his soft cock from your body at a mercifully slow speed before allowing you to make yourself comfortable. He sorts out your blanket and drapes it over your body, then starts fishing his clothes off the floor.

Tugging his shirt over his head, he asks, “Need anything else, princess?”

You’re sure it’s a dig, but choose to ignore it as you snuggle into the covers and hint, “Don’t make me wait so long next time.”

He sits down at the edge of your mattress and threads his legs through the boxers, “I’ll make you wait as long as you need to. What else?”

“Mmm. Goodnight kiss?”

“Goodnight kiss,” he scoffs to himself, then looks back over his shoulder at you, “Fine, then I’m goin’ to bed.”

He turns to face you more directly, folding a knee onto the bed as he leans in and tilts your head to the side, pressing a gentle kiss into your cheek. Even though you wish he had kissed your lips, you close your eyes and savor the affection while you can.

After murmuring goodnight, Joel leaves. He crawls back into bed with your mother while you memorize the sound of his retreating footsteps.

#joel miller #x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us smut #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ruthless joel miller #whatsnewalycat writes #pedro pascal smut

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kingofbodyrolls · 5 months ago

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End of the World (m) | myg | teaser

→ Summary: Your government has been telling you to prepare for war, just as a precaution given the recent political changes around your country. Did you listen and prepare? No. Are you paying the price now, friends all but gone, and your city burned to pieces? Yes. Survival instincts kicking in, you search for a place to rest, nourish your battered and hungry body, only to find yourself at the porch of a stranger. Will he help you, or leave you to your own demise? → Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Genres/AUs: science fiction, apocalyptic, survival, co-dependency to stay alive + heavy angst, fluff and smut. → Tropes: strangers to lovers, forced proximity (because love that shit) → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: still writing (approx 10-20k) it’s a one-shot! → Author’s note: hiya. I’m currently writing this apocalyptic story with Yoongi, because… well. I’m fucking scared. So this is me working through and with my fear for something that I’m afraid is actually going to happen. We don’t need to talk about it, because a lot of bad shit is happening all over the world 😭 This is purely a story, though made up by my fears, yeah. Anyway, it’s okay if you’re not into it! The vibe for it is like The Last of Us and maybe a bit Fallout, I think if you enjoy that type of stuff, you’ll enjoy this one too. But it’s really heavy, but there’s a decent amount of fluff to balance it out, because, it’s still a fanfiction and it wouldn’t be that without some good old fluff and smut 🥰

You know you must move, but before you leave, there’s a promise to fulfill for Yuri.

You relieve yourself and step back onto the road, eyes fixed on the distant horizon that seems miraculously untouched by the ravages of war. That glimmer of hope pulls you forward. You have to reach it. No matter the distance, no matter the obstacles, you must get there.

It’s your only chance.

You walk and walk—days blur into weeks. Your clothes hang off your frame, tattered and too big. Bombings have become a constant backdrop, each explosion a distant rumble you barely acknowledge. The earth’s violent shudders no longer faze you. Hunger gnaws at you, a relentless companion, its grip tightening until you can’t even remember your last meal. Water, your only steadfast ally, has kept you moving; without it, you’d have long since fallen.

You trudge along the desolate highway, the city a distant speck on the horizon behind you. You have no sense of how far you’ve traveled, only that the remnants of your home have shrunk to a mere dot in your vision. The road stretches endlessly ahead, a bleak reminder of the ground yet to cover.

Dizziness is your constant companion now, your throat as parched as the Sahara despite your efforts to hydrate. Water is scarce, and you’ve been rationing it for days. Hope feels like a distant memory, and though the elusive horizon you’ve been chasing for weeks appears closer, it still seems maddeningly out of reach.

Your body feels like lead, your feet swollen and throbbing with every step.

Sleep is a distant memory, haunted away by visions of blood-streaked faces, final breaths, and echoing cries. Bloodshot eyes and a disheveled appearance mark your struggle; you’re still in your tattered nightdress, stained with blood and reeking of fear and sweat.

No food, no shower, just the relentless march through this wasteland.

You’ve lost track of time—is it still September?

The biting cold cuts through you, your torn and ruined shoes barely offering any protection. You trudge onward, desperate to find shelter, weary of hiding in the bushes from strangers who might wish you harm. Paranoia grips you; every rustle in the distance, every shadow makes you jump. Trust is a luxury you can’t afford. You feel like you’re unraveling, teetering on the edge of sanity.

When your eyes land on a solitary house down a side street off the main road, you can hardly believe it. You’re nowhere near your end goal, the neighboring city, yet here it is—a lonesome house in the middle of fucking nowhere. You chuckle, convinced you’ve lost your mind. Why would there be a house out here, untouched by the chaos? You blink repeatedly, but the house remains. Your feet carry you forward, despite your spinning head and the jumbled mess of thoughts in your mind.

The house, partially concealed by tall trees and lush bushes miraculously untouched by the war, seems like a relic from a forgotten world. An old jeep, battered but intact, sits beside the porch with its white picket fence. You approach cautiously, every step feeling surreal, and lift your hand to knock. Your bloody knuckles leave crimson smears on the pristine white door, a stark reminder of the nightmare you can’t escape.

You lose track of time standing there, every second stretching into an eternity, before the door is abruptly ripped open. You find yourself staring down the barrel of a rifle.

“Who are you?” a male voice demands, harsh and suspicious, but the words barely register. Your vision blurs, darkness encroaching, and the last thing you feel is the hard impact of the porch floorboards against your head as you collapse.

→ Do you want to join Yoongi on a quest for survival as the world crumbles around you? Let me know and I’ll tag you when it drops 💜

Also please let me know if you’re interested, excited about it— otherwise I’m probably just gonna post it on my ao3 only, lol. I’m scared 🫣

Read the second teaser + book cover [here]!

It's been posted!!!!

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nimonabigbang · 11 months ago

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Nimona Big Bang Sign Ups Are Open!

Do you love the Nimona movie and/or graphic novel? Are you a writer who has always wanted fanart for a fic, or an artist looking for inspiration?

What's a Big Bang?

A Big Bang is a collaborative fandom event that results in an explosion of new fanwork. Writers are paired with artists, who create fanart for the new fanfic written for the Bang.

For the Nimona Big Bang, we're asking for a 5,000 word minimum for fanfics and two art pieces. Participants can take on up to two possible roles: writer, artist, beta reader (to help proofread draft fics), writer pinch hitter (in case a writer needs to drop out), or artist pinch hitter (in case an artist needs to drop out).

What's the schedule?

Sign ups for all roles opened on January 1, 2024. Writers need to sign up by March 1st, artists need to sign up by April 1st, and beta readers need to sign up by July 28th.

Writers need to provide fic summaries/200 word excerpts no later than April 20th so that artists can bid on them. Writers and artists will be paired by April 28th.

We will have several scheduled check-ins to make sure everyone's on track. If you feel like you need to drop out, please do so by July 15th so that we can try to find a replacement writer or artist for your partner.

Final fanfics and fanart will be revealed on September 14th.

The detailed schedule is here.

How do I sign up?

Please sign up using this form.

I'm not sure if I have enough time for this.

We understand that people are busy! The schedule was designed to be relatively relaxed and low pressure.

I'm not sure if my writing or art is good enough.

We're not gatekeeping! Beginners are welcome.

We also will have beta readers to help proofread for grammar, spelling, and clarity.

I'm having trouble coming up with a fic idea.

We're happy to help! If needed, we can provide prompts, AU ideas, etc.

I've never written a fic that's 5,000 words before.

This is an excellent excuse to give it a try in a supportive community! If you're used to writing shorter scenes, connecting enough of them will help get you there. :) (The 5 + 1 fic format might be a good fit if you have length concerns, but there are many ways to write a fanfic.)

What about...

More detailed information is in the Rules and Guidelines. We also have a Discord server.

If you can't find what you're looking for, feel free to send this blog an ask or message us! @random-nerd-posts and @zyrafowe-sny are helping run the event, with assistance from writer mod @knightofburgers, artist mod @toxix-st6, and beta reader mod @cameron7a.

We hope you sign up today and are looking forward to all the wonderful fic and fanart!

#nimona #nimona big bang #nimonabb #nimona movie #nimona webcomic #nimona graphic novel #nimona fanfic #nimona fanart #nimona fandom #signal boosts appreciated

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logorrhea5mip · 4 months ago

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As you might know, the sky is due to get a new star any time now, in a few months at most.

What is happening? The recurrent nova T Coronae Borealis, by far the brightest one known, is a star* in the northern constellation Corona Borealis that, once every 80 years or so, increases in brightness from completely invisible by naked eye to among the ~100 brightest in the night sky. This increase is called a nova, from the Latin word for new, as it looks like a new star has appeared.

Where can i see it from? Basically all human inhabited latitudes, all except the far south. In the northern latitudes, however it is visible the entire night, while near and below the equator you will need to 'catch' it at the right time of night, which in August and September is just after sunset.

How will it look? Let's not get your hopes up too high. It will, at the brightest, reach a magnitude around 2 at most, so about as bright as the north star, relatively unremarkable and completely unnoticeable as unique to someone who doesn't know where to look. But still, it's the most visible sudden change to the relatively fixed pattern of the heavens any of us will live to see, so you should still go give it a look.

Where is it? Currently, the constellation is best visible about 1 or 2 hours after sunset. You will need to be relatively far away from light pollution, so at least a couple dozen stars are clearly visible. While learning the constellations, and finding the star by orienting via those is imho half the fun, you could use one of many sky map apps and websites to tell you the star's location. If it didn't happen yet, there should be nothing visible at that location. However, if there is, congrats! You just did an astronomy™ :3

It will appear in the circle next to the star labeled ε

Why is this happening? Most stars spend most of their lives in a stable, hydrogen fusing state. However, when hydrogen in their cores begins to run out, they switch to helium fusion, which makes them swell up to enormous sizes, turn red due to lower surface temperature, and are thus called red giants. After this helium runs out, the star will (in most cases) throw off the inflated outer layers, while its hot, dense core shrinks and keeps on glowing due to how hot it is, while not actually doing any fusion and not producing any new energy. Those are called white dwarfs, and because they don't fuse, aren't technically stars at all, therefore the asterisk in the first sentence of this post. The T-CrBo system is a red giant and white dwarf binary, where the red giant has grown so big, that the parts of it closest to its partner aren't gravitationally bound to it anymore. Therefore, the gas falls and accumulates on the white dwarf's surface (which otherwise has no hydrogen on its own), untill a critical point is reached where the pressure of the gas causes it to all fuse at once, resulting in a huge thermonuclear explosion bright enough to be seen from over 2500 light years. The explosion however, isn't big enough to blow the dwarf apart, and it starts accumulating new matter from its partner right away. Because of this, it with re-explodes every 8 decades, and it is due to go any day now.

@green-mountain-goose @brightgreendandelions

#astronomy #recurrent nova #science #astrophysics #space #not a reblog #t coronae borealis #long post #ramblings #space observation

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sins0fthefather · 9 months ago

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Wrath.

Jeff the Killer HCs:

General HCs:

Full Name: Jeffrey Alexander Woods (Only responds to Jeff though. Best case scenario if you call him his full name is he’ll ignore you, worst case scenario is him flipping his shit on you)

Age: 22-25 (Based on where in the story a character study/fic takes place)

Birthday: September 22 (Older than Liu by 2 years)

Wasian— Father is Chinese, mother is a born n’ raised Texan

Biromantic, Demisexual

Has autism, C-PTSD, BPD (contributor to his auditory hallucinations), NPD, ASPD, and BDD

Right Handed

6’1 (185~ cm)

Covered in burn scars, most noticeably on his chest, forearms, and back

He uses white facepaint, it makes his face’s silhouette look “cleaner” in his eyes

His cuts have healed up for the most part, although he’ll have moments where he relapses and cuts at them again. The ends will also sometimes tear if he does something like laugh too hard.

Very touchy with other people, but he despises being touched first. He prefers to initiate physical contact- both because of the control aspect of it and because of his general distrust of others.

His sense of humor waxes and wanes from extreme condescension to the most morbid sentences you’ve ever heard. Half of the time it doesn’t even sound like a joke.

Reckless driver, cursed with terrible road rage

Smokes cigarettes, his brand of choice is Marlboro

Drinks vodka straight as if it were water

I feel like his favorite band would be Tool or Slipknot. His music taste is just metal and dad rock.

Was brought up in a Catholic school for most of his life, although he obviously doesn’t keep up with the practice anymore. This is a big catalyst for why he develops a god complex however since he “has authority over life and death”— something unique only to gods from what he was taught.

Very observant of the people around him. He memorizes speech patterns, demeanors, even the way people walk. He’s gotten to the point where he can read people and their intentions well before they’re explicitly stated, making it much easier for him to spot a lie. However this also makes it much easier for him to tell when he’s truly pushing somebody’s buttons, and there’s nothing he loves more than pushing people past their limit.

Always stealing glances of himself in any mirror he walks past

He’s an opportunistic killer. Limiting himself to patterns clashes with the creativity and the thrill of the moment to him. However, there are specific elements of a kill he will often repeat if the mood strikes him. An example of this would be often including strangulation (albeit usually not the direct cause of death) to reflect his acquired need for control in all moments of his life. Sometimes he will also pose bodies in a “prayer” position to call back that god complex I mentioned.

He doesn’t always kill people immediately. If someone catches his eye, usually because he finds them beautiful in some aspect, he’ll take it a step further. He has no problem with being patient when the situation arises for it- stalking the person, learning their habits and schedules, the whole shebang. He’ll then slowly start to ruin said person’s life, isolating them through the slaughter of those closest to them and destroying any sense of peace and security they once had. He’s the sound that goes -bump- in the night. He’ll toy with his food until he eventually grows bored, disposing them like all the rest. After all, how dare someone else try to be beautiful in his presence- a punishment of the highest order is necessary.

His anger can be very… explosive. He doesn’t stick around very long for enough people besides victims to see it, but it can be as unpredictable as his own kills. It’s worse when he’s silent in his anger however, since with the former you at least have enough of a warning to brace yourself.

Backstory-Centric HCs:

(TW: csa, murder, mutilation, religious trauma, general stuff)

Takes place in college. Jeff is 22 at the start while Liu is 20.

Instead of being a one-off instance, Jeff and Liu have been subjected to bullying/borderline harassment since middle school. This builds up Jeff’s gradual distrust of others and leads to him shutting himself off from his peers.

Most of said bullying revolved around their mixed race situation. It only got worse as Jeff shut himself off and Liu became a people pleaser.

The two didn’t even have peace at home, since their parents were sexually abusive and excused it through their religion. It was “all apart of god’s love” as they said. This + the bullying leads Liu to develop DID and kickstarts Jeff’s resentment towards their parents. It also led Jeff to develop a twisted belief on what love and beauty is since god apparently “favored” the beauty of his parent’s form of “love.”

On one particular instance of bullying/harassment, a small group of people he grew up with planned on jumping and mugging Jeff behind a bar. Things escalated when Jeff retaliated in self defense, beating his aggressors with a nearby pipe found laying against a dumpster. He didn’t leave unscathed however, since one of the attackers dropped a lighter into the flammable materials (alcohol, trash, etc) that had been scattered in the fight, planning on making everyone go down in that moment. Jeff managed to survive (albeit with severe burns along his body) after being found by an employee who went to go check out the noise/smell of smoke, but the others succumbed to their wounds.

While in a heavy state of shock and psychosis (paired with being drugged up out the wazoo at the hospital) his usual unchecked auditory hallucinations worsened, leading his mind to trick him into believing this situation was a sign from god- that he was supposed to survive while his tormentors burned. Paired with his already twisted concepts of love and beauty, he began to believe that his burns were part of god’s plan to make him more beautiful- because he was favored.

This only gets worse when he’s released from the hospital’s custody due to a neglect in checking his mental state. After being sent home with his family and therefore being thrown back into the abusive environment he hoped to escape when going to college he ends up experiencing a psychotic break, mutilating himself in the process.

When his parents catch him, they attack him. In their eyes he had disgraced them, no longer upholding the “beauty” of heaven that they enforced. He ends up killing them in self defense, but furthers it by mutilating their bodies in an act of defiance induced by his break. He believes he’s outdone god in this moment, deluding himself into thinking he’s on the same level (or even better) than god.

While overcome by his psychotic break, he ends up severely wounding Liu after he wakes up to check out the noise. It becomes a conspiracy on if Liu survived or not since his body was never found by authorities.

The reason why Jeff continues on his spree after these instances is the feel of control he gets. After being forced into submission by those around him for so long, he finally feels a stable sense of power over those he deems as less than him.

He ends up wandering throughout the states after this, hopping from town to town. He never stays in one place for long, although sometimes he’ll revisit his home town to give the urban legend fanatics something to fear again.

#long post woo #questions encouraged teehee #jeff the killer x reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta/you #creepypasta #headcanon #headcanons #jeffrey woods #homicidal liu #rewrite #writers on tumblr #the autism is autisming

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proflaytonbigbang · 1 year ago

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Welcome to the Professor Layton Big Bang 2024! This event will be dedicated to the Professor Layton series in anticipation of the upcoming release of the long-awaited New World of Steam!

Info + Rules - Twitter / X - Instagram

What's a Big Bang? 🎩 ▸ A Big Bang is a collaborative event between artists and writers: Writers will write a new fic, and artists will be paired up with a writer based on their summary to create an artwork accompanying the fic. All creators will work for several months, to release everything on the same day, creating an "explosion" of content (hence the name)! What kind of content will you have? 🎩 ▸ We're looking for artists and writers! Plus, in homage to the amazing work of Puzzle Master Akira Tago on the series, we would also love to have puzzle makers onboard, to include a little puzzle to solve in each project! What would be the requirements for the Big Bang? 🎩 ▸ The Big Bang will be "divided" into two tiers to join:

Tier 001 (Future British Gentleman): In this tier are welcome writers who aim for a smaller wordcount, from 1,000 to 5,000 words (with lower exceptions possible for non-traditional writing, poetry for example)! The art pieces for this tier won't need necessarily to be fully colored or to have a background.

Tier 002 (Puzzle Master): In this tier are welcome writers who want to go after every picarat, starting at 5,000 words! The art pieces for this tier will need to be fully-colored and to have a background. If there's interest, each collaboration would include an original puzzle to solve as well!

We're currently in our Creation Period, which means we won't be welcoming any new writers or artists. Our release period will start on September 27. Please stay tuned for updates!

A true gentleman always helps get the word out! Thank you! @faneventshub @layton-heritage-posts @layton-npc-appreciation-week @littlelaytonproblems @nocontextprofessorlayton @weekly-layton-puzzle

#professor layton #layton #layton series #fandom event #big bang #layton big bang #professor layton big bang

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superman86to99 · 12 days ago

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Superman: The Man of Steel #37 (September 1994)

Zero Hour is here, and so is Batman! And Batman, and Batman, and Batman, and, yes, even Batman! Clark Kent and Lois Lane are strolling down beautiful, half-destroyed Metropolis when Clark sees a Morse code message coming from a rooftop. It turns out to be Batman, who's looking rather... Neal Adams-ish. Superman should have realized something was off when Batman called him "old friend," even though these two have only been able to stand each other for (in DCU time) about a year at most.

Not only does Batman not recognize Superman's post-resurrection mullet hippie hair, but he seems confused when Superman mentions that little incident where he had his back broken by a 'roided-out wrestler, which suggests that he hasn't experienced the '90s at all. If Superman was truly Batman's friend, he'd rush him to the nearest arcade to play Super Street Fighter II Turbo right away.

Anyway, Batman dropped by Metropolis to warn Superman that there's some sort of "time anomaly" going on that's making "people from the past" show up in the present. You don't say.

Meanwhile, the big "concert to rebuild Metropolis" that's been teased in recent issues is about to get started. The organizer, Lois Lane's douchey ponytail-wearing ex-boyfriend Jeb Friedman, is jumped by some guys who look a whole lot like the Mutant gang from Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns, who hate Jeb because they don't want Metropolis to be rebuilt (as opposed to any of the other 99,999 valid reasons for hating Jeb). Tragically, Jeb's life is saved by the grittiest, most violent Batman of all: yes, Ben Affleck.

(Just kidding. I know that's actually Adam West.)

After saving Jeb, this Batman runs into Superman and says he came to warn him about the time anomalies, but it's pretty obvious he already knew about them, considering he's hanging out with two separate Batmen and all. The Batmen barely have any time to get acquainted before a third Batman drops by, this one looking like he came straight from 1939's Detective Comics #27. Oh, and then the Neal Adams Batman suddenly turns into a different, much more pointy-eared Batman in the middle of a sentence.

(The DC wiki claims it's Kelley Jones Batman, but our resident art expert Don Sparrow says it could be Marshall Rogers Batman.)

Since Superman's all-purpose science guy isn't in his lab right now, he decides to bring the Batmen to the benefit concert in case the Mutants cause any more trouble -- especially since the music is so loud, it's "interfering with [Superman's] super-hearing." We just discovered another Superman vulnerability aside from Kryptonite and magic: '90s death metal.

As predicted, the Mutants do strike during the concert, and somehow even bring a whole tank into it (today, you can't even bring in a water bottle). Luckily, the music was so loud that most of the crowd didn't even notice it took one Superman, three Batmen, and some anti-tank explosives courtesy of DKR Batman to save them.

Superman finally finds Professor Hamilton, who was at the concert with some girlfriends, and asks him look into the mystery of the many Batmen. Hamilton employs his usual approach to scientific investigation: just put people inside a big glass ball (the isolation chamber first seen in Adventures #458).

Hamilton's instruments determine that "something very odd is happening to time," which Superman probably could have figured out without the need of a big glass ball -- especially since the Batmen are now rapidly turning into other Batmen and fading out of existence. Hamilton's conclusion is that Superman should probably look up the real Batman from this timeline. Just then, Superman hears a high-pitched noise: it's that precise Batman, who just arrived in Metropolis and used a gizmo to call his attention.

'90s Batman says the same thing as the others: weird time-related things are happening in Gotham... and Metropolis too, as is pretty clear by now. Just then, Metron of the New Gods shows up in his funky time-and-space-traveling chair to say that this isn't a mere "time anomaly" -- it's a CRISIS™!

TO BE CONTINUED IN ZERO HOUR!

Plotline-Watch:

That last scene is also seen in Batman #511 (in part) and Zero Hour #4 (in full). By the way, I'm pretty sure this is the first time Superman and Batman have met since the former came back to life and the latter got his back fixed. It's too bad they didn't update Batman's looks in some way when he returned, like maybe with a mullet showing through his cowl, Batgirl-style. In fact, they should give all DC heroes mullets when they come back from death/paralysis.

All through the issue, we see a Kryptonian ship (like Superman's birth matrix, but bigger) traveling through space, arriving on Earth, landing on Smallville, and, finally, its occupants getting off and going up to the Kent farm. They turn out to be Jor-El and Lara... and they think Pa Kent is their son. Maybe Superman's human parents aren't the only ones who need glasses.

The most dramatic part of the concert is when one of the Mutants shoots at the headlining artist, Jimmy Olsen's old friend Babe, and we see the bullet go through her chest. Then she dramatically turns into a giant bat and spooks her assailant while the audience cheers, convinced that these are just really good stage tricks. Later, Jimmy visits Babe backstage and congratulates her on the effects. She's like "yes... effects." (As a reminder, the last time we saw her, two years ago, she was bitten by a vampire.)

It's obscured by the big glass ball in the panel up there, but Professor Hamilton debuts his hydraulic robot arm in this issue, having lost his flesh and blood one in Adventures #514. Incidentally, the "girlfriends" of Hamilton's I mentioned before are Case, the white-haired girl he met in that Adventures issue, and her Riot Grrrl bandmates, who invite Ham to sit with them near the stage. I'm surprised he didn't lose his other arm in the mosh pits.

Keith the Unlucky Orphan attends the concert with his new friend Alice White and her husband, Perry, but Keith wanders off when he thinks he sees his long-gone mom in the crowd. That's the last we see of Keith in this issue, so it's easy to get the impression that he got ran over by the tank or something. (At least we learn that Lucan, that other kid from last issue, did find his mom.)

At the end of the issue, Jeb confirms his scumbag status by bragging to Lois that Clark has never done anything as "awesome" as organizing a concert with extremely lax security, and then trying to get Lois to come to Paris with him. Lois is surprisingly patient with him and even gives him a kiss on the cheek. He urges her to get married quick because "that's the only thing that will keep me from coming back," which is the best argument for the Clark/Lois marriage I've seen.

Regarding the scene above, notorious Jeb-hater Don Sparrow says: "Lois' dodge on what’s so great about Kent might read to us like she’s talking about him being Superman, but--forgive me--from Jeb’s point of view, it just sounds like she’s talking about his dick." Okay, so it wasn't just me.

Shout Outs-Watch:

Bat-shout outs to our Bat- I mean Super-supporters, Aaron, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Kit, Sam, Dave Shevlin, and Dave Blosser! We're currently giving away some original Maxima art to one supporter and have another cool art poll/giveaway coming up! Join them (and get extra non-continuity articles, plus the giveaways) via Patreon or our newsletter’s “pay what you want” mode!

The great Don Sparrow had a LOT to say about the art in this issue this issue, starting with trying to identify all the Batmen on the cover, so buckle up and keep reading:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We start with the cover, and it’s an instant classic, with Jon Bogdanove showing off by emulating the art styles of over a dozen Batman artists from comics history, while still maintaining his own personal style in the middle of all of it. While I’m sure I’m wrong about a few, here’s as many as I could identify, starting counter-clockwise from top left:

1. Moebius? It kind of looks like the helmeted version of Batman from the final fight with Superman, but they already have a Frank Miller here. There’s definitely something European about this rendering, though, so I’m going with Moebius. [Max: This one looks elderly to me... is there an Elseworlds or something about a geriatric Batman?]

2. Frank Miller

3. Neal Adams

4. Bruce Timm

5. Dick Sprang

6. Gil Kane (with the rendering looking like Murphy Anderson's gentle feathered inks)

7. Kelley Jones

8. Michael Kaluta? These backwards facing ones are tricky, because I’m not totally sure they’re supposed to be representative of any artist, but those distinct cape folds look like Kaluta to me.

9. Michael Golden? Again, not sure it’s supposed to be anyone in particular, but Golden was a giant for Batman covers at a certain point, and favoured the long eared look.

10. Irv Novick

11. Lewis Wilson (not an artist, but the actor from the low-rent serials of the 40s)

12. Carmine Infantino—the lips are unmistakable, and again, the feathering looks like Murphy Anderson.

13. Jim Aparo

14. Bernie Wrightson—either that or Kelley Jones again, but the face looks a little more natural, which makes me think Wrightson.

15. Jerry Robinson

16. Walt Simonson? Wasn’t sure about this one, but the cape folds looked like his geometric linework

17. Bob Kane

What do you think? Any mistakes I have here? Please let me know!

Inside the story, we’re greeted almost immediately by the off-putting sight of Jeb Friedman, one of my least liked characters in all of Superman-dom. Then again—we’re supposed to not like him, so the creative team is doing a bang-up job. I will say, Jeb’s noxiousness is cut in half when Clark also has a ponytail, which at one time I think was a design element intended to hint at a Steven Seagal-like irritating personality, before they had to add one to Clark to differentiate between he and Superman. One odd detail—I haven’t seen many tour jackets where the band’s name is hyphenated.

On page three’s almost double page spread, we get our first Batman era, the Neal Adams version of the character, exemplified by the exaggerated hand gestures and warm rim lighting. As the Riot Grrrls try to meet Babe Tanaka, they’re stopped by a very Chris Farley looking roadie/security guard, but the timeline doesn’t work.

Though “Big Dan” bears a striking resemblance to Farley’s security guard character from Black Sheep that movie wouldn’t come out for another two years or so, and the character design doesn’t look enough like Farley’s security character from Wayne’s World 2, so maybe it’s just a generic roadie character. I do love Professor Hamilton’s awkward, hands-off reaction to Case laying a big old, 20-years-his-junior hug on him.

A few pages later we get our first glimpse of both the timeline-lost Dark Knight Returns version of Batman, as well as his Mutant street gang. I love how these pages employ Frank Miller’s caption boxes and tiny square panels. It’s interesting to me that so many artists since DKR have depicted this version of Batman’s costume as brownish gray and black, when, to my eye, it’s a muted navy and gray in the original pages. One of the animated adaptations of this story also went with the black and warm gray motif, which has always confused me—Lynn Varley is certainly a gifted enough painter to represent blacks and grays without the comic book trick of shading them with blue (like Superman’s hair, for instance) so that interpretations since have deviated from navy and gray perplexes me a little. When you read DKR, what colour did you think his uniform was? [Max: I'm gonna go with grey. The brown-ish always baffled me.] At any rate, we lose Bogdanove’s style almost completely as the figures and even the scratchy finishes perfectly recall Miller and Klaus Janson.

Only a page or two later we get another Batman, this the slight, purple gloved version from 1939, and then on the next page, the Neal Adams Batman appears to give way to the Marshall Rogers version (or at least a different long-eared interpretation of the character). On page 11, we have a stunning image of Superman overlooking three different Batmen on their personal gargoyles, and the one in the middle seems soooo familiar to me, but I can’t place it, perfectly. It could just be the Rogers Batman again, but the cape folds and body gesture looks like it could be referencing a pin-up from Michael Kaluta, Sandy Plunkett, or Michael Golden. Any insights? Certainly, as the story progresses, this version of Batman has the flowing geometric cape Rogers’ drew. Babe Tanaka playing right through the assassination attempt is a great visual, though it’s jarring to see her Vampirella-meets-Cher stage costume in a code book.

Throughout the whole issue there’s some really cool zip-a-tone effects, like when Superman descends to the first two Batmen, in a DKR cover callback.

Later as those same Batmen jump into action, the ben day dots lend a sense of depth, and finally the effect in the background during Babe’s supernatural transformation are very well used.

Once the Batmen hit Professor Hamilton’s lab, the transformations come and go quickly, as the Bob Kane Batman gives way to what appears to be the Adam West version, then only a panel later the Marshall Rogers Batman switches to the “new look” Batman as imagined by Carmine Infantino and Murphy Anderson. Just as quickly, the grim n’ gritty DKR Batman is subbed out for the grinning n’ gleeful Dick Sprang version of the character. Finally, as the alternate timeline Batmen disappear, Superman makes his way to Gotham, and it’s very cool that even with Bogdanove’s distinct style, we know this is the modern Batman. I love that during this era they went back to the Cord Batmobile in Batman comics, but it’s extra appropriate here, where there’s already a bunch of anachronisms running around.

As an art fan, this issue was a real treat, but in terms of plot, there wasn’t much—just a series of different Batman costumes running in and saying “something weird is happening!”. It reminded me of the monologue when my fellow 5’4” heartthrob Michael J. Fox hosted SNL, and the different Michael J. Foxes kept running in to warn him that his monologue was about to bomb. But, it does mean we’re in the era of Zero Hour, at last, which is one of my favourite crossovers of all time, in no small part because of the story’s deep connection to the Superman books, from the writer/art team, to the Linear Men’s important role.

SPEEDING BULLETS:

There’s perhaps something funny about the Neal Adams Batman accusing Superman of “going hippie” when the Neal Adams version of the character was most famously written by self-proclaimed hippie, Dennis O’Neil.

It does my heart good to see that Jimmy indeed also doesn’t care for Jeb Friedman. But between my hatred for Jeb, and Max’s dislike of Jimmy, does the disdain cancel itself out? I can’t figure the math on this. [Max: I also hate Jeb, so I think the hate is multiplied and becomes uber-hate.]

Jimmy also seems unafraid to “be that guy” wearing the shirt of the band to the concert of the band. I actually think this is kind of a dumb rule, myself, so you go Jimmy.

Speaking of resentment, my main issue with Ron Troupe, apart from his fashion sense, is that he seems to be a replacement Jimmy, sidelining him in the cub reporter role (and eventually in the romance department as well, though we’re not there yet). But it’s nice seeing them team-up. Maybe they’re only competitors in my mind.

I like that the Dark Knight version of Batman also includes his wry commentary, about the sounds of violence drawing Superman, and the slight diss that the mullet has impaired Superman’s perfection.

Little Keith having a nice picnic day with the Whites does my heart good, and I do like the foreshadowing with Keith feeling like spending time with them is “almost like having a family” again.

I do like that pretty much all the Batmen who show up are too square to enjoy Shredding Metal’s music. It does make me curious what it sounds like. I imagine her vocals sounding like Cassandra Wong from Wayne’s World, but the sound might be heavier and screechier than Crucial Taunt. [Max: For some reason, I imagine it as Yoko Ono singing System of Down.]

(Controversial opinion coming up!) I kinda like that Superman stops the DKR Batman from taking out the tank, a nice echo of the Dark Knight Returns storyline, where Superman was the real hero of the story (had he not stopped that nuke, it wouldn’t matter how many Mutant Leaders Batman beat at mud-wrestling).

So who did Babe feed on that Mutant quickly after she got off stage? I’ll admit, I wouldn’t have minded if it was Rob, Don or one of the other mutants out to kill her.

I get that Jeb is supposed to be an Henri-from-Cheers “I’m going to steal your girlfriend” like foil for Clark, but his line-crossing pursuit of Lois isn’t cute—or a relationship that Lois should indulge, even as friends.

The Vampirella connection is made even more clear with the zoom-in on Babe’s eyes, with pupils bearing a bat that looks a whole heckuva lot like the logo on Vampirella’s costume (which you can google yourself, as I’m struggling to find even a single worksafe image of the lone daughter of Drakulon). The idea that she’s bummed about being a vampire, as exemplified her her teary eyes, is a novel twist.

It’s amusing that Jor-El and Lara are so unfamiliar with their son that they mistake him for Kal-El’s septuagenarian adoptive father on that last page.

It’s fun to see all these different interpretations of Batman, but if this story were released today, there would be even MORE iconic incarnations that didn’t yet exist in 1994! Batman as drawn by Jim Lee, Tim Sale, Frank Quitely, Alex Ross, Gary Frank, Francesco Francavilla, etc. were all still ahead of us! I was glad to see Jim Aparo referenced on the cover, but my other personal favourite Batman artist, Norm Breyfogle, was left off this issue, perhaps because he was too recent to be considered “classic” in 1994.

With all the Batman artists referenced in this issue, we ask you: which Batman artist era costume would you like to see me sketch? Sound off in the comments, or vote in our poll… [Max: Poll coming soon, but Bat-suggestions are welcome!]

Missed an issue? Looking for an old storyline? Check out our new chronological issue index!

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cassiesdevblog · 1 year ago

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~Rumble~ in Grey Area

Hey rumblebees! I've got a gnarly headache today so I'm not working on Grey Area (it's painful to take a break but I gotta remind myself if I'm dying to do something I can still do it post-launch..!), but I at least wanted to write a quick, simple blog post about it!

SEPTEMBER 15TH BTW. 5 DAYS. WISHLIST NOW OR YOUR BODY WILL BECOME GREY

Early on in my involvement with Grey Area, I wrote a short, simple script to make controller rumble super extremely easy to implement:

setrumble(left,right)

All I have to do is write this line of code somewhere and input the desired value for the left and right sides of the controller, and the rest is handled invisibly. The possible strengths range from 0 to 1, but higher values can be used to easily keep the rumble at max strength for longer. These values drain back to zero at a rate of .1 per frame, so I don't have to worry about turning the rumble off at any point, and it has a nice, subtle gradient as it tapers off. Further, if you try to set the rumble to something lower than it already is, nothing will happen. This prevents small rumbles like footsteps from cutting off bigger ones like explosions

Thanks in part to this script's massive versatility and ease of use, I was able to litter this game with rumble for basically everything in no time flat

Hailey's footsteps make tiny, subtle rumbles that alternate sides of the controller. When Hailey climbs onto a bench, you can subtly feel her hands and feet making contact. Walking into a wall makes a small rumble on the appropriate side of the controller, and bonking off a wall does the same but much bigger. Whenever a boss does a big attack, you'll feel it

I mainly use rumble to create a more tactile connection between the player and Hailey. My rule of thumb is that you should feel what she feels! This is why abstract actions like using menus don't have rumble

There are still, however, a few places where rumble is used in slightly abstract ways, like the lingering rumble from getting hit that lasts almost as long as the invincibility frames. You're really supposed to ~feel~ that you got hit! Proximity to some powerful forces will also create rumble, as if the energy it gives off resonates throughout your corporeal form

So I think it goes without saying that I strongly recommend playing with a controller and keeping rumble turned on. It really really elevates the whole experience in my opinion!

#grey area #gamedev #indiedev #indie games

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xanasaurusrex · 11 months ago

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I absolutely Stan your headcanons hun! I love the accuracy and perfectly logical reasonings (also very well written and explained), Could you pleaßw do Thanatos as well? No pressure, of course!

⇢ ˗ˏˋ thanatos cabin headcanons ࿐ྂ

a/n: thanatos is literally the personification of death i'm so hyped for this! also these headcanons are a little bit short because for some reason i was totally blanking on thanatos kids, but i think that i got some pretty good headcanons in there (:

thanatos kids are the definition of badass

they're naturally very intimidating

i mean, their father is literally the personification of death, so there's like... something unsettling about them

spirits kinda follow them around

it's very common for thanatos kids to have been bullied when they were younger, but also the bullying doesn't last long, because they can get a spirit to knock something over near them or something

thanatos kids are very untrusting, because the world has been pretty cruel to them

on the wikipedia page, it says that thanatos is the personification of peaceful death, but i'm not sure how true that is since it's wikipedia, but basically what i was thinking is that like thanatos kids can always tell when someone is going to die of natural causes, just like in their mind, if that makes sense

like a canon event for a thanatos kid is having a grandparent or older family member start acting differently, and the kid immediately knowing that they're gonna die

their mortal parent definitely could never look at them the same after the sick individual died

i kind of headcanon that there are lots of thanatos kids that have weird relationships with their mortal parent because of this reason

like there's lots of trouble with people seeing thanatos kids as "spawns of satan" if that makes sense, and so they're kinda shunned

and yes, thanatos kids are definitely badass, but they also have a sort of general unsettling sort of vibe

exactly like how hades kids can be kind of unsettling at times

same thing with thanatos kids, although it's a lot more subtle because thanatos is a minor god

but there's just something about thanatos kids that put mortals on edge

(it's the gentle reminder that death is always possible at any given moment, and being near a thanatos child, the child of literally the personification of death, makes this reminder a lot more fresh in people's minds whenever they're around)

other demigods generally aren't as affected by this, because just existing as a demigod means you can die anywhere and anyway, so being around that reminder is just sort of more of a friendly reminder like, "hey! i'm a child of thanatos, remember to look out for monsters! (:"

for some reason i feel like thanatos kids would get along really well with hecate kids

they both give off kind of spooky vibes, i feel like they would totally be friends

they would go allllllll out during spooky season, i guarantee it

like halfway through september they start announcing to camp that it's officially spooky season

thanatos kids are very intense

but a quiet kind of intense, where they have like unintentionally intense stares

thanatos kids also have very big feelings

when they get sad, they get sad

when they get happy, they get so elated it looks almost as if they're about to take flight

that's just kind of the pattern with thanatos kids

they definitely had explosive tantrums as a kid

thanatos kids also tend to be sort of closed off, and kinda hangout with each other more than anything

also for some reason i kinda headcanon thanatos as a bit of a slut so i feel like there are a lot of thanatos kids for like no reason

okay honestly that's all i have for thanatos kids

i'm so sorry this was so short, but i for some reason had no ideas for thanatos kids (althought in my defense the only thing about thanatos is that he's the personification of death so yknow) but i also have a bunch of requests to write! thank you so much for reading, and have an amazing day!

#percy jackson #thanatos #thanatos cabin #cabin headcanons #cabin hcs #cabin 29 #thanatos kids #thanatos kiddos #headcanons #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson imagine #camp half blood #camp half-blood #camp half blood headcanons

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annabelle--cane · 10 months ago

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do we have any information on the approximate dates or year that TMA takes place in? I’m obsessed with timelines and I’m so curious about if those dates are Known or not or can only be guessed about

yes we do! some parts of the timeline are a little vague, but every live and "in situ" statement (with a few exceptions) has a date attached to it. I won't go through every known date, and I'm also not scrupulously checking to make sure I've copied all these numbers down correctly so there's probably an error or two in here, but some significant ones include:

mag 13 - alone: the first live statement and the first hard date for the show, 13 january 2016

mag 22 - colony: martin's statement after being trapped by jane prentiss, 12 march 2016

mag 26 - a distortion: sasha's statement about meeting michael, 2 april 2016 (<- that was my fourteenth birthday :3)

mag 38 / mag 39 / mag 40: jane prentiss's attack on the institute, sasha's death, and all the debrief statements afterwards, 29 july 2016

mag 41 - too deep: jon's statement about exploring the tunnels and his first supplemental tape about gertrude's murder, 2 september 2016

mag 43 - section 31: basira's statement about diego molina + the start of her giving gertrude's old tapes to jon, 19 september 2016

mag 47 - the new door: helen's statement about the hallways, we meet michael in person for the first time, 2 october 2016

mag 61 - hard shoulder: daisy's statement about seeing the coffin for the first time, 1 december 2016

mag 73 - police lights: basira's statement about rescuing callum brodie from maxwell rayner, 11 february 2017

mag 76 - the smell of blood: melanie's statement about her investigations into war ghosts, at the end she and jon have a bit of a fight about how That Is Not Sasha, 13 february 2017

mag 78 / mag 79 / mag 80: jon releases not-sasha from the table, martin and tim get trapped in the corridors, jon meets leiter, elias smashes leitner with a metal pipe, all on 16 february 2017

mag 81 / mag 82: jon makes a statement at georgie's place about a guest for mr spider at the same time as daisy interviews the remaining archives staff to try and ascertain his whereabouts, 18 february 2017

mag 89 - twice as bright: statement of jude perry, ft. jon hand crispification, 24 april 2017

mag 91 / mag 92 (/ maybe mag 93?): statement of mike crew, death of mike crew, jon daisy and basira's encounter in the woods, the big elias conversation at the institute, 28 april 2017. mag 93 might also be recorded on this day, I'm not quite sure, because georgie's statement (mag 94) is 29 april, but I don't know if that's fully the next day or if jon got back really late on the 28th, recorded mag 93, and then georgie gave her statement in the wee hours of the 29th. up to interpretation and how little sleep you envision jon as having.

mag 100 - I guess you had to be there: lynne hammond's is 2 may 2017, robin lennox's is 20 may 2017, brian finlinson's is 26 may 2017, and "john smith's" statement doesn't have a date.

mag 111 - family business: gerry's posthumous statement about smirke's 14, 30 june 2017. again, trevor and julia's statement about how they met in mag 109 is dated 29 june, and I don't know if it's an either-side-of-midnight thing or a full day elapsed between them.

mag 118 - the masquerade: martin and melanie pull a fast one on elias while the rest of the gang sets up explosives in the unknowing, 6 august 2017.

mag 120 - eye contact: elias's statement about jon's coma dreams + elias's arrest, 9 august 2017.

mag 121 / mag 122: oliver banks gives his statement about point nemo and jon wakes up, 15 february 2018

mag 128 - heavy goods: breekon deliver's the coffin and jon slurps a statement right out of his head, 3 march 2018

mag 132 - entombed: jon buries himself alive to rescue daisy, 24-26 march 2018

mag 141 - doomed voyage: on the boat to norway jon slurps a statement about mikaele salesa out of a shiphand's head, 11 june 2018

mag 142 - scrutiny: jess tyrell comes in to complain about jon slurping a statement out of her head and haunting her nightmares, 12 june 2018

mag 146 / mag 147: jon gets intervened on about all the brain slurping, they go to hilltop road and find annabelle's statement, 20 july 2018

mag 157 / mag 158 / mag 159: peter releases not-sasha and brings martin to the panopticon for a showdown with "elias," julia and trevor attack the institute, daisy goes monster mode, and jon follows martin into the lonely and saves him with the power of gay love and also slurping peter lukas's brain so hard he explodes badly, 25 september 2018

mag 160 - the eye opens: jon reads a normal statement and nothing bad happens, 18 october 2018.

fuck if I know

#tma #answered #anons

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3rdeyeblaque · 1 year ago

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On Sept 20th we venerate Ancestor & Hoodoo Saint John Henry on the 153rd anniversary of his passing 🕊

An icon of Hoodoo Folklore & History, John Henry - aka the Steel-Driving Man - embodied the otherworldly strength & will that defied physics, expectation, & the harsh conditions of his time. He is a symbol of Black Power as an unbreakable spirit of resistance and protest.

John Henry was indeed a real man behind the lore of his legend. Though there is still much debate as to who was THE John Henry among many possibilities. As it stands, most scholars believe he was born enslaved in VA in 1840’s, later emancipated after the Civil War. He stood at 6ft tall, 200lbs - a true giant of his time. He carried a beautiful baritone voice & played the banjo. That would make him the 19yr old who was convicted of theft in a VA court in 1866. For his alleged crime, he was sentenced to 10 years in the penitentiary & put to work building the C&O Railroad during the Reconstruction Era.

In the February 1870, the legend of John Henry was born along the C&O Railway at Big Bend Mountain near Talcott, WV - when over 1,000 railroad workers began drilling the Great Bend Tunnel where the Greenbrier River makes a seven-mile meander around the mountain. John Henry was a "free Negro" hired as a Steel-Driver on the C&O Railway. He & his counterparts were saddled with the gruesome task of hammering steel drills into rock to holes for explosives to cut a 6,450 ft-long tunnel through the mountain. Railroad work was hard; long hours of grueling labor, dangerous at times, for little money.

Holes were drilled into the layers of rock using a hand drill & hammer, then filled with powder & blasted in order to make the rock small enough to remove from the tunnel. The drill was held by a “Shaker” - tasked with turning it slightly after each blow & shake it to flip the rock dust out of the hole. The “Steel Driver” swung the hammer as hard & as often as he could, pounding the drill into the rock. John Henry was prolificly known as the strongest, fastest, & most powerful man working on the railroad.

One day, the C&O railroad company bought a steam drill. It was said that the steam drill could drill faster than any man on earth. This sparked the age-old debate & challenge of Man-versus-Machine. John Henry immediately volunteered to go up against the machine to prove that the Black worker could drill a hole through the rock farther & faster than any drill could.

John Henry wielded two 10-14lb hammers, one in each hand. He pounded the steel drill so hard & fast that he drilled a 14ft hole into the rock. The steam drill only reached 9ft. John Henry held up his hammers in triumphant victory. Nearly a thousand railroad workers shouted & cheered his name. So much so that it took them a while before realizing that John Henry was tottering. Exhausted, he crashed to the ground with his hammer at his sides. It is said that the crowd went dead silent as the foreman rushed to his side. John Henry had passed away from exhaustion due to bursted blood vessels in his brain.

The Great Bend Tunnel was eventually completed on September 12th 1872, & remained in service until 1974. A life-sized, 750lb bronze statue of his likeness was erected on Dec 28th 1972 - on the 100th anniversary of the completion of the Great Bend Tunnel. Barbed wire was placed around the statue for many years to combat vandalism of white paint being thrown on it, gun shots to the face and torso, etc.

Sadly, no one knows where John Henry was buried. Some say his likeness can be found carved into the rock inside the Big Bend Tunnel. Others say if you walk to the darkest edge of the tunnel, you can still hear the sound of two 10-14lb hammers drilling their way to victory.

"If I can't beat this steam drill down, I'll die with this hammer in my hand!"- John Henry, as told from The Ballad of John Henry.

John Henry's choosing to go up against the steam drill was not about the challenge in and of itself. It was about proving that the body & spirit of the Black man could NOT be broken. Especially while living in such hard, grueling times. Our livelihoods were at stake & our future was even more uncertain.

Thus, he is forever immortalized in the hearts & minds of our people as symbol of the blood, sweat, & tears that drench the C&O railway by Black railroad workers of the past/present. A beacon for those who lost their lives laboring under such dangerous occupation conditions. The lore of his legend (and the lives of Black workers lost) lives on in oral tradition through story, ballads, Blue's, & work songs from coast to coast. These songs and tales did more than transform John Henry into a folk hero, they reminded us to "slow down or die", which became a tool of resistance & protest among railroad workers.

John Henry was a legend turned symbol among the Black populace of the time. And an Ancestor turned Saint for us those of Hoodoo Culture.

We pour libations & give him💐 today as we celebrate him for his unbreakable spirit, unparalleled strength, & defiance against a system that see us all perish beneath its heel.

Offering suggestions: tobacco smoke, libations of dark liquor, railroad dirt (especially from the C&O railway tunnel/line), & sing/play ole rwork songs and ballads to his name.

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

#hoodoo #hoodoos #atr #atrs #the hoodoo calendar #Hoodoo Folklore #Hoodoo History #Hoodoo Saints #hudu #john henry #steel driving man

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cherrylng · 3 months ago

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Matt Bellamy Interview - Muse [ROCKIN'ON (September 2000)]

"The ideal is to keep pushing forward and go on and on and on and on and die in the end….. What I want to do is act out that ideal."

The new generation of guitar band supernovas, Muse, have finally broken through in their home country of the UK. We caught up with Matt Bellamy just before Summer Sonic to find out more about the hyper nuclear explosion he is about to cause on stage. Interview by Erika Yamashita

Matt Bellamy is 22 years old. On the day of the interview, he had not returned from Glastonbury for a long time. When he finally got back, he got into a big fight with his sweetheart, who had been with him since he was 15, over whether he was going to Wimbledon or not. After all that, a phone call came into our waiting mobile phone, saying "We've broken up", which was not even an excuse (Of course, after this interview, he went to Wimbledon in his girlfriend's car). A genius boy is still a boy.

If a genius is born of talent plus environment, he is a very good test case indeed. A boring hometown, a complicated family environment thrown in at the delicate age of mid-teens. He was placed in a situation where there was nothing else to do but music, and his special qualities, which he could master as soon as he was given a musical instrument, blossomed most fortunately. The problem is the ‘riskiness’ of Muse's live shows, which lightly involve the superhuman technique cultivated in this way.

Every time I saw them on stage, I started to wonder if they were okay. Unnormal hyper-energy, passion, adrenaline - there's just not enough to say. He looks like he has a ticking time bomb in his breast pocket and is running into unlimited chaos. There, an explosion of life is always waiting, willing to stab the world in the back and destroy itself.

However, within Matt Bellamy lives the will to objectify such extreme conditions of life. He becomes possessed by the role as he plays it, and yet there is no fail-safe on the bomb in his chest that he returns to in the end, leaving a shell behind. The chaos which he dives into is always a flashpoint. And then, with a bang, he rises in an unknown place, leaving behind a shadow that flutters over the cliff and disappears before our eyelids. Another one is gone. And here I am.

A strange, almost split-second, instinctive balance. Is it his character, his theatrical training, or the blood of his mother, a medium? Or perhaps we are looking at a 21st-century artist who is called upon to survive.

"It's not that we think we're the best or anything, but I just don't see any bands playing this kind of rock in the UK at the moment."

The stage at Glastonbury was also incredible. The ending was like you, Chris and Dominic rolling around in a three-way and trying to smash a drum kit, what were you thinking at that moment? 「(laughs) No, I was struggling to get out of the way when they got on top of me. So I kicked the equipment over. I wasn't trying to break anything, I just decided not to break any more stuff. Well, that was the moment at the end of the show when the three of us got closer, or something like that.」

Closer, huh (laughs). Anyway, Muse went from being an unknown band at Glastonbury last year to becoming such a big name in the space of a few years. How do you feel about it? 「But I don't really feel that way. People don't stop us on the street and think we're famous. We're just starting out. People often talk about how well-known we are in interviews, but we don't see ourselves on TV or in magazines, so we don't really know.」

You guys originally got noticed at the CMJ festival in the US, which led to your signing with Maverick. Then came France, Germany, and Australia, followed by the very late recognition in your home country of the UK How did you feel about this? 「Yes, it's true that the British were late in that respect, and we were the last to be signed. But the record is the biggest seller in the UK. We were the first to have an album go gold. So we were slow to jump on board, but once we did, we were quick. We ended up being the most successful in the UK. I think the reason we didn't catch on right away is because it was a time in the UK when record companies weren't interested in guitar bands. They tended to focus on idols and R&B groups.」

The arrival of Muse has allowed British guitar rock to assert itself with pride, and has also created the ground for a revival in the young guitar band scene. In your eyes, do you see rivals to yourselves in the current scene? 「No, that's the problem. It's not that we think we're the best or anything, it's just that I don't see any bands doing this kind of rock. We seem to be the only ones in the Top 40 with this kind of music. Then there's Travis and Stereophonics, but they're not really new anymore, are they? They're on their second album. And then there's…… Coldplay are a great band, but they're not what you'd call rock! I wouldn't say they're our rivals because their music is completely different. I have no doubt they're going to be big, but I think it's a different audience.」

Do you feel like you're more in your element when you tour the US with bands like the Chilli Peppers and the Foo Fighters? 「UK bands have had a hard time in the States over the last couple of years. This is the downside of Britpop. Oasis and Blur sold really well in their home countries and then brought it to America, but they needed a slightly special audience in America. In other words, people who thought Britain was a really eccentric and cool place and would wear Union Jack T-shirts and stuff like that. We had a problem with people expecting that from a British band. But when we played with the Foo Fighters, I thought we had finally met a real American audience. Our music is more global than British, and that tour was really good for us. We got the chance to play to 20,000 people who only listen to American rock night after night. Other UK bands still don't get that chance.」

That's quite an energetic touring pace, isn't it? I saw your ‘room introduction’ in Select magazine, and it looked like a deserted room with a bunch of chairs and musical instruments placed in a corner, and it looked like the owner might not be coming back (laughs). 「Hahahaha…… I don't actually live there anymore. I lived there for a year until last January, but I was on tour a lot and rarely came back, so I decided to leave. I used to work as a decorator and painter before the band became famous, so when I had more time I thought I'd do some work on it and make it a better home. The bed was still there for now, so I thought I'd put a few more things in there, so I took this photo. That's the closest I can get to being at home now, but I'm never at home at all (laughs).」

How many days have you actually been at home this year? 「Hahahaha…… About two weeks in total.」

There is a lot of concern out there that you are on the verge of burnout. Not long ago, there was a news report in the British press of you saying that, "If we keep going at this pace, we're going to burn out". 「I'm sorry about that, but it's not true at all. I was on a student radio show in America and I jokingly blurted out that "touring is hell and I'm burnt out". I was exhausted from all the small venues and all the travelling from the tour at that time, and the interviewer said, "You look tired", so I just said it in response. We just happened to be in that situation at the time, we weren't burnt out. But the radio interview went on the internet and the NME printed it proudly in their papers. It was like we were issuing an official declaration to the British press.」

The UK press is doing a great job as usual. 「Hahaha. Well, it doesn't matter. We're fine over here and it's obvious when you see us keep playing like this.」

"The gig was over and I was lying on the floor, motionless behind the amps. I stayed like that until the lights came on and everyone left, and it felt really good."

It's been ten months since "Showbiz" was first released to the world, and in that time you've already come a long way. How do you feel about that album now, looking back on it yourself? 「Basically, I still like it. I think it shows what we were like back then. The only regret I have is that the mixing could have been a bit better in places. But it doesn't matter, I was a different person then and I'm a different person now. When the album first came out, we were compared to Radiohead a lot, but as people got to know our live sound and who we actually are and who we are as a band, that stopped happening.」

Yes. By the way, I've been wanting to ask you something for a while. Your father was also a band member, so you must have been familiar with the industry from a long time ago, and I thought that's why you were so determined to make it big at such a young age. But when you decided to become a professional musician, your father wasn't around at all, let alone being a confidant? 「That's right. That's one of the things I'm starting to see…… My parents divorced when I was 13, and that's when I started playing guitar. I've recently started to wonder if that might have something to do with my father's disappearance. Before that, I wasn't that into music. I was just doing it for fun. But then my father left and it was just me and my mother, and then my mother left too, so I lived with my grandmother, from 14 to…… to 18, I think. That's when I really started playing music.」

Why do you think that was? 「I don't know, but when I'm playing music…… For me, music makes me forget everything else - everything that I don't like. Living like this every day now, I don't feel like I went through something terrible in the past. I don't think it was hard, either. But I think the reason I've managed to get by is because of music. Especially when my parents split up and neither of them were around anymore, I was able to get through it because of music.」

About the power of music. At the London Astoria show on June 7th, you seemed to lose your temper completely and rolled over with your guitar in your hand, right under the tube-shaped lights at the back of the stage. How is it that the climaxes of your shows, like at Glastonbury, are so unusual? You get to an extreme orgasmic state while you're playing, and you're like, ‘Kill! Kill! Kill me!’? 「Hahahahaha…… Ahaha…… No, recently, I've been thinking about it. I don't know if it's possible to make it happen, but I'd like to do a gig with a curtain at the back of the stage. The three of us have been soaring to the top, and even though there's a limit to how high we can go (laughs), sometimes I feel like that when I'm playing a gig…… It's hard to describe, but when I'm playing music I'm totally liberated and almost become a different persona. I think it's really boring to just stand there and wave and leave after a gig. The ideal gig is one that goes on and on and on and on, and in the end you die hahaha. But I don't really want to die (laughs), so what I want to do is to act it out. You know, like a one-act play. I become the destruction of everything, and in the end I disappear. And only the curtain remains. That's the way I want to end it」

And like only silence remained? 「Yes, yes. If we release many albums, we will be able to do many different kinds of shows, but the music we are doing now always has a climax waiting for us. If we start playing more quiet songs, I think it would be possible to play those songs at the end of the show and have a mellow ending, but for now. The way we ended the second day in Astoria, that was the first time we've done something like that. I was lying on the floor under the light tube, behind the guitar amp, not moving. I stayed there until the lights came on and everyone left the building. It felt really good, you know. I was starting to feel like I was falling down little by little and that it was really over. A lot of times during a gig you get so high from all the noise that you just can't get it down. But when you're sitting on the floor like that, you gradually come out of it. I can leave it on the stage. When I wait until all the audience is gone too, I really feel like everything is leaving me and disappearing.」

I see. So you die and are reborn every time. 「(laughs) That's right. I want to do an ending that conveys that.」

By the way, Muse's music, especially your guitar and vocals, is full of a sense of urgency, as if you are squeezing the world to death. It's like a sense of ‘I want to somehow make this world the way I want it to be’. What do you think? 「Hmmm…… I can't say I know what to say. Sometimes it's hard for me to look at things objectively. I think it can be read in various ways, it could have something to do with the way I was brought up as a child, it could be something that comes out of my inner darkness and chaos, it could be something that touches my subconscious and triggers a reaction in my brain that leads me to some kind of creative activity. But…… I've noticed recently that after a few months of making an album, I'm really good at explaining things. Why did I make this album, why did I write these songs? But in the last couple of months I've started concentrating on writing songs again and I don't know why I'm doing it at all, again. I can't explain my motives when I talk about the songs, but a few months ago I could say it very clearly and precisely. I'm back to confusion now. I'm starting to doubt that even my old songs were really made for the reasons I thought they were. From February to May this year I was undeniably confident about why I was doing what I was doing. Writing music itself is the most simple thing ever, I can't explain it, but it's a certain ‘feeling’. It's just a very simple desire to get the ‘feeling’ inside me out there. It doesn't matter if someone else is listening or not, it just spreads and fills the room with that feeling, that's all. It's only when it takes the form of an album that I start thinking about this and that. But I can't do that now. Sorry.」

No, I think that's right, when you're making something. By the way, do you consider yourself a guitarist, singer, or songwriter first and foremost? 「…… (thinks for a moment)) …… I don't know, I think I'm a songwriter first and foremost. I mean, I'm more of a music maker or a composer. That's what I want to be. I've passed the best stage of playing every instrument I've ever picked up. When I first started piano lessons, I improved a lot and by the time I was about 13 I was a very good pianist. All I played were pieces I'd composed myself. Of course, it was based on something I heard by ear, but I didn't really know it, so I just pieced it together. I realised that as soon as I learnt one instrument, I tended to move on to another. That's why I started playing the guitar. By the time I was 16 or 17, I was probably technically a better classical guitarist than I am now. Well, I play differently now. Then, at around 17, I let go of the guitar and concentrated on getting better at singing. It's the same with other instruments, but I seem to learn the basics very quickly. Then I decide if I want to improve further or not. Maybe it doesn't matter what kind of instrument you play, the instrument itself is a way of venturing out.」

Great guitarists often put their inability to express themselves in words into their instruments. But you put an excessive amount of energy into your guitar and vocals, like 300% when you add them together. That's rather rare, isn't it? 「Ahahaha, yeah, well, I'd like to. Ideally, I'd like to be like Jimi Hendrix. He sang a lot, and at that level, I don't think you're aware of how you're playing anymore. When you sing and play, it's almost automatic because you can't focus on your fingertips, and it's more expressive. The emotions that come out when I'm singing just flow straight out of my fingers. When I play guitar on stage, it's not the notes or chords that come to my mind, it's the emotion of the song itself. I really forget what I'm playing.」

"I remember very clearly that when I was 14, I thought that music was all I had. Well, I feel like I'm slowly starting to understand why my life is the way it is."

That's something only you can say, of course. So, the highly anticipated second album. You've written a lot of new material, but is it going to be a very different type of material? 「Yes. In terms of the method, it's the same as the first album, and each song is polished based on a live performance. For example, ‘Muscle Museum’, ‘Sunburn’ and ‘Falling Down’, we practised them live and then changed the instruments and arrangements on the recordings, and they turned out completely different. In the same way, the new songs we're playing live at this stage might not sound so different from the old ones. We're playing the same instruments and using the same techniques as before. When we go into the studio, we listen back to them and try different ways of doing things. I mean, that's when the song is really finished. Anyway, I can say here and now that some of the songs will be heavier than before. I don't know if heavy is misleading…… There are a couple of numbers where the guitars feature more than on the first one. But if I say that, people will expect it to be another heavy guitar album, won't they? Yes, there are some powerful, heavy and hard guitar-driven songs. But on the other hand, I think there are a couple of acoustic-oriented numbers on there too. With very old instruments. You know, bone percussion like they use in voodoo. And some Spanish guitars. So some of the songs will be very organic, very raw and sad. It's like taking the piano out of ‘Sunburn’, if you know what I mean. ‘Sunburn’, ‘Showbiz’, ‘Hate This And I Love You’, those are the songs that came towards the end of the first album, and I think it shows that the trend of our songs is shifting.」

Oh, I see. So it's safe to assume that the material for the new record is already in place? 「Yeah, we've got most of the songs. We've just started thinking about what sound we want to make and what instruments we want to use. With the first album we wanted to have variety throughout, and to create development within the songs, and we're going in that direction again this time. There's a lot of variety, and the direction of the variety is all over the place. It's hard to explain (laughs)…… But I'm sure it's going to be something that's very Muse.」

So the question is, when do you start recording (laughs)? 「Hmm, after the summer festival tour is over. We'll make a demo in September. Then we'll decide on a producer.」

Do you have any idea who you're going to choose? 「John Leckie wants to do another one, but I think it will probably be someone else. He's a great producer and a pleasure to work with, but I'm afraid to work with the same producer twice. And then I'm afraid that I'll be afraid to leave that person next time. So I'd like to take this opportunity to try someone new. I'm thinking of having a producer from Boston do a couple of songs, but if it's really up to me, I'd like to use a different person for each song. I don't know if that's possible. It might cost too much money. Anyway, we'll record a full record in November. And the first single in January or February next year.」

That's a good pace. By the way, regarding the content of the songs, you've said for some time that you want to deal with themes that go beyond personal anguish in the future. How do you feel about that? 「Well, there are a few…… To be clear, two songs, that's what I've done. That's something you can do when you're with someone else and you feel really connected to them. For example, with my mother, I recently had a long talk and found out a lot of things. She showed me some old photos and I started to understand more about who she was when she was younger. She had a lot going on in her life, and I thought that she must have had a difficult time when she was young, so I wrote a song about that. The other song is from the point of view of a young girl. She's always flicking through fashion magazines, comparing herself to other women who look like models and lamenting that she's not like them*. And she thinks how empty that is. That's what I'm putting myself in her shoes to sing about.」

Wow, that's exciting. Is this a very conscious process? Do you still find yourself saying, ‘Oh, I'm talking about myself again’? 「(laughs) Yeah, quite a lot. But the really good songs just come out on their own, without me even thinking about it. Like, I don't even know what I'm talking about. But I made a conscious effort to write songs that don't just rant and rave like that (laughs). It's the first time I've made a song that wasn't random. I won't know if it's a success or a failure until it's finished.」

You mentioned your mother, was she a medium? 「Yes, she was. It was a long time ago though.」

I wonder if the reason you often talk about the separation of technology and spirituality has something to do with this background. For example, when you were a child, did it feel very natural for you to come into contact with the world through spirits and the like? 「Hmmm… I don't know. I don't really understand it myself, but I'm interested. These things are speculation and nothing is factual…… It's true that when I was a child, my mother was a medium. That means she speaks the language of the dead. That kind of thing was very close to me. I was around 8 or 9, and my brother was around 13, and he was really into it. But when I was 13 or 14, my mother stopped. My father left, and that's when my mother stopped doing it too. And I remember very clearly that when I was 14, I thought that music was the only thing for me. Well, I'm slowly starting to understand why my life is the way it is……」

Yeah. By the way, you just turned 22 the other day. How did you spend your birthday? 「Oh, I was in London and took a day off. An old friend who I hadn't seen for months came out to London and stayed at my place. I was about to go on tour the next day, so I had a day off. I bought a Go-Ped. You know, a scooter with an engine. We rode around London on it, it was fun.」

Matt on a scooter. I can picture it in my mind (laughs). Lastly, what does the word ‘hope’ remind you of now? 「Hope. Hope is, you know…… Hmmm…… First of all, you're trapped in a cave or something like that. That's fine. That's the normal state of affairs. But hope is when you see a little hole all the way up there, and you see the sky, and the sun, and there's light. It's just a ray of light shining on your face. But it doesn't reach there. That's my image of hope.」

It's not here now, but I know it's there. Is that what it feels like? 「Yeah, yeah.」

Translator's Note: The article perfectly describes Matt as it is. "A genius boy is still a boy" indeed LMAO

* The song that Matt referred to later came to be known as 'Screenager' and appeared on the second album, Origin of Symmetry. As for the song that Matt talked about wanting to write to be based on his mum, I don't know what that is. If anyone knows, do let me know!

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#Matt Bellamy #Muse #Muse band #Showbiz era #smol meerkat #my scan #translation #interview #ROCKIN'ON #ROCKIN'ON September 2000

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