call me r

Okay sooo I’ve got a Joel Miller fic on the back burner… but before I post I wanna get a feeler for how people would feel about it!!

So it switches through time periods (and bonus joel pov!), and the reader is a really famous country music star. By the time the outbreak hits shes kinda faded into obscurity (or that stage where famous musicians stay in pop culture but people don’t really listen to their music)… and essentially, and don’t cringe, reader and Joel happen to be going on the same journey to Jackson, Wyoming. And it’ll mostly be Jackson!Joel…. But I don’t wanna spoil anything so i won’t say anything more.

I will, though, give a snippet. (! PLEASE NOTE AND IDK WHY I DID THIS BUT I KINDA LIKE THIS: Belle is the stage name to the reader, and in the flashbacks I use 3rd pov (she blah blah) and in the present I use first pov (you blah blah) anyways. Be mean or judgemental but here’s u gooo

—

Fucking.

Taylor Swift.

Of fucking course.

She had a few years on her but still, fucking Taylor Swift? Picking her nails and brushing her blown-up hair out of her face, the swing of the guitar hits her ears almost too hard. It was overwhelming.

“Belle?” Her manager sitting next to her pushes through his lips quickly, forceful and strained.

She turns to him and his lips prick slightly, a slap in the wrist reminding her to maintain her facial expressions. Soft, but full of joy. Youthful and light. His words circled her thoughts spinning so fast it almost made her dizzy. Her hands fumble to pick the chain around her neck, gold and dainty, clearing her mind almost like a breath of fresh air.

The dust in her lungs makes her cough in only the way Nashville can in June. She has to turn her head away from the performance from the artist section, which allows much too of a close-up look.

“Billy, I need to step out.” It comes out before it even hits her head, drawl thick in her throat. She can see the question rising in his eyes, after years of working with him she just knows, but chooses to ignore it. Boots scuffing the ground she passes her way through the hot metal bars and serious stagehands to the freedom that comes with the smoking area. She lights her cigarette and pulls up her phone.

June 7th, 2013

She decided to never perform at another Country Music Festival at that very moment.

—

September 26th, 2013

The worst part of realizing you're no longer who you used to be, is when others begin to realize it too.

The pen rocks back and forth in her hand, trying to make sense of the line. She’s sitting in a limo outside a recording studio in Washington, DC where she created her first album. A country wonder, the sweetest voice with the most soul crushing lyrics. Her soft twang and breathy voice made the studio love her even more. It used to flow for her, it used to click. Now she can’t write a genuine line to save her career. Which evidently, is failing.

She slaps the notebook close, eyes turning up towards Billy who's on his phone pretending not to wait for her to give him something new.

“Nothing new, honestly Bill. My brain is just mushed up.” She hates it, but he shows no signs of mirroring that feeling. He just nods quickly, his sharp suit a little too tight around his wrists, clicking off his phone. He does notice though that, though. She does too.

“I didn’t have time to buy a new one.” He chirps out unbuttoning his pressed black blazer shifting uncomfortably in his seat, choosing to not push her for a moment. It makes her laugh, partially out of relief for the way her manager is still her closest friend.

“You’ve just been drinkin’ too much beer.” She starts, ringing her hands down her designer dress from two seasons ago.

“I’ve been eatin’ too much crab. It’s Baltimore, with the old bay.” He says then looks at her. It takes her back to when they both could afford to support their lives. They both just laugh.

She hated this, and when she was younger and more fresh eyed she would blaze a damn trail if this was presented to her. An impromptu performance at the White House with the president to uplift whatever political statement needed pushing - something to catch headlines, erase any world news. When she started off, and even to a degree still now, nothing else mattered but her music. That’s what got her here in the first place, outspoken to a point where she was even blacklisted from the most prestigious award shows after the release of her second album. But now in her early 30’s it's seemed as though the world had moved on. People didn’t seem to care about what she had to say, they just wanted to hear blank statements that meant nothing to be able to avoid the world around them. Or maybe, she was bitter. They had something she didn’t, something she over the past 10 years had given up for her career. Motivation, joy, or simply put; a life. She had made a bad decision, ran out of money, and signed her likelihood away to some big-name big-shot office. Nothing was hers anymore, not truly. So here she was: on the way to something her 25 year old self would not only despise, but reverently hate.

The limo ride there was alright, bit too bumpy and made it hard for her to gulp down the fizzy lukewarm bottle of champagne in the back of the limo. With the aid of bubbles allowing her to actually move her body and try to block this memory out she’s out of the car, shaking hands and greeting politicians in a breeze. So fast that by the time she stepped on stage to perform the national anthem she didn’t even remember how exactly she had got up there. The first few notes swell in her ears, she takes a deep breath ready to do what she does best, put on a show, cringing when the first few notes hit the air. Men standing close by her, sharp suits with walkie-talkies blasting loud enough to take over the whole room suddenly swarmed surrounding the president. Talking with urgency. Her eyes turned to meet Billy’s blue ones in the crowd, a question of should I stop? in them… before it all happened. It all unfolded right in front of her eyes too quickly to comprehend.

Damn her delayed flight or fight skills, she musta softened along the way on one of her worldwide tours. Soon she was being ripped away from the microphone, the band, the stage, Billy, and in a flurry of secret service she was crowded to an elevator which went down….

Down…

Down…

Down…

All the way to the bottom.

—

October 12th, 2023

Fuck.

I’m hungry.

You hated Iowa. You also hated how your map crumbles in your hands. You used to have a book with pages on pages of maps hidden cleverly within your brown backpack. That was before, when there was hope for everyone. This is the present. Hope is a laughable feeling. As the leaves crunch under your heavy boot a dilapidated highway sign peaks your interest. Maps Of The World. Maybe there is hope, afterall. Funny. Ducking back into the trees along the side of the road you make a note to turn at the next exit.

The store is dusty and rummaged through, obviously. That fact doesn’t stop the cough that enters your lungs as soon as you shove the door open. Fanning the particle filled air in front of your face, quick eyes land on a shelf of US maps which remain mostly untouched. Score. Walking over on the balls of your feet, your eyes crinkle when you step on a newspaper covered slab on the floor. Stopping for a moment, then ducking down to your knees and pushing your rifle out of the way, you look at the spot. It sounds almost hollow, like a travelingers hiding spot. You consider for a moment, then look towards the door like a person is about to walk through. You wait a long moment out of pure precaution. Then fan the newspaper away and grab your knife out of your boot, sliding the blade between the board and twisting up. To your surprise it gives and reveals a compartment. You just can’t believe your luck. Almost greedily you push the tile away and stare in awe. A pack of bullets. A handgun. Some beef jerky. It almost makes you cry. Zipping your bag you swipe the bullets and the jerky. Debating for a moment if to take the gun you hear light voices outside. Few minutes away, tops.

Quickly and as quietly as you can you slide the board and the newspaper back, zipping up your bag and hauling ass to your feet to grab a map and leave. Guess the owner was coming back to re-up, no way someone random would wind up there. Well, other than you. The two voices get louder as you hear the feet stop and a gun load. The door being open is a bad omen, you suppose. You slip out the back window which luckily leads into a dense forest, and you dash into the lush green trees finding refuge behind a patch of large grown out boulders and greens.

The logical part of your brain is screaming for you to run but the human part is telling you to stay and manically watch the havoc you caused unfold. Plus, it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.

“Godamnit!” You hear a man shout, voice laced with a thick accent. Texan, you’d recognize your home state anywhere.

“At least they left the gun.” A younger voice calls out. From the large windows you can see them. A young girl, no older than 14 with a maroon jacket and beat up converse, Her brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail, backpack with keychains swinging. Behind her an older man comes up, beard patchy with salt-and-pepper hair, guff and hardened. You can’t look away from him, eyes glued onto his flannel and matching rifle with yours. He turns and you swear he sees you but then his eyes keep moving. Checking the area seemingly unconsciously and you can tell he's danger. Something you would write about in your songs. You let that thought wash over you as he turns and are met with his broad back. You should probably leave. Knees cracking you stand and continue the long journey to Jackson, Wyoming.

In another life, mystery muse.

—

K BYE

X67 (Joel Miller x BountyHunter!Reader) PT 1

Pairings: Joel Miller x reader (lovers to enemies to …?), OC pairing (Charlie ) x reader.

Warnings: typical tlou violence

A/N: hiii! I posted about this earlier, but here is the first part!! it’s honestly a little short but that’s because I want to hide a bit about the relationships and do some revelations in the next part and because of it that needs to be longer!!! K BYEEE

The wood structure looked to be barely supported by its own weight, vines curling around the wood planks slowly constricting themselves to take over the original beams. The wind whipped around the lush trees, snow piling around every curve in the mossy and wet ground behind your feet. It was hard to see around you, so your own form of communication with your team was temporarily lost. All you could do is hope, which was typically a very fleeting feeling within your mind, that they were behind you. Trudging your heavy work boots out of the quickly piling snow, you make your way to the cabin. Your foot finds the weak wood of the first stair piled in snow. You turn and exhale quickly seeing black figures within your squinted, blurry eyesight. You move forwards and once you reach the front porch covered away from the downpiling over snow, you use your teeth to remove one glove and grab your gun from its holster. It’s fucking freezing cold, your warm hands almost painfully stick to the metal. Trying to peer through the window well-duh obviously it's boarded up.

Your team reaches the stairs, your partner Charlie now standing near you. He looks at you, brown eyes reaching yours and moving towards the door. It’s silent for a moment, the calm before the storm.

He barrels the door with his shoulder, and it is all loud noises and boots storming onto the floor, gunpowder seeping the room and crowding the lame wallpaper plastered onto the walls. The girl in question lies, back towards the door, a green sleeping bag tucked under her shoulders. An older man, eyes wide mid-motion. His sleeping bag is scrunched below his waist, salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes crinkle but you're swept away into another room as the man's arms are dragged behind him by three different men. You hear vague gunshots, three to be exact, as you enter the ragged bedroom off to the side of the main-room.

“What should we do?” The words ring in your ears, but words can’t seem to come. This whole entire moment was swept under the rug from you, so much blurry and you couldn’t pin down. X67 was a young girl? Who was that man? Your name is called. It snaps you back to reality as you curl your fists and dig your nails in your palms.

“What?”

“I mean- who do we call?” It’s Charlie in front of you, his eyes are wide. His brown hair is shaggy and much overgrown, and the lines on his face are deep and scar into his skin. It’s clear he hadn’t been able to find a razor in a while as his thick beard had taken over the bottom of his face. You almost lurch for his leg and grab the pager strapped in a pouch on his thigh. The technology is rough in your hands as you stand up straight.

“We can’t tell anyone we’re here, not yet.” You whisper roughly, face close to his. He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off quickly. “They hear and anyone close in the area comes barreling with all their lame ass crews and annoying ass shotguns, so we deal with this personally and then..” You give him a look. He knows what comes after, and it makes his eyes light up.

“Claim the rations.”

You nod.

“Anyways, X67 destroyed the goddamn uprising in Kansas City.” He laughs. “Or at least whatever the hell they were trying to do down there.”

You both leave the room. Blood lines the wall and the smell of death is ever present. Two men, out of your three lay slumped against the sofa while another holds, which is clearly the girl's father or something down. The girl is struggling to free herself of whatever is holding her arms back and Charlie is quick to run over and hold her back once more. You feel suddenly awkward alone standing by yourself, eyes averting both of their yells. The man pinned to the ground has suddenly grown deathly silent. You avert your eyes from the pair though opting to teeth off your other glove. Once it is shoved into your jeans you finally look at the girl. Jesus christ. She looks to be only about 13-14 years old. How could she have such a large bounty over her? It didn’t make any sense. Your morality seemed to bubble up in your throat, running the back of your wrist over your forehead exhaling quickly.

“What the hell Charlie, she’s just a kid.” You breathe out, looking at him, not willing yourself to look anywhere else. His face is twisted in concentration as he finally looks at you.

“Now’s not the time to have a fucking moral crisis!” He shouts at you.

You then decide to, what is quite possibly the worst decision you’ve ever made in your life, break eye contact and look at the silent man pinned down who looks like he’s seen a ghost. Your arm quickly drops. A life before the one you knew now flashes before you.

Joel Miller.

______

2003

Ruffling your wet hair out of the shower, the strands clump up and stick to each other. Groaning you look around the bathroom for your brush, and it’s nowhere to be seen. Wrapping your towel tighter around you, you huff and open the bathroom door walking into the adjoining bedroom, fog following after you as your damp feet hit the soft carpet. Joel stands mid-motion with a small smirk on his face, said brush in hand like he was walking into the bathroom. Almost instantly his eyes hit yours as you start to speak at the same time.

“Brush.”

“Brush?”

He makes you exhale through your nose as you meet each other in the middle of the room.

“I think ya’ left your brush out here.” He says, soft brown eyes still locked with yours.

“I think I did. Thanks.” You pry it from his hands, and start to turn until his large hand wraps around your toweled waist.

“‘Missed you today.” He says, pushing all your hair to the other side of your neck.

“Sarah told me you forgot the pancake mix?” You laugh out at him, and he turns his head to the side, eyes twinkling as he rolls his eyes in faux annoyance.

“That damn girl, telling you all our business.” You playfully swat his side.

“Hey, I moved in 4 months ago. I think I should know about this business by now!” He moves his hands to your shoulders lovingly, then to the sides of your neck turning back towards you now.

“I know, I know.” He pauses. “I like you knowing this.” He says softly, a moment of vulnerability with you. “Makes me feel like Sarah has someone else to look up to.” He nods his head as if confirming what that meant to you. The weight of it weighed on your chest as you rested your forehead on his. His hands met your face.

“I forgot to get the cake too.” You pull back quickly, eyes widen and mouth agape moment clearly ruined.

“One thing!” He gives you a smile that always wins you over, and your mirror his faux annoyed eye roll. “Alright, alright.”

He kisses your cheek quickly and follows you to the bathroom leaning against the door frame. You stand in front of the mirror and wipe off an unfogged patch starting to brush through your hair.

“How was work?” You start, and his eyes flick away from yours like he doesn’t want to talk about it. “Fine, fine. What about… anyone wished’ you a happy birthday?” Your lips curl into a bright smile as he finally looks at you in the mirrored reflection. He walks forward and takes the brush out of your hand, running it through your damp hair as gently as possible.

“Only the people that matter.” He says softly, leaning down and kissing your shoulder.