#fly miller my beloved

[snorristurston]

This shouldn't have taken this long to make but it's done. The brainrot is real.

[livingemkayde]

ride

neighbor!joel miller/dbf!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: Rated 18+. Minors please dni. Smut. fingering f!receiving, grinding/dry humping, pet name (angel, baby), swearing. Not proof read.

a/n: bit the bullet and wrote something about joel. This was meant to be a one shot (a really fucking long one-shot holy shit) but if you guys want more parts just comment or lmk. Taking a small teeny tiny break from my beloved din (he will forever and always be the standard tho lol).

wc: 4k

this is the first installment of my small dbf!joel mini series!

find the next parts in my masterlist

“Hello?” you shout as you walk through the threshold of your home — your childhood home. You haven’t been back in Texas for a couple years. Your studies and research have admittedly kept you too busy and sometimes your dad would fly out to see you in California. 

You really haven’t been back since two Christmases ago. And by really you mean you haven’t seen Joel since two Christmases ago. 

You’d been desperate for graduation some weeks ago, and now that you’re back, you remember how slow Austin is. And how small. How everyone knows each other and each other’s business. But sometimes that’s kinda nice. 

Word spread quickly about your recent graduation and your dad kept bothering you about having a party — but it all seemed silly to you. 

He isn’t the party planning type, so naturally, it fell through the cracks. He did say something about having Joel and Sarah over instead. That got your attention. You haven’t seen your neighbor from across the street in a couple years, his daughter even longer. You wonder how grown up she is—you miss them both.

You know your dad and Joel have gotten closer since you’ve been gone. When you were younger, they were always friends, but more so in a ‘we’re neighbors and we both have daughters so let’s hang out a couple times a week’ type of way. But after your sparse visits and facetime calls, you can tell they’ve gotten close. Really close. The kind of friend that has keys to your front door and can ‘use my grill whenever you want ol’man’ said your dad. The kind of friend that spends every holiday together, and treats each other's kids as their own. 

“Hello?” you try again as you lug a suitcase and duffle bag into the foyer. You had shipped all your belongings back to Austin from California a couple days ago and hopped on a flight with no return ticket. It felt nice to be home — you were excited for your first summer with no prospects of school looming around the fast approaching September. 

“Nice welcome,” you mumble under your breath as you shut the front door. You figure your dad might be out. It's a Saturday — and it’s fucking hot. You huff and shrug out of our cardigan, placing it on the banister of the stairs before rolling up your sleeves. 

You haul your suitcase up the stairs and abandon it on the floor of your bedroom — partially unzipped from digging a pair of shorts and a tank top out before making your way downstairs. 

You shuffle into the kitchen to get a drink— a note on the fridge catches your eye. 

Someone’s number. And your name underneath it. 

You recognize the area code as someone who lives in Austin, but you aren’t sure whose it is — let alone why your name is written under it. Like someone called asking for you and your dad was too forgetful to tell you.

You brush it off and move towards the whiteboard which hangs on the fridge next to the note. 

It’s your dad’s handwriting, you recognize it. It’s a list of stuff your dad had planned for the day. 

Grocery 

Home Depot

Joel’s

You smile at his poorly articulated plans and at Joel’s name at the bottom of the list. You’re happy they can keep each other company. Sarah is at that age where all she wants to do is hang out with friends at the mall, and you’ve been away for four years. You note your dad is probably with Joel. You didn’t get a chance to text him when you landed so you don’t blame him for not being around when you got back. 

You grab a mug from a cabinet and fill it with ice, opening the fridge to grab some lemonade. When you begin pouring, you can hear the door open from the foyer directly ahead of you. 

A loud chorus of laughter rings through your ears when the door opens and you look up from the drink you’re pouring to the door. 

Your dad enters first, his figure hunched over, laughing, while his hand jiggles the keys out of the front door. 

You can hear another laugh join from behind him. It’s not as loud or obnoxious (not that your dad is obnoxious) but settles for a small huff and a couple ha ha’s. You know who it is before you can see him. You can see the peak of curly brown hair follow in as your dad’s eyes meet yours. 

“Baby!” he shouts, drops his hand from the door — the keys still hanging from the lock — and moves towards you in the kitchen. You abandon your drink and move to hug him. He gives you a big hug, lifting you off your feet and sets you back down while giving you a kiss on the forehead. 

“Hey dad,” you say while straightening out your all too small tank-top you wouldn't have worn if you had known there was going to be company. Especially this kind of company. 

“You shoulda told me you landed! I was waiting to pick you up from the airport,” he notes while putting his hand on his hip. You can see Joel out of the corner of your eye, picking the keys out of the lock and shrugging off his light jacket — showing his gray t-shirt which lies under. 

You flush. 

“No, no dad —” you chuckle, breathless. “It’s okay. Taxi was faster. You always get lost around the airport.” 

“Damn signs get me all turned around,” he mutters under his breath while making his way past you into the kitchen. 

“You ‘member Joel right?” your dad jokingly asks from the kitchen. He’s already got his head buried in the fridge looking for something to eat. 

“Yes. Ha ha dad —” you turn your head from the kitchen and look up at Joel, “— hey,” your arms come to wrap around your torso, suddenly a little insecure about your state of dress. 

“Hey, kid,” he replies coolly. Settling into the middle of the foyer. His head bends to the side slightly but he keeps his eyes trained on you. He looks at you through hooded eyes. 

“So biology —” he moves past you to follow your dad into the kitchen, you trail after him, “too smart for your ol’man now.” 

“Hardly,” you say as you all settle in the kitchen. You dad — who still has his head in the fridge — snorts. He mumbles something about plants, doctors, and I ain’t that old from behind the door. 

Your dad tosses Joel a can of beer and he catches it. He pulls one out for himself and shuts the fridge. They both swig the cold beer — relief hits them after being in the heat. 

“Congratulations are in order,” Joel says and takes another sip — his eyes don’t leave yours as he tilts his head back, you watch his Adam's apple bob up and down. He leans back against the counter, facing you, arms crossed.

“Yeah…thanks,” you reply sheepishly as you sit at the island chairs giving him a small smile — the counter separating you. 

“No neighborhood party?” Joel says while turning his head to look at your dad. 

“I — I tried my fuckin’ best. You know how hard it is to get everyone’s number?” your dad laughs while taking another sip of his beer, running a hand over his forehead — rubbing his eyes. 

“Just knock on people’s doors man — it ain’t that hard,” Joel quips back teasingly while chuckling. Your dad shoves him playfully. You smile at them. They remind you of teenage boys. Or frat boys. You laugh at both images. 

“You want a party, kiddo?” your dad looks at you sheepishly, like he really means it. 

Maybe it would be nice to see the people in your neighborhood, but the thought of a party dedicated all to you seemed overkill. 

“No…s'alright,” you reply, sipping on some lemonade. Your eyes quickly shift to cheat a glance at Joel, but he’s already looking at you. You avert your eyes quickly.

“Maybe barbecue. Not a party. Barbecue,” your dad throws out his arms and says the words like he’s testing the idea to you and Joel. You shrug with a smile in response and Joel tips his beer to your dad and takes another swig. 

The phone rings in the other room. You honestly still can’t believe your dad still has a landline. He rushes to get it, leaving you and Joel alone in the kitchen. 

“Remind me where you were at again?” he says, pushing off the back counter and leaning forward on the island to meet your eye. 

“USC,” you reply before bringing your lips to the rim of the glass again. 

“That’s right,” he says and stands back up straight. “Smart girl,” he adds — lowly — and you sort of freeze. 

His words — even though seemingly not sexual or suggestive — send a heat down to the place between your legs. You push your thighs together and pray he doesn’t notice. 

“You liked it?” He adds. 

“Loved it. The bio program there was really great,” you say, playing with your cup’s handle.

“How’ve you been?” you ask, curious. You rest your chin in the palm of your hand. 

“M’fine. Same as always,” he says, meeting your eye. 

“Sarah?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“Good. Into boys now or somethin’,” he notes, shaking his head. 

“‘S normal,” you chuckle. He gives you a certain look that makes your head spin. It’s suddenly too hot in this house despite the constant flow of your air conditioning. 

“I guess,” he mumbles. 

Your dad emerges from the living room, shaking his head. 

“Fuckin’ kid again. Always callin’ my phone like it’s a goddamn hotline or somethin’,” he mumbles as he enters. He looks up to you, “Some kid is always callin’ the house askin’ for you,” he nods in your direction. 

“Who?” you ask, curious, and now — maybe a bit on edge because of Joel.

“Dunno. Some kid named Liam. Said he went to highschool with you,” he says, sitting across from you, Joel somewhat behind him. 

“Always askin’ if you’re home yet — you know this guy kiddo?” he asks, his head quips to look at you. 

Suddenly it feels like all eyes are on you, because they are. Joel’s are trained carefully on you, waiting for your response. You glance up at him and quickly look back down to meet your dad’s gaze. 

You did know him —  Liam. An old fling from high school. A ‘friends with benefits’ sort of thing, but you had ended it pretty quickly after school finished. You made it your mission to go to college with no strings attached to anyone. He tried to keep it in touch through college but you eventually attempted to ghost him — you thought it was successful until now. 

Your eyes widen. 

“Uh—yeah. I guess,” you flush and look down to your fingers around the glass of lemonade. You pick at the skin there. “Boyfriend from high school, dad.” 

“Huh. Don't ring a bell,” he says, and you chuckle silently. 

You don’t miss Joel’s unmoving face. Though he looks unbothered. You have to admit — you’re a bit disappointed by that. 

“His number’s on the fridge. Wrote it down the first time he called and forgot to ring you ‘bout it,” he gestured to the note. 

“Geez. Thanks dad,” you move to pick the note off the fridge and put it in your pocket. No use in leaving it up there for the whole world to see. 

Joel’s eyes follow you, and trail to the note being shoved into your pocket. 

“I should go. Gotta pick up somethin’ from the office,” he says as he breaks his gaze to look at his watch.

“Yeah, yeah sure. She’ll walk you out. I’m beat,” your dad gestures in your direction while making his way towards the couch in the living room. Joel waves ‘bye’ and your dad follows suit —  holding his hand up with his back still turned towards you. He disappears out of sight. You can hear the TV click on, and some FBI drama series begins to echo loudly through the house. 

You make your way to the door, Joel follows suit. When you reach the foyer, you bend down to pick his jacket up from the bench. You hold it out to him, he takes it — and when your hands brush against each other — you gasp. A loud gasp. Loud enough for Joel to definitely hear it, but not loud enough for your dad to hear over the sounds of gunshots and some yelling.

Your eyes snap up to look at his, to find them already staring back at you. You drop his gaze quickly and let go of his jacket. 

“I’m actually gonna head out too. I’ll walk you to your truck,” you say, trying to be polite. You shake your head at the embarrassment you feel because he definitely just heard you gasp like a teenager over your hands brushing. 

You step out, certain your dad is already drifting to sleep on the couch. 

The sunset hits your face and you squint under its rays. Joel follows you out the door, shutting it behind him. 

You see his truck sitting a house down from yours and begin to walk with Joel settling next to you. 

“You goin’ to see him?” he asks, not meeting your eye. 

“Who?” you reply —  teasing. 

“Don’t play dumb. That boy botherin’ you?” he asks, while approaching his truck. You both settle into some slow steps until you’re leaning against the side of his black flatbed and he’s standing in front of you. 

“What’s it to you?” you ask, teasing again. 

“Nothin’—” he replies, shaking his head and looking past the truck, to his house across the street. “Didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” 

“Wasn’t really my boyfriend. Just easier to explain that to my dad than what it really was,” you reply, trying to meet his eye. Trying to get an indication of — anything. 

A beat. 

He doesn’t meet your eye. 

Another beat. 

“‘N what was it really?” he asks, shoving his hands into his front pockets. 

“Thought it was nothin’ to you,” you bite back with a smirk.

“Yeah, well maybe it’s somethin’ —” he catches your gaze for a moment before looking down at the concrete. You cross your arms. “— if he’s botherin’ you.” 

“He’s not bothering me. Just an old…friend,” you say with a smirk playing on your lips. 

“Friend? Got any other ‘friends’ I gotta worry about?” He quips back. It's playful. 

“Didn’t know you worried about me,” you say with a small smile.

“Only when your ‘friend’ calls the house twice a week sayin’ you don’t pick up his calls.” 

“Yeah well I've had other things on my mind.” You look at him. Really look at him. It forces his gaze to meet yours. 

He drops it quickly. 

Some silence. 

Fuck, what is happening? 

“Y’wanna ride?” His head gestures to the truck behind you. You find yourself nodding, and moving towards the passenger seat door. Joel opens it for you, you flush and almost lose balance while hoisting yourself in. You mumble a small thank you and tell him you were actually planning to just go to the library near your house to pick up a couple books.

He starts the engine and begins to pull out onto the street.

“Books?” He follows up. 

“Gonna continue some research while I look for a job,” you say, and pick at your fingers in your lap. 

“Could always babysit Sarah,” he teases.

“16’s a little old for a babysitter? Don’t you think?” you quip.

You settle into a soft silence after your laughter dies down. He turns down some streets and settles on the main road. The radio is off. You wonder if he drives in silence when he’s alone. You know Sarah liked it when the radio was blasting in the car. 

“So, there’s no other…” he starts, a lazy hand placed over the top of the steering wheel. “no one else?” he finishes, awkwardly. 

His hand comes down the center console to rest on the gear stick.

“You’re asking me if I'm dating?” you chuckle a bit, peaking over at him. He keeps his eyes on the road. “God, you’re worse than my dad.” 

“Wouldn’t say that, angel.” 

Fuck. 

The nickname rolls right off his tongue and hits you between your legs. You shuffle in your seat. You don’t know how much longer you can do this before you soak through your shorts. 

You continue to sneak glances at him. 

“No. I’m not,” you answer his question from before. 

“Hm,” is all he says, rounding the corner. 

“Hm?” you reply — teasing him. “You got something to say?” 

 “Just surprised is all,” he says, more serious. 

“Yeah?” You reply, mostly because you want to hear him talk more but partially because you have no idea what to say.

“Mhm —” he throws a glance in your direction “—unless you’re gonna finally give that poor boy a chance.” 

“Probably not. He’s…boring,” you answer like you’re thinking about it.

“Boring? That it?” He says. 

“Yeah. Or maybe I’m just looking for something else,” you try to meet his gaze but he focuses on the road. 

“Sure —” he replies “— just didn’t think a pretty girl like you would be single after college.”

Pretty. Pretty. 

Joel Miller just called you pretty and didn’t even bat an eye. You can feel the wet spot in your panties begin to grow and you shuffle again, rearranging in the passenger. 

Is this real? 

Or is it years of built up sexual frustrations about your dad’s best friend building up and threatening to spill over at the sound of him calling you pretty? 

It seemed innocent enough. 

But you can’t help but feel something between you. 

Something different. 

Like maybe he doesn’t think of you as an innocent little girl anymore. 

You don’t know what’s gotten into you. Maybe it’s the heat. Or maybe it's the enormous wet spot growing in your panties from a few words thrown carelessly your way. But you want him. Really want him. And you know he would never make the first move. So you do it for him. 

You reach out — tentatively — to the center console to grab his hand on the gear shift. He looks at you, and you meet his eye. There’s a sort of darkness behind his pupils — like his irises have gone a shade darker and you didn’t notice. You lead his hand over to your lap, bringing it down so his fingertips rest on the inside of your thigh. 

You can hear both of your uncontrolled breathing. Yours sounds more like a gasp at his touch, while he lets out a sharp breath when his hand ventures into your space. 

After a couple seconds, he squeezes your thigh in his palm and you sigh. The truck drives over an especially rough patch of road and it jostles your body. His fingers threaten to make their way higher. You squirm in anticipation. 

“Quit moving,” is all he says with a deep voice, his eyes still on the road. 

You stop squirming, despite your wanting anticipation and a nervous cloud that blankets your mind. 

But his words only spur you on further — only makes you want more. 

His pinky finger toys with the hem of your shorts, you part your legs for him, and he scoffs. 

“What I say?” He grabs your thigh roughly. Splits them apart, and slips his hand under your shorts, finding the soft fabric of your panties. He slowly runs his finger over your clit, teasing downward. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles. You squeak quietly in response. 

“You wet?” Your eyes shut, “Huh angel?” 

You nod, but that makes him let out a small tsk sound. 

“Words,” he demands. 

“Y-yes. Yes,” you let out. 

He ventures lower, and you suddenly worry about his reaction to how wet you are, but he lets out a growl from deep in his throat and pulls your panties to the side. 

“Fuck. Used to be such a good girl.” his thumb nudges your clit as his middle finger touches your aching entrance, gathering your slick. “Now look at you. Fuckin' soaked. Clenching around nothin',"

“F-fuck—Joel—p-please.”  

He only scoffs in response. 

How can he be so focused on the road while he’s got his hand down your pants? 

His finger still toys at your clit, making you moan and whimper. You feel close just from that. You might come, embarrassingly fast — with no penetration — and you don’t want this to end so you put a light hand on his wrist and he stops his movements. 

“P-pull over. Please pull over.” 

He does, he pulls over to some side street. It's late now, the sun just barely peaks over the horizon and you’re both met in a dark dusky light. 

He puts the car in park with the same hand that was just toying with you, that still has your wetness all over it — you flush. 

You expect him to continue, to put his hand back down your pants. But he looks down at his fingers. Inspecting his hand under the soft light. 

“You tryin’ to get us killed?” 

“No,” you reply softly. 

“Your dad would have my neck,” he says, bringing his fingers to his lips. Oh my god. 

“I know,” you whisper, entranced by his movements, “But I'm all grown up.” 

He lets out a puff. 

He sits there for a long time. He doesn’t meet your eye. You’re on the edge of your seat waiting for something to be said. Anything. Your orgasm is long forgotten under all the uncertainty. 

“Take your shorts off," he says, waving a hand in your direction. 

“What?” You ask, surprised. 

"Shorts," he leans over to grab your face, "Now."

He lets your face go, and you slip your shorts off, face flushing in embarrassment. He watches you the whole time, seeing you bare for him makes him groan a bit — you like the sound of it.

He grabs you then, lifting you off your seat, so you bring one leg over his body, straddling him. The steering wheel digs into your back. When you’re fully seated, you can feel his length, hard and wanting, press into your core. It makes your head tilt back as you grind down on instinct. 

He grabs your hips to stop your movement. 

“Please Joel—I-please f—” he slides a finger through your folds and cups your core with his hand. 

You moan loudly, and whimper at the feeling of his breath so close to your face. 

“Quiet.” You grind down in his hand, he lets you. “‘Less you want someone on the street hearin’ you.” 

“Joel…” you let out in a pathetic whine. 

He sinks a finger into you. You gasp at the sudden intrusion. He meets your eye. His brows furrow almost like he feels sorry for you.

When he feels how wet you are, he sinks in a second. He lets out a god as you grind down against his thrusts, the palm of his hand hitting your clit just right —like you’re close already. 

“Fuck baby.” He groans when he feels your walls tighten around his thick fingers. “Already?” 

“Joel—I—fuck-p-please—ah—” 

His fingers sink deeper. You throw your head back, your back hitting the steering wheel. 

You both know you’re close, just a bit more and you’re gonna come, embarrassingly quick.

"That's it—c'mon angel. Know you want it," he pants, you whimper in response.

But his phone rings. And he looks down to the center console where it’s buzzing, and sees your dad’s name pop up. 

His hand stops, and you whine in protest, but he throws you a knowing look, your eyes meeting him then down to the phone. 

You go rigid. 

You look back at him, panic in your eyes, as everything kinda floods back. Like the fact that your dad’s best friend almost made you come in his truck. 

He picks up the phone, and holds it to his ear. He gives you a ‘be quiet’ motion and you sink back into his lap. 

“What’s up?” He answers. 

You seen my daughter? I woke up and she was gone. 

Your eyes widen. 

“Uh—yeah. I drove her to the library. Figure she’s still there,” he says, coolly, like he wasn’t seconds from making you come all over his hand. In his lap. 

Oh. 

Some silence. You can tell Joel is waiting with bated breath. 

Okay. Thanks. 

“Yeah no problem,” Joel responds. 

Alright. See you later.

“Yup,” he says, and hangs up quickly. 

He looks back at you, and down to your cunt, bare for him, in his truck.

Fuck. 

_

part ii

[mrsjavierp]

Where you belong?

Chapter 8 - Fill the Void

Javier Peña x latin!f!reader

Summary: Running away from life as you always knew to start a new position as Head Chief on a DEA Office, far away, on Colombia. There, you'll face violence, as you never thought you could. There, you'll meet Javier Peña, your stubborn agent...

Warnings (to the whole fic): +18!, angst, smut, cheating, last relationships, drug dealing - Narcos Universe (not so accurate), bad spanish, english is my second language, use of Y/N and Y/LN. No physical description of the reader, only your clothes (sometimes). The POVs are shifting between reader (first person and Narrator - 3rd person)

(If I forgot anything, tell me, pls!)

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Thanks for your feedback, hope you enjoy this chapter! Hope to hear from you all soon! I'm also working on two stories (one shots) to our beloved Joel Miller and our corny cowboy Agent Whiskey

Tag: @creedslove | @pedrostories | @mjoee13 | @immyowndefender | @iamsherlocked-1998 | @pedroswife69 |

***

Narrator’s POV:

Arriving at the CNP headquarters, Steve, Javier and you get there almost at the same time.

The tension between you and Javier was noticeable. Steve knew better than asking either of you: he wanted to live to see his girls again… And to catch Escobar.

When you locked the door in your office, the tears started appearing. 

You lied to Javier about not remembering breakfast: you hoped he lied about it too. You actually couldn't recall talking about Ben.

Fuck, was a name you didn't think in a very long time… 

Especially after meeting Javi.  

Is Javi that full of himself to say that to me? What did he mean by that? What did I tell him? And most important: what he really knew about Ben? - You thought.

On the other side of the door, Javier’s mind was racing, trying not to act by impulse. But he decided to call a friend in NYC, who could tell him all he wanted about your history with your ex. He needed to understand why you were so worked up, why that bothered so badly.

However, he didn’t want Steve to suspect anything. Luckly, they got a tip about La Quica again, that he was buying a toilet... The same one that was on La Catedral and heading to the hills on San Isidro road.

When Steve went to speak to Jacoby, to fly Centra Spike over that location, Peña took the shot and called Joe:

“Hey, Joe!” - he greeted him.

“Took you long enough, Javi, you bastard!”

“Well, I tried to avoid long distance calls, you know I hate them.”

“Oh, so the rumors are true, you left your wife in Texas?”

“I did... Better for her and little Lucas, you know…” - he was looking over his shoulder, but no one seemed to be paying attention to him.

“So, how is Y/LN on the colombian field?”

“So far so good, man. She's a good cop…”

“She was one of the best here… But I’m betting my chips that it is not about her resume you called, you want the dirty, am I right?”

Javier laughed. 

“You fucking bastard, I knew it!”

“So, what you’ve got about her and her ex?” - Peña asked.

“Peña, that was a huge mess… He was already working here for a while and, months later, she arrived from the NYPD through the front door and found by herself a lead to a prostitution scheme… It was so big that it was a closed door OP, top secret stuff, it was only her, me, our boss and another couple of guys. The operation involved high-class prostitutes, working for high profile narcos. Ben heard the rumors about the OP and tried to sweet talk her to join it… But you know how she is with her work… Things do not mix at all.”

“Oh, I know…” - Javi sighed.

“Yep, so you know the deal... At first, it was just an evil comment here and there. I don’t know if she heard it, she trusted him, she was going to marry him. We were working our asses off, long and crazy hours. He took advantage and lied to her. He got sloppy and the rumors continued to grow... But I still don't know what she knew. Anyway, his luck didn’t last long: we were about to bust a brothel on the night that the narcos were there. Guess who was in one of those filthy beds?”

“No way…” - Javier closed his eyes, incapable of believing it.

“Yep. She found out on the job. Didn't help when she also discovered that he was trying to trade inside info with criminals.”

“Fuck, he was a dirty cop?”

“Yep. Luckily, she was too up-tight with all of her work. Not only was she as clean as a whistle, she got promoted to Colombia.”

“I can't believe it. Fuck...”

“Like a motherfucking movie, am I right?”

“Thanks for telling me. I can understand her behavior now…”

“She's one of the best cops I've ever got to work, Peña. She didn't deserve that.”

“I believe you. Well, thanks, man. Call if you need anything.”

Peña hung up the phone, if he was a mess before, now he was a wreck. The same questions were going through his mind again: How is he going to keep Lorraine away? How will he manage his boy's custody? How is he divorcing her and keep you in the dark, until the process is over?

A couple hours later, the tip to Centra Spike  worked: a conversation between another sicario, Velasco, and his lover is recorded.

You, Steve, Javier, Centra Spike, Mili Group and CIA reunited to see area’s maps:

"Well, we can discard the smaller ones... Not Escobar's style." - Steve pointed out.

"Which one of these has at least 2 roads of access?" - you ask.

"This one, Y/LN." - Jones, from the CIA, responded.

"This is your winner, niños." - you draw a circle, indicating it.

"Y/LN, what about Pinzón? We're gonna need men, equipment, cars..." - Javier commented.

"Leave Pinzón to me, Peña." - you responded.

You went back to his office, but he refused.

"¡Cabrón!" - you thought.

You went back to yours, but in the way, Steve talked to you:

"Jefe, any luck?"

"Not yet... But let me handle it. He doesn't know who he's dealing with." - the boys looked at each other, curious.

You called Crosby, Crosby called Gaviria and… Let's wrap it up: about 15 minutes later, you all were preparing to bust Escobar.

All the efforts for nothing, unfortunately: Escobar escaped through your fingers, again.

Escobar, however, made a career fooling and killing police officers, what he thought was going to a truce about to happen turned into a fuse to another battle, which made him even more dangerous.

Days later, you all were right as the skies were blue: another attack came. 

Escobar's sicarios killed a bunch of Pinzón's men all around Medellín… 

Pinzón chose to resign - it was the last drop to his sanity. He wanted personal peace more than to defend his country… How would someone judge him? 

Escobar killed more than four hundred cops a year - although it was a risk, it had no garanties on being alive and no one could fulfill any expectations to actually get it done.

*

Days passed by and President Gaviria decided to bring Coronel Carrillo back from Spain, as soon as he could.

The first thing Carrillo did was talk to you, since Peña and Steve weren't alone anymore:

“So, Y/LN… You're the boss now. I hope that we can work together at the same pace.” - Carrillo smiled at you.

“Well, I can't say anything about style, but we sure make a hell of a team. I'm saying the same thing as I said to Peña and Murphy: I'm also a field agent… Don't let the high hills fool you.”

He smirked.

“Vamos, Y/LN. I've got to say hi to an old friend…”

****

Carrillo decided to put up a show: tell in grand style about who's back in town. The actual goal was putting Escobar's partners on the map, by transmission. So Carrillo would stick his nose out and so would Escobar.

He lets you, Javier and Steve mapping Escobar's spies.

About a couple hours later, he came back and you and your inside team did the best you all could to track them all.

“We captured six radio transmissions.” - Jacoby informed. - “But we haven't pinpointed the exact location.” 

“So our best bet is to corner each of these buildings. This time, we hit the ground.” - you said.

Carrillo ordered his soldier, Trujillo, to send 6 unmarked cars with 4 men each, to observe the buildings, with 20 minute-intervals to avoid attention.

After that, he called Peña to join him.

“Be careful out there.” - you warn them.

Minutes later, when you and Steve are alone, you ask:

“Steve, is he always like that? Taking Peña up and down?”

“Sometimes, Jefe… He probably just wants an update to what happened from someone he trusts… He doesn't know you yet, it's his way.“ - Steve told me.

You'd show Carrillo who you really were: a woman younger than all three (Steve, Peña and himself) whose balls were bigger. 

***

Peña, Trujillo, Carrillo and other officers captured 6 of the boys who were working for Escobar. 

They took them to a hidden alley, on Bairro Escobar.

They are on their knees, scared. Well, 5 of them, at least.

“Do you know who I am?” - Carrillo started. - “My name is Coronel Horacio Carrillo. Last week, 30 police officers were murdered.”

“Those pigs probably deserved it.” - one of them said.

“Shut up, kid.” - Javier murmured.

“Many of them were my friends. A person perched on rooftops guiding murders with radios are assassins themselves… I hope after this encounter you'll reconsider working with someone who thinks he's above the law.”

Although Javier knew Carrillo was right, something felt off. Wrong.

At the same time, Carrillo cocked his pistol.

“What?” - another boy provoked. He was no more than fifteen, brown skin. - “Am I supposed to shit my pants in fear?”

Javier's stomach ached badly. It's been a while since he was afraid of something.

“No.” - Carrillo responded, shaking his head. He pointed the gun and shot, with no hesitation.

His body just fell on the floor, like it was nothing.

“Am I making myself clear? I want you to tell your friends that this is what happens when you work for Pablo Escobar!” - he shouted.

Carrillo analyzed the boys and chose one: the youngest, probably no more than 7 years old. The boy was crying, in silence.

He bent down, looked deeply in his eyes and handed him a bullet.

“Take it.” - the little boy obeyed. - “Tell them this is for Pablo.”

Carrillo stood up again, as if nothing happened.

“Remember what you saw… And know what will happen to you if I see you on a rooftop. You can leave. Now!” 

The five boys ran as if their lives depended on it.

Javier couldn't move. He felt like throwing up. He looked at Carrillo, as if he asked something. 

Carrillo’s expression was cold and distant.

They all drove back to CNP in silence.

When they arrived back, Steve met Javi on his way out.

“Javi, where are the fucking spotters?” - Steve asked, anxious.

“Carrillo went a different way… He, uh… He cut them loose.” - Javier responded, screeching his head, tense. How the hell is he going to tell what happened?

“Oh, we're letting people go, now? I bet Y/LN will be pissed AF…”

Javi rolled his eyes and, lighting up a cigarette, said:

“Yeah, Murphy, we're letting people go.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it, man.” - Javier opened the door of his truck. He needed to leave as fast as he could. He needed a hug. He needed to feel human again.

“Hey, fucking talk to me!” - Steve demanded, interrupting the friend.

“Let go my fucking arm.” 

“What the fuck happened?!” - Steve continued to bother Javier.

Javier sighted and responded:

“Carrillo put a gun to the kid's head and pulled the trigger… To make a fucking point.”

Steve swallowed hard. 

“We good now?” - Javier mocked, entered his car and headed to the apartment complex where you all lived.

***

About late at night, you hear fervorous knocks at your door.

You were awake, since you just got home.

You pick up your gun and open the door, without noticing that you were only wearing a thin long gray dress, showing your curves.

It was Javier, looking like shit with a bottle of whiskey and a cigar in hand.

“Let me in, please, cariño.” - his brown eyes were almost black. Sad and big.

You put down the gun and let him in.

“Peña, you look like shit… What happened?” - you asked, as you both sat down on your couch and he served whiskey to both of you and put the cigar in the astray.

“Salut, cariño.” - he raised his glass.

You raised as well, drank it up and put away the glass.

“Damn, Peña. That's good stuff… You didn't answer me. What happened?” - you uttered. You knew something bad had happened. The cigar, the good whiskey, his painful expression…

“Cariño, I… I don't know how to say it.” 

“Start from the beginning, Javi… I'm right here.” - you suggested, softly.

You were genuinely concerned for him.

He kissed your lips, softly, by surprise. 

You stop after a few minutes, reaching out for air. Your apartment felt like a thousand degrees. Your body was sweating, the adrenaline was running through your veins. But, again, you’d deny even from yourself.

“Javi…” - he already knew what you're going to say and he doesn't want to hear it again. 

“Cariño, please don't. Not now. I need to forget about today's route.”

“Okay, baby boy.” - you sat on his lap and kissed him deeply. He melted under your lips, his hands touching your body, hungry.

You only needed an excuse to be with him again. 

Just one more night… - you thought.

If you were wearing pants, they'd be on fire.

“Cariño, just a heads up…” - he started.

You looked at him, confused, waiting for the rest.

“I won’t be gentle. Right now, I can't. I'm really not capable… Are you okay with it?”

You continued on his lap, but now, you put your knees on each side of his body and he involved his arms around you. Even wearing clothes, the electricity was passing through both of you.

“Show me your worst, Peña… I dare you.” - you whisper.

He smiled, but his eyes darkened with lust.

Javier literally ripped your dress, revealing your skin.

“Hey! Are you fucking crazy, Javi?” - you yell at him. - “I’m gonna fucking…” - you didn't finish, as he slapped your cheek, not enough to hurt you, he never would, but enough to surprise you and make you shut up.

“You don't speak until you're spoken to, babygirl. You don't come until I say so. You won’t do anything without me saying. If you behave like a good girl, I may let you cum. If not, I'm gonna punish you. Understood?”

You shook your head positively, incapable of believing in what was happening.

He slapped your ass, bringing you back.

“Words, cariño.”

“Yes, I understood it.” - you responded, in a low voice.

Who was that man on Javier's body and where he was the first night we were fucked? - you thought. 

“Good girl, cariño…” - he touched your body, started at your neck and went down to your waist. - “Now, how do I begin? I've got so many options, so many possibilities… I know we only had sex one time, one night, but I feel like I know your body really well, cariño.”

You looked at him, anxious, waiting.

He picked you up in his arms and took you to your bed.

“Now, we're ruining your bed, cariño.”

He ripped your panties and, with no warning, kissed your mound. You relaxed as he kissed slowly for a bit. 

He got up, leaving you clenching over nothing.

He began to take off his suit and tie, your eyes hungry for him, mouth watering.

“What do you want, cariño?” - he asked, eyes locked up with yours.

“Can I help you undress, Javi?”

“Such a polite girl… Yeah, you can.”

You took off his tie, letting it rest on the bed. Helped him with the buttons on his shirt, holding back the urge to rip them as he did with your dress.

He took off his shoes and socks and you unbuckled his belt, letting it side with the tie… You had a dirty idea, but it would have to wait a bit.

At last, his pants went down with his boxers.

He was deciding on what to do, but you couldn't wait. Your hand touched his lower belly, aiming for his dick. 

“Oh, cariño, you want to use your mouth, now? Wanna please me?”

“Yes, Javi.”

“Beg for it.” - he said in that condescending tone you hated.

“Javi, please, let me suck your dick.” - you coo.

He caressed your cheek with one hand and the other held his shaft.

“I don't think you want it enough, cariño.” - and he slowly started going up and down his length. He had a stupid cocky smile on his face.

“You know I can be better than your hand, Javi… Please, let me touch you, I'm begging you…” - your voice barely was a whisper into your room.

“Go ahead, cariño… But don't be greedy. I don't wanna come right now.”

Your lips wrapped around his tip, while he held your head. Your tongue and lips worked up and down, while one of your hands cupped his balls.

“Fuck, cariño… I knew you were missing me, but didn't know you were so hungry for my cock.”

He grabbed your hair, setting the rhythm, until you couldn't stand only worth your knees on the bed, needing to claw at his tights, and your nose almost touching his pelvis. 

He was fucking your throat and you were so wet.

His mouth was making obscene sounds, saying how good you're doing, how badly he missed you and your beautiful lips.

He slowed down the rhythm, until he stopped, taking it off your mouth. His dick was aching for more, but he wanted to come inside of you.

“You did good, cariño. Can you continue to be a good girl for me?”

“Yeah, Javi.” - you responded. Your legs were trembling, your pussy throbbing for attention.

“Lay down and open your legs for me… Yes, just like that. Tell me, where did you leave your vibrator?”

“In the bathroom, the second drawer.”

“Don't move.”

He picked it up and examined it, curious about the pink wand in his hand.

“So, you've been touching yourself in the bathroom? Door closed? Biting your lips or a towel to not make any noise?”

You don't respond to it, you’re just running away from his glaze. 

He slapped your ass again.

“Look at me while I talk to you.” - he demanded. - “Answer me!”

“Y-y-yeah, Javi. I was doing it in the bathroom, biting a towel.” - you murmured.

“Now, you're gonna show me what you've been denying from me to hear, such as in person as through these walls… But don't come. Not until I say so.” - and handed you the vibrator.

“But Javi, I can't control myself when I use it…”

He smiled, the same sly smile you knew and hated.

“That's not my problem. You come when I say it.” - he was being ruthless towards you.

With your right hand shaking, you started to use your wand on the softest mode, as you were so aroused since it all started.

Your room was filled with vibration sounds and your moans. Your eyes looking at his figure, wishing he’d do something to you instead. 

You were also a hundred percent sure Javier was punishing you somehow. He wanted to prove himself again.

Javier, on the other hand, was admiring you. The way your pupils were dilated, your body was shaking, your smooth skin chilling, your beautiful pussy soaking wet… If he could, he'd take a picture just to eternalize that moment.

“O-o-oh fuck, Javi… I can't take it anymore… I'm so close, please, let me come!” - you beg.

He smirked at you.

“Oh, cariño, you're close?” - he leaned towards you, as if he was going to enter at your pussy. It only made it worse and closer, as you could almost feel his scent and his warm skin.

“Holyfuck, Javi, please! Please let me!” - you beg, desperately.

He grabbed his belt, tied your wrists together, holding your vibrator in your clitoris. After, he shoved his dick inside of you.

“Go ahead, cariño. Come for me and on me.” - he ordered.

You thank God he said that. You squealed his name high, releasing all of your juices onto him.

You were positively sure you woke up your neighbors.

“Oh, fuck! So good for me, cariño.” - Javier praised you.

He continued without any pity towards you, pounding hard inside you. 

Not only you’re embarrassingly wet, you were so overstimulated that the orgasm was knocking at your pussy again, so fast

“I love when you yell my name, cariño!” - he said, full of bliss.

“Javier, for god's sake!” - you yell again.

“¡Mierda! Cariño, are you close again?” - he asked with a devilish tone. - “What a delicious greedy pussy, missing me so much… Oh, fuck!”

Tears began to go down your face. It was impossible to hold anything more and, without his permission, you came again, your body shaking vigorously.

“Holy fuck, Y/N!” - It was his time to yell your name as loud as he could. - “I can... I can feel... You're so fucking tight, you're gonna rip my dick off!"

He untied you and turned off your wand. It relieved you for a bit, but he laid on top of you and chased his own orgasm. 

After he came, you both lay next to each other, gasping for air, eyes locked up to each other.

“I missed you so much, Javi…” - you reveal.

He smiled, happy. His hand went to your cheek, fondling.

“Yo también te extrañe, cariño. You have no idea…” (I missed you too.)

“I think I do, Javi… Te extrañe todos los malditos días desde la primera noche.” (I missed you all those damn days, since the first night.)

“Gracias a Díos, cariño. I thought I was alone in this mess.” (Thanks God.)

You laughed together.

“You can't pretend that you don't want to be with me anymore, cariño. I'm serious.” - he declared.

You sighed.

“I know, Javi… But we also know it's not that simple… We work together, I'm your boss, Escobar is on the run…”

“We can take it slow, we don't have to do anything you don't feel like it. But don't push me away again.” - Javier begged you.

“I really don't know how to, Javi. I don't know how to. I haven't dated since…” - you didn't finish.

His eyes were soft and warm, like cocoa on a winter night. Your heart felt like an ice cube on the sun, again. 

“Since your ex, Ben?” - he asked.

“Yep.” - you responded, popping the “p”. - “‘It’s not gonna be easy for you, so I’d like to warn you: if you have anything to tell me, tell me as soon as possible. I’m not gonna demand you to do it now, but think if you have anything to tell me, and if you do, you can.”

“First, we need to get to know each other. Build trust and I’m not talking about the field. Let’s get to know each other, talk, laugh, have sex, grab a bite. We’re neighbors, we don’t even need to leave our apartments if you don’t want to.”

“No one can know about us, Javier Jesus Peña. Not even Murphy.”

“Don’t worry about it, cariño.” - he pecked your lips softly.

“And please, don’t sleep with anyone else and it includes your informants.” - you rolled your eyes. - “I know, it’s stupid since we’re not in a relationship, but if you want to do it, please, just end this… this thing we’re about to begin. I’m not saying that again.”

“Cariño, for God’s sake!” - Javier laughed, his hand left your face to your waist. - “No one ever made me feel this way.” - you laughed. - “I’m serious, hermosa. Don’t worry about it.”

You breathe out heavily.

“Well, let’s see how it goes.” - you say, still not allowing your heart to sink further. - “We need a shower, Javi. Care to join me?”

He smiled and you both entered your bathroom... But Javier's mind didn't care for sleeping. He still needed to punish you for coming without his permission, while you were filling the bathtub, distracted.

"Of course, cariño... Besides, you haven't exactly been a good girl for me for a few days. Don't think I'll let you escape that easily."

Your eyes went to his naked figure, surprised.

"Oh, I thought I was off the hook..."

Next

[kanerallels]

Day two of @spectre-week is for our beloved Captain Hera and oh BOY did I just barely finish this fic in time. Had to scrap my old one, then finished this in a haze of panic yesterday. But I actually stand by this! (It is low key set in my Steve Miller Au but you don't need prior knowledge of it to read this. Just enjoy!)

Once upon a time, Hera Syndulla was an only child.

And then, quite suddenly, when she was six years old, she wasn’t any more. Her mother, Eleni, told her she was going to have a baby brother or sister and Hera, well, she was excited, if a little wary. She’d seen her friends playing with their siblings, though she’d also seen them bickering and stealing things from each other. 

But Eleni told her she was going to be an amazing big sister, and her father was glowing with pride and happiness, boasting to his friends and co-workers, and Hera decided it probably wouldn’t be so bad. At least she’d have someone to play starships with.

Time ticked by, and Eleni’s belly grew, and she spent more time sitting down than standing. When she got up, she groaned about her swollen ankles, but she was still happy. And so was Cham.

The day when the baby came was long, and hard. Hera hated the sound of her mother in pain, and she could tell her father did, too. He paced the length of their house again and again, and told her mother that they should go to a hospital, that she needed help.

But Eleni was insistent. She wanted a home birth, assisted by midwives, in Ryloth tradition. So Cham gritted his teeth and paced, and Hera stayed curled up in her favorite chair, wincing at every cry.

But the end came, and with it, joy, and a new baby brother. Hera sat on her mother’s bed as Cham cradled both Eleni and the new baby close, then took her little brother out to show him off to the relatives. Then she hugged her mother, who kissed her on the forehead.

“I’m fine,” she told Hera. “Just because it’s scary doesn’t mean it’s bad. Your brother is here, safe and sound.”

Hera was a little unsure about the first part— at first. But then, finally, when Cham was back, he gently put her brother in her arms. Their eyes met, wide, for the first time, and Cham said, “Hera, meet Devaar Syndulla. Your little brother.”

“He’s tiny,” Hera breathed, staring at him. His lekku were barely stubs, his skin a delicate shade of green, like she and her mother’s. His eyes were orange, though, like her father’s, and they held hers with a wondering confusion.

“You were at first, too,” Eleni said. “He’ll grow. But he’ll need a big sister to look after him.”

“I will,” Hera promised.

True to her word, Hera kept a close eye on Devaar— which everyone quickly shortened to Dev. Unfortunately, for the first several months, he didn’t do much interesting. Other than cry and sleep and eat.

But, in a way that was painstakingly slow, yet flew by, he grew. Soon he was crawling, and then Hera had a lot of work to do, helping her mother keep him out of trouble.

It only got worse when he learned to walk. Dev had inherited his parent’s propensity for trouble, according to Cham, who laughed proudly and swung him in the air, eliciting gurgles of laughter. He made bolts for the door and for the dangerous stairs, trying to grab hold of pointy things and sharp objects.

Hera got very good at distracting him, oftentimes with her toy starships. She kept her favorite (a VCX freighter) hidden on a shelf where he couldn’t chew on it or break it, but showed him how to fly around the gunships and the starfighters.

Some of them even matched the ones they began to see overhead, more and more. Hera’s father was clearly concerned about them— and one day, it came to a head. The Republic was at war, and Ryloth was caught in the middle.

Hera and her family had to go into hiding, which Dev did not appreciate. But the bombings were dangerous, and the Separatists hated Cham. The feeling was very mutual. Hera’s father spent most of his time away from them, fighting against the invaders and alongside the Jedi and Republic troops.

While she knew it was dangerous, Hera liked to watch the ships soaring overhead. There was a spot not too far from their hideout underground where she could see out of an old drainage tunnel, and she could watch the gunships passing. Sometimes— only when it was safe and her mother was napping— she brought the one year old Dev, carefully watching him to make sure he didn’t run off.

“I’ll be up there one day,” she whispered to him. “Flying, like them.”

Dev babbled something that sounded like encouragement, and Hera decided to take it as such.

After what felt like years, the bombs stopped, and Hera’s father came home, his eyes wearier than last time he’d been with them. They were safe, he said, from the Separatists. And he brought with him a company of clones, who helped Hera, Dev, her mother, and all the other refugees return home safely.

Home was a little worse for wear, but Eleni always liked a project. They started fixing things up, and Hera was just starting to wonder if life would be normal again.

And then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

Dev got sick.

It was just a cough that wouldn’t go away at first, paired with a runny nose. But then it got worse, until the cough sounded like it was tearing apart his lungs. A fever sprang to life, and Dev was wailing with pain.

They tried everything. Antibiotics, half a dozen Republic drugs and even more old remedies that Eleni’s mother had used on her. Nothing seemed to work. Dev got sicker, and sicker, his skin pale and his movements listless. Soon, he barely moved at all, and Hera could read the fear on her parent’s faces.

They thought her little brother was going to die.

He can’t, Hera thought, staring at Dev. She’d stuck by his bed since the fever started, watching over him. Giving him water and cooling him with wet cloths. To think that her little brother would just… be gone? He couldn’t be. The galaxy wouldn’t do something so cruel.

Please, she thought. I’ll do anything. We can’t lose Dev.

Her answer came two hours later, in the form of a knock at the door.

Cham and Eleni had prepared for the worse. They were crouched next to Dev’s bed, tears in Eleni’s eyes and helplessness in Cham’s. Neither of them looked up at the knock. But Hera did.

Getting up, she walked downstairs to the door, keeping her steps quiet so she wouldn’t disturb her parents. Pulling open the door, she started to tell whichever neighbor it was that they didn’t want visitors right now.

But it wasn’t a neighbor. It wasn’t anyone she’d ever met before.

The human woman was hooded and cloaked in white, but when she looked at Hera, Hera could tell she was smiling, even under the shadows. “Hello,” she said, her voice holding an unfamiliar accent. “You must be Hera. I’ve heard much about you.”

“Who are you?” Hera asked, confused. “Are you a friend of my father’s?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure. But the Force told me to come here. I’m here to help your brother.”

That was all Hera needed to hear. Wordlessly, she stepped aside, and the woman came inside.

Eleni didn’t move when they entered the bedroom, but Cham looked up at the sound of the woman’s arrival. Wariness flashed across his face, and he rose, making a barrier between his wife and child and the stranger. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Forgive me for intruding,” the woman said, her voice soft and calm. “As I told your daughter, the Force sent me here. I believe—”

“She said she can help Dev,” Hera blurted out, and then Eleni looked up.

Gaze locking onto the woman, she rose and pushed past Cham. “Can you?” she asked, looking directly at their guest.

“I can.”

“Then please.” Eleni’s voice cracked. “Please. We cannot lose him.”

“I will do everything I can,” the woman promised.

She looked at Cham, seemingly questioning. Cham hesitated, then said, “You’re a Jedi?”

The woman seemed to hesitate briefly. “Not— exactly. But I promise, I am here to help your son. Let me try, and if you think I’m hurting him, you may remove me.”

Cham’s jaw worked, but he glanced at Eleni and Hera, then at the bed where his son lay. Then he nodded, moving to the side. “Do what you can.”

The woman was at Dev’s side in an instant, pushing back her cowl a little as she knelt. Moving to watching her, Hera saw her rest a hand, marked with geometric tattoos along the back, on Dev’s head.

“He is very weak,” she said. “But I can help. It will take a little while, so—”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Eleni said.

The woman’s smile was just visible. “Of course. You may wish to make some caf, though.”

Cham made a little, and they settled in to wait. Even Hera got a mug, and found she actually enjoyed it— with milk and a little sugar. They sat together and waited, watching and hoping desperately.

It didn’t seem like the woman was doing anything. She was just kneeling there, a hand resting on Dev’s forehead. She didn’t say anything or bring out any props. She just knelt, eyes closed, for a long time. So long that Hera was starting to nod off against her father when a noise cut through her sleepiness.

It was a cry. Dev’s voice.

Hera’s eyes flew open, and all three of them bolted to their feet as the woman rose. “He’ll be alright,” she told them, and Eleni burst into tears. “Give him some water and a little tea tonight. Tomorrow you can give him food.”

Cham, tears in his own eyes as he put an arm around Eleni, said, “How can we repay you?”

Shaking her head, the woman said, “No payment necessary.” Giving them a little bow, she headed down the stairs.

Cham and Eleni went immediately to Dev’s side, gathering him up in their arms. For a moment, Hera hesitated. Then she followed the woman.

Their mysterious guest had already made it out the door and a little ways down the street when Hera caught up with her. It was late, and three of the moons were full and bright above them.

“Wait!” Hera called out, and the woman stopped, turning to face her. Her cowl was lowered, and her face was kind, with bright blue eyes and dark tattoos.

Pausing, Hera struggled for words, then asked, “Why? Why did you help us?”

Smiling, the woman said, “Because you needed it. And because an old friend asked me to.”

“How?”

“The Force flows through all living things,” the woman told her. “I just gave it a little nudge in this case.”

Hera nodded slowly, wrapping her mind around the words. “And you’re… not a Jedi?”

“Admittedly, it is a little complicated,” the woman said thoughtfully. “I was, at one point. Perhaps I still am. But I think what’s most important is that your brother is still alive. Perhaps he’ll help the galaxy someday. And so, I think, will you, Hera Syndulla.”

She smiled, and turned, walking down the road. Soon, she was out of sight.

But Hera never forgot it. Forgot what the Jedi had done for her family. Especially not, years later, when she saw someone do the same thing, far above Gorse.

It wasn’t the first miraculous thing she’d seen, and it was far from the last. Her journey was just beginning.

[usafphantom2]

Clarence “Kelly “Johnson died in Los Angeles on December 21, 1990, near his beloved Burbank Skunk Works. Kelly’s motto was “Be quick, quiet, and on time.”

The SR 71 was very quick, and sorties were always coordinated to be on time, although the third element was way off. As the SR 71 is anything but quiet!

In early 1958, Kelly also understood the necessity when he stated:

‘’ it makes no sense just to take yes one or two steps ahead because we’d be buying only a couple of years before the Russians would be able to nail us again… I want to come up with an airplane that can rule the skies for a decade or more. The higher and faster we can fly, the harder it will be to spot us much less stop us.” The record of the SR 71 still stands as far as we know. That simple statement was to set the stage for the creations that were to follow.

Project Black shield: during May 1967, the possibility that the North Vietnamese could acquire surface to surface missiles began to be discussed within the highest government levels in Washington.

With such an alarming prospect, President Lyndon Johnson authorized operation Black Shield to begin immediately.

The new assignment involved three A-12s being ferried to Kadena in late May 1967 for service with 1129th SAS (Special Activities Squadron) detachment one, The first sorties took place on May 31 and was declared a huge success, capturing almost half the know 190 surface to air missile sites, as well as other priority targets. The A-12 flight lasting three hours and 55 minutes.

A further 28 sorties were flown by the three aircraft until May 6, 1968. 24 of these were above North Vietnam, two over Cambodia and Laos, and three to North Korea.~ Bob Archer

Interestingly, there was an overlap of time when both sets of Blackbirds were flying at the same time! March 1968 is when the SR 71 first arrived. The months of March, April, and May certainly would’ve been interesting and slightly confusing to the natives. It was the people that lived on the island of Okinawa that named the SR- 71 the Habu. Habu is also the name of a black snake. The sons and daughters of the Habu’s’s are called Habubrats.~Linda Sheffield

My source is a book by Bob Archer, “ Lockheed SR 71 Blackbird” The book is full of excellent pictures and information that I have never read before highly recommend. Post by Linda Sheffield Miller

This picture is of the M- 21 a derivative of the A- 12 you can find it in the Museum of Flight, Seattle Washington

@Habubrats71 via Twitter

[mxanigel]

10 some # of characters | 10 some # of fandoms | 10 a negotiable number of tags

thank you for the tag beloved @poetikat <3 <3 <3

1) Hange Zoe + Levi Ackerman -- Attack on Titan. (They're a unit to me, okay?) Hange is an energetic ruthless clever jovial skilled enby who has captured my whole heart. Levi is crude and harsh and strong, someone who needs and deserves love AND HE WILL GET IT.

2) Beatrice the Golden Witch -- Umineko When They Cry. My ultimate "I support women's wrongs" character. Queerqueerqueerqueerqueer. I can't explain too much because MASSIVE SPOILERS but she is everything. ahahaha.wav (Her Japanese voice actress is freaking incredible.)

3) Renne Bright -- The Legend of Heroes series. My beloved Angel of Slaughter. What you've been through. How you've fallen. How you've gotten back up. How you've faced the demons of your past and the unexpected family in your present. You're loved for who you are, not what you could have been, and that's one of the most precious things I've ever seen.

4) Lloyd Bannings -- The Legend of Heroes series. I don't know where to start with this guy. I love him. I know I'm cheating by not choosing a different fandom here (even though he was introduced in a different game from Renne), but he is MY BOY. He sees the good in people and ensures that his actions are driven by evidence and truly cares about those around him. Part of my inspiration for OC Shion Miller tbh.

5) Toothless -- How to Train Your Dragon. Flying black cat who breathes fire. 'nuf said. :D

6) Mara Jade -- Star Wars. Female Force-using badass with a lightsaber and a dark background and red hair and falls for Luke and and and AUGH. She is why I fell for the Expanded Universe. She is why I fell out of love with Star Wars when Disney made those novels not canon. I still love Star Wars. I just can't engage the same way I used to.

7) Qifrey -- Witch Hat Atelier. I'm not even four volumes into this breathtakingly-drawn manga but this man provides one of THE best examples of a mentor-mentee relationship that I've ever seen in fiction. He sees his apprentices as individual, unique humans each with different strengths and different needs. And he teaches them magic in line with those strengths and those needs. While acknowledging that they're human and don't need to be perfect. He's the kind of mentor I want to be to my students.

8) Saeki Sayaka -- Bloom Into You. Oh girl. You deserve the world. And yet you fell for a girl who would ultimately fall for someone else. Despite all the things you did for her. It's fine. You're fine. You'll be okay. You'll find someone new. Who will love you and challenge you and and and I JUST LOVE HER ARC OKAY?

9) Anora Mac Tir -- Dragon Age. Queen. I love Loghain and she loves Loghain and SHE STANDS UP TO HIM. Yet her behavior UNDERSTANDABLY changes depending on whether the Warden spares her father. She deserves the world and more.

10) Ashley Williams + Kaidan Alenko -- Mass Effect. The one-or-the-other Virmire survivors (someday I may install the mod that enables both to live. SOMEDAY). I've romanced them with different Shepards. I've had those Shepards rekindle their relationships post-Horizon or never try. They're amazing wonderful nuanced characters who deserve more love.

Honorary mention: Lae'zel, Shadowheart, and Karlach from Baldur's Gate 3. I'm still in Act 2. There's so much I still don't know about these women. But I love them and I will defend them until I'm out of breath. And someday I will get to know Minthara and fall hard for her too.

no-pressure tagging @saraptor @spindleweedss @mxkelsifer @milesmentis @blightcaller @druckkugelschreiber @nightingalesighs @korblez @dr-paine @captastra @perhapsrampancy @socially-awkward-skeleton @valiantvillain and anyone else who might like to play~

[annasinterests]

'cause you know it's you, babe

|| main masterlist ||

a/n: maybe it’s just because i’m in my feels right now that’s basically forcing me to write this up on the fly (kinda bc i be gettin distracted), but i’ve been really thinking about soft!joel and just finding such comfort in it. also this is barely proof-read and it’s past 2am so pls overlook any errors thanks love u all <3 also joel gif to reflect the mood/vibe

word count: 1k (awe)

pairings: joel miller x reader

warnings & tags: nothin but fluff n' luv for my beloved 🤍

joel miller. a mysterious, yet highly respected figure for his efforts towards jackson. there’s not a whole lot known about him, besides the fact that he’s related to tommy, and that he, you, and ellie basically belong to one another.

with settling, he realized that he didn’t have to be so strung out all the time. for once, he could take a breather– enjoy a conversation here or there, go for a walk within the safety of the walls.

but slowly, he found more— he found love.

well.. the love was already there. it had always been there. so, the better thing to say would be that he was finally allowing himself to love.

and the person in question? you.

when he first comes to terms with it, he’s shy– scared, even. the concept of that kind of intimacy is foreign to him at this point, but he forces himself to push forward, because life was short before, and it can be cut even shorter now.

and he’s got a lot of of catching up to do

it starts off small– brushing arms and shoulders in group settings. he doesn’t need a reason to be with or close to you, it’s simply because he just wants to be. in the rare occurrence that you’re not together, the minute he sees you, he’s glued to your hip for the rest of the time being. and after a while, you start becoming this official package that people grow to notice.

he appreciates being crammed in the corner of a booth next to you during the weekly get-togethers at the Tipsy Bison with coworkers because it’s one of the very few times where he doesn’t have to do much to get you pressed against him. in fact, he takes advantage of it, going a step further and throwing an arm around your shoulders to “make more space”. the act is bold but it works because you don’t hesitate for a second to get closer to him.

he opens the door for you wherever you go and pulls out the chair for you before you sit down– both acts never done without an accompanying hand on your lower back. when you walk side-by-side, he intertwines your fingers or gestures so that you hold his arm, a subtle yet loud display of affection that solidifies your relationship.

during slow songs, he dances with you on the floor even if you’re the only pair out there, putting aside his own aversions because there’s nothing better than having you in his arms. he radiates a warmth that you can’t help but be more drawn to him, every touch and glance at one another making your heart flutter with an incomparable fondness. he melts into you– the tension that stresses his body just about everywhere instantly rids itself once he’s got you close, knowing that you’re with him and you’re safe.

after long days, he finds solace in you– one of the few people he holds close to his heart. once he comes home and finds you in the kitchen making dinner, he curls his body around yours and rests his chin on your shoulder, watching as you continue to go about cooking and placing gentle kisses on your cheek. you know the best way to cheer him up, besides a home-cooked meal, is to offer to play with his hair or brush his beard, which he always takes you up on and pulls you into his lap for you to work your magic.

over time, it only gets better.

you have late nights on the porch together, sometimes graced by the presence of a new guitar of his. most of the time, there’s a bottle shared between you both that’s used between conversation and kisses under the stars. he smiles wide and his cheeks burn a deep shade of red, a sight that he isn’t likely to let anyone else see, but one that he can’t and won’t hide from you.

his bed becomes yours, and he wonders how he went so long without having you next to him every night. in some way, shape, or form, you’re always tangled with one another; legs and arms strewn over the other. and more often than not, you wake up to his chest pressed against your back, his arms curling tighter around you when you attempt to get up because he wants every second possible with you.

he gazes at you with those lovey eyes, always caught between wanting to outright profess his love for you and wanting to admire you in silence out of fear that he’ll just screw everything up because there’s truly not enough words he could string together to ever accurately describe just how much you mean to him.

he swears to himself that it doesn’t get better than this– you’re basically his, and he’s basically yours, right? what else could there be?

clearly, he didn’t think about you professing your love first.

you were sitting on the couch when the words nonchalantly left your lips, causing him to abruptly sit up from where his head was on your lap. he didn’t know what to do, but knew he needed to do something to let you know that it very much went both ways. he looks at you nervously until you’re done, immediately kissing you and engulfing you with his arms once you’re done.

and, oh, is he so in love.

he mumbles ‘I love you’s between breaths and can feel it in the tears that are slowly brimming in his eyes. he kisses you softly but passionately, overwhelmed by all the emotions going through him at finally admitting what had been there all along– and nothing has ever felt more right in the world.

his love is everywhere you look– being able to sink into it all and feeling it wrap around you.

[sebsxphia]

Oh Miles Miller my beloved!!! in my mind he found happiness and peace with a good woman and left the hotel! can you write an imagine of him please?

neon lights.

miles miller x reader.

￫ c/w: one mention of mile’s nightmares, other than that, it’s all fluff and smush.

￫ a/n: ohhh miles miller my beloved! i would hope so too, he deserves the world and more! i also added in this ask here! i hope you enjoy! my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

“Miles!” You called out into the night searching for your husband. The summer rain was starting off as a light drizzle, threatening to get harder at any moment. The edge of Nevada and California was know for sudden rain that would come from no where and could leave you drenched in a second.

You heard his footsteps in the rain pacing round the corner. “Sorry, my love. I just had to lock up the storage room.”

His pace slowed as he came closer to the porch of the hotel. He reached out his palms to feel the droplets on his skin and dot in-between his cardigan. It was a hot day and the feeling of rain was a relief, feeling his skin cool down as he craned his neck up to the sky and let it splash down on his soft features.

You watched him keenly in the doorway. When you first met Miles he was timid bell boy and stumbled over his words when making any conversation with you, but you couldn’t deny his underlying southern charm that kept you coming back to the El Royale time after time. You only lived in the town over but you ended up finding any excuse you could to stay at the dinky hotel and see your sweet Miles again.

Miles felt his pulse quicken and palms turn sweaty every time you walked through those blessed doors. But without fail every time, his lips curled upwards into a warm smile when he saw the infamous glint in your eye he’d come to love so much. Months turned into weeks and he finally struck up the courage.

“What if you didn’t go home tonight.”

Your ears burned hot at his question.

“What?”

You knew what he was implying but God, you just wanted to make sure you heard him right. You had waited for this moment since the day you first laid eyes on him.

“Stay here tonight. Again, with me.” He reached out his slender fingers over the counter and brushed against your knuckles. It caused your stomach to feel like there were a million and one butterflies flying around in circles.

“I’d love that, Miles.” He loved the way you said his name. It was said with such love, such care. It sounded like a sweet song.

Over time, you soothed his nightmares at night and when he found them becoming a lot less frequent he asked you to marry him without hesitation. He couldn’t see a life without you, and after loosing so much he didn’t dare think about it. He didn’t want to loose you. Two years on from the day he asked you to stay the night, you were married. A small affair down the road and your honeymoon in Nevada. Miles refused to stay in the honeymoon suite at his own hotel, but could you really blame him?

And that’s how you came to find yourself watching your husband soak up the summer rain with an idea striking up in your brain.

“Stay there!” You called out to him as you turned on your heel back inside the hotel.

Plucking a quarter from the tip jar (it’s fine you’ll replace it), you popped it into the juke box turning on your favorite song, which also happened to be your wedding song. Not wanting to miss any of the blissful tune you hurried outside to join your husband, the music trailing through the hotel and to the outside. The song mixed in with the pitter patter sound of the rain.

“Mrs Miller.” He held out his damp hand to ask you to dance and you glady obliged. You giggled as he pressed you to his soaked frame, the rain seeping through onto your cotton blouse. One hand rested firmly on the small of your back, his other hand guiding you into a slow dance. Your feet splashed the rain water on the ground upwards so it soaked through the bottom of his trousers and stained your sheer tights. It didn’t matter though, not now. Not in this picture perfect moment.

The song continued to play and you hummed along while swaying gently in his arms. The red and neon glow from the hotel sign reflected on his face from the sheen of water running over his eyebrows and along his nose. His smile never left his face as he watched the way your eyes reflected the red glow when he spun you around. You both laughed as the movement made the water splash further along your already drenched bodies. The low glowing bulbs that lit up the car park were reflected in the puddles. It looked like you were in a Monet painting.

He brought you closer to his body after spinning you outwards and pressed his lips to yours, tasting the rain water and your favorite strawberry flavored lipstick. A luxury gift Miles got you for your birthday last year. The rain was cold even in the summer, but Mile’s body was warm and safe.

“I love you, darling.” He murmured barely above a whisper as the song began to fade.

He tucked a wet strand of your hair behind your ear and cupped your damp cheek.

“I love you too, Miles.”

[dthclws]

tagged by thea my beloved mutual thea :3 @belleandsaintsebastian

last song: fly like an eagle by the steve miller band

currently watching: i just rewatched star wars the empire strikes back.. trying to get through the ot and pt between classes and such. tv wise. criminal minds season seven -_-

currently reading: beserk :) my good friend guts from beserk. and between existentialism and marxism by jps. also some stuff for my lit class just finished the plague by camus last week we're gonna be reading my brilliant friend this week. i think

current favourites: hm.. working out has been getting up there on my favorites recently + watching movies + video games hashtag always + writing to get it out + poetry + sci-fi.... necromancer.. + jc denton deus ex + really bad but im smoking again + skipping classes that i pay money for + irish coffee + cold air

tagging @comicsguy @hoohoobeanie @allthisheaven2 @transgirlbuffysummers (when they get back) and anybodyelse who wants to do a lil tag game.

[carolrain]

10 Things for 2023

Thank you for tagging me, @mostlyinthemorning

As we stagger into the new year, let's share the things we want to do in 2023.

A fic idea you want to write (or read): I think I’ll write quilter!Patrick.

A place you want to go: Oh I would be thrilled to go anywhere. Realistically, though, the coast. Or Sequoia National Park might happen.

A book you want to read: Flying Solo by Linda Holmes. Oh, a couple of people have said The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller, which is also in my TBR pile and sounds more daunting, so maybe that’s my stretch goal.

Something fun you want to do: I want to teach my newest nephew baby sign language so he and I can communicate. I want to be his special buddy and irritate his parents.

Something you want to make: I promised someone I’d show her how to sew fabric coasters (basically tiny quilts), and I’m kind of excited about it.

A habit you want to start: Maybe I will start running again. Maybe. I’ve been thinking about it.

Something new you want to try: Well, I bought my child a ukulele. Because it was turquoise and I thought she’d look cute playing it. Then I realized someone has to teach her to play the ukulele. Then I realized that it would probably work best if I learned how to play the ukulele and then taught her. So now I have a subscription to Ukulele Buddy and a new hobby for this year.

Something you want to finish from 2022: My beautiful, tragic, beloved amnesia fic. It’s going to happen.

Something you want to stop doing: Being as self-deprecating and apologetic when I talk about myself.

Something you want to keep doing: Writing.

Tagging @ramonaflow @alysiswriting @chelle-68 @mammameesh to share their 10 things for 2023.

[lokidottir1308]

Santiago "Pope" Garcia x fem!reader

Warnings: a little bit of angst and gore in the beginning

Note: I don’t speak any Spanish and English is not my first language. Please, if there are any errors, feel free to correct me so I can make some changes. Also, I‘ve watched Triple Frontier three times in the last four days, all because of Oscar Isaac and Pedro Pascal. Call me a girl with taste, but I am in love with men three times my age.

She was scared of flying, of helos, of airplanes in general. It wasn’t that she was scared of heights, she didn’t mind them, but rather that when she was still in the military, the helo she was in crashed, leaving her as the only survivor.

It was hard seeing her friends and comrades die. She‘d seen their bloody bodies, their organs ripped out of their chest and abdomen, their eyes opened wide in shock. It took five hours until someone found her.

Because of the blood loss, she‘d been unconscious and couldn’t help the others, even though there wasn’t much she could have helped them with.

She was glad Pope was with her now. The two had been dating since his senior year and her sophomore year of Highschool, but because of their work in the military, they weren’t married until five years ago.

She was scared to introduce Santiago to her brothers as her boyfriend when they started dating. Of course, the boys had known him their entire lives, but him dating their younger adoptive sister made things more complicated.

Eventually, they realized how well Pope treated her, and were happy the two of them had found each other. She‘d been to therapy ever since she came back. She knew Santiago also had a package to carry, and she didn’t want to burden him any more than absolutely necessary.

When she came back, Pope was the happiest man alive. The love of his life was back in his arms, safe from all the dangers she had encountered in the military.

"What did you just ask?" Will asked, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "I‘m going to propose to Y/N but I want your guys‘ blessings first." Pope spoke, looking between the two Miller brothers.

The blondes shared a look, silently conversing without having to say something. Simultaneously, they looked at Santi before nodding. "You have our blessing." Benny said, smiling at his friend.

A couple of months later, he took his beloved girlfriend to dinner. Despite him not having a lot of money, he took her to an expensive looking restaurant. They enjoyed the night, conversing, laughing and sharing kisses.

When he paid with his credit card, Y/N slipped half of the money into his pocket, smiling to herself upon realizing they both had payed equal money. Once Pope got his credit card back, he stood up and helped her putting on her coat, taking her hand and leading her out of the restaurant.

They had walked there, so they started walking down the road they had come from. After a few minutes, droplets of water started falling down on them, and within a few seconds, their coats were soaked with water.

She squealed once she realized Pope pulled her down the street and towards a meadow. He let go of her hand before outstretching it again. "May I have this dance?" He grinned. She grinned back at him before taking his hand. "You may."

They softly danced in the rain, his humming the only sound she could hear as she solely focused on him. She laid her head on his chest, one of her hands on his waist while the other was holding his hand.

He placed one of his arms around her shoulders, leaving kisses on the top of her head. He pulled away from her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her forehead. He got down on one knee and pulled out a red velvet box from one of his pockets. She slightly gasped at his gesture.

"Y/N, mi ángel, I know you‘re gonna hate me for how soppy this is gonna sound, but I don’t care. Back in Highschool when I asked you to go on that date with me, I didn’t expect you to agree. I was the happiest man on the planet, I still am because you’re by my side. I have loved you since we were children and I know I will love you till the day I die. You’re the one for me. You’re the person I want to wake up to every day of my life, the one I want to fall asleep next to and spend the rest of my life with. I love you with my entire heart, mi ángel. Quieres casarte conmigo? Will you marry me?" He spoke, his cheeks slightly damp.

It took a couple of seconds for her to process what he‘d said. Once she did, she started smiling like she was crazy, kneeling down in front of him and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

"Of course I‘ll marry you!" She exclaimed, enthusiastically. He pulled her closer by her waist, only separating to kiss her lips, "I love you so much."

"Hey, baby. Are you okay?" Santi asked, sitting down in the helo next to her. She took his hand in her‘s, glad he was there for her in this situation. "I‘m gonna be once we‘ve safely exited this thing." She spoke, tightening her grip on his hands.

He kissed her forehead before laying back against some of the bags filled with money, making space for her so she could lay on his chest, her legs in between his. He placed his hands around her waist, tucking her closer to him. "It‘s gonna be okay, darling." He assured her.

She opened her eyes, seeing Benny‘s and Will‘s scowl as they looked in the direction of the couple. They‘d been together for half their lives, yet Benny and Will remained the overprotective big brothers.

She smiled at their frowns before stretching her tongue out. Benny rolled his eyes with a small smile on his face, whereas Will held up his middle finger, grinning at his youngest sibling.

She grinned back at her brothers, closing her eyes again and nuzzling her face into Santi‘s neck, inhaling his scent. Knowing he was there calmed her a lot, she almost forgot where she was at.

She loved him dearly, she always would. He was the love of her life, the person she cared for the most. Without him, she probably wouldn’t have made it this far. She was glad he was her‘s and she was his. She would always stay by his side. Always.

[jjorbles]

(Repost) Why we want Batman to beat Superman

Note: This article was originally posted April 24th, 2015 on the Agony Booth, which I used to write for. Since that site is sadly no longer with us, I’m reposting my old articles here. 

Superman: The Movie was released nearly 37 years ago with the tagline “You will believe a man can fly”. Oft repeated, this phrase has since become more than a simple marketing gimmick. It now verbalizes everything Superman represents: Hope, belief in the impossible, and the potential greatness of humankind.

37 years later, we no longer believe a man can fly.

Warner Bros. has just released the first trailer for their upcoming Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice. And if you’ve been following my articles at all, you know I’ve been dreading this movie, mostly due to my displeasure with Man of Steel and DC Comics’ projects in general lately. This new trailer has done nothing to make me more optimistic. In fact, I’m more convinced than ever that Batman v. Superman is going to be the culmination of everything I dislike about superhero movies.

Batman v. Superman, whatever else it ends up being, is the end result of decades of heated fan debate: Who Would Win in a Fight? It’s a question comic readers have fought about time and time again, despite the comics being uninterested in answering it until relatively recently. The Caped Crusader and the Last Son of Krypton have butted heads once or twice over the years, but traditionally, DC Comics is much more about heroes teaming up than fighting. Pitting characters against each other for shits and giggles is much more Marvel’s thing. The notion that Batman and Superman should ever be enemies instead of friends didn’t really catch on until Frank Miller’s radical re-envisioning of the duo in The Dark Knight Returns.

But it all strikes me as a silly debate, even by comic book standards. By any reasonable argument, Batman vs. Superman would be about as much of a “fight” as Bambi Meets Godzilla. The only way to even pretend Batman stands a snowball’s chance in hell is to stack the odds in his favor with ridiculous deus ex machinas. “Oh, Batman would win because he’d have a bat-kryptonite ring or something!” Arguments like these are meaningless, because by that logic, anyone could beat Superman, especially if they happen to have kryptonite handy. It’s like saying Howard the Duck would win in a fight with Galactus because he’d just happen to have the Ultimate Nullifier on him.

And the reason why Batman is the frequent favorite in this fight has absolutely nothing to do with the actual capabilities of either hero. It stems entirely from popularity. Batman is generally the more beloved of the two, so when they do battle, writers use any excuse they can think of to have Batman emerge the victor. The insane popularity of Batman in the last few decades is a cultural phenomenon that I’ve devoted a lot of thought to, and to be honest, it kind of disturbs me. I don’t like what it says about the mindset of our culture and what we value.

Before I explain, let me say that while I may often give off the opposite impression, I actually really like Batman a lot. Even the Christopher Nolan version. I just get sick of the fandom’s laser focus on this one particular iteration of the character. I liked The Dark Knight as a film, but frankly, it’s among my least favorite versions of the Batman mythos. He’s one of the most adaptive and versatile characters in all of fiction, and with so many interesting and diverse visions of Batman out there, to be obsessed with just this one seems incredibly dull to me.

And the fact that Nolan’s take on Batman has become such a dominating cultural force worries me, because Nolan’s Batman has some really troubling themes going on when you really look at those films. Batman, at his core, has always had a somewhat fascist undercurrent to him. Certainly, that can be said of most superheroes, since the very concept of being a vigilante crimefighter implies an individual deciding his judgment is superior and forcing it upon others. But with Batman, these qualities have always seemed a little more pronounced. He’s an absurdly wealthy private citizen devoting his resources to assaulting and imprisoning people usually far less powerful and well-off than he is. At the very least, Batman can’t help but feel a tad elitist, regardless of how much his enemies are deserving of his wrath.

But in the Nolan movies, these troubling fascist themes are no longer just an interesting curio in the background. They’re magnified and put front and center. Christian Bale’s Batman is an explicit fascist. Brutal, manipulative, and largely uncaring about the collateral damage of his mission, he violates the civil rights and privacy of those citizens he professes to be protecting, and by The Dark Knight Rises, he and his allies have turned Gotham into a virtual police state.

It’d be interesting if Nolan’s trilogy was meant to be satirical, deconstructing the inherently fascist aspects of superheroes by exaggerating them, a favorite trick of Alan Moore’s. But the tone of Nolan’s Batman films is weirdly unironic, as though we’re meant to see Batman as completely justified in all his actions, and that Gotham City is actually better off sacrificing their freedoms for his protection.

I’m not saying that’s necessarily the wrong way to look at those films; I’m saying they don’t exactly leave much open for debate when it comes to some pretty complicated questions, and instead offer up the moral certainty that Batman is in the right. Bale’s Batman is one of the least heroic versions of the character I’ve seen, and may be even borderline sociopathic. So the fact that this is the version people have most latched onto is deeply troubling to me.

And really, why do people like Batman so much? I mean, I know why I like him. I dig the ninja/gothic/film-noir mystery mash-up aesthetic, and I like the sort of dark Peter Pan-esque story of a broken man who’s still a little boy trying to reclaim his lost childhood inside, and of course he has one of the greatest rogues galleries ever. But why do the people who don’t really like comics, who hate the Adam West show, who like to pretend Robin never existed, who shun all the colorful or weird parts of character, why do they like Batman? Why is Batman the one superhero who seems to particularly appeal to those who don’t even seem to really like superheroes?

Part of it may be that Batman, more than any other A-list superhero, most easily adapts to the “real world”, or at least as close as movies get. At the very bare bones of the Batman concept, there are no sci-fi or fantasy elements. He’s not an alien or a mutant, he didn’t fall into a vat of chemicals, and he’s not a mythological god. He’s just a guy in a costume who fights gangsters. So if you’re looking to make a toned down, “realistic” superhero movie for people turned off by more outlandish fare, Batman is probably your best bet. He’s the only hero with both the name recognition to draw a crowd and the flexibility to go the ever popular grim-and-gritty route.

But I think a bigger part of it is that Batman offers people a certain kind of wish fulfillment that other heroes don’t. Fans will tell you they prefer Batman because he’s “more relatable”, due to his lack of superpowers, but that has nothing to do with it. Surely, the socially-awkward middle class Clark Kent would be far more relatable to the average Joe than billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne.

Batman’s appeal is in his empowerment fantasy. Yes, Superman also offers the fantasy of being powerful, and we can identify with the shy, unnoticed Clark pining over the pretty girl in the office, and we can fantasize about secretly being the all-powerful he-man that can save the day and sweep her off her feet. But the fantasy of being Superman comes with restrictions. Superman is a role model, and therefore bound by a pretty strict moral code. Having all the power can seem a less appealing fantasy when you're not allowed to let your aggression out, or to unleash your id and go nuts. No one wants to be a smiling boy scout all the time.

But Batman is a little more flexible. Of course, he’s also bound by certain rules: He must never kill, and he must never use a gun. But Batman can get angry. Batman is allowed to intimidate and sometimes even torture people. And since Batman isn’t an alien Hercules who might decapitate someone if he gets rough, he gets to play hard. He can beat his enemies bloody. Batman offers the fantasy of being obscenely wealthy, sexually unattached, desired by women and feared by men, and able to take out your anger every night on anyone who looks suspicious.

Let’s face it, Batman appeals a lot to angry, antisocial misanthrope types. They don’t want to be a happy, monogamous goody two-shoes like Superman. They want to be rich enough to have anything they want. They want to plow model-attractive super-villainesses without the responsibility of a relationship. They want to sneak around and blow off steam by beating up anyone they think deserves it. They want to be feared and respected.

So truthfully, the reason why a lot of people like Batman is obvious. But why the fascination with seeing him fight Superman? Many of Batman’s fans don’t just seem to prefer him to Superman, they seem actively hostile to Superman. There’s something almost fetishistic about the way people would love to see the Dark Knight take the Man of Steel down a peg or two.

At first, it may seem like a simple case of people rooting for the underdog. Batman, a mere mortal, is obviously at a disadvantage going up against the godlike Superman, and people love to see the little guy triumph over impossible odds.

But that’s not really what this feels like. For one thing, it’s impossible for me to look at a conflict between a poor, well-meaning farm boy who fights for truth and transparency as a journalist and a manipulative, secretive billionaire on a violent, vengeful rampage and see the latter as the underdog, regardless of who has superpowers.

Whenever I ask people why they hate Superman, the response I get is always along the lines of “he’s stuck-up” or “he’s a wimp”. There’s this perception of Superman as being out of touch, a stuffed shirt, a coward. But any fair reading of almost any of his movies or comics doesn’t really support this, regardless of what you may have gathered from Superdickery. Superman has always been compassionate, brave, and heroic. So what exactly makes people see him as otherwise?

It feels like people want to see Superman punished. Punished for what, exactly? Well, what’s the principal difference between Superman and Batman? Yes, I know it’s hard to narrow down, since the two are night and day, but the one I’m focusing on here is optimism. Batman and Superman have views on the world that could only be more different if one of them was an outright villain.

Superman assumes the best in people. Batman assumes the worst. Superman is more about protecting the innocent, while Batman’s focus is on punishing the guilty. Superman lives in bright, clean Metropolis, and Batman lives in dark, crime-ridden Gotham. Superman lives in a world of hope, Batman lives in a world of fear.

People say they relate to Batman because of his lack of superpowers, but what they truly relate to is his anger. Unlike Superman, Batman lives in our world, or at least our world as we too often choose to see it. We’re pessimistic by nature, because it’s easy. It’s easy to see the bad in things. It’s easy to let all the horror in the world get us down. We dwell on it until it’s all we can see anymore. Mostly, it’s easy because it requires no effort. The world has always been shit and will always be shit, so why waste time trying to make it a better place? Gotham is the real world as viewed through the lens of a bitter person who’s given up.

But Superman is different. He may be a flamboyant fantasy, but the world he lives in is every bit as much the real world as Gotham. It’s just seen through the lens of an optimist. Superman is about hope, and Metropolis is the world as seen by a hopeful person. Superman challenges us to see the good in life, and dares us to actually make an effort to improve things. He tries to show us that life is worth living and that the world is worth saving.

But it’s hard to hope, and easy to despair. People turn away from Superman and towards Batman because he offers the easier path. Superman says, “Yes, life can be hard. Tragedies happen. Your home may blow up. Your father may die. The woman you love won’t even notice you. But you can overcome it. You can save the world. Because inside you’re strong. Inside you’re a Superman.” Batman says, “The world is misery and pain so don’t bother trying to fix it. You’re living in a madhouse. People are maniacs, and the only way to deal with it is to either lock yourself up in your house and shun everyone, or beat the maniacs bloody and lock them away where you never have to think about them.*”

[*Granted, that’s not a very accurate summation of the real message of Batman, but it’s what I think a lot of people take away from him.]

A big part of the plot of Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice seems to be the world becoming mistrustful of Superman. The trailer shows protesters yelling at him to “go home”. A statue of Superman bears graffiti reading “false god”. Voiceover narration talks about him as though he’s some aloof deity who everyone fears and mistrusts simply for being so powerful. As sad as this makes me, it may be the most accurate reflection of the current public perception of Superman.

The fantasy of Superman has always been that a man with that much power but also the strength of character to use it only for good could actually exist. That basic human decency could prevail over the corrupting influence of power. But maybe in a post-9/11 world, we’re just too mistrusting to believe in that anymore. The world just seems too confusing and violent for us to indulge in a happy fantasy like Superman.

So those who root for Batman to beat up Superman aren’t doing it because he’s the underdog, but because they hate Superman. They hate him for wanting to save the world and make a better tomorrow. Because they’ve given up on tomorrow. They want nothing more than to wallow in misery, and lash out at anyone who asks them to do otherwise. The strange thing is, I bet when a lot of these people were kids, they looked up to Superman as a hero. Now they only see him as a coward.

37 years ago, we believed a man could fly. Now all we want is to see that man dragged down into the dirt with us.

[theartistknownaslymond]

Francis in Russia for the playlist ask please!

This was actually astonishingly fun, and much easier than I expected, because there are so few Russian bands from the time whose lyrics I can find in English and whose music I'm happy to stream right now. Despite that, I'm probably going to have to have a daily listen to Go_A just to balance it all out.

Feared before God and the Devil

A band AU playlist for hiding your feelings behind the Iron Curtain

Falco - Einzelhaft [solitary confinement] Boney M. - Rasputin Mark Bernes - Журавли [zuravli/cranes] Steve Miller Band - Abracadabra Mashina Vremeni - В добрый час [v dobryi chas/good luck] Dschinghis Khan - Moskau Kino - Ночь [noch/night] Eurythmics - Sexcrime (1984) Akvarium - Пепел [pepel/ashes] Strannye Igry - Metamorfozi [metamorphoses] Kino - Растопите снег [rastopite sneg/falling snow] Akvarium - Танцы на грани весны (tantsy na grani vesny/dancing on the verge of spring) Mashina Vremeni - Пока горит свеча [poka gorit svecha/while the candle is lit] Kino - Проснись [prosnis'/passers-by] Akvarium - Рок-н-ролл мертв [rok n roll mertv/rock and roll is dead] Joanna Stingray - Love is No Joke Bauhaus - Ziggy Stardust Eurythmics - Greetings from a Dead Man Pentangle - Lord Franklin

Comments below the cut, as usual!

Apparently Abracadabra was a huge disco hit in Russia. Same with Rasputin and Moskau, so...I’m hardly going to leave the bangers off the playlist! I snuck Falco on as a kind of bridge to the Russian stuff, and because the lyrics fit so well.

The Mark Bernes song was the last one he recorded - he was a beloved Soviet celebrity of Jewish ancestry, and ‘Cranes’ was recorded when he knew he was dying. Kino, Akvarium and Strannye Igry are all underground rock groups from the ‘80s (all from the Leningrad scene) whose music was smuggled out by Joanna Stingray and released on the compilation ‘Red Wave’, which came out after Francis gets back from Russia, but opens the door to these artists being able to use official recording studios and play officially sanctioned venues. Mashina Vremeni are a Moscow band formed at the same time.

Purely by chance, I find that the Kino song I put on Francis’ pining playlist was actually recorded in English by Joanna Stingray in the late ‘80s. So I put her version on here, and I am considering the potential, as a parallel to the ‘yunitsa’ nickname, of Philippa not understanding the original lyrics very well and then being blindsided when she gets hold of the Joanna Stingray version.

Eurythmics’ 1984 themed album is there for the air of menace, for Francis and his band being followed everywhere by KGB agents including Ivan and his documentary crew. Bauhaus bring a gothy ‘80s vibe to Ziggy, and probably encapsulate the way the world sees Francis and his constantly changing array of backing musicians. And Lord Franklin for being sad and near-death in cold places far from loved ones/kind of a Willoughby reference though I haven’t yet figured out what his parallel is in the AU.

The photos are from a Russian digital archive. The musicians is an untitled photo by L. Zhaleiko, and the child and dog is ‘friends’ by Valerie Shustov.

1) '[On cold channels, the illusion of free choice / Doors of steel locking out time / Pink-orange filters, chemistry is enlightening you / If you're not capable of living, you're gonna die, too / Your guilt will never be forgiven]' 2) 'He ruled the Russian land and never mind the Tsar / But the kazachok, he danced really wunderbar / In all affairs of state, he was the man to please' 3) '[A day will come I'll join the cranes in flying / In their flock through evening glaucous haze / From high above I will be sadly crying / For all I knew and loved in those days]' 4) 'I heat up / I can't cool down / My situation goes 'round and 'round' 5) '[Let it be like the thread was never tightened / Not worth running, not worth staying back / It's been like this forever- easy to speak, Harder to play out, especially to sing]' 6) '[Moscow / Foreign and mysterious / Towers of red and gold / As cold as ice / Moscow / Who really knows you / knows a fire burns / in you so hot'] 7) '[Well, but I've always loved the night. / And it's my business - to love the night, / And it's my right - into the shadow to go away.'] 8) 'And so I face the wall / Turn my back against it all / How I wish I'd been unborn / Wish I wasn't living here.' 9) '[My efficiency increases with each passing day; / I love my walls, I call them "home". / I receive signals from different sides; / I sleep and see ashes in my dream.]' 10) '[I thought that the crying was laughter, / I confused the darkness for light, / Confused death for life / And myself - for someone else!'] 11) '[I cannot live without her anymore. / Help me, / Please, help me... / I cannot live without warmth anymore, / Help me, / I’m begging, help me...'] 12) '[I could write an epic story, / But why would I risk loosing my camouflage? / I could take a canvas and a brush. / But it ain't gonna change anything.'] 13) '[there are some days when you lose your heart / and there're no words, no music, and no strength left. / on days like these i was away from myself / and never asked anyone for help.'] 14) '[Every day you get back home when it's already dark / Every day you travel in subway when it's already dark / As for her, she lives in the centre of all cities / You want to to have her near you / But you've got to travel home 'cause it's already dark.'] 15) '[Elbow to elbow, a brick in the wall; / We stood too proud, we paid triple the toll. / For those who have waited, for those who have marched, / For those who will never forgive us that.'] 16) 'When the night's standing still / I can hear you play your guitar / But the tune, it seems so far / I took time to drink Slèzá / Your floor is my ceiling / So near but sometime away / But my beats with no delay / Alone in Russia, price I’ll have to pay.' 17) 'So where were the Spiders / While the flies tried to break our balls? / Just the beer light to guide us / So we bitched about his fans / And should we crush his sweet hands, oh...' 18) [instrumental] 19) 'With a hundred seamen he sailed away / To the frozen ocean in the month of May / To seek a passage all around the pole / Where we poor seamen do sometimes go...'

[jerryhughes]

I guess there is no time like now to let everyone know that in just a few weeks I’ll be returning to India to serve my beloved family at House of Hope! I’m super excited and so thankful for the three months I’ve had in the USA. More to come, but wanted everyone to know that on New Years Day, brings a new season at House of Hope! I’m flying from Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA to Nagpur, India bright and early on New Years Day. Also a very special thanks to my Uncle Craig and Aunt LuAnn Miller for sponsoring the return flight to india! 🤗 This new year marks 20 years of serving in some capacity in India! To be continued. #houseofhope #HF #family #newyear2023 #newseason #nagpur #india www.HFhope.org (at Nagpur) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cl5Pz3PsoAy/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[nityarawal]

3/7/2024

Morning Songs 

Writin' My "Jewel" Song 

I'm Gonna Write

My Jewel

Sittin' In The Rain

On The PCT

In Riverside

Listenin' 

To Her

Could Be Jelly

Sittin' In The Rain

On The PCT

Like Earnie Maxwell

And All The

Hikers Before Me

Did 'Jewel' Beg

For A Shower

At The State Park

With A Golden 

Bear Pass

Or Did She Eat

The Fifty Dollars

Like The Rest

Of Us

At The Kinder

County Shower

Gavin Newsom

Brags

About

A Free Golden Bear

State

Pass

But What He Doesn't

Say

Is Rangers Give

Us Danger

Stranger

Terrorising Moms

In Idyllwild

Misters

Won't Obey Governors

Laws

Anyways

Seemingly

Workin'

For America First Legal

Stephan Miller

Trumpleberry

OathKeepers 

What Marianne

Says

Is: You Do Politics

Or Politics

Does You

Raiding Homes

In World War 1

Woody Guthrie Sang 

Of

Trumpleberry Terrorism

Study Tesla

And See Trump On

Defense Team

Took Him Down

Raiding Homes

In World War 2

Like Elon Defeated

Now

In World War 3

Sleeping On The

Floor

Camping In CARS

In California

Flying The Globe

Eloning

Up In The Air

Praying

Feloning

God

My Beloved

Elon

Meditating

Do You Want Us

To Say How Much

We Love The "D"

Is It Better

Than Failing

Eloning

For A Fast "F"

For Military Ways

Do You Want Us

To Say

Numbers Station

Air FORCE

Was A Funny Game

90 Day Ap Challenge

Product Hunt

Smears

Was It A Funny Game

Grimesz 

Rewind AI

Fast Forward

Tips

Apple Frauds Felons

Refunds

Do You Want Us

To Know

Apple Cons

Dmv.org

On A Teenage

Bros

Drafted Junk

Do You Want Us

To See

Canadian Lab

Rats

Astronauts

Practicing

Anti-Apartheid

Medicine

Gag

Laws

Exploiting Thee

Quietly

Anti-semetically

Like Attys Force

Fed 'F's'

Do You Want To 

Be A Meme

Or A Human

Heart

Jai Ma

Is Three Maidens

Torturing

Physicists'

Your Old Jewish Man's

Atty

Judge

Dream

If You Want To

Be A Nanny

Meme 

Like The First Ladies

Kinks

Pupeteering

The Presidents

For Horn

Dogs

Prime Ministers

And Kings

Do You Want To

Be An Ad

For Spider Man

Bat Man

King With No

Clothes

Or Scorpion Balls

In Vegas

Do You Want To

Be An Astronaut

Or Greenwash

Trumpleberry Felons

For The Secret

Service

Alliance

From Britain

China

And 

Russia

SCOT

Or Do You Want

A Harem

Of Honest

Loyal

Muses

Mindfully

Singing

Psalms

For You

Trinity Divine

If You Fancy

Spider Lady

Kim Kardashian

After Buying

Texas Hold 'Em

Beyonce 

Robot

X For Forty Four Billion

Superbowl

Cons

And Losing Another

$Five Billion On

Tesla Gay Scam

Feloning

With America First Legal

Constructs

If You Want A

Spider Lady

Communist

Trans

Conservator

Putin' Baby

Trumpleberry

Ball

Then Say

If You Want

Two Million Trans

Ask Justin

Trudeau

To Pay For

The Scams

If You Want A

Kite Runner

For The Prime

Minister

Than Hire A Buddha

Don't Steal

Our DNA

My Pappa

Always Said

When He Goes

Cremate 

The Crud

My Pappa Always

Said When He Goes

Don't Delay

With Artificial

Means

Yogis 

Burn

Like Fire Blower

Maharishi

Not Neuralink

For 'Johnny' Beatles Fans'

Kids

Preserved Like An

Old Stuffed Dog

Not A Heart Beat

In A Hospital

Trapped

Between Cosmic

Lands

For Boppa's A 'Lover'

Like You And 

Me

Eloning Into

Eternity

He's A Lover Like

His Best Friend

Mitra June

He Calls Himself

Varuna

'Cuz He Feels

Like A God

With M-i-t-r-a

His Queen

And You Would

Too

He Feels Like A

God

With Mitra - His

Best Friend And

Sun

He Feels Like A

God

And You Would

Too

So Stave Off The

Airforce Hookers

Stave Off The

Astronomers Taxes

Nasa

Hustling 

Mammas 

Kidnappin'

Kids'

And Give Our

Mommies

Back

What Belongs

To Us

Refunds

In Earnest

Pleasantly

Peacefully

Civilly

'Cuz Your Cagin'

Your Loved Ones

'Ain't Love

Peace,

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

[usafphantom2]

Have you heard of the project Whale Tale?

Did you know that U2 landed on a navy carrier ship?

U-2 designer Clarence “Kelly” Johnson of Lockheed. Johnson made certain design modifications to the airframe, and the first test, codenamed Project Whale Tale, occurred on 3 August 1963 off the coast of San Diego. The modified U-2 lifted off from the deck of the USS Kitty Hawk without catapult assistance or incident, but its landing was a different matter. The expected “bounce” when the aircraft hit the carrier deck was damaged! I have heard that landing a U-.2 is very difficult. In mid-1963, the Office of Special Activities set in motion OPERATION WHALE TALE to examine the possibility of adapting the U-2 aircraft for operations from an aircraft carrier. CIA planners believed that if U-2s could be modified to operate from aircraft carriers, the United States could avoid the political problems involved in seeking permission to base U-2s in other nations.

The U-2, of course, has quite a history - an aircraft designed by the famous Kelly Johnson in Lockheed's mysterious "Skunk Works" (a reference to Al Capp's Li'l Abner comic strip, which was quite beloved at the time). The U-2 was designed to fly above known anti-aircraft missile ranges and the operating range of the interceptor aircraft of the day. Passed out of Pakistan and perhaps other locations, the U-2s overflew the old Soviet Union with some degree of perceived safety until the day when the Soviets managed to shoot one down. (May 1, 1960)This, in turn, led to the re-evaluation of the U-2 program and the controversy of basing locations arose, which PROJECT WHALE TALE was designed to address. Modifications were made to the U-2 by Kelly Johnson. (U2G)The modifications only took seven months, which was how the Skunk Works did things, fast and efficiently. They manage to get the U-2 to land on the carrier. On 24 April 1964 a single carrier-based U-2 mission to collect baseline photography of the French test site was approved. This mission was successful.. The project was canceled the decision was made to use cheaper satellites instead.Thank you Bill Kraus for bringing this to my attention

Linda Sheffield Miller Scott Kaiser