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psychedelic-ink · 7 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, childhood bestfriends to lovers, tlou'verse, jackson era, mild hurt/comfort

word count: 4.9k

summary: When your boyfriend is desperate to win back what he lost, he bets on you this time without your knowledge. And everyone knows you don't go back on your word when it comes to Joel Miller.

warnings: okay so technically not cheating because your boyfriend literally gambled you buuut if that's not your thing I totally get it, piv, dirty talk, choking, spitting, size kink, soft!joel & feral!joel, he likes hearing how big he is, affectionate whore calling™, a hint of analplay, oral (receiving and giving)

a/n: another joel fic inspired by p.orn, we love to see it

a special thank you to @nothoughtsjustmeds for the beta! 💕

Joel was never that into gambling.

Back before everything had gone to shit, that had always been more Tommy’s forte than his own. Joel doesn’t remember the amount of times he’d had to bail his brother out, either by protecting him while putting himself in the middle or by giving him loans he’d never ever see again. Joel hadn’t minded. Tommy was his baby brother after all. As long as he was safe Joel was happy—annoyed, for sure, but happy.

He was surprised when he learned that Jackson had a pretty heavy gambling scene and that Tommy wasn’t a part of it. He didn’t know why that was, because even on the nights where he had to go bail him out and bring him home all bloodied and bruised, Tommy just made the same mistakes. Not even Sarah’s worried expression, while she peered from between the wooden stair railing, deterred him from it.

Guess it was different when your own kid was on the way.

However, despite his lack of interest in gambling, he found himself betting away what little he had for someone else—someone he thought he would never see again. But honestly, he wasn’t half bad at it so he didn’t mind it that much. His only complaint was when he had to get messy hunting down those who didn’t pay up.

One by one the men around the table folded, only leaving Joel and Liam. A huge stack of weaponry lies in the middle of the table, Liam’s eyes constantly flit between the stack and Joel. They stare at each other long and hard. Joel knows that he’s going to win. He usually did with these face-offs.

Liam folds.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Joel’s lips. There’s nothing better than to take what someone he absolutely detests wants.

“Let’s go again,” Liam grunts, his forehead shining with sweat.

Joel raises an eyebrow, “You don’t have anythin’ else to bet on.”

“Come on now, Miller,” Liam leans back into his chair. “There must be something that you want.”

Joel’s eyes bore into his long enough for the man to grow uncomfortable and nervous. Only then did he speak.

“You still have that pretty girlfriend?”

Someone Joel didn’t bother learning the name of pipes up from his right, “I thought we were only betting huntin’ supplies this time.”

“Come on, let the man try to win his rifle back.” Joel grins.

“Fuck you, Miller.”

“Careful now,” he slowly places his elbows on the old table, his weight on it enough to let out a threatening creak. He cocks his head to the side, his smile small but still there. “My kindness wears thin.”

Liam’s an addict. And of course, he says yes.

“You fucking gambled me away?!” your voice is shaking, body trembling all over as you pace back and forth in front of the couch Liam was nestled on top of. At least he has the decency to look guilty. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Liam? I’m your girlfriend, not some kind of deer hide you can put on the table.”

“Look I said I was sorry alright?” He stands up fast enough to make you flinch. He holds you by the shoulders, thumbs moving in a soothing manner. “Won’t happen again, I promise.”

You scoff, “We both know that’s a lie.” You lift your chin up in defiance. “I won’t do it. I have free will. You can’t make me.”

That makes Liam sweat. You can’t blame him, you’ve heard of Joel’s. . . outbursts. But honestly, that’s the least of your worries. You’re mostly confused as to why Joel asked for you specifically. You’re positive that he’d been avoiding you ever since he came into Jackson, only talking to you a handful of times. Why now? And why like this?

“Baby,” Liam whines, snapping you away from your thoughts. “You have to. He’s crazy, he’ll kill me.”

“You should’ve thought of that before.”

“Please. All you’d have to do is entertain him for the night, make him happy.”

“So to be his plaything? Is that what you want?”

“Maybe he’ll ask you to cook him dinner, hell if I know.”

“Sure,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure he’ll just want something to eat.”

You give him one more look before slipping away from his gentle hold. Your heartbeat is slow, hours spreading across every beat, making your chest feel heavy and lightheaded.

“Fine,” you cave, wrapping yourself with your shaking arms. “But after this, I’m done, Liam. I’m so tired of bailing you out.”

“You can’t leave, where would you go?”

The soft tone he used while begging you to spread your legs for Joel quickly turns into a tone with sharp, dagger-like edges. You don’t say anything. Don’t answer him or agree with him. You’re lost in a broken world.

And now, amongst all the things you’ve been through, you have to see the pity in your childhood best friend’s eyes.

You don’t want to be here. You don’t. It’s embarrassing.

Your boyfriend is in the other room, brooding on his couch, examining his life choices. You’re not doing any better. Your robe loose over your shoulders, the chill of the bedroom settling over your skin. It’s especially embarrassing because it’s Joel for crying out loud. You’ve known each other since you were kids causing mischief all around the neighborhood. You still remember the time you fell and scraped your knee, how he kissed it better and placed a pink bandaid over it because it was your favorite color.

Why the hell had he asked for you? To humiliate you? Well, he definitely succeeded.

The door opens and you jolt. His presence is large in the room, making you shudder despite yourself. Your pulse quickens. You shouldn’t be afraid of him yet here you are, trembling like a newborn doe. He closes the door with a gentle click, the wood creaking and solidifying your fate.

You haven’t known him for years. Even before the outbreak had torn the world apart. You had moved away two years prior and after everything went down you never expected to see him again. When he showed up in Jackson you barely recognized him. He looked rugged, more salt than pepper in his beard, his eyes drained of life. He had scars that ran deep and he had found a kid along the way. You were surprised but relieved to see he still had a big heart.

You were ashamed the first time you two sat down after years. Everyone knew of Liam’s gambling problem, he couldn’t help it, and you knew that Joel knew. You hated the idea of him pitying you, of him seeing the world weighing down on you. You’ve heard from around that Joel also started to place bets. Nothing too big though, unlike your boyfriend who would bet on almost anything in the house. You knew those bets could turn out violent and people feared Joel. Even in a safe utopia like Jackson, the kind of man he’d become traveled from ear to ear, striking fear. And when someone that owed him money ended up with a bloody nose and broken jaw. . . no one dared to deny him of anything.

And it seemed like you were no exception.

Joel stands in front of you, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, exposing sinewy muscle. He stands close. Close enough that you feel his breath on your lips. Your eyelids flutter before you avert them, tears stinging the corners.

You drop the robe, the old fabric pooling at your ankles. You’re left in a decent enough-looking bra and somewhat matching underwear.

“Not interested,” Your entire body goes taut, eyes wide. You hear the blood rush in your ears. Joel moves past you and takes a seat on the bed, crossing his arms over the expanse of his broad chest. You stare at him and a thick knot forms in your throat. He gives you a brief look before explaining. “I only wanted to teach your boyfriend a lesson. He’s reckless. One of these days he’s gonna be in real debt to me and, darlin’, I don’t want you gettin’ caught in the middle.”

Your heart drops. You don’t know what you’ve been expecting but it certainly isn’t this. Tears blurring your vision, you quickly bend over and scoop up your robe, throwing it over your shoulders. Somewhere along memory lane, you forgot to remind yourself that Joel was your first; first crush, first love, first kiss, first time. But it just hadn’t worked out. You had stayed close friends until you moved away, he had Sarah, you had a promising career. You were planning on getting back to him. It just never came to be. Liam didn’t know you knew Joel, only Tommy knew about the connection you two had, mainly because he was there.

And now you had Liam—Boyfriend who calls you names because he hates everything, Liam. Shitty boyfriend, Liam. Boyfriend who put you up as a prize, Liam.

It’s just too much. All of it. Your heart can’t handle how unfair it all is. The pity Joel shows you, the way Liam treats you. He loves you, you know that much, but he just doesn’t care enough to treat you right or tend to you when he’s so broken himself. He doesn’t understand that you would take care of him just as much.

And now you’re just a shell. A shell of your former self.

The first salty tear slips from your lashes, it’s followed by another and then another.

You manage to reach the end of the bed on shaky legs, collapsing, you cover your face, heaving silently into your palms. You don’t want Liam to hear you cry, deep down you want him to think Joel is fucking you this very instant. You want him to feel guilt, or at least a sliver of the way you feel.

There’s a gentle hand on your shoulder. Your brain doesn’t even register that Joel is pulling you into his chest, wrapping solid arms around your shaking frame. He holds the back of your neck, squeezing tenderly just like he did when your mom yelled at you and he wanted to calm you down.

“Why are you cryin’?” he mumbles. “I told you I’m not gonna do anythin’ to you. Or to him. I just wanted him to think before he put you in any danger. What if it wasn’t me there? Not everyone is as they seem in this town.”

After all this time Joel Miller is still looking out for you.

“It’s not that,” you answer, between sniffled and muffled hiccups. “I’m embarrassed and so fucking tired. I don’t want you thinking I’m some damsel in distress, even though me crying isn’t really helping,” you take a deep breath and peel yourself unwillingly from his chest. “I don’t feel good about myself. I never do with him. I just feel like shit with some more shit thrown over. And well. . . now I know that you don’t want me either. It’s just too much. But I’ll be okay, thank you for looking out after me even though I’m a mess.”

He suddenly grips your chin and pulls you close enough that your noses almost touch, “What the hell makes you think that I don’t want you?”

“You. . .” with a sigh, you look away. “You didn’t want to fuck me.”

“You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

Squeezing your chin, he forces your gaze back to him. His lips are parted, pupils wide enough to hide the chocolate brown of his eyes. He seems just as surprised as you feel. Arousal pools between your legs, heat dripping down the curve of your spine. You press your thighs together and swallow.

Joel’s hand moves up to your cheek and cups it gently, thumb toying with the corner of your lip, “I just never thought you’d be interested if I’m bein’ honest. Especially not after. . . everything I’ve done.”

“You’ve done what you’ve had to do to survive,” you kiss the curve of his palm and he shifts, coming even closer. “I always wanted to come back to you, you know? You’re my first love, Joel Miller. Deep down I always wanted you to be the last.”

Joel was never an emotional guy. He always had trouble expressing what he thought and felt, thinking he always had to hide behind large invisible walls. The outbreak had put a magnifying glass over that quality of his. You can only tell that your words affected him by how the crease between his brows softens and his cheeks gain a subtle red hue.

He only grunts as he forcefully brings your hand to his crotch, his cock hard and throbbing under your palm. His lips skim down your neck, kissing where your pulse beats frantically. Joel grinds into your palm, “You still want to fuck with your boyfriend waiting in the living room?”

“God, yes.”

You stand up and he parts his legs for you, allowing you to take your rightful place between them. Looking up, his fingers dance up your shoulders, pushing off the robe so it once again pools at your feet. The fabric of your bra has worn away with time, meaning that your nipples meet no resistance as they stiffen under his gaze. Joel licks his lips and brings both thumbs to the peaks, rubbing them until they’re fully hard.

Then he suddenly shoves you closer to him, your aching nipple met with his wanting mouth. He sucks through the fabric. Saliva darkens the color. He sucks and moans each individual nipple until both are hard like diamonds and only then do you find yourself on the bed, his mouth still on you, starving for more. Your back forms the perfect arch, the sheets feeling like silk against your skin despite them being years old—almost rotten.

He drags his lips down your body, rough facial hair tickling your skin, your hips helplessly stutters into the air. Two large hands pin your hips down. You can’t help the noises that tumble from your lips. For the first time, you’re feeling whole. He lays soft kisses against your inner thighs and finally, he reaches where you want him most.

Joel sucks your clit through the fabric and your body jerks, seeking the heat of his mouth against your bare cunt instead. He smiles, digging his blunt nails into your flesh.

“Patience,” he licks a stripe down your clothed folds. “I want you to be loud, sweetheart. Make noise for me. If you want me to fuck you, that’s my price—your sounds.”

Liam never liked the sounds you made. Unless you were mimicking porn and whispering how close you were, which was a very rare occasion.

Joel slides his hands up to the softness of your stomach, squeezing gently. Like you might fade away at any given second. He kisses the lips of your pussy and his eyes flutter closed.

“Doesn’t it feel good,” he begins, his southern drawl more prominent as his voice grows deeper. “To have that prick in the next room listenin’ to me fuck you, riddled with guilt because he bet on his pretty girlfriend?”

It does feel good. “You think I’m pretty?”

“‘Course I do,” his brows furrow, eyes finding yours. “Prettiest girl I’ve known since the first day my dick got hard.”

The words send a tingle up your spine but Joel doesn’t allow you to linger on them for long. He slides your underwear to the side. The fabric sticky with slick, he immediately presses his lips deep into your cunt, tongue swirling around your entrance and teasing it by pushing in the tip. You cry out and grip his head, your legs pressing against his ears. Your heart hammers within the confinements of your ribcage.

“Gonna ruin you,” he groans, licking himself deeper and rutting the bed. Your eyes roll back, your body melting with every fat stroke of his tongue.

Joel takes you apart slowly. His jaw moves, head lazily going from left to right. You feel so wet, soaked, from both his mouth and your slick. It’s almost like he goes slower the more soaked you are. He draws various shapes around your throbbing clit. You're left withering under him, shaking, begging, and moaning his name loud enough that the entirety of Jackson could probably hear. The wet smack of his mouth is followed by loud slurps and groans, and your stomach coils tight.

After all these years, Joel Miller had certainly learned a few new tricks. He wasn’t that same teenager anymore, though, neither were you. He feels different, yet he also feels the same. Like a familiar wind stroking your skin.

“So damn wet and sweet like honey, fuck.”

He moves away and you nearly cry out of frustration, fingers burrowing into the old sheets. You only move when you hear the deafening sound of a belt buckle coming loose. Joel’s pants drop to his ankles, cock painfully hard and slightly curving to the side. Your mouth waters, “No underwear?”

“Got too lazy to wash’em last Sunday,” he lazily strokes himself. Today is Tuesday. He’s been going commando all this time. More saliva fills your mouth, you don’t know why but the thought excites you and he seems to notice. “You always did get turned on by the weirdest things,” he mutters. “Now get on your knees, sweetheart. Been waitin’ a long time to feel those lips again.”

You pout, “Forearms are sexy, ask anyone.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, his dark gaze makes you clench around nothing. He ignores your comment entirely. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You sink to your knees immediately after that.

He’s so much thicker than you remember. The bulbous head a beautiful shade of red, shiny beads of precome gathered at the slit. You notice the vein meandering down the underside of his cock and you trace it with the tip of your tongue. The blood pumps harder in response, his length twitches and smears the shiny pearls against your cheek.

You moan as you finally take him between your lips. The corners of your mouth sting from how wide you need to open to accommodate him. You manage to take him half way in, swirling your tongue, you hollow out your cheeks.

“That’s it—That’s it, fuck—suck me harder, sweetheart, please—” his hips rock forward, his cock filling your mouth until the head is hitting the back of your throat. You choke on him and his head falls at the way your throat constricts around the width of him. He then pulls out, prompting you to look up. His hair is a mess, lips swollen and parted. “Use your spit, need you to wet my cock good if you want me to fit darlin’. I ain’t that teenager anymore.”

You kiss the soft crease between his balls, rolling them with your tongue. You’re delighted to witness how he shudders at the soft caress of your lips, “I can see that.”

“Get on with it then.”

Joel sounds almost annoyed—no, not annoyed, but eager, desperate—to have your mouth wrapped around him with Liam in the other room. You don’t want to make him wait so you slowly allow a thin line of saliva to drip from between your lips. His thighs tense when it touches the head of his cock.

“Is his dick as big as mine?” he asks, jaw locked, words bouncing off of clenched teeth.

“No,” you gasp, dragging your lips down the length of him while staring at him through heavy lashes. “No, it’s not as big as yours.”

Suddenly you’re lifted to your feet, your body nothing but a ragdoll as he pushes you to the bed, the old mattress creaking with protest at the added weight.

“Play with that fuckin’ pussy for me, I want to see it.” He wraps a hand around his weeping cock, his strokes hard and calculated. Your breasts tingle as you push a hand between your thighs, he clicks his tongue in disapproval, approaching the end of the bed. “Spread your legs wide, honey.”

As soon as you open your legs and spread your folds for him to see how soaked you are, he’s quick to climb up the bed. Turning you to your side, he gets right behind you. Joel wets his own fingers, sucking on them with a loud groan before replacing yours with his own. He rubs your clit with precise movements, each stroke hitting the mark and making you see bright, dazzling stars. Your body moves on its own. Heat pools between your legs, your hips grinding back to feel the heft of him on your ass.

“Joel, please,” you whimper. “Please, fuck me, please—”

His lips touch your cheek and he breathes heavily, his chest heaving and rattling with every exhale. You feel the head of his cock slowly sinking into you, stretching you wide as his lips decorate your sweaty skin with fleeting kisses.

“You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ well, honey,” your eyes roll back, a mild pain blossoming from where you two connect. He brushes his fingers over your clit, the sharp pleasure shortening your breath. “That’s it. That’s my girl takin’ my big cock so well. So good. So good for me.”

Your jaw drops as you take him inch by inch. He continuously plays with your clit, kissing you and whispering words of praise while his tongue plays with your earlobe. You feel like mush. Like dough that only he can mold. Your lashes grow wet with tears, your heart beating so wild that you swear he can hear it as well. Joel slightly pulls back his hips and pushes back in, your breath catches in your throat, and soon enough he begins fucking you with shallow thrusts.

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” he mutters into your ear. You nod helplessly, your body burning from the inside out. “Tell me, louder, come on,” a smack echoes in the small room, and pain blossoms over your ass cheek. “Come on, louder.”

“Yes!” you cry out. In a weak attempt to meet his thrusts, you roll your hips. “Yes, this is what I wanted. I’ve never stopped thinking about it—never stopped thinking about you.”

“Is this pussy mine?”

“Yes, it’s fucking yours.”

Your voice must’ve come out too much like a whisper because Joel’s pace quickens. He fucks you hard, deep, hammering into you until you’re struggling for air. He wraps thick fingers around your neck, squeezing until there’s pressure building under your eyes, your lungs burning.

He loosens his grip around your throat, “I wanna hear it, come on now, don’t make me beg for it. Tell me, is it mine?”

“Yours! It’s fucking yours!”

Suddenly Joel is underneath you and you’re on top, his hips relentless as he snaps his hips up into you. It feels even better now. The way his cock massages your walls shooting crackles of electricity up your spine. He holds your ass with both hands and spreads you for his liking.

You moan his name and when you look down, seeing him staring at your face, a sudden gush of embarrassment overwhelms you and with a small whimper, you cover his eyes with both your hands. Joel grits his teeth at that. He fucks you harder, the vicious way he presses inside making you gasp and drop your hands so you can brace yourself by flattening your palms over his chest. His eyes flash with anger.

“Why the fuck—” he growls, “would you cover my eyes?”

“I–I got embarrassed—” you squeeze your eyes shut and open them back again. You push down your hips, taking him to the hilt as a form of apology, but he doesn’t seem to accept it and holds you still. Your head falls back with his every thrust.

“If you ever pull that stunt again, I’ll take you over my knee,” he rasps, ignoring the way your pussy clenches at his words.

His finger teases your asshole and beads of sweat gather at your tailbone. Joel’s grin is dangerous, something you’d run away from rather than run towards. But you can’t help it. A wanton moan rattles your throat, your pussy clenching hard around his cock. He presses forward, burying his finger down to the first knuckle. You shudder over and over, your body building tension and releasing it simultaneously.

“You like that, wildflower?” he groans, thrusting his finger in and out while snapping his hips up. “You enjoy it when I play with your tight little asshole?”

“Fuck, fuck—Joel—yes, yes I do.”

His other hand snakes around the back of your neck and yanks you down. His damp lips touch your ear, “Gonna fuck this hole one day, pretty thing. . . gonna fuck it so hard you’re not gonna be able to stand for weeks.”

Before you can catch your breath, you’re being hauled towards the closed door, the emptiness you feel sudden and cold. He pulls your hips up, presses your cheek against the barely standing wood. Your hard nipples graze against the surface, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine. Again, Joel thrusts forward, filling you to the brim. The mild pain tingles within your lower abdomen and you melt against him, eyes rolling back as you wiggle your ass for him.

With every rock of his hips, your body hits the door with a thud and you’re sure Liam can hear every forceful fuck, “Tell him how fuckin’ bigger I am than him—I wanna fuckin’ hear, it come on.”

“He’s so much bigger than you!” you groan, bracing your palm against the door. “You hear me, Liam? Never had a bigger cock in my life, I’m soaked.”

Liam’s muffled voice follows through, “Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? You fucking whore!”

You know it shouldn’t, but his words still jar you.

“I’ll fuckin’ break his hands for that, don’t you worry darlin’,” Joel mutters into your skin, his words marking you as something untouchable. “And I’ll make it fuckin’ hurt.” He then kisses your shoulder and shouts towards the door, slamming especially hard this time so the thud of you hitting the door echoes. “You’re the one who gambled her like some kind of prize you dickhead. Don’t blame her for feelin’ good about it!”

“You could never satisfy me,” you say barely above a whisper, like you’re not entirely sure you’re allowed to feel good about this. About finally having him all to yourself.

“That’s it, tell him,” Joel growls, pushing his cock even deeper. You swear that if you looked down at your stomach, you’d see a bulge, as impossible as that sounds. “Tell him.”

You desperately grab at Joel’s forearms, feeling the sinewy muscle tense. Your slick drips down his length and wets the inside of your thighs. With a loud moan you repeat your words and it feels delightful.

You only smile when you hear the outer door close shut. Liam is gone.

“Yes yes yes,” Joel murmurs into your neck, ramming into you harder. “That’s it, come on my cock, sweetheart, please—I wanna feel it—”

Your breath catches in your throat, body seizing, “B—Bed,” you manage to choke out.

If he pulled out, you’re not aware. His body is a constant presence against your back, lips always latched on to a patch of skin, tasting the salt. Joel lays you down gently and pushes your legs high enough that it grazes your forehead with every desperate snap of his hips.

“Is this what you want?” he groans, the wet noises of him fucking into the tight fist of your cunt bouncing off the walls.

“Yes, Joel— this is what I want.”

“My whore,” he leans over and grinds into you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, sucks on your tongue. The back of your thighs ache with protest but you whimper into the kiss anyway. Breaking the kiss, Joel breathes into you, “My good sweet little whore,” and another kiss.

Your eyes roll back, “So deep,” you groan, breaking the kiss.

“Deeper deeper deeper,” Joel mocks you by mimicking your dazed tone with his drawl. He slowly pushes in, holding himself there, he halts your breath. “How’s that, wildflower? Deep enough for you?”

“Oh god, Joel—” you choke. You fist the sheets, your cunt fluttering and throbbing. He doesn’t move, he flexes his cock and the pressure of that is enough to break you.

Joel wasn’t expecting it, this much your muddled brain is able to realize from the shocked groan he lets out. His lips find purchase on your forehead, kissing and mumbling praise as your entire body clenches and releases, your pussy gushing around him. You feel the trickles of fresh wetness ripping out of you and all you can do is take it when Joel resumes his thrusts, fucking you through your messy orgasm.

Despite your insistent begging of wanting him to come inside, Joel pulls out, coming undone instantly as he does so. He rubs himself over your mound, thick ropes of come spurting across your stomach and even the underside of your right breast. He releases your legs and they fall limply to his sides.

Joel kisses you long and deep, his weight comforting above your trembling body. When he finally pulls away, he lets out a low chuckle and brushes your noses together.

“I think he left, sweetheart.”

“Good,” you mumble and press a quick kiss to his flushed lips. “All I want is you.”

Liam’s not your boyfriend anymore.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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swartists4palestine · 2 months

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Meet the team!!

Here’s a little bit about the people behind the project.

"Hi! I'm Moss, my comfortless comfort character is Boba Fett, and I'm offering icons and busts! Also, I'm big on AOTC but I turn it off right before the battle of Geonosis starts." -@baufraus

Howdy! I'm @maulfucker but you can call me Youni, I love alien ocs and villains the most, and my favorite star wars is Phantom Menace :]

Hi! I’m Ty! (they/them) I’m offering half or full body drawings of your OCs or fave characters! At the moment I’m pretty into rebels and the clone wars :)) -@tyquu

“Hii! I’m gooserolls! (they/he/xe) I am offering pencil or colored digital portraits of ocs or canon characters! I love all things mandalorians, although the clone wars has a special place in my heart too :] -@gooserolls

"Hiya, I'm Mel (or Melon) (she/her) I'm offering coms of ocs or canon characters! I especially love drawing togruta and prequel era characters but have fun with most any portrait :>" -@notsomeloncholy

"Hello, I'm Nova (he/they) and I'll be offering commissions of your OCs! I am obsessed with Mandos, Chiss and the First Order, and a big fan of Empire strikes back". -@mandalorian-general

"hello hello, I'm Crypt, (they/them) lover of animation, ocs and all things silly. Offering half body and full body sketches and doodles. Favourite characters? No one in particular, but I'm fond of the clones and Hondo" -@dragon-subway

“I’m Ben, (he/him) an art student who aspires to be a character designer. I’ll be offering character portraits and sketches! My favorite Star Wars tends to be animation, in particular the Clone Wars and the Bad Batch!” -@phi-guy

"Hey I'm @stealingpotatoes, (she/her) but you can call me Potes! I'm offering half-lined doodles for donations! My favourite sw character is Cal Kestis (closely followed by Ahsoka and the Skywalker fam), but I can't wait to draw your faves too!"

Hello! I'm Anemonet and I will be doing coloured sketches ^-^ I'm a big Aayla Secura fan and togruta enthusiast, I am also very fond of the prequel trilogy (its so bad, I love it to bits). -@tenomenema

hi, i’m caws!! (he/him) i’m a big fan of the prequel trilogy, the clone wars, and rebels :) i’m offering colored digital sketches of ocs and canon characters! -@cawsceries

hihi! I’m Ophelia, doing comms of ocs or canon characters! Offering digital art—big fan of pantorans but I’ll do my best with anything -@sithbian

"hi!! my name is deck. im offering colored half body drawings of ocs and canon characters. im all about prequels era and tcw but tbh like anything" -@ddeck

“Hi! I’m sam (he/they), I’m an art student who loves the original trilogy, clones (especially cody)and mandalorians. I‘m offering colored sketches and painted pieces, from headshot to full body, depending on the amount donated. I’m alright with most subjects, oc and canon, but I particularly love drawing clones and most sw alien species :)” -@aspic31

Hello there! My name is Lee and Im a big ole fan of clone wars, bad batch, and the Mandalorian! I’m happy to do half body digital drawings of canon clones, clone ocs, and mando ocs (if you have an approved Mandalorian Mercs armor happy to do them!!! -@ofteasandherbs

"Hello, I'm S_C_G! (she/her) I'm offering short one shots. I love the prequels, jedi, mandalorians, and star wars in general." -@s-c-g-s-c-g

“Hello there! I’m @steepedfoxglovetea (they/she/he) and I’ll write medium length one shots. I love writing about The High Republic, the Rebellion, and just after RotS”

“Hi I’m @lost-in-derry (she/they) on tumblr and ao3! I can write short to medium length one shots about Rebels and Clone Wars”

“hi!! i’m lee (she/her), i’m offering short fics between 300-600 words of canon characters/ocs from the prequel/tcw era or original trilogy era.” -@kookyburrowing

"Hi! I'm Lil, (she/her), and I'm a big fan of the Bad Batch, but open to drawing any Star Wars characters or OCs with clear references. I'm taking comms for bust, half-body, and full body colored sketches. Willing to do flat color for higher donations! From the river to the sea." -@the-little-moment

Hi! I’m Trip (they/them) I’m a disabled artist and I’ve been a star wars fan since 2008 I am a really big ahsoka fan, Cody fan, Just mostly a clone wars guy but I love all of star wars all around I will draw any star wars characters but I prefer clone wars era :) -@triple-a-artist

my name is cer (he/him) and i draw sometimes. i also write but poorly so i probably won't do that. i like drawing clone troopers and ahsoka...mostly anything star wars the clone wars 2008 related. i still don't know how to draw anakin but i can definitely figure that out given time -@aliettali

i am ochi and i draw/animate (mostly draw)!! i like star wars the clone wars 2008 a lot and also bright colors and lighting. happy to be here!! -@ochi-does-art

Hi, I’m @chiliger and I’m offering sketch and simple flat color portraits of OC’s and canon characters. I especially love the clones, but Rogue One and Screecher’s Reach have a special place in my heart.

#artists for palestine #meet the team

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blackkatmagic · 2 months

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I’ve been beta-ing for a friend of mine lately. They have a scene where a character is actively refusing medical treatment and the love interest forces them into it anyway. They frame it positively, as in the love interest expressing their affections by ensuring the character’s well being, since the character in question is allegedly “bad at taking care of herself”.

At the end of the day it’s their story and they can write what they want. I haven’t suggested they change anything, but the blatant disregard of the character’s expressed wishes (unhealthy as those wishes may be) really squicks me out. Everyone has different tastes, but I feel like the odd one out for not enjoying it.

“Forced to visit medical” is a pretty common trope in SW fics. You usually reject that kind of forceful caretaking dynamic though, so I was hoping you could share how your thoughts on it.

Oof. Yeah, I'll admit it's one of those tropes I really dislike, which is probably partly due to my wife being a nurse. It's also very much a YMMV thing for a lot of people, I feel like, and there are degrees in which it's less forcing, so it's hard to lump all the instances in together. Like, dragging someone out of their office to make them sleep feels like a separate thing, as does cajoling them to go see a doctor, or slapping a plaster on someone while they're not looking. So there are definitely shades of grey.

That said, to me the big squicky part of it is the way it's a complete denial of agency for the character involved. It's...infantalization, basically - you are too stupid to take care of yourself and so I'm going to do it for you, even if I have to force you. I'm going to ignore what you want, and any legitimate reasons you might have for wanting to avoid the doctor, and basically kidnap you to a different place until you agree with my wishes.

I do think there are totally ways to use the trope in fiction, either as a red flag - for example, showing that one person is extremely controlling - or just because the writer thinks it's sexy and doesn't care about the implications, which, whatever, like you said people can write whatever they want.

But yeah, overall I just think it does a massive disservice to the character who's being carted away. And it ignores a really good moment to have characters work things out, or show personality, or give backstory, or just grow closer. So between the infantalization and the missed plot opportunity, I dislike it a lot.

#kat answers

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 5 months

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First time fics

I was tagged by @undercoverpena and @secretelephanttattoo a while ago for this wonderful idea. This got a bit out of hand but I wanted to write a little love letter to each of these wonderful writers.

Disclaimer: LJ @prolix-yuy claimed most of my Pedro boy V cards because she's always the one who leads me into temptation i.e. new boys to obsess over ❤️

Din: @the-scandalorian (Masterlist) | @mandosmistress (Masterlist) | @mandoblowmybackout (Masterlist)

I was scavenging for Din fics on Google like a gremlin when I stumbled across Tumblr. I don't remember whose I read first, but I'm pretty sure I devoured all of Simone and Mari's Din fics during my lurking months, though it took me some time to work up the courage to comment and reblog! I was so thrilled to become friends with both of these lovely ladies!

Vibes was one of my first Din series after I got stuck into the fandom, and Ash was one of my first friends I met here!

Javier: @mandosmistress (Masterlist)

I remember reading Mari's Javier even before I watched Narcos, and I fell in love with him and his tight jeans irrevocably.

Jack: @prolix-yuy (Jack masterlist)

I already loved LJ before she wrote Cognitive Dissonance, but there was no way back after she introduced me to cowboy Jack. As I've said many times, LJ is the reason Palomino exists, and this fic is one of the most important stories to me, ever, for so many reasons ❤️

Frankie: @prolix-yuy (Frankie masterlist) | @intheorangebedroom (Masterlist)

See? I wasn't joking when I said LJ took all of my Pedro boy V cards! I remember devouring this series when it was still only on AO3. SW!Frankie remains so close to my heart.

Pleased to Meet You was not my first Frankie, but it is Maddie's first fic. Bonding over PTMY brought us together (among *ahem* other things *ahem*), and it will always be important to me.

Pero: @prolix-yuy (Pero masterlist) | @psychedelic-ink (Pero masterlist)

Yup, it's LJ again. I fell so hard for this combative, grumpy Spaniard and his Guerrera ❤️ I also fell in love with Sil's Pero, and that's how we found each other so it will always be extra special for me!

Dieter: @pettyprocrastination

I remember reading Extra Whipped Cream and going absolutely feral for PS!Dieter. I think it's the probably first Dieter fic in the fandom (not fact checked!), and it's still one of my favourites.

Ezra: @iamskyereads (Compulsion masterlist)

Compulsion is my first full-length Ezra fic and it is absolutely fantastic. I need this filthy, sweaty, loquacious spaceman, bad.

Joel: Sil (Joel masterlist)

I was very late to reading Joel, and I still haven't read much of him, but I remember I couldn't resist reading Musician!Joel in Head Filled with Parasites, the first of many wonderful and unique interpretations of Joel.

On top of my moots above, np tagging some lovelies who might want to share their firsts and anyone who wants to play: @wildemaven, @nothoughtsjustmeds, @radiowallet, @joelsgreys, @julesonrecord, @maievdenoir, @mrsquill, @dreamymyrrh, @refined-by-fire

#tag game #fic rec #first time fics

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mobius-m-mobius · 5 months

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Keep rotating a theoretical fic in my mind where our Mobius ends up with the two kids to raise, and introduces Loki to them. However. This is one of the universes where Loki attacked New York, and the boys very quickly realize who he is. They are understandably disconcerted by this (although they trust Mobius too much to be genuinely frightened because this is a very angst!lite fic in my head), and while they are soon awed/delighted/amused by Loki, they decide to keep up the act for a bit, on the Thor-ish child's side because he wants to make sure his Dad's not being overly nice and innocent and putting himself in danger, and the Loki-ish child for initially the same reason; however he very quickly decides Loki's alright but keeps egging his brother on because he thinks making the grownups sweat is very funny. And oh boy is it working. Loki is sweating bullets, puling out all the stops, has never been so desperate for approval as he is from these two small children because how long will Mobius keep around someone who scares his kids?? Mobius is having a less bad time on the whole; he can tell his kids aren't horribly frightened (even if he can't seem to make Loki believe he's not just trying to calm him when he says so), but he sure is on edge. Keeps coming up with new elaborate strategies to facilitate at least baseline civility from his kids towards Loki (he struggles to quiet the nagging fear that if it goes on too long Loki might decide the unpleasantness of engaging with this central part of Mobius' life just isn't worth it). Thinks maybe it'd be best if they give the kids a bit of distance to adjust *cue Loki materializing in the room with a gaming console that won't be out for another month and worryingly realistic wooden swords and three new kid-friendly magic routines and would the kids like to meet his brother's buddy Hogun who can train them with those sw—" Most importantly, Mobius has got to put a stop to this because he's pretty sure that whatever it started as this has developed into his children's scheme to manipulate a god into making them the proud owners of a sailboat and a horse. And it's working.

Anon thank you for giving me enough life to get through the upcoming day 😂💖

Honestly even though it's not something I see Mobius wanting in series I'm obsessed from a fic perspective with the thought of him stepping in to take care of the kids perhaps after Don gets taken by the TVA after his nexus event?? Then because he's always been smitten by minor facts like Loki taking over a major US city he doesn't really consider the impact that's had back on the timeline while it's always in the back of Loki's mind, so when it comes time to make introductions Loki assumes any nervousness or hesitation is because of his reputation when in reality Mobius is just worried they'll be upset he's been clearly dating this entire time and didn't say anything 😅

Cue Mobius being pleased the cautious greetings and wide eyed stares being passed back and forth are pretty much the best case scenario here while the kids instantly enter the exact situation you described of cautiously then much, much more boldly testing exactly how dedicated Loki is to their dad, first out of concern then just to push the boundaries of how much cool stuff they can get after realizing how amazing Loki is and how much they like spending time with someone who gets the need for chaos lmao.

(Cue Mobius not being so pleased when the house starts magically expanding like a Tardis to fit increasingly large and at times alarming sentient objects that were definitely not there when he made breakfast and no one's convincing him otherwise but who would want life any other way 🤣)

#this is so so GOOD thank you again for such an amazing ask!!!#all this time we're waiting for them to come back they're co-parenting in cleveland and everything's grand i just know it #i'm not even a kid person myself but lokius at pta meetings and stuff is revitalizing me like nothing i could've dreamed of 😂#will definitely be living in the amazing scenario you created all day and would love to know if the fic ever becomes reality #or about any other ideas you'd love to share!! tysm for sharing and am sending all the love your way to have an amazing day 💖#ask

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virtie333 · 8 months

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Let's talk Damerey.

I ended up being a VERY general fan during the SW sequels. Like...none of the ships bother me. FinnPoe? Fine. Damerey? Fine. Kylo and whomever, sure. I guess. I just want them to live and be happy.

Anyway, when did your Damerey journey start? I think I read at one point they had thought about making Poe and Rey a thing? But I guess the visions of the differing directors didn't allow for it? Did I make that up in my head?

I understand the appeal of that ship as well as FinnPoe or whatever it's called. I mean, it's Poe, so who wouldn't be obsessed lol

Anyway, thoughts?

Also, do you like to stick to Damerey fics for Poe or do you also like xreader with Poe?

Oh, boy. This might take a while.

I can honestly say I've been Damerey a lot longer than I've been a fan of Oscar Isaac. I became Damerey right after The Force Awakens. But here's the thing, I was Reylo, too. What? Okay, let me explain. I love the 'good girl falls for bad boy' trope, but I've always been realistic about it; the bad boy can't be horrible bad and has to become good eventually. I loved the idea of Rey bringing Ben back from the Dark Side, but... what he did to his father (my first love and still the one I compare to all other crushes) is unforgivable. I knew Ben Solo would NOT have a happy ending. Therefore, Rey needed to have her happily ever after with someone else. Finn or Poe? I loved them both, but I do have a thing for pilots, so I chose Poe.

The Last Jedi only increased my interest in both ships. The connection between Rey and Ben was fascinating. But... that last scene between Rey and Poe? I remember commenting to my brother after our first viewing, "They have to be planning something between them after that! Right?"

I went into the last movie wondering which way (if either) they were going to take it. I told myself I would be happy with either, and even if Rey chose no one; after all, she doesn't need a man to make her happy. But I am a hopeless romantic. After the first argument between Poe and Rey, where I nudged my brother (who I saw all 3 movies with) and said "They're just like Han and Leia!", I had hopes.

But... they failed to continue with that bright start. And with the kiss between Ben and Rey at the end, I was pretty much resolved to settle for Reylo. And that was my focus for the first couple of month after the movie. But then something strange happened. A fellow Reylo fan, who had defended the first two movies despite all the hate going on, started bemoaning how 'Rey would never be happy now,' and she 'would never get to have babies,' etc. etc. And that pissed me off. Big Time. She had options, dammit! She could stay single and raise Force sensitive orphans. She had Finn. And of course, she had Poe. So, I wrote Rising, my first fanfic in almost 20 years.

When the pandemic hit, and I ended up working part-time, I decided I needed to continue with this post-movie world I had created. I still had a soft spot for Ben, and it shows up in my early works, but I wanted to make Rey and Poe find their happily ever after. Then something else strange happened. In one of my stories, Kennera, I wrote a scene from Poe's POV. Suddenly, I wanted to know more about the actor who portrayed him. And I found this...

youtube

That was that. I was hooked on this man. I started watching everything I could with him in it. And I continued to write Damerey, falling more and more deeply into that ship. Reylo became less and less interesting to me, and now I could care less about it. Damerey is everything to me. And it's been that way for almost three years now. I just freaking love them with everything in me.

To answer your question about the ship almost becoming canon, yes it almost did. Colin Trevorrow's script The Duel of the Fates almost became the third movie, and it included a lot more Rey/Poe interaction, even a kiss or two. Some say it's why that scene at the end of The Last Jedi was added, to introduce that attraction. But alas, it didn't happen.

If you had asked me two years ago if I had read any Poe x Reader stories, I would have scoffed at you. I am a reader of novels and I write in the same style and always will, so why would I read that? But... I've read several amazing writers that write in that style since then, and I have become addicted. I know I will never write that way, but I will enjoy others.

I think the fact that I don't write that way is the reason why no one on Tumblr (other than a few trusted friends) ever reads and shares my stuff. It's a bit lonely sometimes, but it is what it is.

Damerey forever!

Art by @greysmartwolf

#ask box #ivystoryweaver #damerey #jedipilot #poe x rey #my story #oscar isaac #writing #i bet you're sorry you asked!#lol

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this-acuteneurosis · 1 year

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I'm curious how you characterize the dark side of the force in DLB. Does it behave more like an addictive drug that influences it's users to unhealth, or do you have it more like a sword- a dangerous tool that's not an inherently corrupting thing? (or maybe some other option I haven't thought of?)

Ooooooooooof. Okay.

So, my perspective on the Force generally, but certainly for this fic, is that the Dark side...isn't a thing.

Technically.

It's just a name.

I had a hard time before I started writing fic with the SW universe because the bad guys were progressively bothering me and I didn't know why. And it eventually came around to, the way that the Dark and Light side are portrayed, the Dark side is just...stronger? And that really didn't sit well with me. (I have no interest in arguing this point with people, it's my personal opinion.)

The biggest issue I had (among several) was there seemed to be this sense that the Dark side was like a drug, or a semi-sentient evil that lived in your head, or something, making you more bad. Or at least making you stay as bad as you were.

And like, there was no equal and opposite effect from the "Light" side. The good guys were always at risk of encountering that one thing that could turn them from the light, but there wasn't equal weight given the other direction.

This makes sense from a story perspective in a lot of ways, in that most stories are about resisting evil, and could get pretty boring if there was no challenge. But like, practically? If these things are supposed to be on some sort of cosmic scale?

I didn't like it.

And some of it comes back to the points that Leia was making to Yoda. How to you measure evil? What is the standard you use?

People keep making comments on DLB about Leia using "Dark" force powers that I have never heard of because I don't consume most SW material beyond the first 6 movies, and I sit there and I'm like...screaming in the Force is an Evil power? Like...why? (Please don't tell me. I don't actually want to know.)

I think there is probably a sense of malice and intentional hurt that you can pick up off of people who are what we would conventionally call evil. That you could pick up on the pain and anger tied to feelings like revenge. I can see Force sensitive people feeling that, looking at their students and going, "That. Don't do that. Don't be that. It's...dark. It's Dark."

But l just feel like this mis-attributes the responsibility from the person to the power.

And that's before we get into my violent rejection of the Force being sentient/semi-sentient.

I just...I'm very big on character agency in my stories. I think there are interesting things you can do by trapping characters with Fate or higher powers or mind control or any number of other things that impinge on their agency. You can do really interesting and compelling story telling that way.

But to me, the message of the OT was that Everyone Had a Choice. Luke had choices. Han had choices. Leia had choices. Lando had choices. Vader had choices. Hell, even Palpatine had the choice to not be evil.

And I find that allowing the Dark side to be a thing, especially to be a thing that exerts its own influence is just...not my vibe.

I think I've at least implied this before, but when people choose to hurt people with the Force in DLB, they aren't "using the Dark side." They are using the Force and they are using it to be cruel or angry or manipulative or whatever the hell else other unkind/evil thing they want to do. Their choice can be morally judged, but the power is in fact really just a tool. And people might not agree on the moral status of the choice, as Leia argues to Yoda.

I think there is real danger in labeling the feelings behind the intentions behind the use of the Force as Good and Bad or Light and Dark. I think it's why portrayals of Anakin and Vader are so vastly different depending on how you interpret his personal agency. I think it makes people defend some of the choices the Order and individuals in it made when those choices were Bad and Harmful, because surely Good/Light people wouldn't be Bad. They would know. They would never.

They could. They didn't. They do.

Anger is not evil. It's an emotion. Acting on anger is not intrinsically evil, and we do people a disservice by saying it is. It sure as hell has consequences and can absolutely cause harm. But so does any action take under any emotional state.

Teaching people they become powerless when they succumb to any powerful emotion--"good" or "bad"--is equally harmful and I think was key to how Palpatine manipulated Vader for decades after Vader had lost any real reason to be alive. And how people in real life similarly abuse and manipulate other real people.

Am I taking this too seriously? Maybe. But hey, uh, as you may have notice, that's kind of my bit.

#canon what canon #my heretical head canons #my soapbox meta #I think there is another related conversation to be had about emotions and trauma #and how people can sense those things in the Force #and how that feeds into interpreting people as good or evil #which is risky #and can lead to dangerous biases #which would be a fascinating way to explore the prejudices of the Jedi #because they know both too much and not enough #and maybe this is exactly how Palpatine disguises himself so well #by exploiting those expectations #but this is long enough

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hydr0phius · 1 month

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made-up fic title: seeing her again was a mistake

There are so many ways I could've gone with this, but we're getting happy sw au lampbroom as a treat.

Clone Wars are either just winding down, or there's a bit of a lull between Constance's missions but: Lynne has been painting things from the Jedi temple/working on a series of Jedi centric artworks that showcase them as more than just the Generals leading the Clones into battle.

Constance has already met her before and is at the point where she's recognised that she has A Crush. Obviously there's much denial, much internal "I'M BREAKING THE CODE-" and "Oh, OH, she looks very pretty today."

Lynne left a paintbrush by accident one day and Constance holds onto it and waits for her to come back (except she doesn't because she's finished at the Temple and won't be back for a while and Constance will probably be deployed again when she does come back with the finished artworks) and so she manages to track her down despite telling herself it was a very bad idea to do so.

The ending boils down to "Code? What code?"

Pippa is merciless with her teasing when Constance sneaks into the temple in the morning.

#skjhdfkj i'm normal about them and this au #lmao #hydro's asks #thanks for the ask heathcliff!!#tww17&98 sw au #lampbroom #tww98

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snowbellewells · 8 months

Text

CSSNS23 MC "Carolina Moon" {Chapter One}

Oh goodness, it's nearing the end of Friday, but I've managed to make my weekly deadline. Here's the first full chapter of my @cssns23 fic after last week's prologue, and I hope those of you who have started this journey with me will enjoy the new addition.

Thanks once again to @eastwesthomeisbest for the gorgeous cover art!! (She's actually created a second one for me, but I'm waiting until a little later in the story to unveil it, so keep your eyes peeled for that!) And thanks too for @xarandomdreamx who was a wonder beta help with some details and questions I had and typos I'd made.

This story is also available on AO3 HERE

Summary: Emma Swan has returned to the town she grew up in, and the past that has haunted her no matter where she has run. She seeks answers and peace at last. Despite the years that have passed, some things haven't changed very much in Storybrooke, South Carolina, and one of those things is Killian Jones. He never forgot the gangly girl with the world on her shoulders and pain in her eyes, but will he finally be able to slip past her defenses and help her find the answers she seeks?

Chapter One: Old Friends and Old Scars

As Emma Swan rolled slowly onto the main street of Storybrooke, a strange sense of warmly comforting deja vu enveloped her. Though more than a bit of relief to the nervous tremors which had been shivering through her limbs and turning her fingers white where she clutched the steering wheel, it also surprised her. So much pain and so many awful memories resided here, and she’d intended to shed them permanently when she left this place behind her. Sure, she had returned of her own free will, but it was reluctant at best; she had no one and nowhere else to go.

The moment she’d turned 18, the very second she could escape from the living nightmare she had borne, and which continued to follow her, Emma had left Storybrooke in the hot summer dust rolling behind the wheels of the first bus out of town she could afford. No one had ever fully believed she wasn’t to blame - at least in part - for the shocking crime that had rocked the small, sleepy community that summer when they were 13. Nevermind if Emma often felt it had broken her as much as anyone, or if it made no sense for her to destroy the one relationship that had bolstered her constantly and provided the only safe haven she had ever known; once people believed a thing, it was hard to convince them otherwise. Her foster father had certainly assumed her guilt. Claiming she shamed him and cost him business from townsfolk who blamed her strangeness on her “raising”, he’d beaten her bloody for that and countless other faults, enough that the skin of her back bore permanent scars. She’d barely graduated high school when she could bear it no longer; deciding she would rather go hungry and sleep on the streets if she had to than to take any more abuse, she had finally seen her chance and flown.

If it hadn’t been for Rose - for their giggled secrets at their swimming hole hideout and the sleepovers in Rose’s pretty floral and ruffled room with a bookcase on each wall and their shelves still overflowing and spilling onto the floor - she would have never found a moment’s peace or been able to close her eyes to sleep for even one night here and there. Rose had been everything a best friend should be: steady, loyal, wickedly funny and smart, but with a kind heart able to see the best in a person, even to her own fault. Just as the thought had plagued her back then, Emma couldn’t help thinking even now as she pulled into a parking space outside the empty shop front she had rented, ‘Too bad in the end that trusting nature, that desire to help, was what probably got her –’

Thump, thump. Startling with a jerk after barely turning off the keys in the ignition, she’d been so lost in years past and her reminiscence of those sweet brown eyes that had always only ever seen her as she’d hoped to be - as family - Emma swung over to look out the passenger window and found possibly the only other face in the world that might be glad to see her; a beaming, grown-up and adorably pleased Graham Humbert waved at her enthusiastically through the glass. Shaking her head, Emma gathered her simple, small purse, keys, and phone, as she slid out of her vehicle, slamming the door behind her, and greeted him with a hug that warmed her to her bones, despite how she usually avoided physical contact.

Her smile was somewhat chagrined and tentative as she offered an awkward little shrug with her soft, “Hey there, Stranger,” upon pulling back from the embrace.

Her former foster brother was having none of it; in two long strides, he’d pulled her to the sidewalk before a second tight bear hug nearly lifted her off her feet. “Stranger is right!” he exclaimed, squeezing her affectionately before stepping back to hold her at arm’s length, eyes sparkling with humor as he took her in, much as she was doing with him. Clearly he wasn’t going to let the fact that she had vanished for nearly two decades, failed to keep in touch, and then only looked him up when she needed a favor, stand in the way of their former bond. “Look at you, Emma! It’s so good to see you!”

Objectively, Emma knew his warm welcome was probably more than she deserved. And, while she was being objective, as she took Graham in quickly from head to toe, she could also see that most women would be melting into a puddle at his feet with the way the gawky 14-year-old she remembered had changed. Though hardly musclebound, she could feel the wiry strength in his long, lean build as he held her upper arms in his hands. His honey-colored curls were as tousled and riotous as ever, but it worked for him in a much less innocent way now that it matched a perfectly trimmed scruff over an attractively chiseled jawline. And those large, guileless eyes of his were still twin pools a person could willingly drown in. She was actually quite thankful suddenly that he still felt more like a brother to her; that sort of entanglement was the last kind of trouble she needed. She had more than enough problems already, and had probably only invited more by returning to Storybrooke after successfully making a clean break.

Despite all that though, his welcome and happiness to see her were contagious, and she could feel the wider, more genuine smile stretching her own lips pleasantly. For all her reservations and worry about coming back, it felt good to see a friendly face, to know that someone was glad to see her. It had been much too long since she’d felt that sort of appreciation and understanding, even from those she spoke to and worked with every day. Boston was too large and bustling a city, and she was too much of a no-nonsense loner for her to have made anything more than a few work acquaintances. She’d been a great asset for the detetives she’d worked with, but as soon as she had made a mistake… That poor little boy’s pale, cold face flashed into her mind for an instant, before she jerked back to the present with a gasp, but it was enough to make her fail at passing it off as playful surprise when Graham looked at her curiously.

“Alright there?” he asked, as astute as ever. He dipped his head slightly to be more eye-to-eye with her despite his height advantage and attempted to search her face. He had always read her better than she was really comfortable with, but Emma was grown now, a professional, and well-practiced at her poker face, much better at pulling the shutter down over welling emotions than she’d been as a teen. Not to mention that after the betrayal she’d suffered from the man she had partnered with in Boston, it was much harder for anyone to read the emotions she chose not to display. Going into a bullpen full of people who saw her as a fake, a failure, or a liability, while the person who had benefited most from her insight and success so many times before had laid all the blame at her feet and turned away, had finally taught her for good how to shield against any and all who might get too close, and to wear the facade that showed she couldn’t even be bothered to care.

Giving a little scoff, she pasted on a teasing smile and replied, “Oh yeah, fine,” as she waved a hand dismissively. “Just a little scattered from driving for so long - and glad to see you again. I am surprised you’re still a single small town vet though. Look at you, Hunter! You ought to be on The Bachelor or something, or one of those hunky men with animals calendars. How do you not have a gaggle of ladies trailing along behind you, or a ring on that finger yet?”

As expected, her soft-spoken friend blushed to the roots of his hair, coloring his cheeks even under his dark stubble and spreading down his neck into his collar. It took the focus off her as she had hoped, diverting his concern and curiosity. “Hardly,” he mumbled, shaking his head and avoiding her gaze. In fact, Emma almost felt badly for deflecting. Had she touched a true nerve of insecurity? Could Graham really be unaware of the catch he had grown into since she’d seen him last? Or was he interested in someone in particular who had made him doubt himself? Or not returned his interest? She forcibly closed off the probing train of thought before her added sight began to pick up things Graham didn’t intend to show her. The physical contact along with his gentle, open warmth would have made it all too easy, even if accidental.

Emma couldn’t really imagine too many available young ladies who wouldn’t jump at the chance to warm the bed of her model attractive long-lost friend, especially seeing as he was also one of the best people she had ever known. He’d clammed up so suddenly though, brushing off her playful compliments and going painfully quiet, that she hurried to change the subject and smooth things over. “So, this is the place, huh?” she prompted, gesturing toward the storefront before them, the sign proudly proclaiming it was no longer on the market. “There wasn’t any trouble finalizing the paperwork?”

Graham shook his head easily, brushing off any lingering concerns she’d had about putting him out or causing him unnecessary stress and effort. She could only assume he was busy at his veterinary practice. Graham had always been smart, capable, and particularly in tune with animals of all varieties, even when they were young. And Storybrooke was still largely agricultural, rural with homes spread out between wide fields, rivers, woods and country roads. Nearly all would have farm animals, pets, or both, and Graham’s practice would be the only place in the county for folks to take their livestock if they didn’t want to travel a distance. He’d been kind enough to take time out of his schedule to help her scout locations in the town square to rent before her arrival, and so she at least had a shop ready and waiting for her to fill now that she was in town.

“Really?” she sought to confirm once more, rooting in her purse and trying to offer him something for his efforts - money that he predictably pushed back toward her with equal determination.

“Really, Emma. I’m serious. It was nothing.”

“If you say so,” she consented, sticking the twenties back into her bag, then taking the heavy, old-fashioned key he offered her and moving to unlock the door of her new shop.

“I do,” he reiterated. “It was as simple as stopping in to see Mary Margaret at the bank, asking to see the leases for places that were available to rent on Main, and then picking the best one out for you. She was thrilled to see the space in use and by someone she knows, likes, and can trust to take care of it, no less. Smooth as butter,” he added with a playful grin.

Shaking her head at his antics, Emma turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door to the empty, waiting space in which she was sure she would come to spend the bulk of her time. It might be a horrible idea to come back here and attempt to set up a business and make a living in a town people had been glad to see her leave. But in truth, it was time she returned. Trying to start over in another place with another life had ended up breaking her in all new ways, and it was time she stopped. Maybe she needed to have answers at last before her past could ever be laid to rest. And she wasn’t sure what else she could do with herself to earn a living. Her gift - or her curse, as it had more often felt to her - was inescapable. She’d tried to hide it, ignore the visions, shut out the way they flooded her and overwhelmed her senses since she was small, as far back as she could remember, but it had never worked. At least when she was working with the police in Boston, she could comfort herself with the knowledge that her solitary pain was doing some good. Though she wouldn’t be locating missing people or tracking down fleeing suspects, her instincts for reading people and situations, her vision and eye for details, even beyond what her second sight gave her, had granted her the ability to take stunning photographs - and to know when she saw truly gifted work done by others. She might not get as much business as she would in the city, but Storybrooke did have a tourist season where framed landscape shots might sell quite nicely, and there were still plenty of moneyed society ladies she had no doubt who would want family portraits taken or framed pieces to decorate their homes. She was counting on it being enough to keep a small, tasteful gallery afloat.

It wasn’t long before Graham’s lunch hour neared its end, and he had to be getting back to his practice for the afternoon. Laughing over the fact that there wasn’t anything more exciting on his schedule than an elderly basset hound who belonged to the local diner owner getting his annual vaccinations, Graham still admitted that the formidable Widow Lucas would not be happy if she and her beloved pet were stood up. Promising to come back afterwards and take her for a homecoming dinner, he saw himself out with a broad, jovial grin and a wave, leaving Emma warmed pleasantly by his welcome and smiling back in spite of herself, no matter how unfamiliar the expression had been in her life recently.

Once alone, Emma found the light switch, sat her purse on the long front counter, and located a broom in the corner to begin tidying up a bit, just making the space her own. However, she hadn’t been at it long before the bell over the entry rang, and she turned to see more at least vaguely familiar faces.

One of them was clearly David Nolan, all-American hometown golden boy, who had been a couple years ahead of her in school, though she remembered him well for being genuinely kind and decent to all, not just his fellow athletes and others in the popular crowd. She could even vividly remember one instance in her junior year when he had turned a corner into the hall where Storybrooke’s queen bee Regina Mills and her coterie of followers had cornered her to mock and shame her for her ripped, shabby second hand clothes and ugly glasses, which they’d taken, claiming they were trying to help her look less like a dog, and were passing them around their vicious circle just out of her reach. Even with her general tough exterior, Emma had been near either breaking into tears or socking Regina in the mouth, and was more than a little in awe when the captain of the football team had calmly walked up, plucked her glasses from one of the wide-eyed, staring minions, offered to take her books, and then proceeded to happily walk her to her next class as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do. She wasn’t at all surprised in looking at him as an adult to see that his broad shouldered form had changed very little other than with the addition of slight weathering and more laugh lines to his face. Nor was she at all shocked to note that he wore a sheriff’s badge on his chest; it seemed just the sort of job such an upstanding and protective type would decide to do.

The second visitor took her a moment longer to place, and when she did, Emma’s eyes popped wider in surprise. Where once a spindly, messy-haired runt - for lack of a better term - had stood, she now saw a confident, fit, and filled out Walsh Ozman. His khakis and dress shirt were fashionable and well-tailored, showing off a still-trim physique, but with more muscled arms and torso and a more commanding posture. His brown hair was also more neat and closely trimmed, giving him an altogether more polished and capable air. Clearly this was someone who had worked almost as hard as she had to change himself and put the person he once was in the rearview mirror.

Still, despite the change in his appearance and the genuinely welcoming smile he offered as he stepped forward to shake her hand, Emma was no less flabbergasted to hear him say, “Emma Swan! It’s been a long time. As Mayor of Storybrooke, let me be one of the first to say it’s good to welcome you back again.”

Emma knew she was gaping rudely, like a fish out of water, before she nodded in agreement and offered her hand to shake in return.

But the third person in the little welcoming committee was the one who pulled most at her attention, even though she was fighting valiantly not to let her gaze pause and linger longingly on his handsomely dark features. Her body’s reaction to his presence - even as he hung back behind his two friends wordlessly - was undeniable. Emma shuddered involuntarily. She flushed hot all over, only to then be swept by cold chills in turn. Killian Jones. No matter how many years she had been away, his face was one that could not be forgotten.

Killian Jones, brother of the best friend she had ever known, the soul sister she had loved and lost, and now as an adult he was scion of their family’s considerable land and legacy, seemingly even more far removed from who she was and what she’d come from than he had been in their youth. He had always been there on the periphery - even at fourteen, busy with trying to please and impress his father, and much too preoccupied with his own friends and teenaged concerns to pay much mind to his little sister and her pitiable friend. All the same, while they might not have spoken a lot or spent any real time together, Emma had always been aware of his presence. The easy explanation would be his rumpled, natural good looks - which had only improved with maturity, she noted - but deep down, Emma knew it was more than that. An almost electrical current had always traveled across her skin when he was in the same room. Though quieter and easier to hide, it was as intense and powerful as any of her visions. And even more compelling, there had always been something so real, so solid, about Killian Jones that reassured her. Even back when she could barely speak to him or meet his eye, even as she understood that it was most probably due to the sturdiness of who he was and the life he lived in contrast to the tenuous uncertainty that made up her everyday existence.

She had almost allowed herself to see a hint of understanding, of empathy, when she had caught his eyes in unguarded moments back then. When Rose would tell her every so often about something a beloved older sibling would do, like when ‘Killy’ had helped her with her math homework, or when she reminisced about her older brother being the one to finally help her master riding her bike without training wheels, Emma had listened raptly, easily hearing the affection behind the sisterly griping about him being a know-it-all, and knowing inside that her sense about Killian was right.

None of that made her any less tongue-tied or ill at ease as he stepped forward to greet her though. The pull that she had always felt between them, even after all the years and miles, still existed, was stronger than ever, and it was the last thing she needed. She could only remind herself forcefully, while she tried to give an unconcerned smile to him as he dipped his head and arched an eyebrow before murmuring, “Swan, at long last, we meet again,” in that slow-honey accent, that she wasn’t about to let some handsome charmer derail all the progress she’d made - not again.

“Jones,” she replied, inwardly cheering at how steady her voice sounded while her insides were quivering. Her lips quirked with a reciprocally teasing expression. She wanted to say more, to seem as at home and easy in her own skin as he did standing there, but that had never been her way, and no further words escaped her tight throat.

As if sensing the weighted import in the air and reading it all too clearly, David broke in then, explaining cheerfully how Graham had told them at their last poker night that she was moving back, and how Killian - whose family owned the simple cabin she was renting - had let slip when she was due to arrive, and that they had all come to say hello, catch up, and offer help with any carrying and moving chores she might need. Grateful for the conversation shift - and someone else to focus on - Emma thanked them all for the welcome and their offer to help. “I’m hardly sure what I need yet though,” she added ruefully, “Most of my stock hasn’t arrived, and what has should still be boxed up in the back room.”

David nodded his understanding and said, “That makes sense. Just let us know if something comes up, alright?”

Emma nodded, playfully patting his bicep and grinning broadly. It felt so much less weighted to banter with him than with Jones as she joked. “Oh, I’ll definitely take a raincheck on making use of you guys and all your manly muscles.”

“Especially now that I have some to offer,” Walsh put in with a self-deprecating chuckle. The affable look on his face and the way he good naturedly bore Killian and David’s agreement with his statement and jibing laughter amazed Emma all over again. The defensive, unpleasant spoilsport she remembered, who had seemed to hate trailing in his friends’ shadows, but been unwilling to give up the association with them at the same time, was utterly gone from the adult Walsh Ozman she saw before her. And he was well-known and well-liked enough to be voted Mayor. The little niggling of hope it gave her for how much people could change was impossible to mistake.

As the three men turned to file out, Emma began to gaze around the oen shop space in earnest, anxious to get a feel for it and determine how she might set things up. However, she paused, turning back to the door to see Killian hesitating on the threshold, looking back at her intently as if torn between whether or not he should speak. His buddies had moved on down the sidewalk. She could see them through the large front display window, but Killian seemed in no hurry to follow.

Raising both brows in curious prompting, Emma tried to wait patiently, all the while hoping he wasn’t about to contradict David’s words, tell her she wasn’t welcome in Storybrooke, that his family didn’t need her there dredging up buried memories and poorly healed wounds. It might cripple her to hear those words from the lips of her last fragile connection to Rose, but she would face it head on all the same. Even with the fear of his dreaded rebuff, she couldn’t pull her eyes away from his.

When his warm, low voice rasped out what was on his mind at last, she was stunned instead of devastated by the words that washed over her. “It really is good to see you, Swan. It’s been too long…” He dropped his eyes to the smooth wood floor and the scuffed toes of his work boots, wetting his lips with a distracting swipe of his tongue before continuing. “You suffered a loss too - just as I did, or my family did - but you weren’t allowed the sympathy, the support, the fair shake you should have been. It wasn’t right… or fair… and I - I’ve hoped… so many times over the years that I would be able to tell you h-how sorry I am for that…”

Her breath stopped, piling up like a logjam in her chest, and tears started abruptly in her eyes as she bit her lip to hold in an involuntary sob. She shook her head - it wasn’t his fault! - and tried to respond, only to again find that no words would come and she continued to simply stare. Grasping for enough control to hold herself together, she took one wobbling step closer, wanting to offer some sort of comfort or thanks, before fumbling to a halt again.

It was so much more than what he had managed to get out, Killian found himself thinking. More and more went racing through his brain without finding voice to leave his mouth. Though his father had slowly pulled away from them after Rose’s loss - withdrawing in his despair and impotence to bring his darling back, abdicating his role as father to two surviving children and leader of their family, until he eventually drank himself to death - his mother had steeped in her bitterness and her stiff, proper gentility. She was convinced that her angelic youngest’s friendship with that undeserving child and her sneaking away to the woods the night she died, was completely Emma’s fault. She had never felt Emma Swan was a suitable companion for Rose, had barely tolerated Emma’s entering the house beyond the front hall when she visited, and hated the thought of their family being associated with the one which had fostered the strangely silent and unnerving young girl. Ruby had never had much in common with her twin, but had followed their mother in disliking Emma once Rose was gone. Killian had always suspected it was partly out of guilt, partly out of jealousy that Rose had found a sister of the spirit in her friend that she’d never had with her sibling, and maybe partly because it was the only way Ruby knew to lash out against their parents. Though she looked just like Rose, and had tried for years to be exactly what they wanted, she couldn’t ever live up to the child they had lost. Rose would be forever perfect in memory, and neither she nor Killian could hold a candle to her.

None of that blame belonged on Emma Swan’s conscience though, and it never had. His family had been wrong in working behind the scenes to turn public opinion against her foster father - wreck of a man though he was. Emma’s life had only become worse for the remainder of her school years. Killian didn’t know all the details, but it had to have done so. She didn’t even have a place to gain a few hours’ respite, nor Rose to listen to and understand her. He still hated himself for saying nothing, and not being old enough to find a way to do something, when he’d seen how she’d limped up their front walk that horribly normal-seeming morning just after dawn. The welts up the back of her legs and clearly carrying on over her back beneath her frayed shorts and faded top left her barely able to stand up straight, holding herself stiffly as she choked out her fear that something had happened to Rose and she needed to take them to her. He’d nearly swallowed his own tongue when his father had gripped her by the shoulders and shaken her harshly, demanding to know what she was talking about. She’d let out this shrill little keening noise like a wounded animal, but hadn’t fled. She’d merely stared back into Brennan Jones’s face dully, her voice flat once she’d gotten her breath back - he knew now from probably having the painful remnants of a beating torn back open by his father’s thoughtless actions - and repeated, “She went to our spot last night - out by the pond. We were supposed to meet at midnight. I c-couldn’t…. I wasn’t able to get there…But someone else was. I can show you, but we need to go to her.”

The chill that had run down his spine at her words, and the broken, lifeless expression in her eyes as she spoke them, had never truly left Killian. The shock that had taken him over, and the nightmarish blur of chaos the rest of that day and the days that followed had become, had kept him from realizing at first just how much Emma too must have been suffering, how badly she had been hurt as well, though she’d survived when Rose did not, how badly all of them had failed her.

Granted, his family had never been the same after that. His father had commissioned a marble statue, a graceful, peaceful likeness of Rose which still watched over those quiet waters his child had once adored, but locked himself away from his surviving family behind a stony silence which was every bit as cold and impenetrable. His mother had proclaimed Emma Swan was never to be spoken of in their house again, and it was as though the one link he could have maintained to Rose ceased to exist. With every year that passed, his mother seemed to grow colder, more brittle, more correct, and more distant from the two children who still needed whatever love she might have found to offer them. Ruby had simpered and sashayed, charmed half the boys in the county while winning pageant titles and talent shows, until she finally decided that no accomplishment would ever crown her as her lost sister. She’d then given up, thrown caution to the wind, lived for her own thrills and pleasure until she had eloped and run off with Pete Lupino mere weeks shy of finishing high school. He still didn’t know - wasn’t sure he wanted to know - where all she had been, what she’d done, and whom she had done it with, before she’d blown back into town three years ago, taken up residence in her childhood bedroom, and proceeded to set their mother’s teeth on edge at every turn, still seeking some relief from the ghosts that haunted her.

Be that as it may, they’d still had each other, if they had been willing to see it. Emma had never possessed a family, very few friends, or even a safe place to call home. Without Rose, she must have felt completely adrift and even more at the mercy of the forces which shaped and buffetted her life. Killian couldn’t undo what had already been done, but he had vowed long ago - had even accepted that it might well be part of him ever managing to find some peace - that if Fate presented him with a chance to make things up to her, to set some of his family’s wrongs right, he wouldn’t hesitate to do just that.

His mind circled back to the present when Emma shook her head emphatically, her mouth opening and closing without emitting audible words, but finally curving into a trembling smile. “That’s - I - thank you…” she finally managed softly. “But it wasn’t your fault. I know how it looked, and what your parents - hell, what half the town thought… You don’t need to apologize.”

“But I do!” Killian cut her off quickly, not meaning to keep her from speaking, but needing her to know this truth at least. “I knew… I’ve always known! You had nothing to do with what happened! It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t anything you could have done. I don’t know what else people might have put on you, or what you might have put on yourself, but Rose wouldn’t have wanted any of that - would have told us all off if she could have seen the way you were treated. You were her best friend, and she wanted to meet you that night. The only- ” and there his words did choke up on him, emotion threatening to overcome his intentions. “The only good thing that did happen that night was that you didn’t make it out there, or that monster would have killed you too.”

Emma sighed, shaking her head sadly, and turning to lean her hip against the high counter next to her, running her hand over its polished surface and avoiding his eyes. “I’m not sure how good that was, really,” she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear, and possibly meant only for herself. “If I could have changed places with her, let her somehow be here now, alive and well, I would have.”

He took two long strides across the room and stood right in front of her, dipping his head to peer into her face, refusing to let her avoid his stare. “Don’t say that,” he pled fervently. “I’ve thought the same thing more often than I can count, but it won’t do any good… it won’t bring her back.”

Stunned and almost entranced as she watched his throat work, Emma wasn’t sure what to make of him at that moment, the intensity radiating off of him enough to singe her skin. He was standing so close she could see the way the cerulean depths of his eyes swirled with his stormy emotion, and she wanted to lean on him, to believe he cared as deeply as it seemed, no matter how undeserved or nonsensical it might appear. It was impossible, but to think that he might actually care whether she stayed or went, or what happened to her next, was bolstering and revelatory. It had been all too rare in her life, and for a moment Emma just wanted to breathe in that feeling.

There was little else to be said, but eventually Killian backed up slightly, offered her a crooked smile, and tried to ease them back onto more normal footing. “Well, talk about making things awkward, eh?” he chuffed, shaking his head and clearly laughing at his own expense. “I didn’t mean to seem quite that intense, but… it needed to be said.”

Emma merely stared back at him, allowing one more real, unforced smile to break through. “Most of my life is awkward,” she shrugged. “Try being able to see people’s thoughts and intentions without meaning to and without warning. It isn’t a great way to make friends.”

He snorted a surprised sort of laugh through his nose at the unexpected retort, and she joined him, easing some of their lingering discomfort. He proceeded to make sure that she had the key to the cabin rental for when she’d head home that night, assured her that she should call if there were any problems or she needed anything, and then he finally left her to her planning and unpacking, his heart feeling some small bit lighter. It was only a start, but it was a beginning step he’d needed to take for a long time, and he already felt better for it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Across the street, just around the corner and out of sight, another watched and waited, knowing his time at last had come. There was a heady mix of anticipation and rage swelling within as he peered across the quiet Main Street. Her lithe, enticing form moved in and out of view frustratingly often as she explored the space and as the bright sun cast a glare off the window glass from the distance and angle at which he stood. There was nothing for it though; he had enough of his wits about him not to venture any closer, even with the evening shadows beginning to gather.

So the little swan had at last come home to roost, back where she belonged. She had escaped him then, and he’d made do with half the set, the pair who were meant to be his. But now that voice inside him, the one which had always guided him, cackled and rose with renewed hunger. At last he would finish it; all would be as it should. He had waited, oh so patiently, always knowing his time would come. He’d hunted when he needed to, but it had never been quite right - not since the first time all those years ago. Just a bit longer, he’d bide his time. She wouldn’t see him coming. No one ever had, and even she, with her strange, sad, knowing eyes, would be none the wiser until it was too late. Until he had finally brought it all full circle and made Emma Swan his own.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @cssns @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @wefoundloveunderthelight @eastwesthomeisbest @xarandomdreamx @sotangledupinit @justanother-unluckysoul @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @xsajx @lfh1226-linda @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke @drowned-dreamer @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @blackwidownat2814 @blowmiakisscolin @let-it-raines @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter

#cssns23 #cs au mc #carolina moon #chapter one #cs ff #cs modern au #nora roberts au

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tennessoui · 8 months

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Rereading PBATMB because that's what I do on bad days, and this line: "But thankfully, his pretty bird also had a very bad lie detector" Like, truer words have never been spoken in the entirety of the SW Fandom, the whole of canon quite literally exists because of Anakin Skywalker's very bad lie detector, I just. I commend you. What a line. A+ ^42

love that pbatmb is your comfort fic I hope it is very comforting for you on your bad days 🙏

Let’s be real tho if anakin had even a little bit of a better lie detector the relationship in pbatmb would take so much longer for obi-wan to build. In the first fic, anakin makes obi-wan say that he’d let him sleep with other people if that’s what he wants and then is like “wow I can’t believe he said that and wants me so much he’d get over himself” cue scenebreak to obi-wan’s pov and mobi-wan is like yeah my silly lil pretty bird made me say some disgusting shit about sharing him haha I straight up lied to his face but it earned me his undying loyalty I think so there’s that

which is also very in character for anakin in sw I think fr

#asks #pbatmb #hope your day has gotten better!!!

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graylinesspam · 4 months

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Glad you’re finally updating your ASOI series!! haven’t heard about it in a while

Speaking of… I had a thought the other day about the public’s view on the clones (and I had no one to share it with so I’ll just dump it in your ask box if you don’t mind)

Anyway, civilians in most of the clone centric fics I read are very hostile towards clones for some reason and I find it very implausible.

Just think of it, there are genetically modified soldiers who are badass, wear cool armor and are also extremely hot.

And now imagine if that happened in real life… I really think people would love them and also sympathize with them due to them technically being slaves. And Ahsoka’s interviews would only add fuel to the fire because now they have NAMES and can hear stories of their beloved heroes.

But what’s more important, everyone would be thirsting over them.

And what happens in real life when people unanimously thirst over someone? They make edits. They make edits and write fanfiction and create whole ass blogs dedicated to the object of their thirst.

I bet the boys constantly record holos of them being badasses on the frontlines and a lot of recordings would mysteriously end up leaked, so the editors would have more than enough material

I can imagine Ahsoka sending Rex some holo and it’s an edit of him to the most unholy track you’ve ever heard which has like a billion likes and WILDING comments (something among the lines of “he walks like it’s heavy” with the replies “I can hold it for him”). He honestly doesn’t know how to react to that, like he is mortified (and a bit flattered really).

And some parts of it might actually be cannon given how many girls hang out at 79’s, they definitely know where the good stuff is ;)

And then the fangirls become a big group of clone-sympathizers who go on strikes for for clones’ rights and it somehow leads to the discovery of the chips and somehow palpatine dies and order you-know-what never happens and the war ends and clones get refund for years of service and everyone lives happily ever after. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

No but this 1000% percent. You nailed it in one. Theres already a lot of bad feelings toward the jedi that Palpatine has been sowing the seeds for a long time. So I'd be hesitant to say that the citizens are immidietly chill with the clones. That's just not how the propaganda machine works. Especially since pretty much the only reactions the citizens have to the clones in cannon are negative. HOWEVER, firstly the anti-clone protests are primarily on Coruscant where the clones are not doing anything positive, they're acting as an unwelcome military police (which is literally always bad) or they're being drunk and disorderly in public (which is objectively funny).

But as for the rest of the galaxy? especially the planets where the clones are actively doing some good? GIRL. The republic is trying to portray the clones as a professional unified military force, but Ahsoka totally undermines all of that by bringing clone business to public attention. And as internet culture always does the citizens have a fucking field day with every scrap of information she gives up.

Like babes you have no idea how much of this AU is fueled by me joke watching clone thirst traps and thinking "I bet this would actually happen in SW" It starts with the public hounding her for details about Anakin cuz he's like a heart throb and she's all like "can we talk about anything other than how bad you all want to fuck him?" and she insists on talking about the clones instead, so all these thirsty ass hos who've hopped on the stream to hear some juicy Anakin content get introduced to a ROSTER of clones instead and some are like "y'know they are kinda cute" and then theres simps and people asking all kinds of questions about them and Ahsoka's doing shitty personality breakdowns.

I just don't know how to write that content in a way that's like Interesting. like just get on tiktok yourself i guess.

But like also Ahsoka reading the guys to filth too. Like she starts hyping them up then realizes that she's just fueling the simps so she just starts being painfully honest with the fangirls about their favorite clones.

like "wolffe girlies, I hate to tell you this, He does not give a fuck about you. He is not the grumpy to your sunshine. the man is a surely old bastard. He's like 6 I think? doesn't matter he was born a pissed off old man. He doesn't like you. He'll never like you. He likes exactly five people in the entire galaxy and I'm not even on that list anymore. And you don't even want to know what I had to do to get on it. Please realize that you are not special and he's not secretly soft and protective on the inside. He will hurt you're feelings."

And when I say that she is ALWAYS ragging on Fives. Every time she compliments him she has to pause and say "This is just gonna go to his head." And she takes every chance possible to humble him. "He might be one of my favorite brothers and one of the best men I've ever known but he's a fucking disaster. If it wasn't for my entire force ability and the best luck streak I've ever seen he'd be dead." She knows he thinks he's a hot shot ladie's man and she will NOT support his ego.

With Rex though? GIRL! Ahsoka shows such obvious favoritism for Rex. She shares the most information about him and his fandom absolutely pops off. He is that clone. footage of him and his easy-to-identify blonde hair absolutely flood the fan sites. THE EDITS??? THE COMMENT SECTIONS????? But Ahsoka's like nah that's MY Captain. (I don't ship them at all but I do think of Ahsoka as a very possessive person and Rex is literally her platonic soul mate) Like she's split between saying "Of course Rex has the biggest fanbase he's the single best man in the galaxy. literally, the only man who hasn't disappointed me. he's perfect of course they like him." but then also, "None of you are good enough for him. You should be honored if he shows interest in you on account of him being perfection incarnate"

The clone fandom in my Au mimics the actual one quite a lot including the small personality traits of the clones being way over exaggerated and then universally accepted. Like Kix gaining popularity bc Ahsoka still responds to all questions about her health and wellbeing with quips like "Of course I took my meds, wouldn't want an angry medic on me" and "Yes i disinfected the wound. If I didn't Kix might have a stroke" or one time she shook a vitimin bottle and said "See Kix, I'm responsible, I'm taking them."

I could seriously go on forever like this, I've practically written an essay already. But yeah. You get it.

#star wars #ahsoka tano #clone wars #sw tcw #tcw #anakin skywalker #fanfic #501st #captain rex #ASOI #this post is unedited sorry if it's illegible

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altraviolet · 3 months

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I did find your response very entertaining lol my fault for not asking the right question. My understanding of IDW shockwave was that he was morally grey at first, but then an empty evil man after emp. I've got a better grasp on his character now, so I'm altering my question to be more specific. If you were to write his story (minus the time travel/God thing you're absolutely right abt that) how would you write him so that he heals from emp and is whole again. Like I know he can never be who he was, but how would you write it so he's... better? I guess? Healed from his trauma and a (mostly) normal citizen again?

ahh ok gotcha

I think the TEG SW arc is pretty like... adaptable. the character needs to reject their current (bad) understanding of themself, be open to change, be guided through change by friends (usually. hopefully). I am no authority but I'm guessing?? most redemption-esque arcs go like that? I just did what I thought was logical for TEG SW but if it happens to follow a formula, maybe that's cuz that formula is internally logical for the end goal

it took me a long time to figure out TEG so I can't really go into a lot of depth tonight with this. I can try to think through a few things... tl;dr if I were actually going to write a fic, it would be thought out. we're gonna throw some ideas into the tumblr ether here

-shocky comes out of the empurata with some understanding of what's happened to him and some understanding that he was something/someone else before that

-suffers from society's reaction to who he is now, has to find a safe place to live

-perhaps a self help group type thing for other empurata'd mechs

-if we're still doing war, maybe he befriends Glitch and follows him to the Decepticon side. this would be Healing Trauma Through Warfare, aka the bad ending, but it would be an arc. found family except the family likes to kill people

-if we're not doing war, or we're doing A Good Ending, maybe the self help group thing has connections to medical folks. maybe he can see a therapist, or he can go to a body shop and get remodded. I'd have to choose the exact ending and then work towards it

-along the way we'd see him discovering, via his interests/works/hobbies/friendships/hardships, his own internal worth. "I got empurata'd and society hates me but I still have worth" type stuff

-breaks down barriers for empurata'd mechs, does outreach/raises awareness type stuff

-goes full circle when he runs for senator and gets in, because he's amassed a strong enough following. passes laws to eradicate empurata.

boom! that sounds like healing haha

hope that was good 👍

#ask #anonymous #shockwave #long post

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jedimordsith · 4 months

Text

20 Questions For Writers

I was kindly tagged by the @takadasaiko !

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

702,174

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Star Wars Legends, specifically Luke & Mara and variants thereof.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

The Gift

5 Times Mara Took A Vacation and the 1 Time She Didn't

Desideratum

Oracle

Dirty Bad Wrong

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Sometimes it takes me a while but I respond to all comments except troll-y ones.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Generally, I prefer to resolve my angst by the end of a fic, but I left Nub Saar kind of open-ended so I think it takes the star on this one.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'd say most of my fics get pretty promising endings and I can't quantity which one is "happiest" out of all of them.

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

Not much. I get people who don't like/understand what I've done with a particular character, pairing, or AU, but rarely to any degree that can't be easily ignored.

9. Do you write smut?

Yes! I love a good, satisfying smut scene (even if they can be a nightmare to write).

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nope.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don't think so? 🤔

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Once. It was a good learning experience but not something that's often a good fit for my life and writing style.

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

Luke/Mara. OTP, full stop.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Either Temple Grim, the Vader's Kid AU, or my Naboo Gothic. I love the concepts but they just keep sliding to the bottom of the priority list.

16. What’re your writing strengths?

Worldbuilding. I will put a stupid amount of effort into considering and researching the small details of things. I like to think this somehow compensates for all my weaknesses.

17. What’re your writing weaknesses?

I am extremely prone to writing long fic. Fight scenes are hard and I frankly avoid writing space battles because they're even worse. I feel zero compunction to respect any particular aspect of canon. I sometimes (somewhat unfairly) use particular characters as scapegoats for my convenience.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Coruscant Translator is a GIFT and I love throwing in snippets of canon languages where appropriate!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I always wrote original fiction until I found fanfic through SW.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I'm most proud of Dirty Bad Wrong, just because of the effort and logistics, but I don't have a proper favorite. All of my fics contain a piece of me and satisfied a particular impulse/desire, and that's all I can ask for.

#questions for writers #open tag!#if you didn't get tagged and have time/energy to do this #consider yourself tagged

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anghraine · 3 months

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elwing replied to this post:

2 comments: first I can't imagine the type of people who legit leave comments CORRECTING stuff in the fic, but it does figure it would be people who are not actually as well versed as they think they are

I don't mind it when it's an honest mistake or point of confusion (like, I got an Italian plural wrong in a Borgias fic and I appreciate the person who let me know!), but it is deeply annoying (for me, anyway) to be lectured about my fic being "wrong" because it doesn't incorporate someone's preferred canon byproduct or fanon derived from it.

P&P 1995 + Star Wars Expanded Universe fandoms are especially bad about this, in my experience. No matter how clearly I say "my SW fic is based on the films and scripts only" there's always someone who's like "well actually in the novelization" or whatever.

Second, #19 please keep queen of Attolia on your thoughts……….

Oh, it is! I've got a page of pretty straightforwards Gen/Irene fic already written, so I didn't think of it for #19 purposes :D

#anghraine babbles #respuestas #austen fanwank #sw fanwank #sweu critical #this is an attolia irene appreciation blog

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silverskull · 1 year

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Chenford + they all find out (what should have happened in 5.13)

THANK YOU ANON, for inspiring me!!! I didn't have anything to add to this ep until your ask got the brainwaves churning. I hope this is somewhat enjoyable for you! As far as I can tell, in 5x13 Lucy wasn’t wearing her ring, Nyla was drinking, and Nolan doesn’t have a record player - but this is The Rookie. If the fans can’t take the same artistic licence with the facts as the writers, then what are we even doing here? I did research Camogie teams in SW USA, and that much is accurate. Songs mentioned in this fic:

Jimmie Rodgers - Secretly

The Romantics - Talking in Your Sleep

***

Nyla had won the battle.

Both sets of parents were taking turns calming their sleeping children, exhausted but unsettled in the unfamiliar surrounds of Nolan’s guest rooms, but still the TV stayed tuned for Nyla. It wasn’t the football game, but some terrifying Celtic sport, women racing across a grass field, armed with carved sticks, almost zero body protection and a ball so small it might as well have been invisible. Lucy and Nyla had become so invested that Tim had to remove himself from the sofa before they conjured their own sticks out of thin air and used his head for practice.

He instead found himself perusing Nolan’s record collection, the soft jazz currently playing on the turntable soothing but boring, and the whiskey gently flowing through his system suggesting something more in the style of a live country recording. The selection of records was so surprisingly wide-ranging that he almost didn’t notice Angela sloping up beside him until she bumped his elbow and swiped the Jimmie Rodgers album out of his hands.

“In the mood for some ballads, huh?”

“Not particularly.” He nodded to her glass, picking out another record at random. “Not in the mood for Bailey’s wine?”

Angela scowled, flicking the album over and skimming the track list.

“I drew the short straw. Driving all the babies home if the power comes back.”

“Right.” He said nothing more, but she glared at him over her glass anyway, and he smirked into his whiskey.

At this point, he’d been around pregnant cops long enough to recognise the signs, particularly in the breakroom: consistent supplies of decaf coffee, unusual varieties of dips in the fridge, and large boxes of Tums stashed in every spare shelf and cupboard. The last clue was Angela turning down Nolan’s wine when Nyla was also not drinking, and making bad excuses to cover for it.

But it wasn’t his secret, and if she needed time, he’d give it to her.

“Work go late at the courts tonight?”

Angela started digging through the records, elbowing him out of her way as she replaced the Jimmie Rodgers and began flicking through the cardboard covers. He smothered a weary sigh.

“Not really. It’s pretty consistent.” Sip of whiskey to disguise the boredom. “Just making the most of the A/C at the station. Plus, I can leave earlier tomorrow if I cross off a few extra files today.”

Having found something that appealed to her, Angela slipped the record out of the cover, again shoving Tim out of her way as she moved to replace the jazz on the turntable.

“Well, it’s doing something for you. You’ve got a whole new pep in your step.”

Afraid he’d say something incriminating, he turned a grimace into a smile, covering with another drink from his glass.

“Maybe it’s all the extra sleep you’re getting,” she added.

Awkward pause.

“How’s Kojo dealing with the heat?” She didn’t look at him, flipping the glossy record over in her hands as she decided which side to play.

“He’s in daycare. They’ve got a generator and they’re running an overnight special until the power comes back.” At last, something innocuous to talk about.

“Poor little guy.” Angela sympathised.

“‘Poor little guy’? He’s better off than I am! Costs as much to keep him there as it does to stay at the Four Seasons.”

She snorted at him, replacing the jazz and finally dropping the needle onto the new record. Some vaguely recognisable 80s band began clamouring through the speakers with the distinctive drum reverb and slap bass of the decade, melodramatic romance lyrics accompanied by high-pitched analogue synth.

“The things we do for someone we love, huh?” She turned to him with her fists on her hips and a smirk on her lips. He swallowed.

“I…guess?” He glanced quickly out at the room, but Angela blocked him, stepping into his space and punching him softly on the arm.

“I’m not talking about the dog, dummy.”

“Well.. I…” he stuttered lamely, before shaking his head and glowering down at her. “Then what are you implying?”

“Same thing as last time, Pinky,” she answered swifty, leaning in closer and lowering her voice. “You and Lucy.”

Two shivers went through him suddenly - one warm and happy, the other thrilled and jittery. He hadn’t heard anyone link her name to him like that before, and that it was one of the few people he was most eager to tell was sending little pings of excitement throughout his system.

He swallowed nervously, an uncontrolled smile tugging at the corners of his lips and his eyebrows rising in unambiguous surrender to her implication.

Angela’s face changed too - her narrowed eyes widening and the knowing smirk dropping into a little gasp of surprise.

“Wait,” she whispered, grabbing his arm, “You… you’re- seriously?!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, waggling the glass in his hand precariously. “This is amazing! I knew it, I knew it! When did you- wait, what- no, tell me-”

He interrupted her with a shushing motion, jutting his jaw out at the crowded room behind her.

“We haven’t really told anyone yet, okay? Just… just give it some time.” He was grinning now, his eyes catching the sparkle of Lucy’s ring across the room as she ran her fingers through her hair.

“Fine. Fine.” Angela acquiesced with a theatrical sigh. “I won’t say anything. Yet.” She took a gulp from her water glass, clinking it against Tim’s whiskey along the way. “But you and I are going out for drinks ASAP, and you’re gonna tell me everything.”

Tim rolled his eyes at her, turning back to the record collection and making room for Angela to lean in beside him, flicking contentedly through the discs together.

***

“Hurling.”

“Not hockey?”

“Not hockey. But again, this one is camogie.” “Not hurling?”

“Ugh.” Nyla dropped her head wearily onto the back of the couch. “Can’t you just watch it and appreciate the skill?”

Lucy grinned, tapping her ring against her glass of tequila, and turning her attention back to the game on the TV.

“And there’s really nowhere to see it live in LA?”

“Not that I know of. My girlfriend plays down in San Diego. I’ll link you up with her if you wanna check it out sometime.”

“Mmm. That could be nice. Weekend road trip.” Lucy’s mind wandered from the game on the screen to a sunny drive along the coast, winding roads beside the ocean, salt breeze in her hair, and her hand laced across the console with Tim’s, his smile bright and his skin warm against her own.

She had clearly daydreamed too loudly, because when she clicked back into the present, Nyla was gazing over at her, a knowing smirk pinching the dimples in her cheeks.

“Chen. I’d never have reckoned you for a sports fan.”

Lucy could feel the heat rising along her neck, and she covered it with a dip of her head and a sip from her glass.

“I’m cultured! Besides, it turns out I might have some Irish ancestry back along the way…”

“Mm-hmm,” murmured Nyla, evidently not buying it. “Don’t we all.” She sat up straighter and tipped her glass towards the other side of the room, where Tim and Angela were huddled together over Nolan’s record player. “And it’s got nothing at all to do with Bradford’s sudden change of career, or your urgent need to get him back into the thick of things, huh?”

“No!” Lucy answered quickly - far too quickly. She blinked and bit her lip, dropping her eyes cagily to the coffee table in front of them, leaving down her glass and shuffling through the magazines for something to do with her hands.

“Girl.” She could feel Nyla’s eyes boring into the back of her head, and she sighed, taking a minute to compose herself before turning to look over her shoulder. “What makes you think you could ever get away with lying to me?”

Nyla spoke with humour, but there was truth in it too. Not only was she essentially Lucy’s UC mentor, but she was one of the most perceptive detectives Lucy had ever met, and the facts that she had pointed out about them weren’t exactly the paragon of subtlety.

“...Okay.” Lucy whispered at last. Nyla leaned forward, raising her eyebrows and opening her mouth, and Lucy grabbed her wrist hurriedly to silence her. “Okay, but shhh!”

“I’m ‘shh’, I’m sat!” Nyla argued, gesturing vigorously with her free hand. “Now spill!”

“Well-” Lucy stopped, suddenly stumped, a sheepish smile playing on her lips. “We’re… together. We have been for a while. We just wanted…I guess we just wanted to keep it to ourselves for a bit. See how things would play out.” “Right,” agreed Nyla, nodding wisely. “And given the game of Career Switcheroo we’ve been playing here tonight, I take it things are going well?”

“Oh my god!” Lucy groaned, gripping Nyla’s arm tightly. “It is amazing, Nyla! I don’t know why it took me so long to realise it, but…” she trailed off, running a hand through her hair as she smiled earnestly at Harper.

“You’re happy,” finished Nyla, chuckling and placing her hand on top of Lucy’s. “And clearly, so is he.” She leaned in close, knocking her forehead lightly against Lucy’s. “I’m really glad for you, you know? Both of you. You deserve this.”

Lucy didn’t think it was possible, but she felt her grin grow even wider, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ at Nyla through her smile.

“Now.” Nyla pulled back, leaving her drink down on the table and rubbing her hands together pragmatically. She glanced quickly across the room at Tim, then leaned in close to Lucy, lowering her voice to a whisper. “This Fuji retirement situation? I think I have an idea…”

***

Unexpected though it had been, it had turned into quite a pleasant evening, and Nolan happily saluted Nyla and James as they swapped out with Wesley for baby-soothing duty.

Wesley sidled up to Angela, who was still guarding the record collection and humming softly to herself. He slipped his arms around his wife’s waist, pulling her into a gentle sway along the rhythm of the music. Angela smiled up at him, pecking him quickly on the lips before tucking her head under his chin and squeezing herself tightly against him.

“Aww… they really are super cute together,” Bailey murmured at his side. “I’m glad things are finally working out for them.”

“Me too.” Nolan agreed, circling his own arm around Bailey’s waist. “Between La Fiera and Elijah - not to mention everything in between - they’ve had it pretty rough.”

Bailey frowned up at him, confused. “Wait, Elijah’s after them now too?”

“Well… yeah?” Nolan paused to think, making sure he had the details straight. “Yeah. Since Wesley cut a deal with him to save Angela - you remember that?”

They both looked over at the couple dancing at the record player, swaying slowly in time with the music, then Bailey snorted loudly.

“I’m not talking about Angela and Wesley!” she laughed, poking him in the ribs. “I’m talking about them. Cuddled up on the couch.”

She tipped her head towards the sofa, the channels on the TV scrolling quickly through a variety of sporting fixtures as Lucy jabbed the remote mercilessly at the screen and Tim tried and failed to pull it from her hands.

Nolan pulled a face. “What, Tim and Lucy? No. No they’re just…”

As he watched, Tim finally got hold of the remote, pulling both it and Lucy into his chest, where she wheezed out a soft chuckle, punching him lightly in the stomach, before curling her feet up under her and nestling comfortably into his side. Tim swapped the remote into his other hand, reaching his free arm across the back of the couch and trailing his fingers down along Lucy’s back and through her loose hair.

“...Honey?”

Bailey tapped him gently under his chin, and Nolan realised that his jaw had fallen completely open in utter astonishment, and he clamped it shut with a snap, shaking himself out of his stupor.

“Wait, you really didn’t see that coming?” Bailey was gazing up at him, half amused, half concerned, her eyebrows all but forming a question mark on her face.

“I… I-I…” Nolan stammered, bewildered. “I honestly thought they didn’t even like each other! Tim used to be such an asshole to her, and Lucy did nothing but complain about him all the time. How has this happened?!”

“Oh, honey.” Bailey gave him a look of resigned compassion, pouting at his obvious naivety. “Even since I first met them, he’s always put her before everyone else; and she’s had him completely wrapped around her little finger.”

“How did I miss this?” he asked, still reeling. Bailey sighed heavily.

“Let’s just say your interpersonal skills lie in empathy and communication rather than gossip, hmm?” she suggested, turning his head away from the living room and back to face her. “And focus on a relationship you do know about?”

“Okay… Okay.” Still somewhat shaken, Nolan looked down at his girlfriend - his fiancée, he corrected himself - and decided that if anyone could take his mind off his failings as an off-duty detective, it was Bailey.

“Okay. But if anyone else in this group starts dating, give me a heads up before they start making out on my couch? Please?”

Bailey chuckled in amusement, and pulled him in for a kiss.

***

“What are you doing?” Tim grumbled, shuffling distractedly in his seat.

“Getting myself comfortable!” Lucy said, digging her fingers further behind his back and into the cushions.

“It feels like you’re trying to give me spinal surgery - again. And I would know.” Tim glowered at her, the way his arm tightened around her shoulder belying his surliness. “Can’t you just settle down and watch the game?”

“I was watching the game - you changed the channel,” she argued, her fingers finally finding the edges of the post-it notes she’d been searching for behind him.

“That was a battle, not a game. And it was over.” Tim corrected her, pointing the remote at the screen for emphasis.

“Well, it was a lot more interesting than watching overly-padded men racing towards another ad break,” she countered.

“Trust Nyla to finally lure you into sports - but only something niche and obscure.”

Having finally tucked the last of the stray post-its securely into her back pocket, Lucy curled her arm around Tim’s back, tickling her fingers against the base of his neck, his hair prickling pleasantly against her fingertips.

She settled against him comfortably, the TV droning on in the background in a buzz of light and colour. The air was cool and his body was warm, and gentle strains of light Latin rumba drifting across from the record player lulled her into a cosy state of drowsiness.

“Hey.” Tim shook her gently, his lips brushing against her forehead. “You wanna get out of here? Go home?”

Lucy blinked sleepily, murmuring into his shoulder, “Power’s not back yet, I’ve set a notification. We’ll have no light.”

Tim grinned, raising his eyebrows playfully. “I happen to know someone who has about three hundred candles. We’ll have plenty of light.”

“Oh yeah?” Lucy was more alert now, sitting up straighter and running her fingers along his chest. “And what about the heat? How are we gonna stay cool?” Tim shrugged. “I was thinking of picking up a bag of ice-cubes along the way. I have a few ideas.” His mischievous grin set off a flurry of butterflies in her tummy, and before she could think twice about it, Lucy had stood, pulling him up off the couch with her and grabbing her duffel bag from beside the record player.

Angela and Wesley stopped dancing to watch them, Wesley politely bemused and Angela with a sly smirk spreading across her face.

“Where’s the fire, Chen?”

“No fire,” Lucy answered airily, “We’re just gonna call it a night.” She grabbed Angela’s hand, pulling her into a sideways hug and whispering into her ear, “Thank you for the assist.”

Angela nodded, silently sliding the crumpled post-its from Lucy’s hand into her own pocket. “No problem.” She grinned at Tim over Lucy’s shoulder. “You two have a good night.”

Tim scowled back at her, marching towards the door and yanking it open briskly as Lucy bade a hurried farewell to Nolan and Bailey.

She threw her bag into the backseat and started the engine quickly, and within three minutes they were on the open road and racing towards Elmhurst Drive and her apartment. The night was still hot, but Lucy knew the heat tingling along her skin had almost nothing to do with the temperature of the sweltering air, and everything to do with the man in the truck ahead of her.

And even as part of her schemed and plotted to clear a path for him from courts to metro, the rest of her shivered in anticipation of yet another night together with him.

Because regardless of where he ended up in the LAPD, she was fast coming to realise that the one place she knew she always wanted him to be was right.

by.

her.

side.

#chenford #chenford fic #my fic #ask fic

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