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swiftispunk · 1 year

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come back, be here | joel miller x f!reader

an in my hometown story | series music inspo

pairing: neighbour!dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!actor(ish)!reader (+ platonic!tommy and platonic!sarah)

summary: pre-outbreak/tlou. joel reckons with life in austin after you return to LA. very much set in 2002 bc it’s fun. mostly joel POV.

slight canon divergence (sarah’s mom is vaguely in the picture)

word count: 4k

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

warnings etc: smut, imo there is fluff here, angst, 10 year age gap, phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation (m+f), alcohol use, mentions of food, gratuitous time hops, payphones. NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: you guys: write domestic bliss! give them a happy ending! romantic reunion! me: *steve rogers voice* no i don't think i will long distance relationships are hard ya'll, especially undefined ones (sorry) this is a part of the IMH universe but if you wanted some depressing phone sex with pre-outbreak!joel, you could absolutely enjoy this as a standalone.

playlist standouts for this chapter are come back, be here - taylor swift and hey jane - spiritualized

Stumbled through the long goodbye One last kiss, then catch your flight Right when I was just about to fall I told myself, don't get attached But in my mind, I play it back Spinning faster than the plane that took you...

Joel tries not to call every day.

He knows you need your space, your time to thrive and work and live the life you chose, so far from home.

Well, his home, not yours. Not anymore.

It’s usually every other day, more than that if you call with news. Not that there’s much of that; the play you'd been "starring in" had closed to the tune of some less-than-stellar reviews, you’d landed a couple regional commercials, and finally found yourself an agent that at least seemed to have your best interests at heart.

You'd called Joel to share every one of those moments with him. He’s the first person you call any time there’s something in your life worth sharing, it’s just that those instances are exceptionally rare, to say the least.

So Joel calls you mostly. In the evenings, if he’s not working late, midday if he has an hour for lunch. Once, after midnight when he’d awoken from a particularly vivid dream - one involving you in the dress you’d worn at your going-away party - he’d called you, and you’d whispered sweet nothings into the phone while Joel’d stroked himself desperately under the sheets in the desolate confines of his bedroom walls, the two of you getting off together in hushed whispers, miles apart.

That was four months ago - and it had only happened the one time - but Joel clings to the memory like moss on a damp wall.

“Are you touchin’ yourself too?” he breathed into the phone held firmly against his ear, his fingers already wrapped around his cock, hard and leaking over his knuckles, leftover from the oh-my-god-why?-I’m-thirty-fucking-five-years-old wet dream he’d been shaken awake by.

“Yes,” you whispered back, velvet soft, sending Joel's imagination running wild at what you might have looked like, hand between your thighs, the phone tucked inside the delicate crook of your neck and pressed hotly to your ear.

“Good girl,” he hummed and he listened as you fought to contain a moan, probably fearful of one your roommates overhearing.

“Are you…are you hard for me, Joel?”

You sounded so unsure to Joel's ears, which was fair. You hadn't exactly established what the two of you were or would be after that crucial Christmas visit. So a salacious phone call in the middle of the night to tell you how he was "dreamin' about that pretty mouth of yours" probably (rightfully) caught you off guard.

Still, just the sound of your voice, playing along so willingly, had Joel groaning softly, the gravelly noise a hollow thing through the speaker of the shitty cell phone you'd been coerced into buying ("everyone here just has one, I guess").

“So fuckin’ hard for you, sweetheart. Wish you were here to feel it.”

“W-what would you do if I was?”

Fuck.

Joel picked up the pace of his strokes as he considered that, his voice growing ragged as he worked to answer your question.

“Wanna get my hands on that pussy, baby. You all wet for me?”

You whimpered breathlessly and hummed a quiet, “Mhmm."

“How many fingers you got inside you?” he asked, focusing his grip towards the base of his cock, pausing his strokes and trying in vain perhaps to draw things out a bit, at least until he could hear your hushed response. He needed to know, needed to picture you playing with yourself on other end of the line, something that could help him feel like you were here with him, for real.

“J-just one.”

Joel threw his head back, squeezing his cock tighter and resuming his steady strokes at the image of you with a finger in your cunt, biting his lip hard when he thought of the way it would coat with your juices, how much he'd love to suck the sweet slick clean off your soaked digit.

You made him feel so fucking filthy. You made him feel like a man. He needed you here, damnit.

“Put another one.”

He wasn't sure at first if you obeyed, but then you both moaned quietly in unison, Joel pulling at his cock as you presumably added another finger. Joel could hear your breath catching in your throat, a delicious sound that made him wonder if you were curling your fingers inside yourself, like he'd have done if he were there.

"How's that feel?" he asked, voice strained.

"Mmmm, s'good, Joel," you sighed. The sound of you uttering his name in that contented, breathy hue had Joel losing his rhythm a bit - his motions now a fevered, frantic thing, too rushed. "Wish it was you, though."

You had no idea how much he wished the same thing.

"Me too, baby, me too, wanna get my mouth on you so bad." Breathless, crazed-sounding, he meant it. "Wanna taste you again."

A soft whine from you cut through the wire, making Joel's dick twitch in his palm, as he continued to pump himself with that same determined vigour.

"Remember the first time I sucked your dick?" you asked then and Joel's mouth fell open involuntarily, his hand once again freezing on his cock because he would have fucking come right then and there just at the thought of it.

It's exactly what he'd been dreaming about before he'd called you. You on your knees with your pretty dress under you, his forearms braced on the dresser he'd helped build, the way you'd looked so needy for it, like he'd been giving you the sweetest gift in the world. The way you'd looked up from under your lashes when you'd swirled your tongue around the tip.

"Think about it all the time, sweetheart," he managed to grunt softly. Truthfully.

He could never forget it.

Not that it could ever compare, but on the phone with you that night, conjuring up the memory, he flicked his thumb over the tip of his leaking cock, as though he could ever recreate the feeling of your tongue on him.

"Me too."

Joel's hips bucked up into his hand at that, another phantom memory playing at the edges of his mind - the one of you bouncing on his cock last Christmas, your shuddering form coming around him, his big hands on your back as he'd held you flush against him when you did, so he could properly feel all of it. All of you.

"You gettin' close, darlin'? Playin' with your clit?" Joel breathed into the phone, feeling his own release creeping up on him again as the reverie flashed behind his eyelids, clenched tightly shut with concentration. Trying to make sure you got there first.

"Fuck - yes," you hissed and your choked little gasps made the muscles in his guts tighten, right on the edge as the movements of his hand grew sloppier still.

But it wasn't enough. You were being so quiet.

"Let me hear you come, baby, just a little," he begged, voice wrecked, cock rigid and angry in his fist. “Let me hear those pretty sounds you make.”

It's what he missed the most, the desperate whines that had fallen from your lips when he'd had his mouth on you the last time; the prettiest, sexiest noises he'd ever heard.

Roommates be damned, if Joel was begging you for something, you were never going to deny him.

He listened as your breathing stuttered, picturing your fingers rubbing furious circles over your clit, until you let a high-pitched moan slip from you as you came.

That was all Joel needed to coax out his own climax, hot seed spilling over his knuckles - his last thought of you, bent over before him on a twin bed, that very first time.

That's his favourite call - or at least, it's the one that makes him the least miserable.

Of course, there'd also been the call that had come on New Year's Eve; he likes that one too. You'd made a point to call two hours early - your time, just to catch him right at midnight - his time.

"Happy New Year, Joel!" you'd screamed into the receiver, his face splitting into a genuine smile as he'd held the phone away from his face at the piercing sound of your voice hitting his ear drum.

"Happy New Year, sweetheart," he'd replied, heart bursting at the warmth in your tone, how thoughtful you'd been to consider the time difference. How you'd remembered him. "Bit early for you though, innit?"

"You better not be kissing anyone," you'd slurred, ignoring his question, already drunk - out somewhere, from what Joel could surmise.

"Not a chance," he'd assured you. He'd glanced over at Sarah, making sure she was still passed out on the couch beside him before going on,

"I'd kiss you if you were here, though."

He'd said it softly, so as not to wake her. Meanwhile, Dick Clark had quietly shined on the TV, casting blue and white light across Joel's dark living room as the big ball had touched down in Times Square.

"Me too," you'd said, and Joel could hear the truth in your voice. His chest had throbbed in time with the distant boom of fireworks outside his window, each one like a bomb going off in his gut. If you were home you'd hear them too, but through the phone, there's just Joel.

"Here's to a good year," Joel'd said, not an ounce of hope in the declaration, toasting to no one with the beer in his hand.

You'd just sighed, long and anguished.

'Cause in the beginning, in the days following that Christmas visit, there had been lots of days you'd called with tears in your voice, sobbing into the phone about long working hours, or some new rift with your roommates or - the calls he'd selfishly longed for - how much you missed him.

"I'm trying so hard, Joel," you'd cry, while he'd fight to stay composed, just listening patiently and offering comfort where he could.

"I know, baby, I know."

"Maybe I should just give up."

Yeah, you should. Come home. Be here.

"No, you can't, sweetheart," he'd say instead. "You just gotta keep goin'."

"I miss you so much," you'd sigh in that bleak, cracked, longing way, shattering Joel's heart into jagged shards every damn time.

"I miss you too, baby." Please come back. It's not too late.

Those calls don't come so much anymore, as you'd thrown yourself into your work, and time had pulled you further and further from the memory of your last visit to Austin.

Time.

Joel feels frozen in it, while it just keeps moving ahead for you.

The days he doesn’t call are boring and long, repetitive and lonely save for the time he gets with Sarah. He works the same jobs, eats the same food, drinks the same coffee. Feels the same anxious pang when you don’t call first and it has to be him, again.

Sometimes he’ll go by your dad’s, but that’s less often now, ever since he and Tommy had finished up the renovations in the attic.

God, the attic job. That had proven to be an exceptionally awkward thing, considering it had come hot on the heels of the Inevitable Talk with your father. A talk that Joel had been expecting, but which had still turned out to be painfully uncomfortable nonetheless.

Although not necessarily what he’d imagined.

Your dad had shown up at his side door after dropping you at the airport. He hadn’t seemed angry, so Joel had led him in the door and offered him a beer, which your dad had accepted with a reverent, “Yeah.”

Yeah, Joel too.

Joel’d stared at the wood on the kitchen table, and like he couldn’t help himself, broke the silence before your dad could.

“How’d, uh - how’d she seem?”

Your dad’d sighed, taking a long sip of beer.

“Sad,” he’d said.

“Look - ”

But Joel’d been cut off by Sarah coming in the front door then, home right on time from soccer practice. Her eyes had widened as she’d assessed the scene, who Joel had been sitting across from.

“I’m…just gonna be in my room,” she’d muttered awkwardly.

“There’s mac and cheese on the stove," Joel'd told her.

Wasting no time, she'd snatched the entire pot off the hob and slinked quickly out of the room, shooting Joel this knowing glance on the way that seemed to say, good luck - sorry. And also - we'll talk later.

Your dad’s eyes had followed her out of the kitchen as she’d went.

“She’s a good kid,” he’d said.

“Yeah, she is."

"S'funny a thing, havin' kids..." your dad'd started.

Christ, here it comes.

"You wanna protect 'em," he'd continued, tone level but still managing to fill Joel with a healthy sense of dread. "But you also gotta trust 'em. And respect 'em enough to respect their decisions."

A beat.

"Even the wrong ones."

Joel'd cleared his throat, shifting in his seat uneasily.

"That what I am?" he'd asked. "The wrong decision?"

Your dad had shook his head.

"I wasn't talkin' about you."

That had Joel finally looking up from the table to stare at the man in confusion. What had he been suggesting then?

"She shouldn't be out there in California," your dad'd said with another shake of his head and a sip of his beer.

That had taken Joel aback momentarily.

"You don't think she can do it?" Joel'd asked, brows furrowing.

"No, she probably could. If she actually wanted to."

Joel'd just stared back at him, that same dumbfounded look on his face.

"She's determined," your dad had grumbled. "Too proud. She decided she wanted to go out there and do this and now she thinks she can't back out. I'm not sayin' she's not good. I'm just sayin' I don't think it's where her heart's at."

"So where's it at then?" Joel'd asked.

Your dad had just given Joel this knowing look.

You know where it is, dumbass.

"Right," Joel'd replied, around another mouthful of beer. Then, for the first time since he'd met your dad, Joel'd turned on his very best let-me-date-your-daughter Texan manners.

"Listen, sir, I wasn't tryna complicate anything here," he'd said. "The whole thing just - it got away from me."

That was something of an understatement.

"She said you tried to be responsible. What's'at mean?"

Joel'd taken another sip of beer, smiling in spite of himself at the thought of you trying to protect him.

"Guess it means I always knew where this was gonna go," Joel'd postulated. "She didn't wanna overthink things."

Joel'd bristled at the memory - "We don't have to overthink any of this, Joel" - so many months ago now, your arms wrapped around him from behind, face pressed into his back. Course, by then it had already been too late, Joel having already envisioned a whole new life for you after that first kiss on the deck - one where you never left, one where you stayed here with him, slotting into his life with ease. A cursed vision, one he'd known would never be.

How could he not have overthought things? Joel, unlike you, lived in the real world.

"That was your first mistake, buddy," your dad'd said with a shake of his head.

Didn't Joel know it. He'd nodded his agreement.

"You know somethin', Joel? I actually think you'd be real good for her. You're a good man - stable. And you got a lotta love for your kid."

Joel had waited for the inevitable "but" and your dad hadn't disappointed -

"But you gotta give her space now. If she wants to come back, she will. You understand?"

Yeah, he gets it.

Doesn't mean he's gonna listen.

So he doesn’t cross the street much these days.

He would lie and say he’s just been too busy with Sarah or Tommy or work but you’d know the truth if he ever bothered to tell you.

He doesn’t go because it hurts. He doesn’t go because the driveway’s where he kissed you and your bedroom’s where his initials are carved into the dresser and the back deck’s where the whole damned ordeal began.

The more time passes, the less he wants to think about any of it.

But then there's the call that comes today.

The droning of the buzz saw drowns out the sound of the phone ringing. It also drowns out Tommy's booming voice, calling Joel's name over and over.

"Joel!" he yells again, this time with a firm hand on Joel's shoulder where he works over the plywood, which finally gets the older Miller's attention.

"What?" Joel shouts back, glancing cautiously over his shoulder, voice rising over the metallic hum of the saw. But Tommy is giving him the signal to shut the thing off, phone in hand - which is what ultimately ends up holding Joel's attention.

He clicks off the saw, removing his protective goggles and repeating himself, quieter now - "What?"

"Phone's for you," Tommy says with a lop-sided grin. Easy enough to guess who's calling then.

"She called the damn work site?" Joel asks, surprised you'd managed to track them down. They're working a job up in Georgetown, some wealthy suburbanite paying big money for easy work.

Tommy just shrugs.

Joel snatches the phone from his brother and holds it up to his ear, with a gruff, "Hello?" before tuning into the crackling sound of music playing and glass clattering and voices chattering and you, loudly talking into the other end -

"Joel!" you say - almost shout. "Are you there, can you hear me? I'm at a payphone, the stupid cell phone died!"

He steps away from the work site, trying - on his end at least - to quiet some of the background noise.

"Yeah, yeah I can hear ya fine, are you okay?"

The midday calls are rare and your voice sounds so frantic - he can't help it; worry's the first place his mind goes.

"I got a job, Joel! I got an arc!" you say excitedly then, voice just barely rising over the clamorous bedlam behind you.

"You got a what, now?" Joel asks, sticking a finger in his one ear to hear you better.

"A three-episode arc on a TV show! Oh - shit - one sec - "

Some rustling on the other end as you disappear momentarily, and then a murmured, "Thanks" that sounds like you but far away, and then you're back with a, "You still there?"

Joel furrows his brows, trying to make sense of it all.

"Where're ya at right now?"

"I'm out celebrating!" you shriek. "Didn't you hear what I said?"

Not really, but -

"I - yeah I heard, three episodes, that's - that's amazing, sweetheart."

Then there's another voice cutting through the wire - male, drunk.

"Eyyyyy! Let me buy you a drink, baby girl! This is HUGE!"

Joel hears your responding giggle, along with the sound of fabric brushing against fabric (an embrace) and glass tapping glass (cheers).

"I'll be right there!" you tell the faceless voice.

"Whoz'at?" Joel grumbles, his grip on the phone tightening as he bites back the stupid, hot, festering jealousy suddenly brewing in his belly.

"Nobody - well, Adam - he works with my agent, they're throwing this like, brunch party thing for me."

Weird, because you've never mentioned him to Joel before.

She's not yours, idiot, he tells himself.

"Nice," is the best response he can come up with.

"Well, anyway, I just wanted you to be the first to know," you say then - your voice oozing devotion - but not enough to quell the twisted knife of envy digging bitterly in Joel's core.

"Seems like Adam already knew."

God-fucking-damnit.

Why'd he say that? Does he seriously think he's entitled to every morsel of information in your life? Over some kid you work with and that he doesn't even fucking know?

Apparently, yeah.

You're quiet for a moment and Joel would've wondered if the payphone had run out of minutes if not for the noisy bar din still echoing through the receiver.

"I meant the first person back home," you amend, and Joel kicks himself when he hears the tinge of hurt in your tone.

Joel clears his throat, instantly ashamed of the senseless reaction.

"Well, I - I'm glad you did, sweetheart," he says, trying his damndest to soften the edge in his voice.

"Okay - um, shit - it's asking me for more quarters, I'm all out. Can I call you tomorrow?"

"You can call me any time you want, darlin'."

"Bye, Joel."

"Bye - "

He's cut off as the line disconnects, out of time.

Sleep evades Joel that night.

Three episodes on a TV show. What would that mean? How long would that steal you from him? How many more months till you came home again?

He morosely ponders the thought with his head in his hands, hunched over where he sits on the edge of his bed, fingers dragging over the skin of his face as though he could scrape away the memory of the phone call like a pesky scab.

"Dad?"

Sarah's voices comes softly through his bedroom door, shaking him hastily out of his dreary reverie.

"You still up?" she asks, letting herself in the open door.

Joel shakes his head disapprovingly, offering her a soft smile.

"I should be askin' you that."

Should being the operative word. He should be attending to his daughter, not moping uselessly after you.

Instead, as ever, it's Sarah who's looking out for him, joining him on the edge of the bed and leaning into his side.

"You okay?" she asks, head on Joel's shoulder.

"Yeah," Joel mumbles, voice thick.

Keep it together, he tells himself. Sarah doesn't need to see you cry.

"Yeah, m'alright," he says, sounding anything but.

"Wow, well, I'm convinced," Sarah quips, wrapping her little arms around his waist and Joel can hear her rolling her eyes. "I know you talked to her today, she called here first; I told her where you guys were."

He should've known it was her who'd put you in touch with him. And man, the kid's too insightful for her own good. He's not sure where she gets that from, 'cause he doesn't think it's from him.

"I know it's sucky right now," she continues soothingly. "But it's gonna get better."

Joel clears his throat at the simple sentiment, trying to believe it.

"You think so?" he says, emotion coating his tone as he squeezes her in a little tighter against him.

"Yeah, I do," she responds, sitting up and away from him then. "Or, just a thought...you could be all romantic and actually go see her."

Joel's shaking his head before she can finish speaking - as if he hadn't already considered that dozens of times.

"And leave you here all alone? Come on."

They share a smirk but then Sarah shrugs.

"Just sayin'. I think you should do it."

His smile shifts to something more placating, willing her to understand how much more complicated things were than that.

"It's late, you should go to bed."

"Okay, but only if you do too."

"Deal."

He's dreaming again.

Of you, of course.

But it's not like the other times; you're not on your knees in front of him or sitting on his cock or bent over the twin bed under a canopy of glow-in-the-dark stars.

No, this time, you're locked in a tight embrace on the side of the interstate, as though you'd met him halfway somewhere at a lonely truck stop, hands interlocked behind his neck, while his grip your waist tightly. He's breathing in your scent, committing it to memory because he knows he'll have to leave again soon - always losing you, always saying goodbye.

Except...no. This time, there's something new. Dread is replaced by a sense of permanence as the truck stop melts away and there you both are again, safe in your driveway, bodies still entwined but never breaking. No incessant honking forcing you apart, no one-way flight waiting to take you away.

It doesn't have to end.

He jolts awake, the stand-up fan beside his bed cooling his clammy skin and making him shiver involuntarily.

Fuck it, he decides then.

He grabs the phone off the nightstand and makes a call.

Please be awake, please be awake, please be awake -

"'Lo?" Tommy's voice comes through the other end, gooey with sleep and laced with mild concern. Joel checks the time on his alarm clock - 2 a.m.

"Tommy, do I ask you for anything, ever?"

"Uh...no?"

Stupid, stupid, stupid, this is the stupidest thing you've ever fucking done -

"Can you watch Sarah for a few days?"

"Uh...why?"

"I'm goin' to California."

You took a call then you ran all day That clock goin' 110 I never said I'd get you back again Said "I ain't got time to make no mistakes" "Ain't got time to waste my brakes"

END.

in my hometown taglist -

@blkcali @erikelovesdin @luvrking @ barbellpedro @bellath @readz4u @casserole20 @sexygaypalpatine @poopeshites @amelie-712 @livinxdeadxgrl @honeymarvel @azurapphire @wroetospidey @freeobservationtale

@tieronecrush @illgowithufren @shehads-world @atremises @gabywho @detectivedaughter @wroetospidey @baddiesforcorpse @grippingbeskar @halseyhoodjpg @soph55 @pedritosdarling @obsessedwithjustaboutanything @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pedgito @evyiionee @rogersbarnesxx @mo0nfleur @slut-4-multifandoms @stevie75 @b-y-3-n @joelscruff @sl-ut @tinygarbage @pedropascll

@denialismysanctuary @nightdreamss @notpetewentz @bigboiseason123 @witheldclouds @xxmr-potato-headxx @harryhubba @cyberfa1ryar1 @pedrosballsack @thevelvetrevivall @somesaltycorner @marysheperdith @midnightswithdearkatytspb @kaeferandplaza @life-in-the-city @cowgirl---bebop

@zhxw @averagedilfenjoyerr @pointlessandfutile @iso-la-ti-on

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #pre outbreak joel miller #dbf!joel #tlou fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #in my hometown #joel miller drabble #joel doesn't think sarah got her insightful nature from him but we know better #our do boy be noticing things

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disease · 2 days

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GUCCI F/W 2002 RTW

#fashion #gucci #tom ford #RTW #fashion details #runway #00s #fall 2002 #u

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compacflt · 8 months

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does adult mav canonically have pre braces TC teeth or did sometime during the early 00s maverick mitchell wear adult braces

some thoughts

1. my knee-jerk reaction was characters are not their actors so who cares let mav’s teeth be whatever you want

2. But engaging w/ this honestly i see a couple possibilities

3. possibility A is that yes mav has fucked crazy bigass teeth (see my post on ice calling him “Peter rabbit” for more on this)

4. possibility B is that part of trying to reinvent himself during their brief divorce era (post pulling rooster’s papers ca. 2002-2005) was getting adult braces and the like 4 times ice saw him during that period he was just so bewildered he didn’t think to comment on it at all

5. (can navy fighter pilots have braces?? i feel like it would immediately obviate any call sign you had and everyone regardless of rank would immediately start calling you “brace face” and that’s what they’d stencil on the side of your f-18 or w/e… Pete “brace face” Mitchell! honor is everything im not sure mav would tolerate that! you lose a LOT of social capital when you have braces as an adult unless you’re actually tom cruise! which mav is not!)

6. Possibility C mav got invisalign circa 2015 when it really started getting popular and had his retainers in during the TGM mission cause why not. that’s funny. you cannot lose a SINGLE day with Invisalign or it sets you back so much. even if you have a suicidal navy mission to drop bombs on a sovereign country ... still gotta wear your Invisalign dumbass

#ice making out with maverick ca. christmas 2015:#what the fuck. your teeth are bumpy.#Mav: o yeah that’s cause im doing that Invisalign thing 😀❤️ finally get my teeth fixed you know #ice: oh ok! :) (secretly thinking: 😭😭😭 can’t call him peter rabbit anymore😭😭😭)#makes sex less spontaneous. you reach over for your secret gay lover at night and he’s like Hold up lemme take my retainers out rq #has to drop em in his glass of denture cleaner next to the bed. maverick you’re killing the mood.#ok ice i took my Invisalign out where do you want me #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #top gun #icemav #top gun maverick #asks #ice definitely had headgear in middle school. you can see it in his eyes.#invisalign!maverick shouting at rooster: I THAVED *YOUR* LIFE! THAT’TH THE WHOLE POINTH

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mionakt · 10 months

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Niels Klavers F/W 2002

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hannahleah · 6 months

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Natalia Vodianova by Mario Sorrenti in Another Magazine UK (Issue 3) F/W 2002

#Natalia Vodianova #mario sorrenti #another magazine #photography #fashion photography #fashion #fashion editorial #fashion magazine #editorial #celebrity #beauty #celebs

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newestcool · 18 days

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Rick Owens f/w 2002 rtw Creative Director Rick Owens

Newest Cool

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chictape · 1 year

Photo

Jessica Miller // Another Magazine F/ W 2002

#jessica miller #fashion #editorials #another magazine

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uncleclam · 5 months

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Richard x you / knife play / slight gore / n/s/f/w

Does he like to torture you, or is it torturing YOU that makes him feel great? Probably both, you wish, hopfully more of the the later one because you are special to him, right? No one can handle this freak like you do, right? When he trace his knife on your body, sharp tip gently follows your outline, from the middle of your chest to your pelvis, then you jumped when the tip reaches for your genital, he looked so satisfied, fangs showing from his grin, eyes so full of you.

He never look away from your expression, but as a freak he is, you thought he should be more focusing on your fresh wounds or running blood. He enjoys bringing the fear out of you, but why you? Can’t he pick someone else? You think about this a lot during lunchtime, where he insists on sitting next to you, and rest his head on your shoulder without your consent. He is definitely thinking which knife to pick for tonight.

When he fucks you, the more noise you make, the tighter he holds you, and you realized, if you speak his name, he’ll cum faster. You hate saying his name though, fucking Richard Haywood, fuck his silky red shirt.

#ryan gosling #richard haywood #n/s/f/w #murder by numbers 2002

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harrisonarchive · 6 months

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Photo by Neal Preston. “You try not to think about it, and there’d be times we’d all in the room playing together, and then out of nowhere it pops into your head, ‘Oh my God, I’m playing with one of The Beatles!’ That’s usually when I’d hit a wrong chord.” - Tom Petty, Guitar World, 2004 “George was in such awe of Bob, if somebody came over to a session, he’d open a door and say, ‘Look, it’s Bob Dylan.’ Whereas everybody else is opening another door going, ‘That’s f—— George Harrison.’ I loved him so much.” - Jeff Lynne, The Telegraph, November 8, 2015 “[W]hen I talk about George, he’s so famous, and so much of an icon. But he really had the ability to make you forget about that and be a real good friend, and we had a lot of fun. A lot of laughs, a lot of playing the guitars. […] He was so funny, it’s hard to explain. He was the funniest guy I ever met. Such a keen sense of humor. A lot of fun. A wise person. He really wanted to know the meaning of it all. But at the same time, he was really light-hearted and tremendous fun. [Laughs] Just tremendous fun. And we got along so well. There’s really not a day that I don’t think about him.” - Tom Petty, Conversations With Tom Petty (2005) “I loved him [George] so much, and if he had never played a note, I would have been so blessed to have him in my life.” - Tom Petty, Rolling Stone, January 17, 2002 (x)

#George Harrison #Tom Petty #Jeff Lynne #Roy Orbison #Bob Dylan #quote #quotes about George #The Traveling Wilburys #Traveling Wilburys #1980s #1990s #George and Tom Petty #George and Jeff Lynne #George and Bob Dylan #George and Roy Orbison #<3 #fits queue like a glove

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viendiletto · 2 months

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Bibliografia

A. Colella, L’esodo dalle terre adriatiche – Rilevazioni statistiche, Opera per l’Assistenza ai Profughi Giuliani e Dalmati, 1958

A. Santin, Al tramonto. Ricordi autobiografici di un vescovo, 1978

L. Vivoda, L’esodo da Pola - agonia e morte di una città italiana, Nuova LitoEffe, 1989

S. Cella, La liberazione negata. L’azione del Comitato di Liberazione Nazionale dell’Istria, Tipografia Del Bianco, 1990

R. Pupo, Venezia Giulia 1945. Immagini e problemi, Editrice Goriziana, 1992

S. Cella, Dal plebiscito negato all’esodo, ANVGD Gorizia, 1993

G. Perselli, I Censimenti della popolazione dell’Istria, con Fiume e Trieste, e di alcune città della Dalmazia tra il 1850 e il 1936, 1993

E. Bettiza, Esilio, Mondadori, 1996

R. Pupo, Violenza politica tra guerra e dopoguerra: foibe, deportazioni ed esodo delle popolazioni istriane e dalmate (1943-1956), in «Annali/Museo storico italiano della guerra», 1997

N. Milani, A. M. Mori, Bora. Istria, il vento dell’esilio, Marsilio, 1998

G. Nemec, Un paese perfetto. Storia e memoria di una comunità in esilio: Grisignana d’Istria (1930-1960), LEG Edizioni, 1998

F. Rocchi, L’esodo dei 350mila Giuliani Fiumani e Dalmati, Difesa Adriatica, 1998

F. Salimbeni, Le foibe, un problema storico, Unione degli Istriani, 1998

L. Vivoda, Campo profughi giuliani Caserma Ugo Botti, Istria Europa, 1998

N. Luxardo, Dietro gli scogli di Zara, Editrice Goriziana, 1999

A. Petacco, L’esodo, Mondadori, 1999

R. Spazzali, Epurazione di frontiera: le ambigue sanzioni contro il fascismo nella Venezia Giulia 1945-1948, LEG Edizioni, 2000

G. Rumici, Fratelli d’Istria: 1945-2000, italiani divisi, Ugo Mursia, 2001

M. Brugna, Memoria negata. Crescere in un centro raccolta profughi per esuli giuliani, Condaghes, 2002

G. Oliva, Foibe. Le stragi negate degli italiani della Venezia Giulia e dell’Istria, Mondadori, 2002

G. Rumici, Infoibati (1943-1945): i nomi, i luoghi, i testimoni, i documenti, Ugo Mursia, 2002

R. Pupo, R. Spazzali, Foibe, Mondadori, 2003

R. Marsetič, I bombardamenti alleati su Pola 1944-1945, 2004

E. Ratzenberger, Via Volta 2. Un’infanzia a Fiume, Edizioni Biografiche, 2005

G. Crainz, Il dolore e l’esilio. L’Istria e le memorie divise d’Europa, Donzelli, 2005

E. Miletto, Con il mare negli occhi. Storia, luoghi e memorie dell’esodo istriano a Torino, Franco Angeli, 2005

G. Paiano, La memoria degli Italiani di Buie d’Istria, 2005

M. Cattaruzza, L’Italia e il confine orientale, Il Mulino, 2007

L. Giuricin, La memoria di Goli Otok - Isola Calva, 2007

E. Miletto, Istria allo specchio. Storia e voci di una terra di confine, Franco Angeli, 2007

E. Rover, Cronache istriane di un esule, L. G. Ambrosini & C. Tipografia Editrice, 2008

G. Rumici, O. Mileta Mattiuz, Chiudere il cerchio. Memorie giuliano-dalmate. Primo volume: dall’inizio del Novecento al Secondo conflitto mondiale, ANVGD Gorizia - Mailing List HISTRIA, 2008

P. Sardos Albertini, Il rumore del silenzio: la storia dimenticata dell’Adriatico orientale, 2008

S. Tazzer, Tito e i rimasti. La difesa dell’identità italiana in Istria, Fiume e Dalmazia, Libreria Editrice Goriziana, 2008

R. Turcinovich Giuricin, La giustizia secondo Maria. Pola 1947: la donna che sparò al generale brigadiere Robert W. De Winton, Del Bianco Editore, 2008

L. Vivoda, Quel lungo viaggio verso l’esilio, Istria Europa, 2008

G. Rumici, M. Cuzzi, R. Spazzali, Istria, Quarnero, Dalmazia: storia di una regione contesa dal 1796 alla fine del XX secolo, LEG Edizioni, 2009

E. Miletto, Arrivare da lontano. L’esodo istriano, fiumano e dalmata nel biellese, nel Vercellese e in Valsesia, Istituto per la storia della Resistenza e della società contemporanea nelle province di Biella e Vercelli “Cino Moscatelli”, 2010

G. Rumici, O. Mileta Mattiuz, Chiudere il cerchio. Memorie giuliano-dalmate. Secondo volume: il Secondo conflitto mondiale, ANVGD Gorizia - Mailing List HISTRIA, 2010

G. Oliva, Esuli. Dalle foibe ai campi profughi: la tragedia degli italiani di Istria, Fiume, Dalmazia, Mondadori, 2011

G. Nemec, Nascita di una minoranza. Istria 1947-1965: storia e memoria degli italiani rimasti nell’area istro-quarnerina, 2012

G. Rumici, O. Mileta Mattiuz, Chiudere il cerchio. Memorie giuliano-dalmate. Terzo volume: L’immediato dopoguerra, ANVGD Gorizia - Mailing List HISTRIA, 2012

L. Vivoda, In Istria prima dell’Esodo. Autobiografia di un esule da Pola, Istria Europa, 2012

V. Facchinetti, Protagonisti senza protagonismo. La storia nella memoria di giuliani, istriani, fiumani e dalmati nel mondo, La Mongolfiera, 2014

V. Petaros Jeromela, 11 luglio 1920: l’incidente di Spalato e le scelte politico-militari, 2014

R. Turcinovich Giuricin, … e dopo semo andadi via, Edizioni Laguna – ANVGD Gorizia, 2014

F. Molinari, Istria contesa. La guerra, le foibe, l’esodo, Ugo Mursia, 2015

G. Nemec, Dopo venuti a Trieste. Storie di esuli giuliano-dalmati attraverso un manicomio di confine 1945-1970, Alpha & Beta, 2015

A. Cuk, Cuori senza frontiere: il cinema del confine orientale, 2016

E. Varutti, Italiani d’Istria, Fiume e Dalmazia esuli in Friuli 1943-1960, 2017

O. Moscarda Oblak, Il “Potere Popolare” in Istria. 1945-1953, 2017

A. Cuk, La città dolente, Alcione Editore, 2020

R. Turcinovich Giuricin, R. Poletti, Tutto ciò che vidi. Parla Maria Pasquinelli. 1943-1945 fosse comuni, foibe, mare, Oltre Edizioni, 2020

R. Pupo, Adriatico amarissimo. Una lunga storia di violenza, Laterza, 2021

G. La Perna, Pola Istria Fiume 1943-1945. L’agonia di un lembo d’Italia e la tragedia delle foibe, Ugo Mursia, 2022

R. Pupo, Il lungo esodo: Istria : le persecuzioni, le foibe, l’esilio, Rizzoli, 2022

R. Spazzali, Pola. Città perduta. L’agonia, l’esodo (1945-47), Ares, 2022

R. Turcinovich Giuricin, Esuli due volte: dalle proprie case, dalla propria patria, Oltre Edizioni, 2022

E. Dionis Bernobi, Una vita appesa a un filo, 2023

R. Spazzali, Il disonore delle armi: Settembre 1943: l’armistizio e la mancata difesa della frontiera orientale italiana, Ares, 2023

E. Varutti, La patria perduta. Vita quotidiana e testimonianze sul Centro di Raccolta Profughi giuliano-dalmati di Laterina (1946-1963), Aska Edizioni, 2023

Documenti e articoli

Le vittime di nazionalità italiana a Fiume e dintorni (1939-1947) – Zrtve talijanske nacionalnosti u rijeci i okolici (1939-1947)

Mappa ed elenco delle foibe

Grido dell’Istria, n° 20, 21 e 41

Arnaldo Harzarich, l’angelo delle foibe

Documentari, incontri e lezioni

Adriatico amarissimo. La stagione delle fiamme e la stagione delle stragi

Conferenze del giovedì dell’ANVGD di Milano

Da quella volta non l’ho rivista più. Incontro con Raoul Pupo

Esodo. L’Italia dimenticata

Esodo. La memoria tradita

Istria: il ricordo che brucia (1, 2)

Le Foibe

Le foibe, l’esodo e la catastrofe dell’italianità adriatica

Il tempo del ricordo. Le foibe e l’esodo istriano-giuliano-dalmata

Vergarolla

Filmati storici

Martiri italiani. Le foibe del Carso (1946)

L’esodo da Pola. La salma di Nazario Sauro a Venezia (1947)

L’esodo degli italiani da Pola (1947)

Pola addio (1947)

Pola, una città che muore (1947)

Le condizioni dei profughi giuliani accolti a Roma (1948)

Fertilia (1949)

Piccoli profughi giuliani (1951)

A Sappada con i piccoli profughi giuliani (1952)

Siti utili

Archivio de L’Arena di Pola

Associazione Dalmati Italiani nel Mondo – Libero Comune di Zara in Esilio

Associazione delle Comunità Istriane

Associazione Fiumani Italiani nel Mondo – Libero Comune di Fiume in Esilio

Associazione Giuliani nel Mondo

Associazione Nazionale Venezia Giulia e Dalmazia

Associazione Nazionale Venezia Giulia e Dalmazia – Comitato Provinciale di Bologna

Associazione Nazionale Venezia Giulia e Dalmazia – Comitato Provinciale di Udine

Associazione Nazionale Venezia Giulia e Dalmazia – Comitato Provinciale di Venezia

Associazione Triestini e Goriziani in Roma

Centro di Documentazione Multimediale della Cultura Giuliana, Istriana, Fiumana e Dalmata

Centro di ricerche storiche Rovigno

Circolo di Cultura Istroveneta “Istria”

Comitato 10 Febbraio

Comunità di Lussinpiccolo

Coordinamento Adriatico

Deputazione di Storia Patria

Elio Varutti

FederEsuli

Fondazione Giorgio Perlasca – Le Foibe e l’Esodo

Fondazione Rustia-Traine

Istituto Regionale per la Cultura Istriano-fiumano-dalmata

L’Arena di Pola – Libero Comune di Pola in Esilio

Lega Nazionale

Mailing List Histria

Società Dalmata di Storia Patria

Società di Studi Fiumani

Unione degli Istriani – Libera Provincia dell’Istria in Esilio

Unione Italiana

Università Popolare di Trieste

Romanzi d’autori istro-quarnerini e dalmati

P. A. Quarantotti Gambini, La rosa rossa (1937)

E. Bettiza, Il fantasma di Trieste (1958)

F. Tomizza, Materada (1960)

F. Tomizza, La ragazza di Petrovia (1963)

F. Tomizza, Il bosco di acacie (1963)

P. A. Quarantotti Gambini, I giochi di Norma (1964)

P. A. Quarantotti Gambini, Le redini bianche (1967)

F. Tomizza, L’albero dei sogni (1969)

F. Tomizza, La torre capovolta (1971)

F. Tomizza, La quinta stagione (1975)

F. Tomizza, La miglior vita (1977)

F. Tomizza, Il male viene dal Nord (1984)

L. Zanini, Martin Muma (1990)

N. Milani, Una valigia di cartone (1991)

E. Bettiza, Esilio (1996)

M. Madieri, Verde acqua. La Radura (1998)

G. Fiorentin, Chi ha paura dell’uomo nero? (2000)

F. Tomizza, La visitatrice (2000)

F. Tomizza, Il sogno dalmata (2001)

E. Bettiza, Il libro perduto (2005)

F. Molinari, L’isola del Muto. Storia del pescatore dalmata che parlava ai gabbiani (2006)

A. M. Mori, Nata in Istria (2006)

N. Milani, Racconti di guerra (2008)

L. Toth, La casa di calle San Zorzi (2008)

L. Zanini, Martin Muma (2008)

R. Turcinovich Giuricin, S. De Franceschi, Una raffica all’improvviso, navigando lungo le coste dell’Istria e Quarnero (2011)

L. Toth, Spiridione Lascarich – Alfiere della Serenissima (2011)

A. M. Mori, L’anima altrove (2012)

E. Bettiza, La distrazione (2013)

N. Milani, La bacchetta del direttore (2013)

N. Milani, Lo spiraglio (2017)

L. Toth, Il disertore dalmata (2018)

N. Milani, Di sole, di vento e di mare (2019)

N. Milani, Cronaca delle Baracche (2021)

E. Mestrovich, A Fiume, un’estate (2022)

R. Turcinovich Giuricin, Di questo mar che è il mondo… (2023)

Pellicole cinematografiche e spettacoli teatrali

La città dolente (1949)

Cuori senza frontiere (1950)

Magazzino 18 (2013)

Red Land Rosso Istria (2018)

La rosa dell’Istria (2024)

#Esodo giuliano-dalmata #Giorno del ricordo #*Nella bibliografia ho incluso solamente le opere dedicate a foibe ed esodo (+ Spalato tanto per) ma c’è una bibliografia ricca anche sulla #slavizzazione asburgica di Venezia Giulia e Dalmazia Risorgimento e Fascismo (snazionalizzazione delle componenti slave; violenze squadrist #e non solo; invasione della Jugoslavia e campi di concentramento fascisti) che ovviamente non metto qui perché se parlo di foibe ed esodo m #fermo lì - però per chi non avesse familiarità con l’argomento e volesse avere una visione più ampia e completa della storia di quelle #regioni me lo scriva e provvederò.

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princemick · 1 year

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MICKLORE for dummies

here;s part 1 with his racing history

because over roc weekend people seemed to have gotten to know him a lot better so here's a bunch more of mick info that I deem as essential

so under the tab I will add a bunch of stuff that kinda break trough that introverted pr trained wall he has.

this will be broken into facts, quotes, moments and videos.

--enjoy--

Mickfacts:

he speaks, english, german, french and italian but beraly speaks italian and french because he doesnt feel comfortable enough with them

the f-2002 is his favorite of his dads cars

during a lot of 2022's off season he has been dirt racing in the states where he bascially races for as long as the car runs together with gina's bf (x) (x)

apperantly recognizes the italian anthem before the german

can't choose himself for a dream team so his dream team is michael and seb

couldnt choose between lewis and max in 2021 "because theyre both nice to me"

he used to play drums as a kid

his middle name is 'junior'

he is named after Mick Doohan (5x mtotogp champ) who used to live close to Michael who were really good friends and so him and Jack Doohan (f2 driver) have always been and are still close friends.

apperantly introduced himself to kevin when he got back to haas with 'suck my balls'

modified said off road buddy that he does mud racing with so it goes quicker then intended

he seems to have extra clothes with him at all times bc he borrowed an extra pair of pants and shirt to callum for their f2 podium celebration

his dad wanted him to study engineering (also interesting piece of related information: he said he would have become a biologist if not an f1 driver in this video)

he refers to his dog angie as his best friend

in F3 he won 5 races in a row. race 22 til 26 of the 2018 season.

he started doing champions for charity where he organizes a football match every year with a bunch of german sports players

mick denies it but this man has bleached his hair

Mickquotes:

"a bomb, a knife, a serial killer. I mean that comes all together so.."

"I mean if poeple ask me if I'm mick I usualy just say no. I learned that from my dad."

"can I eat this?" procedes to eat it

"you guys are gonna do pushuupss"

"can I go and pet it?? play fetch??"

"those cars are so shit"

"deutsche, german..WHA??"

"you sure??"

"my dad, my dad, my dad, my dad"

"I just wanna get to my dad"

"beep beep beep"

"I won f2 and f3 for a reason"

"you guys are fucking brilliant, FUCKING BRILLIANT! fucking hell- sorry for all the swearing guys"

"I have a problem with italian bread tbh"

"PTW man, PTW" (pwt means prove them wrong)

"so you have to be smooth, realise that its an old lady and treat it that way, take it easy and enjoy the ride"

"hmm, have you ever driven on the road blindfolded?"

"ah, I was fine" after crashing

"I'm glad it was you I was fighting against"

Mickvideos:

prema stranger things - where he bascially just shouts his ideas and is loudly jock and himbo coded

The 5 Second Challenge - him having to really quickly talk and think shows how he thinks really well aka himbo

The Taboo Challenge - where he has to explain something without using specific words

Seb And Mick Take On The Formula 1 Tower Challenge! - where Seb and Mick ask eachother questions as they play mega jenga

Mick and Dan at the 2021 russian gp presser - just wholesome

Mick and Sean cook pizza together - him being wholesome and happy and speaking italian

Prema Trivia Challenge - giving ultimate himbo rights

him hugging every haas mechanic after his last race w them

mick post Q2 in Canada

the groundhog video

Some minutes with Cyrus Watches: Mick Schumacher

The Texas Red Hot Sauce Challenge - shows his relationship with gary (his old race engineer) really well

Guess the Flavour: Japanese KitKat Taste Test - shows how weird mick is sometimes

Map The Track - himbo.

Mick celebrates with the team after first F1 points - hes so beloved

Gina and Crorinna's congrats after his first points

okay there's much much more, if you wanna get more into it I reccomend watching more of his prema and haas videos and just keep updated with him over his time at mercedes

dont be afraid to send me asks with questions or anyting!

and special thank you to 2/3 of the pillars of mickblr @acrosstobear and @schumaclerc for helping me out w some micklore and @stoffelvandoornegf for this post

#listen...I cud go on #im nt gonna #micklore #mick schumacher

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disease · 1 month

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HERMÈS F/W 2002 PH: MARINA FAUST

#fashion #hermès #runway #fashion details #black and white #monochrome #marina faust #00s #fall 2002 #photography #u #EDIT

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denimbex1986 · 4 months

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'Cillian Murphy had just spent the day filming what felt like 30 scenes on “Oppenheimer” with the desert sand kicking up and blasting into his eyes when his co-star Robert Downey Jr. greeted him, trying to boost his spirits. And — this is how Downey remembers it, and when the legend becomes fact, print the legend — Murphy launched into a lament about how, when he had returned to his “18-dollar-a-night hotel room” the previous evening, he found his bags in the hallway and thought, “F—! I haven’t checked out yet. I have to sleep!”

“Every indignity that could befall someone who’s trying to do something .... It was like the tears of Job,” Downey related after a recent screening of the Christopher Nolan blockbuster. “Forget the call sheet and the job. It was everything else. It was the most Irish experience I’ve ever witnessed.”

Nearly two years later, Murphy and I are talking on a late-autumn day in L.A. He’s removing his coat and pulling his chair into the sun because, yes, he’s Irish, and part of the Irish experience is to soak up as much sun as possible when the opportunity presents itself. As to what Downey is ascribing to his native land, Murphy can do nothing but laugh.

“I don’t know if that means that Irish people are more predisposed to suffering,” Murphy says, smiling. “I think he’s being very sweet and saying we were like a troupe, moving at quite a pace. We were just staying at motels by the freeway and moving around. It was not glamorous. The way Chris works is that everything is equitable. No one has trailers or personal makeup. Everyone gets in a bus. It feels like independent filmmaking, but on a f—ing grand scale. And that’s the way I enjoy working.”

Murphy, 47, also enjoys not working, and he’s had a successful enough career in the two decades since his film breakthrough in Danny Boyle’s 2002 classic zombie film “28 Days Later” that he can describe such periods as being “happily unemployed.” That was where he was at a couple of years ago. He’d finished shooting the sixth (and final) season of the entertaining BBC crime drama “Peaky Blinders” and was in the midst of a glorious six months enjoying the company of his wife, Irish visual artist Yvonne McGuinness, and their two teenage sons. Then Nolan called out of the blue.

Actually, it wasn’t Nolan, but his wife and producing partner, Emma Thomas. It couldn’t be Nolan, because Nolan doesn’t have a phone, an eccentricity that’s either endearing or infuriating depending on the context. Thomas handed the phone to her husband, who told Murphy — in what the actor calls an “unbelievably understated British way” — “I’m making a film about Oppenheimer.” Pause. “I’d like you to play Oppenheimer.”

And just like that, Murphy was no longer happily unemployed. He was playing the title character in Nolan’s sprawling drama about the physicist known as the “father of the atomic bomb.”

“A big moment,” Murphy calls it, no stranger to restraint himself. Pause. “A biggie.”

In conversation, Murphy is pleasant and reflective when talking about his native country (he could and should write a book on the Ring of Kerry or at least narrate a self-guided tour) and the arts. I’d read that Nolan sent him photos of David Bowie wearing high-waisted, voluminous trousers from the singer’s Thin White Duke era as a visual reference for the gaunt silhouette he imagined for Oppenheimer, a man who possessed such a manic work ethic that he forgot to eat, subsisting on martinis and Chesterfield cigarettes. I pull up a photo of Bowie taken shortly before his death, wearing a sharp suit, black fedora and beaming smile.

“He looks a little alien, which is what we were going for with Oppenheimer, I think,” Murphy says. He holds onto my phone, looking at Bowie. “One of the greats. That last album [“Blackstar”] was f—ing extraordinary. What a gift to leave us with. Nobody else could have gone out like that.”

Murphy’s most striking feature — his piercing blue eyes — have been noted at length, for good reason. “Oppenheimer” co-star Matt Damon notes how he’d find himself distracted working with Murphy. “It’s a real problem when you’re doing scene work with Cillian [because] sometimes you find yourself just swimming in his eyes,” he told People.

Those eyes are what first attracted Nolan to him. The filmmaker was leafing through a newspaper while writing “Batman Begins” and came across a photo of Murphy from “28 Days Later.” He couldn’t shake the image of this actor with a shaved head and “crazy eyes” and made a note to meet with Murphy for Batman, a role that eventually went to Christian Bale.

They’ve now made six movies together, with Murphy playing the menacing Scarecrow in the “Dark Knight” trilogy, a petulant business heir in “Inception” and a character known simply — and quite accurately — as “Shivering Soldier” in “Dunkirk.” They share a mutual interest in conveying a character’s emotional conflict through close-ups that linger on an actor’s face and allow the audience to feel inner turmoil. In Oppenheimer’s case, it was the searing anguish of a man a bit late to realize and appreciate the consequences of what he’d created.

“To me, great screen acting is all about ‘show, don’t tell,’” Murphy says, “and being able to transmit emotion and energy just by force or presence or charisma.”

I ask him about influences in that regard, but Murphy demurs, saying that if he starts listing actors, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night, thinking, “F—, I left that person out.” He reiterates that his favorite movie moments aren’t big set pieces but watching actors in reflection, inactive, doing nothing, but revealing everything. “I find that compelling in the highest order,” he says.

Murphy had ample opportunity to do just that in “Oppenheimer,” portraying a character caught in a moral dilemma of his own making.

“I knew it would have to be a quiet, small performance, because the themes are f—ing huge,” Murphy says. “What’s happening inside his heart and his mind can’t be painted big, particularly when it’s captured on an Imax camera and it’s going to be shown on a f—ing 80-foot screen. I knew it would have to be delicate and tiny, most of it.”

Murphy doesn’t like to dwell on what he did once call the “monastic experience” of the film’s 57-day shoot or on the months it took to decompress afterward. Such talk would be a little too close to the “Irish experience” Downey had mentioned. But all of these efforts did make me think about something that Emily Blunt, who plays Oppenheimer’s wife, Kitty, in the film and worked with Murphy in “A Quiet Place Part II,” noted about him.

“She said that off set, you’re a hoot,” I tell him, fishing for an example or two. Murphy does not oblige, but he does express how his friendship with Blunt created a trust that informed their portrayal of lifelong partners.

“She’s also one of the funniest people, and I have a rule that I can’t work unless there’s a lightness around the set,” Murphy says. “There has to be some levity. A lot of the films I do are quite heavy and go to some dark, challenging places, and you have to be relaxed to do that. So I don’t walk around in a state of f—ing angst. I need to feel at ease. I can’t be in that dark place all the time. I don’t have the stamina for it.”

Murphy saw “Oppenheimer” at the film’s July world premiere in Paris. Two days later, he and the rest of the cast left the London premiere to show their support for the impending SAG-AFTRA strike. By the time he returned home to Dublin, his wife and sons had already seen “Barbie,” so Murphy went to the cinema by himself to complete the “Barbenheimer” experience.

How do you go incognito to the multiplex, I ask.

“I time going to movies very well now,” Murphy says. “With the ads and trailers, I always arrive a half hour late, slip in and then slip out.”

I grouse how that half hour feels like it’s getting longer by the year. Murphy agrees. And yet ...

“The greatest democratic collective art form is sitting in a darkened space with strangers,” he says. “To be part of a movie that people went to see multiple times and part of a great moment for cinema, that frenzy for those two films, was just lovely. I don’t know if we’ll ever see it again, but I’d like to hope so.”

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