Summary: You're tired, pregnant, angry and you mess up the cookies meant for Joel. He gets a full blast of your hormones - and still manages to surprise you.
Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader
WC: 1800
Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Baking, Christmas Cookies, Christmas, Pregnancy, Female Reader, No use of y/n, Fights, Mention of normal pregnancy struggles, Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Nicknames, Kissing, Crying, Joel Miller in an apron
Read on AO3
full advent calendar (updated daily)
notes: another lil calendar piece that is also dedicated to steph's winter writing challenge (@toomanystoriessolittletime) with the trope baking <3
i also wanted to mention a very short but very lovely pregnancy piece by SwiggitySwagNightmareStag with peña that i found really inspiring in regards to p characters and how they handle pregnancy. you can read it here! <3
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You swore under your breath as you opened the oven door, only to be met with a gush of heat and the smell of burnt dough. The cookies that you had so carefully prepared, cut out in the shapes of christmas trees and hearts, had taken on a dark brown color, the furthest row from you already smoking slightly.
“Fuck-” With a quick move, you maneuvered the try of burnt cookies onto the sink to let them cool off. Looking at them in broad daylight, it was clear that they were barely edible and in no way as enjoyable as they should be.
You ignored the surge of anger inside of yourself, anger at the oven for being so damn unreliable, at the timer that you’d meant to replace ages ago, at yourself. You’d been too distracted with cleaning up, then being forced to take a quick trip to the bathroom upstairs and getting sidetracked with laundry.
A groan left you at the realization. The laundry was still soaking in the bathtub, abandoned the second you’d caught a glimpse of the clock and realized how long the cookies had been baking for.
Angry tears shot into your eyes. It felt like a never-ending battle between you and your ever-growing list of things to do, to prepare, to keep track of. And this had been the one thing you’d wanted to do for him, to thank him for taking over so many of said things now that you were in your third trimester. Maybe you could start over, hide the failed cookies, to spare your another embarrassment in front of-
As if summoned by your thoughts, the door of the small mudroom bordering the kitchen opened with a creak. Merely a second later and clearly alarmed by the smell, he was hurrying into the room, eyes raking through the kitchen until they landed on you. His shoulders slumped slightly as he took in your form, checking you from top to bottom.
“Are you okay?” Joel's voice was soft, despite him being a little out of breath. You could see the basket filled with firewood behind him. Another task that used to be yours before your stomach had grown too big.
He watched your reaction, carefully making his way around the counter, glancing at the burnt cookies in passing. It was enough to make the tears finally spill from your eyes, rolling down your face and landing on the shirt that was already stained with flour. And the anger inside of you? It had finally found an outlet.
The poor man didn't even have time to brace himself before you started yelling.
“You arent supposed to be home, what the fuck are you doing here?!” He looked taken aback, but only for a moment. Then his face seemed to relax. You didn't want him to relax. You wanted him to be as angry as you were and in as much pain and misery. You knew it was a horrible, horrible thought, but you couldn't help it. You wanted him to have to run to the toilet upwards of twenty times a day, to have him woken up by a human kicking inside of him at the most ungodly hours.
“You said you'd be at work until five! You're not-” Another sob escaped you as the knot in your chest seemed to grow exponentially, “You're not supposed to be here yet and-”
You couldn't find a single trace of anger on his face. Not in the crease between his brows, not in the corners of his mouth, not even in his eyes. All you could find was concern.
“Hey-” Joel whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks. They were cold but you leaned into the touch regardless, “What's going on, darlin? Talk to me, please.”
You hiccuped slightly as you tried to speak, the words fighting hard to not get outside. As far as your body was concerned, there was no point in telling him, in making him a bigger part of your currently miserable experience than he already had to be.
“Burned- I burned the cookies-” You mumbled, “I wanted- wanted to surprise you.”
Your arms finally wrapped around him, your body fitting snug against his, even with your baby bump between you. Joel pulled you closer, one hand supporting your back while the other gently stroked your hair, “Shhh, it's okay. You're okay.”
He held you like that for a while, occasionally whispering words of gentle encouragement into your ear until the sobs had stopped. Then, he nudged you towards the living room, guiding you to sit down on one of the armchairs next to the window. He stayed by your side, kneeling down in front of you as he kept his hands on your legs, gently rubbing your thigh.
“There we are,” Joel mumbled softly, producing a handkerchief from nearby and wiping the last of your tears from your cheeks. He gave you a few more moments of silence before he spoke.
“Wanna talk about it?” You opened your mouth to decline, to push him away and deal with it yourself. It's what you would have done a few months ago. But, as he kept reminding you, you were a team now. No, not just a team. Parents. Soon-to-be-parents. He-was-once-before-but-you-were-new-to-all-this-parents.
“It's just been a lot,” you mumbled, watching as Joel nodded along, soft brown eyes radiating understanding. “And I'm already putting so much work on you on top of your normal duties so I thought- I wanted to do something nice for you.”
Joel hummed quietly, his thumb pressing into your thigh a little, “You do nice things for me all the time, darlin’.”
“I don't. Not with-” You helplessly gestured to your stomach. You could practically see Joel's expression getting a little more serious at that, “Baby, I promise you do. You're here when I come home, right? You fall asleep next to me. You kiss me when you wake up in the morning. Don't need more than that, baby.”
Almost instantly, the tears were back. A thick one rolled down your cheek and Joel reached up just in time to catch it.
“I appreciate you wanting to bake for me, godda-” He stopped himself from cursing, a habit he’d picked up in the last few weeks, with the due date coming ever closer and him insisting that you should at least try to bring up a civilized child. You had a feeling it had less to do with your child and more with the amount of curse words Ellie dropped on a daily basis, but if it made Joel happy, you wouldn't argue against it.
He sighed, “I really do appreciate it. And you know I think your cookin’ is nothing short of magic,” he mumbled quietly. Then he shook his head, his hand wandering to gently rest on your round stomach, “But it's not why I'm with you.”
“Besides, you're already doin’ a whole lot of baking in here,” he added with a small smile, gently patting your stomach and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh.
“I wouldn't exactly call it baking.”
Joel raised a brow, “No, ‘m pretty sure it is. I made a real nice dough, put it right in here, turned up the heat and now I just gotta wait for it to be done.”
“You're such an idiot, Miller,” you offered weakly as you leaned down towards him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He smirked against your lips, “If being an idiot gets you to stop crying, I'll do it more often.”
The kiss barely had time to get more heated before you gently pushed back against Joel's chest, “Gotta finish the laundry upstairs.” A small frown built on his face, “We agreed I'd do that. Ain't good for your back, baby.”
“I told you, I've been-” He actually cut you off this time, squeezing your thigh a little to make you fall silent, “Remember what I said? When you told me you were pregnant?”
You raised a brow, “Before or after you almost fainted?” Joel sent you a playful glare at that, causing you to sigh, “You said we were in this together. That you- that you'd be here for it all.”
“That's right,” he mused softly, his thumb still absent-mindedly caressing your thigh.
“Now, let me go take care of the laundry and you take a nap, yeah? You look-” He paused for a moment, clearly trying to find a nice way to say it, “You look real tired, darlin’.”
You drifted off to the sound of clothes being washed in the bathtub in the next room and to Joel's soft humming of a lullaby he’d been practicing. If this works just half as good on our baby, you thought right before falling asleep, we’re not going to half a single sleepless night.
When you wake up, the rays of afternoon sun are filtering through the windows, giving the house the warm glow you like it so much for. Stumbling into the kitchen, you're met with a sight that you've never seen before.
Joel Miller, an apron tied around his front, kneading away on a piece of dough. Your small laughter alerts him to your presence and you swear you can spot the faintest blush on his cheeks as you practically skip towards him.
“If you wanted an excuse to wear that, you could've just said so,” you tease, leaning against the counter as you watch him. Joel grumbles softly but the small smile on his face isn't lost on you, “ ‘bout time you wake up. Wanna help?”
You frown slightly- and then you realize what he’s doing. Baking bread is something you do often, but this isn't that. The cookie recipe you'd been using earlier is placed next to him, the dough looks exactly the same yours had before you’d burned it.
“Figured we both like cookies. Plus it doubles as a Christmas activity and, well.”
You kiss him. Once, twice, only stopping when he forces you to. He's perfect.
You bake together this time, with you showing him how to get the cut-outs just right, him sneaking a few pieces of the dough into his mouth when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s cozy and relaxing and for the first time in weeks, you seem to forget all about the struggles of being a pregnant woman.
You both sit in front of the oven afterwards, you in Joels lap, your bodies intertwined, both watching eagerly as the cookies slowly turn golden. He kisses your head, his nose nuzzling your hair a few times.
“Next time you’re overwhelmed like that?” He mumbles quietly, “Just let me know, yeah? You know I'm here. For you and the little one”
You nod softly, resting your head against his chest, “I know.”
notes: as always, thank you for reading. i adore each and every one of you. if you enjoyed this, feel free to give me an early christmas present by leaving a comment or reblogging <3
The Gates of Jackson | Joel Miller x F!Reader | Chapter 1 - New Arrivals
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You showed up at the gates of Jackson with hands covered in blood and no memory of how you got there. That was two years ago. Since then, you've become Maria's right-hand woman and the person in charge of Jackson's logistical backend. Patrol schedules, inventory—all your purview. When a patrol gone wrong forces you to get to know Joel, memories of your past begin resurfacing—along with their consequences.
previous | next
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
rating: 18+, minors DNI
word count: 1.6k
tags: no use of y/n, eventual smut, no beta we die like sarah, jackson era, other additional tags to be added, slow burn, ellie needs a hug, joel lives, good parent joel, reader-insert, reader insert, forced proximity, only one bed trope, nightmares, childbirth, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, soft joel, cuddling & snuggling, fluff, masturbation, pining, joel falls first, possibly demisexual reader (tbd), ptsd, ptsd flashbacks, panic attacks, amnesia, sexual braiding
chapter warnings: childbirth (mentioned)
Chapter 1 - New Arrivals
The first time you met Joel, he stank like shit. Literally, he smelled like he had rolled in it. You issued him soap, and sent him on his way. That was a loss to Jackson’s ledgers you were more than willing to take.
The second time, he smelled better. Unremarkable mostly, more of a neutral scent tinged with man smell around the edges. Nothing to write home about. Still, you issued him deodorant. Couldn’t take any chances.
He requested bullets, a basic first aid kit, and warm clothing. With Maria’s approval, you made the relevant deductions and issued the items at hand. You even sprung for wool socks. With a winter like this, he could use all the help he could get.
“You’re headed south, right?” you asked him as he packed a worn duffel bag.
“Colorado,” he replied. You waited, but that’s all he gave you. Guess he didn’t feel like elaborating.
“What about the girl, she need anything?”
He considered the offer, then asked, “You got any pens, pencils or anything? Notebooks? She likes to keep track of things, take notes. Draw, mostly,” he trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his face, “And we’re almost out of paper.”
You smiled at that. A girl after your own heart . “I’ll see what I can scrounge up.”
* * *
You asked Tommy about him, once the two of them were gone. He didn’t have much to say.
“Barely talked to the girl. Probably know about as much about her as you do. Joel… Well, Joel’s an enigma.”
You rolled your eyes at that. “Come on, Tommy. I’m asking for the basics, not his social security number.”
Tommy sighed. “He’s brash, he’s protective, he’s opinionated… I don’t know what much else to tell you. He’s just Joel. One of those people you gotta get to know just by knowing ‘em, I guess.”
You blinked twice. “Supremely helpful, Tommy.”
* * *
The next time you met Joel, he smelled better but looked worse. You only half-remembered his eyes, but something in them last time had been warmer. The ones you saw now were… dead, almost. Like something within them had been destroyed. Whether he’d been the one to do the destroying or it had been done to him remained to be seen.
You’d seen him and the girl with Tommy and Maria in the dining hall that first time they’d come to town, wolfing down chili like they’d just discovered, well, chili. They ate slower now, both of them, not like they weren’t in a rush but like their heads were elsewhere. The girl seemed to stare into nowhere—not all the time, but it was distinct when she did it.
Joel didn’t zone out. No, if anything he was zoned in . On that poor girl who had been so full of life just months ago, now hollowed out like far too many others. You’d see about filling her back up later. But for now, he was the one that perplexed you. Why was he so focused on her? What had happened out there? Part of you never wanted to find out, but part of you really, really did.
Regardless, she needed new shoes. So you joined them. The man stopped mid-chew, looking up at you with trepidation.
“Hi,” you smiled, “glad you two made it back in one piece.”
“Me too,” he replied, turning his attention back to his cud. You couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a joke or not. You turned your attention to the girl.
“You’re Ellie, right? I’m Doe. Or that’s what most folks around here call me, anyway.”
“Doe?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Like a deer?”
“A female deer,” you winked back at her. She stared at you blankly.
“It’s a song,” Joel muttered to her softly, “from before.”
“Oh,” Ellie nodded. The silence dragged, but thankfully you came prepared.
“Cobbler?” you offered bowls to each of them. It was fresh from the oven, still steaming and smelling of cinnamon.
“Yes, please!” Ellie yanked the bigger bowl towards herself, broccoli forgotten. She got a few bites in before Joel intervened, pulling the sugar aside and reinstating the vegetables. The girl frowned at that, but his pointed look said not to bother arguing. So she didn’t.
“Don’t worry, it’ll still be hot in a minute.” You tucked into your own cobbler, savoring the warm sweetness as it glided across your tongue. Even in Jackson, it was a delicacy. But it was spring, and the cherries were here. And you’d accounted for everything.
“Did you want something?” Joel asked, finishing his own plate and reaching for the cobbler.
“Ellie needs new shoes.”
“We’ve got it handled,” he said.
“Do you, though? You haven’t got much to trade with, and we’ve got plenty in inventory. That’s kind of what it’s there for. Why suffer blisters when communism’s got your back?”
“Can I?” Ellie’s face lit up. You liked seeing her eyes like that: brighter. They belonged that way.
Joel swallowed his cobbler, mulling over the idea. “After lunch,” he agreed, nodding to the eager teen. “Finish your cobbler first.”
* * *
Ellie’s new light-up sneakers lit the way as you exited the storeroom through your office. Joel had insisted on a sensible pair as well, but you couldn’t deny the kid a little whimsy.
“Maria give you your patrol schedule yet?” you asked him, nodding to the well-worn chalkboard in the corner. Routes on the left, days and times up top. Names filled in the boxes in between, a testament to your logistical wizardry.
“Not yet,” he said, crossing to examine it. “Guess she doesn’t need to, now.”
“I’ve got you paired up with Tommy. Seemed easiest, to get you started. You’ll be headed up to the lodge, it’s a pretty standard route. Get the occasional runner, but it’s wildlife more than anything.”
He nodded, heading toward where Ellie was already scampering out the door.
“See you Tuesday, I suppose. Guessing you’re the one to check-in with?” he asked.
You smiled at his correct assumption.
“Sure am.”
* * *
You didn’t know Joel well enough to make assumptions about his punctuality, but Tommy was never late. Even you were late from time to time, often getting swept up in tasks and losing track of things. But the man was annoyingly punctual. According to Maria, that’s part of why she fell for him.
Tommy was late today.
You crossed to the large observation window lining one wall of your office. It gave you a clear view of the front gates and surrounding guard stations, but there was no sign of Tommy anywhere. Or Joel, for that matter.
A knock on your door interrupted your analysis. It was Eugene. The grizzled old man acted anything but, a smile breaking out across his face at the sight of you.
“Hey, Doe! How’s things?” He asked.
“Fine. I’m looking for Tommy, actually–”
“Didn’t you hear?” He interrupted, “Maria’s gone into labor. He’s with her at the clinic.”
Your stomach dropped. Here you were preparing to chew Tommy out for his tardiness when the whole time he’d been busy becoming a father. A very valid excuse.
“And Joel?” you asked. “They were supposed to patrol together this afternoon, lodge route.”
“Not sure. He wasn’t with them. Listen, I gotta go grab the baby blanket I made and drop it off, but you and I need to have a drink one of these days. I worry your hair’s gonna start falling out in clumps if you don’t take a break eventually.”
“Yeah, but then what would you do, patrol out to the dam with Jesse? There’s a reason I don’t pair you two up anymore.”
“Because you don’t like blackberries?” he chided.
You frowned, “No, because you spent so long harvesting them your 8 hour patrol took 12. I was this close to sending out a search party. A little planning prevents a lot of headaches, Eugene.”
He turned to leave, looking back over his shoulder to get the last word. “You know what else is good for headaches? Whiskey.”
You sent Eugene on his way with instructions to give Maria your best. You’d visit her when the baby was here. For now, you had a community to protect.
With Tommy out of commission and Joel MIA, you’d have to find someone else to help you cover this patrol route. Dina was always a solid partner, if she was around. Devon the bartender could generally be counted on to have your back. Eugene would be ideal, but you didn’t want to make him work a double.
You headed to the stables to see who you could find. Upon entering, the warmth of the building and company of the animals soothed your unease, if only slightly.
You found your horse’s stall, the gray spotted mare whinnying at your arrival.
“Hey, Bailey,” you smiled, offering her a slightly bruised apple. She took it gratefully, big brown eyes closing in enjoyment.
“She’s beautiful,” a voice said from behind you, making you jump.
“Sorry,” the voice stepped into the light, “It’s just me.”
“Joel,” you took a deep breath in an attempt to slow your racing heartbeat.
“Sorry I’m late–”
You cut him off with a raised hand, looking him in the eye.
“You’re not with your brother,” you finally said, more of a statement than a question.
“You’re not with your best friend,” he replied, offering no further details.
You sighed, debating arguing with him about it before deciding the subject was better left untouched. You had your reasons for staying away from childbirth. If Joel had his own, he was entitled to that. You weren’t going to press him on it, so long as he didn’t press you.
“Come on,” you said, swinging your leg over Bailey’s back and settling into the saddle, “We’re making up for lost time.”
you’re the only one I can think of that would know most about this, but is it true William S. Hamilton was gay? or what started the rumors?
The speculation of William's sexuality rose to question because William - unlike the rest of his family - never married and remained a bachelor throughout his life. With that being said, the whole discussion boils down to nothing but mere speculation. There's no actual evidence, or anything notable that could slightly confirm it.
Theodore Rodolf, a political rival of William's, wrote that; “He was a confirmed bachelor, and did not seem to care much for female society.” [x] Although Rodolf's account should be taken with a grain of salt due his evident bias against William as a political competitor. And historian A. K. Fielding tells a different perspective of William's regard to women, claiming;
Multiple accounts indicate that William had a soft spot for the ladies. Considering the rough frontier society he lived in, it is possible that he was involved in a tryst or two himself. Yet it is difficult to ascertain whether any such interludes left him yearning for matrimony, because he left no records on the subject. Did he prefer his freedom? Was he spurned by someone? Did he recall his father's adultery and the shame it had brought on the whole family? Without concrete evidence, it is difficult to prove any given theory. One can only conclude that if there was a special romance, William chose not to pursue it and remained a bachelor all his life.
Source — FIELDING, A. K. Rough Diamond: The Life of Colonel William Stephen Hamilton, Alexander Hamilton’s Forgotten Son. Indiana University Press, 2021.
I think if anything, Rodolf may have been referring to William's lack of special or flattering attitude to women, that he didn't alter his character or appearance for them. William led a very rugged and shameless life; chances where higher-class women would not fancy his lifestyle. When William moved from Illinois to Wisconsin in the late 1820s, he had established a mine known as Hamilton's Diggings, to which he later renamed Woita. In the March of 1831, Juliette Kinzie described the conditions as “shabby” and “unpromising”, [x] she was also appalled by the foul language of the miners and described them as; “roughest-looking set of men I ever beheld.” [x] Although William's closest family members were some of the only women in his family, like his mother and youngest sister. Both had traveled west to see him, and he had one day hoped to have them as part of his household.
Sylvan Muldoon makes a bold claim in his biography about William with the statement that apparently there were rumors of an affair between William and a family member of the opposite sex. Even going as far as to claim that his brother's believed such, and resented him for it;
It is true that many writers have expressed their opinions concerning Hamilton's morals in a critical manner, some even going so far as to accuse him of living too intimately with a certain member of the opposite sex, who was married to one of his relatives.
There I believe, an alienation between William Stephen and a couple of his own brothers on this score which we will not enter into here, for the simple reason that the charges brought against him were preposterous and based upon nothing more than supposition. Suffice it to say that Mrs. Alexander Hamilton, his mother; Mrs. Holly, his sister; James Hamilton, his brother; and several other of his relatives were entirely in sympathy with his action in allowing the wife of one of his nephews to keep house for him during a time when she was estranged from her husband.
Source — Alexander Hamilton's pioneer son; the life and times of Colonel William Stephen Hamilton; 1797-1850. Early New York, Missouri, Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, Iowa and California, by Sylvan J. Muldoon
Then goes on to say he; “lived and died without ever marrying, and, so far as is known, he never participated in a love-affair.” I've found no evidence of any unpleasant feelings between the brothers concerning this particular matter, but William does seem to have been a bit alienated from them—Although it is more likely due to their differing political beliefs (A similar aspect in James's feud with Alexander Jr). Most of Hamilton's sons were Jacksonian Democrats, while William was a Whig. Additionally, William did not find himself comfortable in the wealthy aristocratic class that his family were associated with. Also, because William decided to move half across the country, so it would have been hard to contact him or see him. Some have speculated that William may have distanced himself from his family due to their unaccepting nature had he truly been gay, but all the priorly mentioned reasons are the solidly confirmed ones.
One event that did contribute to some friction between John Church and William was concerning the female family member Muldoon references as being rumored to have had a love affair with him. Although it wasn't due to the supposed allegations that Muldoon mentions (That I'm not even sure existed), JCH's third child, John Cornelius Adrian Hamilton, was becoming more and more estranged from his family due to his disapproving actions and soon William took him in, only angering John C. more. I delve more into this here, but basically after Cornelius went against his father's wishes and married Angeline Romer, John was likely too embarrassed to introduce his new daughter-in-law to his friends in the New York elite society, so he sent Cornelius and Angeline out West with promises of giving them property there. And so, the newly wedded couple traveled from New York to Springfield, Illinois, where Cornelius worked as an engineer until August 19, 1839. It is there, the two likely met their uncle William. Sometime in 1839-1840, William took in Cornelius and his family in Woita at Hamilton's Diggings, after the birth their firstborn son, named after William Stephen Hamilton in 1839. Cornelius only became more defiant against his father, to which John faulted William's influence for. In 1844, Cornelius followed his father's orders and left his wife and children, after he and Angeline had become strained with time. Angeline and her children stayed with William, and she was likely the woman many had rumored to have been William's “mistress”.
Angeline seemed to enjoy her time living with her children, her uncle, and his slave. Edgar Hamilton wrote that “his kindness to them, especially to my mother was a theme she never tired to tell to my brother and myself when young” and he “always looked upon my father and mother and we babies as his special heirs and expected to educate us and leave his property to us.” [x] Even when Cornelius had abandoned his family, William's generosity and protection never left Angeline and her children. She looked after his house, even sewing suits and linen shirts for him to wear to legislative sessions in Madison, Wisconsin. Loss of a child, marital strife, and news of an ailing father all prompted Angeline to consider returning to New York by 1843. William at the time was running for elected office and hoped to become the new governor of the territory, he asked Angeline to postpone her travels until after the election. But she took her children and went home to be with her father. Even until the end of her life, Angeline held the deepest respect for William and never remarried. She considered him her; “truest friend in the family.” [x] and William had wished to invite her back to his household, alongside his mother and sister had he won the election. [x] Fielding makes the remark that; “If any romantic involvement between William and Angeline may have caused a strain between William and his brothers, no such evidence exists in primary sources.” Angeline's son, Edgar Hamilton - who grew up in William's cabin - continuously praised his great-uncle and worked in favor of preserving his memory and memorial.
Although, it is also likely William's only intent and nature with Angeline was to help her. Later Edgar describes his great-uncle as; “ever espoused the weaker party and his feelings always were quickened in behalf of the poor and distressed.” [x] Which we can see is evident in other events through William's life that weren't with romantic intention at all; William was once passing through the country in a sleigh with several friends, when he saw a Native American man riding on horseback alongside a native woman making her way laboriously on injured foot. William interfered when he saw the man take a whip and beat the woman; “cruelly with it while he uttered curses at her for not hurrying.” [x] He then took the woman in his sleigh and tried to remove her from immediate danger, the man followed William and tried to shoot him but missed. Before the man had time to reload his rifle and fire again, William turned around and fought with him, before he took hold of the horse whip and tremendously thrashed him and then took off in his sleigh.
Like Fielding initially suggested, if William truly had romantic feelings for another, it is likely he refused to commit to them. He was restless, and constantly moving, making it hard for him to maintain relationships and friendships—And being born at the same time as the Reynolds Pamphlet release, to losing his father at six years old and witnessing all that it had put his mother through, likely distorted his vision of love or romantic relationships. But it is not the first historians, or even people from the time period, assume bachelor men to be of homosexual inclinations. Not that it isn't ever true, for instance Baron Von Steuben was a gay man who never married. But I'd argue there is more substantial evidence surrounding his sexuality. John Gilbert McCurdy, who often writes about the revolutionary period in America, says;
Although this conclusion yields considerable insight into the evolution of sexual identity, it underestimates the complexities of the bachelor's masculinity and sexuality. It is certainly true that some colonists saw the bachelor as effeminate and morally depraved in a way that implied homosexuality, but the bachelor could also be the manliest of men and heterosexual to a fault. The bachelor's gender identification certainly could be problematic, although sometimes it was because he was too manly and at other times it was because he was not manly enough. As a result, we have to be careful about asserting that the bachelor was a proxy for the homosexual in early America. Beginning with Michel Foucault, historians of sexuality have largely accepted the social constructionist view that while some men in the ancient, medieval, and carly modern world had sex with other men, they were not homosexuals.
[...]
Sexuality was undergoing tremendous change in the century before the Revolution. Americans had begun to decouple sex and procreation but Freud had yet to formulate an understanding of desire as being determinative of sexual identity. The early American bachelor's sexuality straddled this divide and often created as much confusion as it did clarity. It had long been considered problematic by moralists and lawmakers who demanded total abstinence for all unmarried people. However, as the bachelor emerged as a unique identity, Americans reconsidered single sex and asked if one variation was more depraved than another. They did worry that bachelors were sodomites, but they also worried about bachelor fornicators. Indeed, far more ink was spilled by moralists agonizing over a new breed of bastards bankrupting taxpayers than was invested in innuendos about effeminate men. In time Americans would conclude that heterosexual bachelor behavior was preferable to homosexuality, but in 1800 this was far from assured.
Early American bachelor sexuality thus cannot be confined to a simple homosex ual/heterosexual dichotomy because it often contravened and confused this anachronistic division. Instead, we have to consider bachelor sexuality as a whole and understand how the perception of different sexual acts evolved over time. At the same time, the unsettled sexuality of the early American bachelor may offer some insight into the evolution of the modern-day homosexual. Historians seeking a gay American history have often looked to sodomy trials, curiously affectionate correspondence, and attacks on effeminate men to find the roots of the modern gay identity. Yet being a homosexual is not simply about sex acts and gender inversion. It is also about the disavowal of traditional marriage, the building of a subculture made up almost entirely of other men, and the assertion of a greater degree of sexual license. In this, the emergence of the bachelor is integral to the history of gay men.
Source — McCurdy, J. G. (2011). Citizen Bachelors: Manhood and the Creation of the United States. United States: Cornell University Press.
When regarding queer history, I would also advise being open-minded about aromantic or asexual figures. Undoubtedly, if a person did not marry it did not mean the only single cause had to be because they were gay but could have also been aromantic. In many cases, people tend to limit it down to so few options, it plays an effective role in queer erasure. In any case, I don't have any substantial opinions regarding the debate, it's all purely supposition and there is scarcely preserved material to call evidence or come to any true settlement outside of carefree head cannons. While William did live in the West, of predominantly male dominated areas, and did not marry—That is the only evidence we have in regards to this speculation. In the end, it's just another mystery surrounding William that we'll never know for certain about. I think William is an interesting individual on his own, and the need to try and determine a hypothesis that is so trivial in the wider picture due to its lack of standing ground seems fruitless. Especially when William has so many other complexities and intriguing characteristics outside of his love or sex life. I understand the desire to explore the censored field of queer history that is often ignored by historians, especially in the search for representation, but William isn't your best choice for that. I would suggest looking to several other queer figures with more opportunities for research and more solid confirmation.
Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader
Summary: As time passes, you and Joel settle into a new life together.
Word Count: 4.8k
Warnings: heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, light angst, hurt and comfort, mentions of past lost loved ones, mentions of child loss (both joel and reader), joel miller's hands need their own warning, adult content, sexual content, smut, piv, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), creampie (reader is unable to get pregnant so you know lol), dry humping, bulge mention, sensual makeout session, one (1) instance of squirting, reader and joel are down bad for each other, lemme know if i missed any!
A/N: i missed them and the document that only had a few dozen words flourished into this! i realized i could write for these two until the end of time because i love them so much and this little universe, so if there's something you're curious about or want to see of them, send an ask and a one shot might be written c;
love y'all and hope this brings you some joy today ♡♡
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You stir long before the other body in your bed, dreamworld of your sleeping mind slipping from you as consciousness takes hold. But it leaves behind a melancholia you were all too familiar with. Today would be a hard day, tomorrow even more so. The loss of your friend weighing heavy on your soul even as you lay tangled with a man who helped to brighten and fill your days with a new purpose.
“We’ve gotta get up,” You quietly remind him even as you snuggle closer, basking in the warmth of him so close and comforting. You don’t feel very compelled to heed your own words, if you’re honest.
“Ten more minutes.” He’s pressing his body to yours, the hard line of him jutting into your lower back and his teeth nipping as your shoulder. You were both bare from the strokes of pleasure you had pulled from each other’s bodies the evening before. His voice gravelly from both the way he had shouted out, moaned loud enough for it to bounce off the walls last night and his waking body this morning.
“You said that yesterday and I was late for my shift at the mess hall.”
“You run the mess hall, can’t be late if you’re the boss.”
“Is that right?”
“Mhm, trust me.” He rumbles as he begins to lazily shift his dribbling cock against the plush skin of your backside. You have nothing but a breathy moan as he shifts your bodies, laying over your back as he presses you into the soft mattress and tangled sheets, slipping inside of your aching core with an easy glide. It’s splitting the way he fills you so fully, the head of his cock kissing your cervix as he simply rolls his hips to help ease you open a little more. His hands are reaching to interlock fingers with yours that grab at the sheets.
After a few moments of slowness, he’s shifting his weight up onto his knees a bit more, nudging your legs open for him rest between them as he holds tight to the flare of your hips to angle them perfectly for you to feel every hard inch of him. Slow and sensual turns into frantic and hard thrusts, punching sounds out from your lungs as the drag of him through your center ignites your body.
Praises for you fall from his mouth in deep, guttural sounds as he feels you begin to arch your back and lean your hips back to meet his every move. Fingers dip below your body to circle your throbbing clit and his words give way to harsh pants as you clench around him, your release quick and numbing.
His body is singing, trying to match the tune of yours as he works you through it, the squelch of him dragging out and slamming back in making your stomach flutter. It’s both unfamiliar and new, the way pressure builds in your middle so soon after, but it’s not unwelcome as you realize his hand is now pressed firmly to the soft give of your lower stomach right above the patch of curls your keep trimmed.
You try to warn him as it grows in intensity, but you don’t think words form around the warbling cries of your voice. Drowned out by the desperate sounds he’s beginning to make as he feels a warm splash of wet soak the sheets and the fronts of his muscled thighs, he falters for just a moment before he’s slamming in as deep as he can and filling you with hot spurts. You feel him, all of him from the twitching of his cock to the soft pudge of his middle on your back as he stills, draping back over you and brushing his nose over your ear.
“Such a good girl for me, sweetheart. Didn’t even know you could do that.” Your hips jerk as you preen under his words, his rapt attention, the feeling of him still nestled deep in your fluttering core. He’s choking on the breath he had just taken as he feels the way your body holds him where he his, refusing to let him go. And it’s with almost reverent touches, that he’s swiping thick fingers around where you’re connected as he leans back to take in the sight of his cum leaking out. As your body finally relaxes, he’s slipping from you with a held breath, exhaling only when he sees the milky mix of your combined releases dripping from your puffy seam.
His weight is suddenly gone from over and behind you, causing you to turn your head as best you could where your cheek is pressed to the sheets only for your breath to hitch at the sight of him lowering down onto his chest between your still propped up legs.
“Can’t give it to you again so soon, sweet, needy girl, but I can taste you,” He’s growling out before his hands are back on your hips and pulling you to his waiting, open mouth. It should be dirty, the way he makes out with your puffy lips and sensitive core, teeth gently nipping at the almost pained bundle of nerves right at your crux, facial hair scraping against silken skin, but it’s only fueling the heat that hadn’t seemed to dissipate as it begins to crawl across your skin once again.
“We…um, we should do something for Aiden’s birthday this year.” Millie was behind you on a horse of her own, Lowry helping you to lead the typical patrol you did twice a week. It had been a long conversation between you and Joel many months ago, when winter was still chilling the air and frosting the ground overnight. But it was now warm, bordering on hot as the sun simmered over the Wyoming landscape. But today, he was busy in town helping to finish repairs that a spring storm had ravaged on a few of the powerlines. New posts being installed and a patrol gone out to the water plant nestled by the dam that allows for life to flourish here.
“We should.” You agree, mind lost in thoughts of the man already, the day he lost his life the one right before it. “Maybe we could have a little picnic at the cemetery, make his favorite foods and clean it up a bit.”
“That sounds perfect, Olive.”
The rest of the patrol is spent in easy comfortability, even as the younger girl tells you of her intentions to move into the house Joel had once occupied alongside Callie and Nolan. She had hesitantly taken up the brother of her new close friend on his offer for a drink one day, the memory of her past love giving her pause. But when she had told you of her trepidation, you had gently urged her to listen to her heart because she deserved the kind of life in which she could love and be loved in return. Everyone did, even the once ostracized and solemn soul you had been.
She had become a somewhat staple in your life now, and not one born of anxiety and constant worry of occasional interaction. Now she was right there beside you as you helped Callie to navigate the exciting early months of her baby’s life, giving her advice on how to keep them from getting too fussy over hunger and bouts of bad sleep. She had named the girl after you, your actual name something you seldom used even with new people. The nickname Tommy had given you sticking far better than it ever had, and to be honest you didn’t much feel like the woman who had carried that name throughout the early stages of your life.
Jackson giving you a second chance, an environment to change from the ways you had been forced to fight for survival. Just as the nickname had allowed you to feel like a better version of yourself, you smiled as it was muttered from the yawning mouth of a slowly waking Joel every morning. His arms curled around your middle, pulling you flush to him as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck. His gravely good morning pressed to your skin through his soft lips this morning. Feeling more like the person you wanted to be alongside him, thanking the heavens and stars for aligning and allowing you two to cross paths.
Millie deserved that and you had told her as much. Neither of you mentioned how it almost seemed like she had wanted your approval and blessing to move on from the person that bonded you both.
Easy conversation flows between you both as you circle the wide perimeter of the settlement’s land. The sun now fully up in the bright blue sky. Birds and small mammals sing and chitter away as the horses make their way on the unmarked path, making you feel at ease almost as much as being out here with Joel does.
Once you’re back within the gates, the horses settled back in their stables, and Millie waving in parting do you feel the enormity of the day once away. The promise of meeting tomorrow for an early lunch at the cemetery lingers in the air. Sighing, you adjust the wide-brimmed hat atop your head and the button up shirt where it had rucked up slightly before pivoting your steps from the direction of your street to the front of the settlement.
Maria is overlooking papers set out before her, a fussy Macon in her lap covered in crumbs and remnants of her attempt at breakfast. He was beginning to eat solids, but he was a picky fellow much to your chagrin and his parents’ exasperation. Motherhood looked good on the woman, though you knew she had always carried that label. Fatherhood looked good on your dear friend Tommy, despite the worries and anxieties he had trusted you to keep to yourself when he shared them with you. He was in the line to get some food of his own, a plate that looked to be filled with the favorites of his wife’s directly from the kitchen beside his own empty one.
You sneak into the kitchen from the door by the buffet line up, steps quiet as you moved toward the back corner of the space that housed your little desk and stool by the dry goods storage. The mug you favored, one made of speckled ceramic and stained a faded orange was pulled from behind the recipe books you had been browsing the day before. The crops were different this year, the farmer’s almanac that had been saved from the actual city of Jackson before the world fell not accounting for the lack of carbon emissions and changed acidity of the soil. Planting would look different this year from last, and with it a new menu needed to be planned.
Even as you rifle through the papers with half a focused mind, you’re aware of the few in the kitchen remarking about your unusual midday visit. As your coffee dwindles down, an older teen who had approached you the other day asking if he could be on your service in the kitchen for his first assignment silently refills it and adds the cream he knows you favor in it. You offer him a small smile as he looks up from where he’s mixing it together in a perfect caramel color. He seems momentarily stunned as pink dusts his freckled cheeks and then he’s moving back to focus on his tasks for the day.
Tommy is popping his head in a few hours later, the scent of pine and the metallic of nails thick on him as he approaches. His hand clamps over your shoulder, a laugh tumbling from him as he notices the switch from coffee to a few fingers of whiskey you had made about an hour back.
“Workin’ hard, Olive?”
“Should ask you the same thing, all finished with the repairs?”
“Yeah, your old man headed home, might’ve worked him too hard today.”
“Hush, he probably did circles around you, and you know it.” You lightly tease as you bookmark the page your on with an old scrap of paper and shut the thick book. You turn to see him watching you with a soft expression, knowing that he’s done the right thing by checking up on you. You know he had seen you slip into the kitchen earlier, but he had let you be, figuring you would know best how to handle your emotions.
“Yeah, if my brother’s good at anything, it’s working himself to the bone. Did it a ton to support himself and Sarah, and me for that matter. Took any and every job he could get. Then didn’t want to bring anyone else on to cut the work because of the wages it would cost him.” He’s chiding the past version of his brother, knowing that for that moment in time, he would’ve done anything for his family. The harsh truth of that sentiment only flourished in the outbreak and subsequent loss of their third member. But you both know that Joel worked so hard to overcome what he had been transformed into because of that loss and the state of the world, you both see it every day how much he’s changed.
“She was lucky to have him as her father, he cares so much for her even now.” You feel his hand slip from your shoulder as you stand, his eyes watching you as you down the remainder of your drink. The ice clinks in the empty glass and you take it over to the industrial sink.
“He took that part of his life seriously, don’t think he ever rested unless she had everything she needed and wanted. I’m sure you were much the same, even if the circumstances were different.”
“He’s good like that, even if he doesn’t realize taking care of himself is just as important as taking care of others sometimes.”
“Sounds an awful lot like someone else I know.”
“Go blow smoke up someone else’s butt, I’m already makin’ you dinner.” You stick your tongue out at him, hoping he realizes just how grateful you are to have him in your life, a true friend.
“Just wanted to check if we were still on for that, I know today is…a lot and didn’t want to force anything if you weren’t up for it.” His eyes glint in the sunlight that takes over the kitchen as you hit the switch and turn off the artificial ones. You gather the casual button up you had shucked from your shoulders as the crew shut down the line for the afternoon, once the last of the food served, and began to clean. You had helped to wash some of the larger dish pans, not wanting them to feel like you were watching them without being obvious about it. No, you had willingly helped them to close down the kitchen for the day, thanking them all when they signed the sheet you reported to the council at each week’s end.
“It’ll make me feel better, to make food for those I care about. To share a meal at a full table, wallowing won’t do me any good.” The assurance is as much for you as it is for him as you both walk through the door and out into the back of the building. He walks you home in a comfortable silence, a grin taking over his lips as people call out your nickname and wave at you in greeting as they walk home themselves or sit out on their porches.
You feel a tug on your heartstrings as you turn onto your street and see the shadow of something on your porch steps. As you and Tommy get closer, it appears to be a basket full of daily essentials and a few jars of jam, butter, and one that suspiciously looked like malt liquor. A few letters are made out to you, your nickname written in looping scrawls and a casserole in a covered pan. Small things to help ease the pain of the day, the loss of someone in your life. A well-known fact around the settlement, the date marking one of the few tragedies it had encountered.
Tommy’s arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you to him as he hears the hitch of your breath before a sob wracks through your body. It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to gather yourself, blubbering words of gratitude and appreciation at being seen and cared for as he guides you into your home and helps to put the basket up on the kitchen hutch and the casserole in the fridge. With a kiss to your temple and reassurance in the form of a watery smile, he leaves you to get ready for dinner and fetch the rest of the family.
You piddle around the house as you contemplate opening the letters, leaving them for later in the evening to sit in bed with Joel for him to read them to you. The attitude and negative attention on you still too fresh and tender for you to handle seeing what they had to say on your own, though you doubted any of it would have ill-intent. A shower calmed you down, allowing you to wash away the dried tears and the sweat that had soaked into your skin throughout the day. Giving you a moment to yourself before Ellie would be beside you in the kitchen, so willing to learn what you could teach her.
It’s a little too hot as the sun begins its descent to kiss the horizon, beating down on your exposed shoulders as you cross the expansive backyard to the workshop Joel had built for himself on the property. He had left a note for you to fetch him once dinner was done and you were doing just that. You rather liked the domesticity of sharing your home and your life with the man, something that only once been a deep seeded daydream but not it was your reality.
Ellie was busy plating up portions for everyone, a record playing softly in the living room. She was blossoming as well, her time spent here allowing her the chance to lead the later years of her teenage life as she should’ve been able to beforehand. Joel had made that possible, everything he had done and sacrificed allowing for a slice of peace for both of them. She resided on your property too, the dilapidated shed turned into a space for her to thrive on her own but still close enough to what she knew as a guardian and mentor in Joel.
He had shared with you one night the choices he had made to ensure she would be able to live, to continue to live. He had choked up, lamenting that he didn’t feel like he was a bad man for the things he did and chose to do if it paid off for them to have the life they have now. You had listened with an open mind and heart, knowing the turmoil he must feel all too well. You had done bad things as well, to ensure the life of Aiden, both of you determined to change as a second chance of redemption was offered.
“Sweetheart, I’ve got somethin’ for you.” He greeted you with a sweaty kiss to your cheek, his large hands guiding you to stand in front of the desk he had been seated at. The scent of wood shavings and his earthy body wash filling your senses. “I finally got it finished up for you, forgive me for the time it took and the well, you know.”
You look from his sheepish smile to the top of the desk when he nudged his head toward it. The months that had drawn on long and with too much communication hang heavy in the air as he references them, you try to blink them away, not wanting to dwell on what was but take the shift of time for what it is now, contentment and happiness. Loving and being loved in return. He presses himself against your back, his body comforting even despite the heat that still lingered in the evening air, as if he knows you’re lingering just as he does sometimes, on the additional months you both could’ve been wrapped around each other at night, share morning kisses as you wake up and wait for the coffee machine to putter, of patrols that are now almost like bi-weekly dates.
Atop the desk is two completed cutting boards made of olive wood. Sturdy, set on four little wooden legs that allow for them to be slightly raised from the desktop. Sandpaper lays to the side, the dust of his actions neatly swept away as you take in the carvings he had engraved, olive blossoms. You reach out a tentative hand, looking at him out of the corner of your eye for permission.
He presses a kiss to your neck, the soft hairs of his thick moustache tickling and pulling a giggle from your chest. He gently takes both your hands in his and lays them flat over the closest one, palms a calming weight over the backs of your hands. His arms are supportive around yours as he noses against your hair, still up in a messy bun once you had returned to town and removed your wide brimmed hat for the day. He breaths you in, quiet and waiting as you caress the gift he presented. The wood is dry, though you can see the slight shine of the sealant he had painted over them. The carvings are beautiful, a testament to his focus and devotion as he spends so much time out here after working to earn his place in the settlement.
“Joel…” Tears prickle behind your eyes, overwhelmed with the sight of the beautiful, crafted gifts being presented to you.
“Wanted them to be perfect, sweetheart. Know today isn’t the easiest for you and I wanted to try and cheer you up with ‘em.” His voice is a low timbre, shy almost as he shows you a part of his heart. Each time he does, it makes your own melt. He’s such a good man, even if he thinks he needs to work on it, to try at it, to actively change the chemistry of who he is to be so. But he was always good, deep down in the very core of who he is, it just got lost for a little bit and that’s okay. Because now he gets to be that good man once again, unapologetically. You’re turning in his arms, hands cupping his jaw to feel the patchy scruff that’s more grey than the brown that still peaks through and press your lips to his.
He's shifting too, hands trailing down from your bare shoulders and your back, following the curves of your hips to the outside of your thighs. Your breath hitches and the kiss breaks as he bears your weight to lift you up onto the desk, closing in to slip his tongue into your open mouth and his body between your legs. You feel the smile pulling at his lips, his favorite sound spurring him on. Kissing him is one of your favorite things in this broken world, he’s so soft, so responsive. His full lips plush and soft as they move against your own in a dance of adoration.
He preens underneath the soft touch, the gently exploration of your hands over his face. Telling you more than his words and actions that he had yearned for your touch long before he had felt it. Even now, it softened him, a light dusting of pink bloomed across his cheeks as he looses a breathy moan. His hands shift up from around your hips to cradle your face as you tangle yours in the tresses of his curls. Dizziness overtakes you as his lips press against yours again and again, the simple act to intimate and all encompassing. He kisses so deeply, passionately, hungrily, earning a whimper as his lips close around your bottom one to gently bite down.
He's breathless when he pulls back, tugging slightly on it before releasing it. His eyes are shadowed dark as they gaze into your own, lashes fluttering as his thumbs caress the tops of your cheeks. A different kind of heat flares in your chest and you stifle a giddy sound with your bottom lip between your teeth.
“Dinner’s ready,” You halfheartedly say, not sure why nervous energy flows through you at the heated gaze he pins you with. Hooded eyes full of emotion as he leans forward with a rock of his hips against you for you to feel the bulge he’s doing nothing to conceal. Your legs rise to hook around his waist of their own accord and you feel the hardened thickness of him as he lazily ruts against you. The weight and thickness of him apparent even beneath the fabric as he shows you how much you affect him. The seam of your jeans is pressed just right by his movements and your head swims.
“Hungry for somethin’ else, baby.” He’s pulling the thin straps of your tank top down, warm mouth and slick tongue taking an exposed nipple into his mouth. Keening at the tug of his teeth, your hands tangle in his curls and your hips begin to move in tandem with his. Sawdust and dust mites explode into the air as the desk begins to rock along with your combined movements.
“J-Joel, please.”
He only hums around the bud between his teeth, nibbling before he moves to the other and does the same. His hand grip your ribs tight, the fabric bunched beneath your breasts doing nothing to dispel the heavy press of his fingers against your skin as he begins to move faster, desperately against you.
“C’mon, let go for me, sweetheart,” His tongue laves over your neck, teeth biting into the skin as he moves up to catch your swollen lips once again. He swallows down the whimpers and moans as if they’re the only thing he wants to consume, as if they could sustain him from now until the end of his days. His teeth clack against yours in the sloppy way you try to return the kiss, body rocking against his.
Suddenly, pleasure ripples through you, the bundle of nerves he’s thrusting against twitching as your body tenses around him. He groans his own sound against your chin as he feels the convulses of your release cascade through your body. His own so close, his hips stutter before he’s biting into the juncture of your jaw as you feel him twitch and dampen the front of his own jeans.
“You’re so good for me, always sound so sweet, love you so much,” He’s peppering kisses all over your dazed face, the corners of your eyes, the tip of you nose, the top of your forehead, your heated cheeks, everywhere he could reach without fulling back completely. His scruff tickles and scrapes lightly at your skin, pulling breathy giggles from you even as he fixes your top back the way it was. You’re gasping as his thumbs trail over your nipples through the fabric, body still singing from the orgasm he easily pulled from you.
His own chuckle is raspy, as he helps you to stand on wobbling legs. A hand around your waist as he walks along with you through the backyard, eyes lingering on the olive trees beginning to bloom their precious, white flowers. Cascading golden hour sunlight fills the sky as you hold tight to Joel’s hand and press a quiet ‘I love you’ into his skin. The smile he catches on your lips brings out one of his own and he’s pressing it to your temple as he ushers you up the few back steps to the house.
“Started without you,” Ellie’s voice calls from the kitchen as she hears you both enter through the back door from the enclosed porch.
“We’ll be right there.” Joel calls his answer before he’s ushering you into your shared room. A change of clothes and a couple of quick stolen kisses later and all three of you are sitting around the table in front of a big spread of different dishes. All put together by you with the help of the interested teen even if her attention span wasn’t exactly fit for keeping up with boiling and stirring as she had excitedly told you of the new comic she was reading curtesy of yours and Joel’s last overnight patrol to Teton. Tommy and Maria corralling a toddling Macon through the front of the house are the last puzzle pieces of a perfect evening.