#vol. xii

[huabeam]

hiii

#xii #got my 2 vol of tgcf delivered its a lovely dayyy #also bummed out as my tablet is not working idk what's wrong with it 😩

[snowwybear]

𝔟𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔠𝔞𝔱 𝑔𝑜𝓁𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 | series masterlist

A collection of shorts about golden retriever Vinnie hacker and his black cat girlfriend.

All shorts contain no warnings

vol i | meeting ✨

vol ii | getting used to the love ✨

vol iii | date nights ✨

vol iv | staring contest ✨

vol v | understanding him ✨

vol vi | understanding her ✨

vol vii | conflict resolution ✨

vol viii | realising your in love ✨

vol ix | bullying flirting ✨

vol x | going out together ✨

vol xi | just because - requested by anon ✨

vol xii | if looks could kill - requested by anon

vol xiii | no because i'm panicking - requested by anon

#vinnie hacker #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker imagine #vinnie hacker smut #vinnie hacker x you #vinnie imagines #vinnie smut #vinnie x reader #vinnie x y/n #snowwybear

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. xii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter |

chapter summary: Things with Joel come to a head when you're forced on a patrol together. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 5k chapter warnings: CANON TYPICAL CONTENT/VIOLENCE/SUFFERING. Angst/arguments. Discussions of death, descriptions of being ambushed, blood and injuries. Keeping these vague so as not to spoil but if for whatever reason the show was 'too much' for you, this might be a good chapter to skip. If you want a TLDR I can give you one in the DMs. a/n: I didn't really proofread this chapter because I fought with it a bunch and just wanted to get it out to ya'll. Please enjoy!

**I DO NOT HAVE A TAGLIST. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

-April 30, 2024-

It’s an uncharacteristically chilly day, but something heavy still hangs in the air as you walk downtown with Ethan. Well really, – Ethan is walking, you aren’t. At least, not quite. He’s so tall, and his strides are so long, that every couple steps you have to jog a pace or two just to keep up with him. Years ago, when it had just been the two of you on your own, he had been a lot better at waiting up for you. But this is the new norm. There’s no imminent danger, so it’s not necessary to watch each other’s backs. Even so, you find that you’re still always looking out for him out of habit.

A group of younger women pass by you, arms looped through one anothers as they giggle and talk – you can’t help but feel a little bitter at the sight, nostalgic for what that sort of camaraderie felt like. But before you can dwell on it too much, one of the girls’ face lights up and she waves to your nephew. 

“Hey Ethan,” she grins. 

Ethan does a double-take, pace faltering as he looks over his shoulder to give her a smile. “Hey.” 

The moment is over as quick as it began. For the most part, you know most of Ethan’s friends, and most of the people in the community. But you don't recognize this girl. 

“Who was that?” you ask. 

“No one,” he answers quickly. 

“Really? You don’t know her name?”

“Shhh!” He pushes you forward to put more distance between you and the group that has already passed, and it’s funny how you always seem to forget he’s a grown man whose strength far outweighs your own. “Can you just be cool?”

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Can I not ask a question?” 

“You can….at a lower volume.”

You snort, but continue on, whispering. “Okay, fine. She’s cute. Is she new here?”

“I don’t know,” he says, tone bordering on defensive. “Why do you care so much? Isn’t she a little young for you?” 

“Oh my god, Ethan,” you’re slightly offended by the insinuation. “All I was going to say was she seemed happy to see you.” 

“Yeah, well…” he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks over his shoulder. “Cool, whatever.”

“You are just like your dad,” you say. “He was always so bad at playing it cool.” 

This softens Ethan a bit, and you watch his shoulders sag. After Vincent died, you had made it a point to tell Ethan everything you could about his father. Even though it hurt, and reminded you of how much you missed him everyday, surprisingly, it ended up feeling like a good way to mourn him, and work through everything you had been through. 

"Oh, yeah?" he teases. "And you are?"

You have a feeling you know what he's going to bring up, so instead of questioning him further, you change the subject.

“God, it’s kind of cold,” you comment, wrapping your jacket closer around you as a breeze whirls past you. 

“What, can’t you handle it?” Ethan teases. “It might even rain. That’ll be a long day.” 

You’d walked into town with him to begin with because he was going to eat breakfast in the mess hall, and you had a patrol shift. “I’ll be fine.” you say, even as your stomach flips. Every shift comes with its own set of nerves. For as much as you don’t like the feeling, you know that the apprehension keeps you sharp. 

And really, you like being outside the walls. Years spent in the wilderness have made the remote area feel like home – you love the feeling of the breeze rustling through your hair, the ever present smell of the pines. Plus, you're usually partnered up with good company, even if things get stressful. 

Still, today….something feels off. Maybe it’s the low barometric pressure. 

“I oughta go, I’ll see you tonight, okay?” you turn to look at Ethan, and he gives you a nod and salute before ducking into the mess hall.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Tommy, no,” you put your hands on your hips. “Me and Joel? That's a terrible idea.”

“I don’t have any other options,” he says. “Eugene is out sick. There’s no one else available for me to pair you with.” 

“Yeah right,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “I know how much you love to meddle.”

“Who, me?” he asks, incredulous, but there’s a grin on his face.

Being in Jackson has domesticated you, because a different version of yourself would’ve probably slapped the grin off of Tommy’s face, turned in your cowboy boots and stomped out of the barn. But you feel such aggressive retaliation will only betray your feelings for Joel. 

It’s only been a few weeks since dinner at Tommy and Maria’s and despite the small moment you shared with Joel on their back porch, nothing much has changed. You’re not sure why you desperately want things to. You’re not even sure what you’re hoping for anymore – kindness seems unlikely, but even his cruelty would be preferable to being ignored.

“I can go by myself,” you offer. “I know the area. No one needs to take Eugene’s spot.” 

Tommy scoffs. “If I did allow that – which I won’t, because it’s rule number one – and Maria found out, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Tommy, it…” you sigh. “He wants nothing to do with me. It’ll be horrible, and awkward. For the sake of everyone, it’s better we keep our distance.”

“He’ll come around,” Tommy says. “I promise.”

“I don’t need him to,” you say, and it’s convincing enough that you believe it, even if only for a second.

“Come on. What’s the worst that can happen?” Tommy asks. “It might be awkward, but you’ll scout some places out, find a couple cans of food, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

You set your jaw, tilt your head. “Fine. But you know I’m not going to be the easy one to convince.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he says. 

Almost as if on cue, you turn at the sound of footsteps, and find Joel standing in the doorway to the empty stall you were arguing with Tommy in. 

Great. 

“Joel,” Tommy says. “I’ve paired the two of you up today. Two of our other rangers are out sick.” 

Joel looks at you. “Absolutely not.” 

“There it is,” you purse your lips, and glance knowingly at Tommy. 

“Well, I don’t have any other options.” Tommy begins. “Plus, we usually pair newbies up with our more experienced rangers to help them."

Joel lets out a barking laugh. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

For a second, he meets your eyes, and you avert your own to the floor. Hearing him be so vehemently against interacting with you, even though you’d expected it, isn't exactly a pleasant experience.

“It’s not babysitting,” Tommy says. “She’s been in the community longer, so she knows the terrain better than you do.”

“Who else is there?” 

“Joel,” Tommy says. “This is not a negotiation. It’s an order.”

Turns out it is a negotiation, because there’s quite a bit more back and forth between the two of them – so much so that you end up brushing past Joel to go saddle up your horse, Neptune. You catch snippets of the conversation, whispered in hushed tones, but you’re too annoyed to piece them into anything coherent. 

Eventually, though, Tommy mutters something about looking after Ellie and Joel gives in, the barn falling silent as he goes off to prep for his shift.

You had seen Ellie several times at Tommy and Maria’s over the past few weeks, and she even approached you once when she found you eating alone at the mess hall. The two of you don’t really talk much about Joel, but she did give you a bit of an explanation about how they ended up together. According to her, he was tasked with bringing her out to some Fireflies base camp because her family was there, but when they arrived the camp was overrun. The story begs more questions than it does answers, in your opinion, but you don’t bother trying to poke holes in it. There’s certainly parts of your past you wouldn’t want to explain to anyone if questioned. 

In some ways, she does remind you of Sarah…it sort of makes sense they ended up together, even if they’re quite the odd pair. Like Sarah, Ellie is smart and clever – but where they differ is where she reminds you more of yourself at her age. Very passionate with a bit of a mean streak. It was a defense mechanism that, as you got older, you had gotten better at channeling, but only when you needed to. 

Tommy sends you and Joel both north to scout an area you’re pretty familiar with. Joel keeps his horse several paces up ahead of you, which becomes frustrating, especially since you know where you’re going and he doesn’t, and you have to keep calling out and instructing him to change the course. He does so wordlessly, but refuses to let his horse fall into step beside yours, keeping his shoulders hunched and his head hung low. 

You think back to the beginning of the outbreak, and all the things you had lost. At that point, you still had Vincent, but even your brother couldn’t offer the support you had needed. You had wanted Joel, had craved the feeling of comfort and safety that only he had ever been able to give you. And even though you’d been forced to give up looking for him, you had always hoped he could feel you. Even now, it’s all you want. But he seems oblivious. And as your patience wears thin, you know something between you is bound to snap. 

In some areas of the mountains, the terrain is so rough you have to dismount to lead your horses through it. This area isn’t frequented often, mostly because the loose and large rocks you tread over is a natural repellent to both humans and Infected. But it’s not impossible to traverse, so you still have to keep an eye out. 

You don’t find much, but the farther into the woods you get, the darker the sky becomes. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and you hope the storm skips over you, even though it seems unlikely. Despite dressing for the occasion, you’re still cold as the wind picks up, and when you feel the first drops of rain, you pull up alongside Joel. 

“Might want to keep an eye out for shelter in case this gets any worse,” you say to him. Joel turns to look at you, and you catch, for a minute, a forlorn expression in his eyes. It disappears as he nods wordlessly, and you’re surprised he doesn’t argue with you. 

The storm grows more intense, the drops of rain turning into a full-on downpour, and lightning illuminates the sky. A spring thunderstorm. If you were at home today, you might’ve been curled up on the couch with a good book and a window cracked. But instead, you’re out in the middle of nowhere, forced into the company of your former lover who now hates you, torrential downpour soaking through your water-resistant jacket and making you shiver. 

Joel crests over a ridge, and pauses to point to a cabin maybe a quarter mile away. You’re in unfamiliar territory at this point, and it’ll probably need to be cleared out, but you’re desperate for a place to wait out the poor weather. 

As you near the cabin, you see it’s clearly abandoned. Inside, it’s been picked over. Furniture is strewn about, drawers and cabinets hanging open, but other than that…it’s in pretty decent shape. Good enough to be fixed up for an outpost, and you draw a rudimentary map to take back to Tommy, should any other rangers be sent to the area. 

Once the house is secured and you get the horses settled in the garage, you do your obligatory sweep of any drawers, cabinets, and closets. It’s mostly picked over, and nature has begun to take over in some of the rooms, the tree roots peaking through cracks in the wooden floor. 

Letting another cabinet fall closed, you sigh. 

“Find anything?” you’re surprised to hear Joel ask, as he comes down the stairs. 

“No,” you say. “You?” 

“Nothing,” Joel says, and sits onto an ancient couch. For a split second, you admire him, as he runs his fingers through his damp hair to push it off his forehead. You’re ashamed that you’re still attracted to him, potentially even moreso than you used to be. Maybe you always imagined growing old with him, and it was nice to see, even if the context was different. You knew that daydreaming about what could’ve been wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, but thinking about your time with Joel, and the future you’d never have with him had gotten you through some of your darkest days. You wonder if he had ever thought about it, just to feel something other than sorrow. But with the way he’s been acting, you question if he ever even cared about you at all. 

With no other distractions to keep you occupied, all you can do now is sit across from him, and wait out the storm. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel picks up a well-worn book with broken binding off the shelf next to where he sits, and spares a glance your direction. You’re on a chair across from him, staring out the window. He can’t tell if you’re trying to keep watch or avoid talking to him. Either way, he doesn’t care. 

The book in his hands is a self-help book written by man who had lived in the wilderness for an entire year, and so generously detailed all the things he learned from the experience. Joel almost laughs at how ridiculous the description sounds. When he places the book back where he found it, you pipe up. 

“No good?” you ask. 

Joel shakes his head wordlessly. He’s been doing a pretty decent job of keeping you at arm's length. He tries to avoid the hurt he notices in your eyes whenever he brushes you aside, which is why he tends to keep his back to you, so he doesn't have to see it over and over again. It’s just the right thing to do. Letting Ellie into his life had been hard enough. He isn’t willing to make himself even more vulnerable. 

“Shit,” you say, looking disappointed. “Well if there’s nothing else to do, we might actually have to talk to each other.” 

Joel puts his arm over the back of the sofa, and looks out the window. “No?” you prompt. “Well then, can I at least ask you something?” 

“Depends.” 

“I guess I just have been thinking…” you trail off. “After everything….the fact that the two of us are together. Feels like….I don’t know. Do you think it means something?”

Joel looks over at you, finds you leaning forward in your chair. You discarded your jacket to dry on the railing of the staircase, and your flannel shirt hangs open as you lean onto your elbows, an expectant look on your face. 

Joel had learned long ago that it was senseless to look for meaning in this world. There was no rhyme or reason for why things happened the way they did – they just happened. All the good, and all the terrible. There was only so much he could do to control them, as much as he tried. And it made him feel helpless.

“It’s a coincidence.”

“Right,” you say, enunciating the T pointedly. He’s thankful when your jaw sets, and your expression gives nothing else away. “So what, then? We should just act like we’re strangers? Just pretend like…we never knew each other?”

“It was over twenty years ago. I’ve moved on,” Joel says. The more he can deflect, push you away, the more angry you’ll likely get, and the faster this conversation will end. 

But you surprise him. 

“Okay,” you say, looking at the floor. “I mean, I get it. I did too, because I thought you were dead. But you aren’t, so maybe we could just talk-”

“What is there to talk about?” Joel asks. 

You’re incredulous. “So many things, Joel. But you’ve been…so….” you struggle to find the words. “I don’t think this is a coincidence. And you’re right. It was a long time ago, so maybe it’s foolish to think that we could maybe-” you cut yourself off, shake your head. “I feel like I at least deserve to know why you want nothing to do with me now.” 

Joel notices how your knuckles are white from how tightly you have your hands clasped in one another’s. You’re probably angry. That’s what he wants. But you’re trying so hard to control yourself, to connect with him, and he’s shocked that you find him worthy of that energy no matter how many times he pushes you away. 

“I’m not the man you knew. You’re wasting your time.” 

You blink once. “Yeah. Okay. So that’s it?”

Joel remains stone faced.

“Well that’s,” you sigh, put your head in your hands for a split second, let out a choked sounding laugh, and look back over at him. “That’s so fucking stupid.” 

“How do you think I got here? How do you think I survived for as long as I did? I’m not the same woman that I was, either. But that’s just how it fucking works. You’re gonna spend the rest of your life using that as an excuse to push people away – a friend, your own fucking brother-”

Joel flinches at the confirmation you might be just as bad as he is. 

“Don’t bring Tommy into-”

“I’m not going to walk on eggshells whenever we’re together because you can’t deal with your own shit,” you raise your voice again.  

Joel feels his lip curl, wondering why you won’t just give up, why you won’t just accept the rejection. But your hypocrisy is what frustrates him the most. He thinks back to when you’d been together. You were the reason he never told you he loved you. You were like quicksilver, sitting in the palm of his hand, but you’d run the second he tried to hold you. He never really got you, all of you, like he had wanted. “That’s great advice from someone who was always so good at being vulnerable.” 

That one seems to hurt you enough, and you recoil slightly, sit up straighter. “Sure, yeah. I was young, and I was fucking….I was scared. But I-I’m trying to be better.” 

He can’t stand the broken look on your face, would rather keep you angry. “Do you think I owe you something? None of that stuff matters anymore.” 

“Really? None of it matters? Even Sarah knew–” 

That slices through the thread of restraint he has left. “Enough.” 

“I loved her, Joel,” you plead with him. “I loved her, too.”

Joel rises to his feet, his hands clench into fists, and you stand too. “Don’t-” 

“-And you won’t even,” you swallow hard to compose yourself as Joel paces to look out the window. The rain has died down considerably, like it knows there’s only so much energy allowed to exist in one place. “You pretend like we didn’t know each other, I knew you Joel. I know you. And I knew her, and-”

“I said that’s enough!” Joel grabs the closest thing he can find, a lamp sitting on the side table, and hurls it across the room. It shatters upon impact, glass shards spraying in the air. He’s desperate to scare you off, willing to do anything to get you to stop poking holes in his resolve, it feels like you can see right through him, and he has no place to hide. 

But you don’t even recoil from the outburst. In fact, you seem almost satisfied. In letting his emotions get the best of him, he's shown you how much he still cares. It doesn’t stop him from continuing on.

“You don’t know me, and she wasn’t your daughter. You will never understand what it is like to lose your own child.”

You exhale sharply, like he’s punched you in the gut, the color draining from your face. Eyes still red-rimmed, but the fire inside them is now gone. 

“Okay,” you say, voice trembling and you look out the window. “It’s not raining anymore, so I’m gonna head back.”

“We’re supposed to finish the-”

“I don’t want to be anywhere near you,” you say, swiping at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to see you again, honestly. So just fuck off.” 

Within seconds, you’re gone, the garage door slamming behind you. Joel stays in place, even after he hears the measured beat of your horse running off into the woods. He’s done terrible things to a lot of people that didn’t deserve them – and he did them without a second thought. This had been exactly what he wanted, but this time, he’s filled with regret. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You can’t remember the last time you were this angry. 

Every nerve inside you is thrumming with electricity, and you are glad you’re alone, because you’re pretty sure the next person who touches you will get shocked. But even though you’re angry with Joel, you’re more angry with yourself. He had tried to warn you – and you just kept pushing. Why’d you allow yourself to grow so soft? To believe that you could both find a way to heal together? Bea had been wrong. Love was just another means to control someone else. Joel was no exception to the rule. 

Sure, there were things about you he didn’t understand. But you aren’t willing to give him any grace, not after the way he’d humiliated you, over and over….and you just let it happen. Maybe it was irresponsible to leave him there alone, but you didn’t care. He could find his way back, and even if he didn’t, it no longer mattered. 

The rage gives you tunnel vision, you can only see what’s directly in front of you, and even then, none of it registers. You’re not even sure how long you’ve been riding when you hear the gunfire rain down on you. 

It snaps you out of it – the sound of the bullets whizzing past your ears hitting the trees, ricocheting off the rocks at your feet. Almost immediately you leap off your horse and take cover behind a tree, drawing your pistol and listening closely to see where the attack came from. 

You hear voices – men’s voices, and the sound of leaves crunching underfoot. You pinpoint three distinct voices, but there could be more. 

“Where the fuck did she go?”

“Doesn’t matter, we should go after the horse.” 

“What if she has friends? She looked too put together to be alone.” 

“Even better. Come on, she couldn’t have gone far.” 

Truth be told, it’d been awhile since you’d had to navigate an ambush like this all alone. If you’d been paying closer attention, maybe you would’ve seen it coming. You’re already at a disadvantage, outnumbered, but it helps that you at least know their intentions. 

The footsteps grow closer, to your right, so quietly, you shuffle to the left of the tree you’re huddled up against, so you’re out of view when two of them pass you. You imagine the third one is scoping out a different section of the forest. Idiots, you think to yourself.

The adrenaline kicks in, and you pounce. One of the men is wearing a scarf, and that makes things easy, when you yank him backwards, hiding behind his broad shoulders, you use the fabric to cut off his airflow, staying clear of his arms flailing about while the man he was walking with turns, hesitating, gun raised, but he doesn’t fire – he can’t, or he’ll risk hitting his friend.

“Hey, hey, we just want to talk!” the man in front of you pleads as you catch his eyes over the shoulder of his friend, whose attempts at freeing himself become weaker and weaker as he fights to breathe. 

“No you don’t,” when the man goes limp in your arms, you shove him forward towards the man whose gun is now trained on you. He fires twice, but it’s you who delivers the final blow, so you don’t see where his bullets go. The two of them collapse together on the ground. 

Your heart starts to beat faster, suddenly increasing your ability to focus. Warmth blooms in the pit of your belly, and you whirl around towards the sound of footsteps in the snow, the third man appearing in front of you – his gun also raised. His eyes flicker nervously between you and the two others – who are dead, if not incapacitated, but you can’t worry about that now.

He’s hesitating with his gun raised – why, you aren’t sure. But you are, too. There’s something about the fear in his eyes that makes you feel almost guilty. It’s me, or him, you remind yourself, a mantra you have had to repeat far too many times trying to survive. When his eyes shift behind you, you pull the trigger, and a second gunshot echoes your own. You brace yourself, thinking he fired too, but instead, his body jolts two times with the impact of two bullets before he goes down. They were inexperienced, clearly, but it was still a close call. 

You look over your shoulder to find Joel behind you, gun still smoking, something dark and feral in his eyes. He lowers his weapon as you turn to face him fully. 

“I had it handled,” you say, briskly. But Joel doesn’t answer you. In fact, the insult doesn't seem to register at all - his eyes are wide. You follow his gaze down, towards your stomach. 

That’s when see it. 

Blood, and a lot of it, blooming at your stomach, dripping down under the waistband of your pants. When you go to press your hand against the wound, you realize you can’t feel your right arm – your shoulder is bleeding too. 

“Oh,” you suddenly feel lightheaded, cold. Your teeth chatter. “Shit.” 

You slump against a tree, expecting to feel the bark scratching your skin through your jacket, but you feel nothing at all as you slide to the ground. Above you, the sun shines brightly – like it had never stormed at all. 

Life goes on. 

You look towards the light, but it’s quickly obstructed by Joel, hovering over you. 

“We gotta-” he stutters, “We’ve gotta get out of here.” He says it like it’s a real possibility, looking down at your wounds. You can see it on his face. It’s not. 

“That bad?” you say, when he meets your gaze again. He doesn’t answer, opens his mouth and shakes his head no, but you can tell he’s lying. You take in a ragged breath. “Just tell Ethan that-”

“It’s not that bad. Stop it. Will you?” Joel says, like he’s suddenly remembered how to talk. “You’re fine. You’ll be fine.” 

“I don’t know,” you manage, and it’s hard to speak without feeling like you’re choking. “I-I don’t think so.” 

Joel’s hands find your shoulders, and despite the last thing he said to you before you left him, the gesture does give you some sense of comfort. “I’m so….I’m so fucking tired. Ethan’s alright. He doesn’t need me-”

“No, no,” Joel cuts you off. “He does, he does need you. Lots of people need you.”

None of his words even register, you can only think about your imminent future. The fight you’d got in seems suddenly inconsequential. “I don’t want to be alone, will you just stay until-”

“We’re leaving,” Joel drags you to your feet, presses a hand to your middle to stop the bleeding, and you feel the pain for the first time. It’s such a shock – so intense and all-consuming that you cry out. “I know, I know, I know…” he says, and his voice breaks into panic. 

“I should’ve never fucking let you go,” you’re not sure if he’s talking about you walking away from him earlier, or something else. Joel is half-carrying, half-dragging you along – so dizzy and disoriented you can’t move your legs, vision fading in and out. Joel stumbles over the uneven terrain towards his horse. 

“Please-” just let me be, you want to croak, but the words don’t come out. You think of everyone you’ve lost – Sarah. Vincent. Bea. All the others. What had it felt like for them, before it happened? 

“No, no, don’t close your eyes,” you feel Joel’s  hand on the side of your face, and you blink them open – you actually didn’t remember nodding off. “Stay with me, now….please. Please.” 

The more he begs, the less you understand what’s making him so frustrated. The less you understand anything at all. You wish you could answer, but you can’t. You can feel your body going limp. “Come on, girl, don’t fucking do this to me,” you hear his voice, harsh and desperate, your body being shaken. 

Your vision comes in snippets– blood on your hands, on the slope of his neck, the canopy of trees above you, Joel’s eyes, wet with tears. 

You can’t understand why he’s crying, and you don’t get to figure it out. 

-

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#please don't kill me for this #lmao #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller series #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us writing #tlou #tlou writing #pedro pascal #troy baker #tommy miller #pre-outbreak! joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #ellie williams

[capitaine-du-terror]

ARTICLES AND BOOKS (and illustrations!) BY H. GOODSIR

BOOKS

- Anatomical and pathological observations, 1845.

Goodsir, John (1814-1867) Goodsir, Henry Duncan Spens ("Harry") (1819-1847).

Link: https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/item/75603#page/9/mode/1up

Harry is the author of the following three chapters:

N°VI. The testis and its secretion in the decapodous crustaceans (pp 35-40)

N°XII. The mode of reproduction of the lost parts in the crustacea (pp 74-78)

N°XIII. Of the anatomy and development of the cystic entozoa (pp 79-103)

> The last one was read before the York Meeting of the British Association in 1844. I did a little research and found that Goodsir was “secretary” in the zoology and botany section:

(Read more:https://www.ypsyork.org/resources/articles/the-1844-british-association-conference-and-the-first-photographs-taken-in-york/ )

-Cases and observations illustrating the history and pathological relations of two kinds of hydatids, hitherto undescribed, 1844

Goodsir, Harry D. S. , Gairdner, John, Lee Thomas M. , Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh

Link: https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/item/180385#page/3/mode/1up

Microscopial observations (two pages of illustrations at the end of the book, low quality).

-On two new species of leachia, 1841

Goodsir, Henry D. S. Esq.

(from the Edimburgh New philosophical Journal for October 1841)

Link: https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/item/188531#page/1/mode/1up

(One illustration at the end)

ARTICLES

-Description of the genus Cuma, and of two new genera nearly allied to it, 1843

in: The Edinburgh new philosophical journal, vol. 34, pp 119-129

Link: https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/page/12565428#page/139/mode/1up

(Illustrations at the end)

-On the specific and generic characters of the araneiform crustacea, 1844

in: The Annals and magazine of natural history; zoology, botany and geology, vol. 14, pp 1-4

Link: https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/page/2331360#page/14/mode/1up

(One plate at the beginning)

- Description of some animals found amongst the Gulf-weed, february 1845

in: The Annals and magazine of natural history; zoology, botany and geology, vol. 15, pp 73-76

Link: https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/page/2248314#page/98/mode/1up

(One plate at the beginning)

- Description of some gigantic forms of invertebrate animals from the coast of Scotland, june 1845

in: The Annals and magazine of natural history; zoology, botany and geology, vol. 15, pp 377-383

Link: https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/page/2248663#page/427/mode/1up

(One plate at the beginning)

-On the development, structure and eoconomy of the acephalocysts of authors; with an account of the natural analogies of the entozoa in general, june 1845

in: The Annals and magazine of natural history; zoology, botany and geology, vol. 14, pp 481-484

Link: https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/page/22068990#page/495/mode/1up

Abstracted from the Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, having been read April 1, 1844.

> which I, of course, found:

Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, vol XV

pp. 560-571, three plates

Link: https://archive.org/details/transactionsofro15roya/page/560/mode/2up?view=theater

(His brother was also there!)

-On several new species of Crustaceans allied to Saphirina, 1845

in: The Annals and magazine of natural history; zoology, botany and geology, vol. 16, pp 325-327

Link: https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/page/22069398#page/339/mode/1up

+Plate XI (at the end)

This last article is also mentionning the Erebus... I'm not crying, you are.

PS: I hope you enjoyed this overview of Goodsir's work, it took me days to gather it all and I'm glad to be able to share it with you all. As I'll soon be in Edinburgh, you can expect to see more Goodsir content! Love <3

#the terror amc #hms erebus #harry goodsir #henry goodsir #the terror

[regicidal-optimism]

things to bother believing in || an eretbur web weave for @enby-chaos for @mcytblrholidayexchange

entangled - genevieve leavold | pierced - aleikats | choose a very specific favorite trope of mine - veliseraptor | apple - meyoco | heaven will be mine | asoftersea -16 | poppies - tokyogenso | arthurianum marginalia | shitty horoscopes vol. vi - amrit brar | morning after ii - alyssa monks | shitty horoscopes vol. vii - amrit brar | a crazy night in the museum - shira barzilay | you need to slow down - vinegar and brown paper | return to the fallen tower - killian eng | shitty horoscopes vol. xii - amrit brar | et in arcadia ego - arcana obscura | obelisk and metronome

#dsmpshipping #eretbur #wilbur soot #eret #c!eret #c!wilbur #web weaving #mcytblrholidayexchange2023 #grace dot art #imaginary gardens with real toads #continue in tempo ignoring conductor

[corvaner]

♰ ETCHINGS OF A CORVID ♰

Welcome to my Sketchbook Archive! Each day I shall upload a new page from one of my sketchbooks.

If you have any drawing suggestions that I could include into my newer sketchbooks, let me know!

Main Blog: @cordwaner

Sketchbooks:

-> Sketchbook Vol. I, 2018 -> Sketchbook Vol. II, 2018 -> Sketchbook Vol. III, 2018 Sketchbook Vol. IV, 2018 [IN PROGRESS] Sketchbook Vol. V, 2019 [IN PROGRESS] Sketchbook Vol. VI, 2019 [IN PROGRESS] Sketchbook Vol. VII, 2019 [IN PROGRESS] Sketchbook Vol. VIII, 2020 [IN PROGRESS] Sketchbook Vol. IX, 2020 [IN PROGRESS] Sketchbook Vol. X, 2021- 2022 [IN PROGRESS] Sketchbook Vol. XI, 2022-2023 [IN PROGRESS] Sketchbook Vol. XII, 2023 [IN PROGRESS]

#art #my art #artists on tumblr #diary #sketchbook #illustrators on tumblr #drawing #sketch #illustration #doodle #sketchaday #scribbles #traditional art #traditional drawing #ballpointpen #cordwanerart

[hauntedbystorytelling]

Angela ~ Felix Benedict Herzog

F. Benedict Herzog (American, 1859-1912) ~ Angela, from Camera Work XII, 1905. Photogravure. | src Heritage Auctions

view more on wordPress

F. [Felix] Benedict Herzog · pl. II. Angela. Camera Work, 1905 vol. 12. | src Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg

more on wordPress

#F. Benedict Herzog #Felix Benedict Herzog #Camera Work #pictorialism #photosecessionism #pictorialist portrait #portrait #photosecession #pictorialisme #pictorialismo #Angela #Piktorialismus #pictorial portrait #1900s #Porträt #retrato #ritratto #portret #retrat #Bildnis

[everyonewasabird]

He sat down, leaned upon a table near the window, looked at Enjolras with an inexpressible gentleness, and said to him: “You know I believe in you.”

“Go away.”

“Let me sleep here.”

“Go and sleep somewhere else,” cried Enjolras.

But Grantaire, still keeping his tender and troubled eyes fixed on him, replied:

 “Let me sleep here—until I die here.”

Enjolras regarded him with a disdainful eye: "Grantaire, you are incapable of belief, of thought, of will, of life, and of death.”

Grantaire replied in a grave tone: “You will see.” 

Les Misérables - vol. IV - book XII - ch. III - “Night Begins to Descend Upon Grantaire”

#happy barricade day! #enjolras #grantaire #barricade day #my art #enjoltaire #les miserables #les mis

[xxcrossroadsxx]

TAMB S2 Vol. 3 & 4 boxes and their respective fragments:

XII: Lazarus's kitchen (Titled by Yamazaki)

XIII: Shakshuka making

#They ended up adding Veronica in the dvd case cover niceee #and about the fragments-kinda sad we will not get the translations #I want to check other scans... #mahoutsukai no yome #the ancient magus' bride #the ancient magus bride #tamb #mtny #mny #ancient magus bride #ancient magus' bride #magus bride #magus' bride #mahoyome #mahou tsukai no yome

[garadinervi]

Jean Genet, Four Hours in Shatila, Translated by Daniel R. Dupêcher and Martha Perrigaud, «Journal of Palestine Studies», Vol. XII, No. 3, Issue 47, Spring 1983, pp. 3-22 (text here) [Institute for Palestine Studies, Beirut]

#graphic design #journal #jean genet #daniel r. dupêcher #martha perrigaud #journal of palestine studies #institute for palestine studies #1980s

[romanceyourdemons]

One of the worst English railroad accidents happened in that country a few weeks ago, resulting in the loss of about thirty lives. The singular thing about it is the fact that the rail road company voluntarily assumed responsibility for the accident. It seems almost like a miracle that any large corporation or trust should take the blame to itself. Usually, it is the other way and the best legal talent is employed and every subterfuge resorted to to show that an accident is the fault of others, an act of divine providence, or something else, and that the corporation is as innocent as an infant child.

The Gunnison Gazette, vol. XII no. 11, 13 Jan. 1911

the funniest thing about this news item from a small-town utah newspaper from 1911 is that it was in the local items/personals section. someone was just like you know what what the hell the people need to know. and i respect their spirit so much

#ryddles

[merovingian-marvels]

Reihengräber

Reihengräber or row graves are a burial style most commonly found in Belgium, the Dutch and German Rhineland and northern France during the Merovingian dynasty.

During the height of Merovingian Rhineland (material) culture, gravesites that spanned generations were created. The deceased were buried next to the previously buried individual, creating long rows of communal burial. Depending on the shape of the field used, multiple rows of varying length can be found.

Reihengräber sites are often a resemblance of the whole society with men, women, children and elders. The height of Merovingian craftsmanship, art and material culture results in very rich graves showing both the wealth, connections, craftsmanship and beliefs of a society. The abundance of grave goods shows that people within these communities were pagan and/or animistic. The richest burial sites often include horse gear, possibly a horse burial and if extremely lucky; a funeral chamber with weapons, personal hygiene items, ceramics, clothing and food.

Anglian researchers are tempted to describe this geographic region and specific burial practice as a “culture”, however this viewpoint is not shared on the continent.

IMAGE CREDIT

Nécropole Mérovingienne de Pont-à-Celles/Viesville (Hainaut)

G. Dumont ©️ SPW

Societe Tournaissienne de Geologie, Prehistoire et Archeologie ASBL. Vol. XII n* 6 Septembre 2011

(Musée d’archéologie Tournai/Doornik)

#frankish #merovingian #viking archaeology #archaeology #carolingian #charlemagne #field archaeology #viking mythology #merovingian archaeology #germanic mythology #norse mythology #anglo saxon #field archaeologist #frisian #odin #viking #vikings #germanic #germanic folklore #germanic archaeology #wodan #anglo saxon archaeology #history #jewelry #norse

[aedesluminis]

The origins of the Italian national flag dating back to the French revolution

Since a couple of days ago our Prime Minister, Giorgia Meloni, was caught unprepared on the meaning of the colours on the Italian flag by the Senior United States senator Chuck Schumer, I thought it could have been interesting to dive more into it, to see if there's something else beyond the three theological virtues, which the flag is attributed to nowadays. And surprisingly there is! Sources dating back to the last decade of the 18th century show a strong link between the Italian tricolour and the cockades used during the French revolution.

According to the archivist and historian Nicola Ferorelli (1877-1951), during the month of August 1789 is some Italian towns, people were spotted protesting against high food prices, wearing green leaves as cockades in an attempt to imitate the parisians who took the Bastille:

"Si sa inoltre, con uguale certezza che, durante il mese di agosto 1789, a Fano ed a Velletri prima del giorno 16, a Roma fra il 16 e il 28, ed a Frascati non più tardi del 30, il popolo minuto commise atti vandalici e compì minacciose dimostrazioni, usando foglie di alberi per coccarda. A Roma si mossero circa ventimila transteverini muniti di armi, recando foglie di lauro al cappello, e chiedendo e ottenendo immediatamente il ribasso del prezzo dei generi di prima necessità col dire che avrebbero imitato i parigini se non fossero stati subito accontentati."

[Eng]:

"Furthermore it is known, with equal certainty that, during August 1789 in Fano and Velletri before the 16th, in Rome between the 16th and the 28th, and in Frascati no later than the 30th, the people committed acts of vandalism and menacing demonstrations, using tree leaves as cockades. In Rome around twenty thousands Transteverians [people residing in Rome] marched with weapons, showing laurel leaves appointed to their hats, and demanding and immediately getting price reduction on goods of primary necessity, threatening they would have imitated the parisians in case their requests hadn't been immediately fulfilled."

-Ferorelli N., La vera origine del tricolore italiano, Rassegna storica del Risorgimento vol. XII (1925)

Moreover Ferorelli gives proof, cockades carrying green, white and red colours were worn by the citizen of Genua, mistakenly believed to be the colours used by the French revolutionaries. The reason behind the misunderstanding relies in the fragmented and sometimes incorrect news the Italian press received from France:

"Si sa per giunta, anche con la massima certezza, che, nel 21 agosto dello stesso anno [1789], gli inquisitori della repubblica di Genova, riferivano in una loro relazione al governo, di essere state viste delle persone passeggiare per la città e con la nuova coccarda francese bianca, rossa e verde introdotta da poco tempo a Parigi."

[Eng]:

"It is known, with the utmost certainty, that, on the 21th of August of the same year [1789], the inquisitors of the republic of Genua, wrote in a report to the gouvernament, that people wearing the new white, green and red French cockades shortly introduced in Paris were spotted walking through the city."

-Ferorelli N., La vera origine del tricolore italiano, Rassegna storica del Risorgimento vol. XII (1925)

A military insigna carrying the green, white and red colours was adopted as official flag for the the newly formed Legione Lombarda (Lombard Legion) in 1796, whose members were Italian patriots and soldiers favourable to Napoleon Bonaparte, but it's with the establishment of the Cispadanian Republic (7th January 1797) that we have the first example of use of the tricolour as symbol for national union. As the intellectual and journalist Giuseppe Compagnoni stated in his proposal on the very same day of the Republic proclamation:

"Si renda universale lo stendardo o bandiera cispadana di tre colori verde, bianco e rosso e questi tre colori si usino anche nella coccarda cispadana, la quale dovrà portarsi da tutti."

[Eng]:

"An universal banner or flag with three colours green, white and red should be set and these colours should be used in the cispadanian cockade, that should be worn by everyone."

-Rossi L., "Origini della bandiera tricolore italiana"

More or less significative variant of the cispadanian flag were used during the foundations of new states in the Italian peninsula, until March 1861, when on the 17th, the Kingdom of Italy was proclaimed, whose official flag was the three vertical-striped tricolour belonged to the former Kingdom of Sardegna, the official prototype of the one currently used in Italy.

#italian history #italy #frev #french revolution #origins of the italian flag #thank you Desmoulins I guess #my posts

[isawken]

In “Pussy as Penis: An Exploration of the Semiotics of Getting Fucked Down Good and Nasty” (Journal of Freak Nasty Sex Having, vol. XII, 2023), Callahan offers the following rapturous pronouncement to confront the bevy of previously-established, moribund scholarly through lines: “…then what should it matter what one’s lover possesses, if all options are appropriately slonkable?”

#kenposting

[joachimnapoleon]

Today is the anniversary of Murat’s death; instead of something sad and gloomy, here is a compilation of Murat’s contemporaries saying nice things about him.

***

Murat was a good man. He was dashingly brave, and possessed military talents together with a great desire to please and to be admired. He sought to have good manners and overdid them. One saw by his exaggerated dress and his attentions to the ladies that he wished to resemble the Villarceaux and Sévignés of the days of Louis XIV. These famous courtiers were the models he had chosen, but the rough hearty republican could not be completely hidden, and the mixture of the two opposite types of character would have been ridiculous at times if one had not been conscious of the honest, frank soldier in the background who reconciled the puppets one to the other. Consequently, in spite of his male and martial beauty he was a far less dangerous person than he imagined.

-Hortense de Beauharnais, The Memoirs of Queen Hortense, Vol. 2.

***

Much has been said of this truly extraordinary prince; but only those who saw him personally could form a correct idea of him, and even they never knew him perfectly until they had seen him on a field of battle. There he seemed like those great actors who produce a complete illusion amid the fascination of the stage, but in whom we no longer find the hero when we encounter them in private life.... What, so to speak, idealized him was his truly chivalrous bravery, often carried to the point of recklessness, as if danger had no existence for him.

-Recollections of the Private Life of Napoleon, by Constant, Premier Valet de Chambre, Vol. III, 1900, pgs 207-208.

***

The beauty of his person, the charm of his smile, the natural urbanity of his manner--to which, however, he was inclined to add more importance than was consistent with his proper dignity--and the richness of his dress, pleased the multitude and the army, although self-reputed sages laughed at this last display, and pronounced it ridiculous. The affability and gentleness of his manners, which were such as could not have been anticipated from a man of low birth, endeared him to the Court.... Murat was a Charles XII in the field, but a Francis I in his Court. He would have regarded the refusal of a favour to any lady of the Court, even though she were not his mistress, as an indignity.... Unfortunately for him as well as for our poor country, Murat fancied himself extremely sagacious in the art of kingcraft, and above all, that he alone could manage his affairs in the then intricate political state of the times. I do not mean to imply by this that the King was deficient in a certain sagacity; on the contrary, he could at times reason very aptly, and according to the opinion of his minister, Giuseppe Gurlo, who was a man of no ordinary stamp of mind, the King when in council often reasoned in a manner far superior to any of his ministers.

-General Guglielmo Pépé, Memoirs of General Pépé, Vol I [Pépé served under Murat in Naples]

***

In this supreme elevation, he appeared neither astonished nor dazzled; no alteration manifested itself in his naturally generous and easy character; he remained for his parents, his friends, his old comrades, what he had been in his village, or on the benches of the school, or in the lines of a regiment, and yet the greats, the princes, the sovereigns themselves admired in him the noble urbanity befitting the courts, with the imposing grandeur befitting the throne. I have seen this prince in the midst of the armies; his presence alone electrified warriors’ hearts; leaders and soldiers, friends and enemies, he drove them all. The Cossacks, in the background of a Russia in flames, suspended combat to lower their pikes before him, as a sign of homage to this model of valor; they called him their Hetman, as in Egypt the Arabs called him the French Murat-Bey, each one thus signaling by the designation who in their minds commanded the most admiration and respect.

-Jean-Michel Agar, the Count of Mosbourg, from Murat: Lieutenant de l’Empereur en Espagne, 1808, published by Murat’s grandnephew, Joachim Joseph André, in 1897. Agar was Murat’s childhood friend and later served as his finance minister.

***

Posterity will certainly blame King Joachim for some political errors, which in the end were the cause of his own ruin; but his goodness of heart, his frankness and generosity, command an affectionate remembrace. As a warrior, he became an object of veneration to all nations, from the Arab of the desert to the Cossack of the Don. He was loved even by his enemies, and would have been adored throughout the kingdom of Naples, without any exceptions, had not his officers and functionaries sometimes acted at variance with his intentions, and disgusted some classes of the people by vexatious stretches of authority. One of his foibles was, an incapacity to punish; and this, like an analogous failing in parents towards their children, engenders laxity and disobedience.... His desires were those of a King, but his mind was too much that of a soldier; his heart was that of a warm friend to mankind, and was, as said of the gigantic Sir William Jones, "even bigger than his body."

-Memoirs of the Life and Adventures of Colonel Maceroni, Vol II, 1838, pages 348-9. [Maceroni was one of Murat’s aides-de-camp during his reign in Naples]

***

I remember how he envied my position. One day when we were walking together he tried to prove to me that on the staff I had a hundred opportunities and means of bringing myself into notice–that is, of getting on; whereas a regiment was a blind alley where one was confounded with the mass, and that, if you did distinguish yourself, jealousy restrained everyone from speaking of you. Captain as I was, I should be a general before he, a major, was colonel. This statement was the only one not correct, for it was as Bonaparte’s aide-de-camp, a staff-officer that is, that he gained his success. How often did I recall this conversation when I saw him dash like a whirlwind up all the steps of rank and arrive, borne by Caesar’s eagle, with one swoop at the summit of human greatness! I must say, however, that he lost none of the amenity and good-nature which so well blended with his open soul, and with the chivalrous ardour which made him the bravest of the brave.

-The Memoirs of Baron Thiébault (late Lieutenant-general in the French Army) Vol 1; New York (Macmillan Company), 1896, pg 255

***

Who is there who doesn’t know of Murat’s wild courage, and who would not believe that a warrior like that has a soul of steel, an indomitable character? Well, there is not a softer, more gentle creature in private life, even more weak at times. If in camp he receives a letter from his wife, he cries like a child. But at the sound of cannon his head is up, he rushes out and throws himself into the fray–on the battlefield that Achilles has twenty elbows.

-Napoleon to Molé, as recorded by the Count of Mosbourg in Murat: Lieutenant de L'Empereur en Espagne 1808, page 73.

#Joachim Murat #Napoleon’s marshals #Napoleonic #today in history #memoirs

[geeoharee]

At the time of which I speak Holmes had been back for some months, and I, at his request, had sold my practice and returned to share the old quarters in Baker Street. A young doctor, named Verner, had purchased my small Kensington practice, and given with astonishingly little demur the highest price that I ventured to ask—an incident which only explained itself some years later when I found that Verner was a distant relation of Holmes's, and that it was my friend who had really found the money.

Conversations Conan Doyle could have put on screen but didn't, Vol. XII

#sherlock holmes #letters from watson #norw