Daydreaming

It's seed catalog time! One of my favorite times of year, honestly. While my garden mostly sleeps, full of dry leaves and fluffed-up birds and cold breezes, I'm indoors contemplating tomato varieties and telling myself that *this* will at last be the year I get the peas in on time.

As it is that appointed time, my usual yearly reminder: don't buy from Baker Creek!

Baker Creek are racist, fascist assholes! They intended to platform Cliven Bundy at their yearly conference, and Native seedkeepers have said that Baker Creek stole from them (and sell the product of that theft). They did a For Ukraine fundraiser that actually went to a far-right Ukrainian organization invested in obliterating LGBT rights.

Baker Creek might have some fun varieties of seed, but I can very nearly guarantee that if you see something there you want, I can find it or an analogue for you somewhere else.

Here's a selection of seed companies I personally have bought from, or people I trust have recommended; there will be a secondary and possibly tertiary reblog, since Tumblr only allows me to do ten links at once. If there's a company you've bought from and liked, please leave a review for them in the comments! What did you get, what did you like, how was the germination? Native Seed Companies: (please, please feel free to add more in comments to this post)

Companies Specializing in Native Pollinator Plants and Seed:

New to me last year, but HIGHLY RECOMMENDED seed preservation company (they have an incredible selection! My 2023 germination of their seed was like 98%! But they only accept paper order forms):

Cool weird nightshades, I got a bunch of dwarf tomato seeds from them last year and THEY didn't suffer from peppergate because they're a small company that does a lot of their own seed:

Want to try just a few of something? Seedsnow is *really cheap*.

I got my first real year of tomato seeds from Totally Tomatoes, and a full decade on I'm still getting germination from packets I bought that season:

HUGE selection of most every kind of bean you might want to grow:

It is a gateway to community organising.

It brings people together for a common purpose, that is also physically & mentally healing (cf ecotherapy), produces tangible results of effort, gets people used to sharing resources, creates a location where people feel welcome, calm, useful, able to get invested.

Gardens aren't the thing for everyone, which is why we ALSO need to have

community repair shops: where folks can come and fix stuff, share skills & resources, help each other out

community parties: where people can have cheap, accessible fun (whether that's a potluck, street party or ceilidh, invite your neighbours ffs)

community kitchens

community sport - football gets people used to showing up and working as a team, creates cameraderie

Unions

music groups

Art collectives

Not because growing food, fixing stuff, cooking or partying will save us, but because of what you talk about WHILE you're doing this stuff. Ever been in a room where people are cooking together, when someone brings up government policy?

All of these are meeting community needs, and creating social spaces around them.

If the only reason you're meeting up is to organise The Resistance|TM|, you end up with maybe one or two good actions, along with burnout, disengagement, echo chambers and collapse. That's not a movement.

Community Gardening et. al. set the preconditions for mutual aid, and when people show up in these spaces, make a point of talking about politics and the struggles people are facing locally, then solidarity is much easier.

Meeting each others needs makes it easier to organise a group to call their representatives, paint banners, agitate for change, unionised, riot etc.

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: The most dangerous man in town has been staring at you nonstop, but keeps his distance until the night he walks you home…

tags: smut, medium burn, sexy stuff starts in chp.3, age difference, M/F, a lot of goddamn eye contact that turns into porn, porn w plot, zaddy joel, hand/finger kink, praise kink, mild blood in later chps, TLOU pt.II

notes: Set at the beginning of The Last of Us Part II when Joel and Ellie live in the Jackson, Wyoming community, a few years after TLOU part I. Deviates from canon apart from that. Characterizations based mostly on the first game.

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45087460/chapters/113423947#workskin

CHAPTER ONE

This guy’s a real fucking asshole, isn’t he?

The thought forms while you take in Tate, the man who runs Jackson’s trading post. He stands there sneering, withered inside and out. He has always been a condescending short-changer and a grade A, absolute-mother-fucking, asshole.

“These boots are worth at least twenty, Tate.” you say with as much venom in your voice as you can muster.

The boots were old, but the leather was still good and you weren’t walking away without fifteen cards at least. Rent was due soon and you’ve been skipping meals more often than you’d like in order to make sure you had enough.

“I figured you were stupid sweetheart, but not that stupid. Those piece of shit boots are barely worth five.” he drawls, leaning over the counter towards you.

Five!? Five was barely anything, five was a handful of buttons at best. He smirked, clearly on an ego high. That smirk, the smirk of men who didn’t think you had a place to fight in this new hardened world, all too familiar, set you off. If you were smart, you’d keep your mouth shut and take what you could, but anger propels you to take a step towards him, to show him you’re not afraid.

“And I figured the most disgusting thing I had ever seen was a bloater with half its brains blown out till I saw you.”

Tate’s face grimaces and you prepare to have your boots thrown in your face when a short laugh comes from the entrance of the cramped shop. You both whip your heads, craning yours to look almost directly behind you. All the anger fades out of you as you see him. Large, broad shoulders, faded flannel shirt pushed up his forearms to show tan skin and corded muscles. You swallow dryly. 

Joel Miller. 

He’s leaning against the open doorjamb, arms folded over his chest. His face is hard, eyes cold as they always are, but there is a small smile on his lips. You didn’t hear him come in, silent, always so silent. It’s happened more times than you can count. You’d be getting a drink, or on a run to the general store, and the air would change. People would get quiet and careful all of a sudden, the only clue you ever got that he was around before you saw him. And then you’d spot him, sidling up at the bar, or filling a pack with supplies. His massive frame in his usual tan outdoorsmen jacket, his salt and pepper beard and thick waves of dark hair, his quick eyes looking at you. Why were they always looking at you? You wondered this constantly. Were you making it up? You didn’t think like you were, you could feel his eyes on you when you were in the same room, never for long, but always impossibly intense. You wondered if you bothered him. If the flame in his regard was because he disliked you, like a lot of men in this town did. You were used to that; you were a loudmouth, known for telling off anyone who got in your way, and here that happened quite a bit. When you’re a girl and you don’t know how to fight, you learn to scare people off with your words. And it usually works, until it doesn’t. Like with Tate. Which brings you back to the moment you’re in.  

You have the satisfaction of seeing Tate stiffen with fear, his face blanching as Joel eases himself off the doorframe and slowly approaches you both. He stops when he reaches your left shoulder, your arms almost brushing as he places three plump, dead pheasants on the counter. Your body has two very strong reactions to this. Firstly, electricity zings on your skin at the lost touch. Secondly, your stomach growls at the sight of the birds and how long they’d keep you fed. You hope he can’t hear the latter.

“I’ll take fifty for these, and twenty-five for the boots.”

Your eyes widen. So do Tate’s.

“Oh, you can’t be serious, Joe-“

Joel cuts Tate a look that stops him dead in his tracks. He stares back at Joel, trying to muster half the intimidation the man besides you holds and fails miserably. He takes too long to move though, so Joel takes one step forward and Tate backs away.

“Fine.” is all Tate says as he grabs the dead birds and your boots and walks to the back of the store.

You’re only aware that you’re gaping at Joel when he slowly steps back and turns to take you in. You snap your mouth shut, realizing it’s been hanging open like a beached fish.

You don’t know what to say so you just stare back at him. Several moments pass.

“You run your mouth to everyone in this town yet got nothing to say to me?” he finally speaks.

If anyone else had said that to you, you would have flipped them off. But Joel’s eyes are different now, not warm, but not ice cold like before either. They seem curious, and that amused smile is tugging at the edge of his mouth again.

“Th-Thank you.” You clear your throat trying to cover the embarrassing stutter that escapes your slightly trembling lips. “But you didn’t have to do that. I can do just fine on my own.”

“I’m sure you can.” is all he replies, eye boring into yours.

You’re pinned there, under his gaze. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him, the most you’ve ever heard him speak. You always wondered what color his eyes were, they looked brown from afar. But there were several times, caught in a slice of sunlight, that something lighter seemed to gleam. Looking at him now, you can make out the shape of them better, surprisingly sweet for such a hardened face. The color remains muddled though, his face backlit and mostly in shadow as you look up at him, a full head taller than you. You haven’t wanted to admit to yourself just how much of a giant crush you have on this handsome man double your age, but standing before him like this, it feels undeniable. You think about him a lot. When you go into town and he’s there, when you go into town and he’s not. When you let yourself write about him in your tattered journal. When you go to sleep, mostly, and whenever you dip your hands below your waistband in your small bed. That, you’ve done an embarrassing amount. You have the same fantasy on loop, of his fingers and what they’d feel like if they worked between your thighs… You don’t want to be thinking of all of this while you stand before him, but you can’t help it and you’re left feeling like he can read it in your thoughts. Like all your hopeless, stupid yearnings are written all over your face and he’s going to see them and laugh out loud. Your cheeks start to burn hot and red and the curiosity in his eyes grows sharper, almost…hungry.

You’re holding your body so rigidly you feel as if you might snap when Tate, thankfully, returns. You are released from Joel’s gaze as he accepts the wad of ration cards that Jackson uses as currency. He turns to leave and gestures at you to follow. You’re surprised at this but you oblige, pausing only briefly to stick out your tongue at Tate. He flips you off as you hasten after Joel into the dim twilight.

The dusty road has a good amount of people on it, and you’re very aware of the fact that you’re now walking alongside the Joel Miller. A few eyes look you up and down as you both pass, no doubt wondering what the likes of you is doing with the scariest man in town.

You follow him wordlessly, not paying any attention to where he is leading you, or why, taking in the wooden buildings around you instead, most streets lined with string bulbs, illuminating the dusk. However, there aren’t as many lights on this side of town, closer to the outskirts, and the indigo outline of snowcapped mountains looms in the distance. Suddenly, Joel pulls something from a side pocket of his pack. In his large hand, he begins peeling a lopsided orange. You can’t help but eye how long his fingers are, working the rind off the fruit. And instead of throwing the peels on the dirt road, like most would, he places each piece into his pocket. You notice this, how gently he handles the fruit, how careful he is not to drop a single scrap of skin. Unusual. His meticulous fingers bring you back to your recurring fantasy. You’re snapped out of it when he then breaks the orange into parts and extends one half out to you. You look at him surprised. He looks back, nonchalant. 

Why is Joel Miller offering you half an orange?

Despite your confusion, you can’t help but want it. Fruit isn’t plenty here in the mountains, and oranges have always been your favorite. So, you reach out and take the half from him. Your fingers brush as you grab it, and you feel like you’ve been electrocuted. He pulls back quickly and looks ahead as he pops a slice into his mouth. Slowly, you do the same, trying to hide the tremble in your hand. It’s pretty fucking good. As far as oranges go, this one’s especially sweet. You can’t help the slight smile that pulls on the edge of your lips, but you drop it before he can notice.

You both walk in the growing dark, eating orange slices, when you realize if you are ever going to speak to this man again this might be your only chance.

“It must be nice to have everyone here afraid shitless of you, to know you can make any trade you want” you say truthfully as you pull a fiber of white off your last slice, and carefully pocket it.

He doesn’t answer you.

For some reason this bothers you, mostly because you don’t want him to think that you’re like everyone else, terrified of him. Because you’ve seen him be gentle, mostly when he was with his daughter Ellie, but also moments like now. The perfectly peeled orange half was proof of that. You knew there was something tender in him, deep down. You speak before you think.

“Well, they might be afraid of you…but I’m n-not.”

It comes out sounding like a lie, because it sort of is. You are terrified of him, but for very different reasons from everyone else. Joel stops now and turns to look at you, arching a dark brow.

“Is that so?”

You don’t know how to say anything that could even remotely intimidate this man, so you just set your jaw and stare back with as much bite as you dare to give someone with a hunting rifle slung over their back.

He smirks at this, eyes dancing, and pulls out a wad of card rations, handing it to you.

“Your cut.”

You completely forgot about those, you realize, having followed him just because he asked you to. Your face burns again with the embarrassment of this, following a grown man you hardly knew down winding, dim streets to who knows where. You can’t believe how stupid you feel around him. You look away so he can’t see you blush twice in one day and in doing so you realize where you both stand. To your right is Mabel’s shop, a kind woman who accepts minimal pay for clothing repair. And above that is a series of tiny rooms in a hallway, rooms she rents out to people without much money or family. The one directly on top of the shop front, facing the street with one small square window, is yours. It takes you a second to register that he has brought you home. That he knows where you live. Your thoughts stop and then sputter into chaos.

How does he know where you live??

You open your mouth to question him when, he pops his last slice into his smirking mouth and saunters off without a word of goodbye, his long legs moving swiftly.

How does he know where you live!!!!!!!!!!??????

You try to figure out whether you should be freaked out or impressed by his knowledge when you look down at your rations, expecting to see twenty-five but counting too high. Your brows furrow and you count again, getting the same number. You look up, taken fully aback at his retreating figure, heading towards the residential part of the city.