#thanks jomiddlemarch!!!
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Writing Patterns
Tagged by @more-better-words! Thank you! 💜
Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!
(I'm only doing stories that are longer than 1k words. I've written a lot of baby ficlets lately, lol.)
Alina’s attendants are silent as they dress her. [The Truth in Our Hearts, SAB, Darklina]
"Listen, listen," Jane said, her words a tad elastic at the edges. "I don't like you." [Fun Surprises, MCU, Lokane]
coming home this wknd u free? [Lies, TROP, Haladriel]
Mud squelched beneath Killian’s boots as he trudged up a path overgrown with thick foliage. [To Cleave Destiny, OUAT, Captain Swan]
Your turn for groceries. Pick them up before 6 pm. [Crossing Boundaries, TROP, Haladriel]
His gaze has substance, she’s learned. [Alike But Not, MCU, Lokane]
Alina hadn't meant to fall asleep. [Involuntary, SAB, Darklina]
"And that is why I will never be at your side." [no peace in truth, TROP, Haladriel]
The queen announces a fete for the eve of their departure from Númenor. [Reprieve, TROP, Haladriel]
Killian stumbles across her late at night in a secluded glade. [In the Quiet Moonlight, OUAT, Captain Swan]
I guess my pattern is that I like shorter first lines? LOL
Bonus first lines of some of my favorite Trip/T'Pol stories just for @more-better-words (I didn't include any of my Mirror Universe stories; these are sweet and/or funny stories):
On the scale of one to disastrous for first encounters, this was shaping up to be the worst one yet—at least for Trip. [Mission Gone Awry]
Sometimes a man just had to assert his manhood, and usually in the stupidest way possible. [Connubial Negotiations]
Now this is the kind of "work" I'm talking about! [Unexpected Too]
Note to self: When offered a spot in an exchange program on a desert planet, think twice before accepting. [Three Months on Vulcan]
She's kneeling before her meditation candles late at night when he enters her quarters. [Indelible]
Tagging: @jhalya, @kmomof4, @searchingwardrobes, @scriberated, @coraleethroughthelookingglass, @somebirdortheother, @talshiargirlfriend, @snowbellewells, @hollyethecurious, @demonscantgothere, @bywayofmemory, @jomiddlemarch, @curator-on-ao3, @thecoziestbean, @nenyabusiness, and ANYONE WHO WANTS TO PLAY! (Just tag me back so I can see your first lines!)
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"For All the Tea in China" (or "Demelza Makes a Sandwich")
(slightly longer version from the fic title game prompt sent to me by @jomiddlemarch Thanks for indulging me!)
----
“Fuck it. We’re having the rapini for dinner!” Demelza said aloud to nobody and slammed the slightly wilted bunch down on the work surface.
Dinner was hours away–she was in fact still preparing lunch–but this decision felt like an act of defiance, and that was precisely what she was in need of at the moment.
Ross, or Mister Poldark as he was to her today, disliked rapini. He hadn’t said it in so many words but the absence of praise the last time she served it allowed her to solve for x.
Recently she’d gotten better at preparing the stuff so there was less bitterness. It turned out blanching, salting, and finishing with red pepper flakes proved key. But that mattered little to her. She loved all greens. Maybe there was a reason for that beyond her tendency to champion the underdog. She’d read somewhere that the bitter ones were higher in iron.
Maybe some bodies just need more iron, she’d wondered at the time. Ross clearly needed little. He was likely made of the fucking stuff, as stubborn and immovable as he was.
Demelza switched on the kettle and stared at the empty mug in her hand. Pride or self preservation, perhaps both, flooded her gut and drove her thoughts.
I will not let him see me upset.
She’d come to accept that Ross’s manner often swung between that of a companion and one of an employer. She knew Ross had moods and wasn’t always up for a laugh. And on those darker days, she gave him a wide berth but still saw that he was looked after. Well fed, clothes laundered, house tidied–all the things a good housekeeper should be doing. But when he was feeling more playful, she’d sit across from him at the table as more of a mate or even next to him while they watched telly. And when his beloved Everton lost yet another match, she wouldn’t hesitate to tease him for his loyalty. It seemed she wasn’t the only one in the house who favoured the underdog.
On his part, he’d laugh at her jokes, chide her for working too hard, slip her a bonus whenever he found himself even a little flush. Sometimes he’d smile when she just walked into the room.
Still, Demelza knew her place and had a firm enough sense of belonging, at least most of the time. With him anyway.
What she couldn't abide was the presence of Other People, when the rules were suddenly switched on her.
That had happened earlier when Ross’s prim-assed cousin in law, Elizabeth, came to call unannounced. Suddenly Demelza was meant to skivvy and scrape and be neither seen nor heard in the process.
Her Worshipfulness didn’t care for anything substantial as far as food or drink was concerned but Demelza still brought out bottled water in a clean glass (that wasn’t chipped) as a good housekeeper would do. And in exchange for her service, she received an icy thank you with delicate nostrils oh so subtlety flared.
Was she born with that sneer or has she been under the surgeon’s knife to perfect it?
But all that Demelza could bear, and she'd even managed to lock down all her own facial muscles so no brows raised or lips smirked in return.
It was Ross’s response–averting his gaze and looking at the floor as if she herself was a nuisance to be waited out–that was so intolerable. Then once she’d left the room, she heard him laugh.
To be fair, it wasn’t his heartiest chuckle, not the one he often shared when they joked and talked together, but a laugh was a laugh. And Elizabeth was his mate. All the time, not just when he felt lonely enough to slum it with the help, which is what Demelza always would be in the end.
It was nearly two hours later and Elizabeth long since gone, but Demelza hadn’t yet shaken the uneasiness. She pulled a knife from the drawer and set back to work.
She hated that Ross alone controlled what was true.
Recently, quite accidentally, she’d come across the term epistemic injustice in her reading. Now she rolled the words around in her mouth and felt their sharp edges and their weight. Perhaps this particular situation wasn’t injustice exactly but it was fucked up.
But maybe, just maybe, two could play the game. Ross too might come to learn the sting of being cast aside.
No more sportive banter, no matter his mood. If she wouldn't let him know what she was thinking, what she was feeling, then he wouldn’t know what to expect. What was true.
And he mustn’t know how important this job is to me. She might be able to live without his friendship–or so she tried to convince herself–but not so his paycheque.
The sliced chicken bore a chill from the fridge but the bacon was sizzling hot. Demelza trimmed the edges from the thankfully-still-crisp lettuce before she spread the sourdough slices with pesto mayonnaise. She’d prepared it only minutes before, conveniently forgetting it was Ross’s favourite.
Then she switched off the kettle and pulled down a second mug from the dish rack.
I will never laugh with him again, she resolved. Not even if he asks it of me. Not for all the tea in China.
#lucretiassister#poldark#poldark fanfic#ross poldark#demelza carne#poldark modern au#ask nervousladytraveler#writing prompt#fic title game
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PedroStories 1000 followers celebration
MASTERLIST
Thank you for participating in PedroStories’ 1000 followers celebration! 💜 Stay tuned, we have other activations planned for the fanfic writers and lovers in the near future! 👀
Here you can find the announcement with the prompts!
You can find all the works submitted by the participants under the cut!
* - Mature/Explicit work
Ezra
Dreams of Love by @tea-reads
Pero Tovar
* Collision (series) by @sirowsky-stories
* falling again (series) by @221bshrlocked
Jack Daniels
* You And I Were Fireworks by @stardustandskycrystals
* The Riding Lesson by @bluestar22x
Playing pretend by @bluebeary-jay
Joel Miller
Where might I be, if I were not here? by @jomiddlemarch
Because you saw me when I was invisible by @jomiddlemarch
It is love, not reason, that is stronger than death by @jomiddlemarch
on the cold earth under the cold sky by @jomiddlemarch
* angel of small death by @brewsterispunkk
One Kick by @nonexistent-introvert
* I can’t stop thinking about you. by @bellofthemeadow
Dieter Bravo
Closer Than Expected by @ghostofskywalker
Din Djarin
* cupid's chokehold by @deathwife
Dave York
* Three Days by @massivedreamer
Frankie Morales
Stood Up by @trulybetty
* Put Yourself in My Place by @alwaysbethewest
Always Here For You by @jwritesfanfics
Max Phillips
* i wanna do bad things with you (series) by @chronically-ghosted
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#admin post#pedrostories1k#masterlist#fic rec#pedro pascal character fanfiction#ezra#pero tovar#jack daniels#agent whiskey#joel miller#dieter bravo#din djarin#dave york#frankie morales#max phillips
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about a week ago I reached a follower milestone (it feels unearned? it's mostly due from just being around intermittently on this hellsite over the years) but likely not going to do anything cool about it cause I'm bad at graphics, take too long to write - there is one WIP that @jomiddlemarch BETA'ed I still haven't worked on! - work/life/family general chaos.
but I hope this doesn't take away from how much I appreciate this little corner I've curated - I admire my mutuals, and treasure the conversations and joy we share as we go about our days. thanks for being here, I'm not for everyone, and it's lovely and fun that when things click, they click. ❤️
feel free to shout in the ask box and comments or slide into the DMs. ❤️🥂
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Throwback Thursday Sunday
@starsuncounted & @jomiddlemarch tagged me to share an oldie but goodie—thank you!
The rule is to share a fic older than a week, and 2021 was over a week ago, so: Suffer a Sea Change (PotC, one-sided Norrington/Elizabeth, Norrington & Jack, Elizabeth & Jack, ~5000 words), which features musing on matrimonial discontent, magnetic anomalies, and at least one extremely obvious metaphor - all on the voyage to the Isla de Muerta. I'm not usually proud of my fic, but!
“It’s what it does. Sold five years’ worth of dreams and a piece of Ponce de León’s map of the road to Bimini to a powerful witch for the damn thing,” Sparrow said, “A bargain, really; dreamless sleep’s a blessing when you get where I’ve got.”
“Your broken compass is – you expect me to believe your compass is enchanted?"
“I don’t expect it. Curious if you will believe it, though.”
“I don’t,” said Norrington, who was starting to feel ridiculous for even having this conversation out loud.
“Ah. How dull. And I suppose you believe Charleton, that the Morgana of the Messina Strait is just the crystal bits and bobs of the sand and antimony in the Sicilian hills, and that hot sun of the Med making the sky a mirror?”
“A more likely explanation than a fairy queen of England conjuring Palladian cities off Sicily,” Norrington shot back.
Sparrow, irksome as ever, merely shrugged. “The compass points to the Pearl because I want it to, Commodore. Simple as that.”
Tagging: @johnbly, @enchi-elm, @shoshiwrites, @mercurygray, @teamtadpole, @admiraleyk, @foolishpsychopomp, @itsalongwaytotipperary, and you, tumblr denizen reading this!
#tag meme#polkaknox talks#fic#my fic#... 2021 seems like 20 years ago. who was the bright-eyed author who had the energy to write this fic.
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5 things you never get tired of writing
Thanks for tagging me, @forasecondtherewedwon !
rules: list five things you never get tired of writing. it can be tropes, themes, characters, phrases, whatever brings you joy. then tag five people!
Mutual pining
Brave at life, scared of love
The whole "Kick his ass, babe, I got your flower" dynamic
Niche historical references
Sentences with several clauses
Tagging @shoshiwrites @captainkilly @tortoisesshells @arethosedustyjumpwings @jomiddlemarch
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Seven Comfort Movies + a Pinterest Tag Game
I'm so excited to have been tagged in this game! Thank you @frenchiereading, @wildemaven & @rhoorl! I don't need to be asked twice to participate in these! 😊
first character, first real person, outfit, and quote when you open Pinterest is your vibe:
My Pinterest is so Dieter x Bryony coded it's not even funny lol.
Seven Comfort Movies:
Hope Floats
You've Got Mail
Dogma
The Wedding Planner
Bridget Jones' Diary
Bob's Burgers Movie
Miss Congeniality
NPT's for @gnpwdrnwhiskey, @gemmahale, @bluestar22x, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @jomiddlemarch, @grogusmum, @secretelephanttattoo, @goodwithcheese, @avastrasposts, @wyn-n-tonic & anyone else who wants to play along, tag me in your posts! 💕
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Albatross spite thing, please?
Haha, thank you! I think it was @jomiddlemarch who christened Adam Wainwright (in Foyle's War) the Milquetoast Albatross, and I am a Sam/Andrew loyalist. And what I feel I ought to be able to do is revise all my little snippets that follow on from Only to Uncertain Days into something coherent. With an arc.
So far, the only additional elements I've fixed on as guiding threads are that Andrew starts writing Sam letters he doesn't send as a way of working off his feelings, and then he starts writing more poetry (ditto.) Foyle Sr. is very carefully Not Intervening in the whole situation.
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Thanks for doing the throwback Thursday fic recs :) I love your Javi G IRL story.
This was tough but here are 5 oldies I adore: engaging and incredibly well-crafted. I've reread numerous times for mere comfort and every time I do I find new things to appreciate. I define "old fic" to mean anything written before 5/31/23 (arbitrary, I know) and I chose one-shots or fics that could be read as such (figured you'd be bombarded so wanted to be mindful of your time re series).
@jomiddlemarch - Ted Lasso x TLOU crossover, Joel x OFC Grace (https://www.tumblr.com/jomiddlemarch/716959971648143360/yall-know-it-tastes-like-garbage?source=share)
@yespolkadotkitty - Dave York x f! reader (https://www.tumblr.com/yespolkadotkitty/671726111602966528/i-can-barely-breathe?source=share)
@oonajaeadira- Jack Daniels x f! chemist reader (https://www.tumblr.com/oonajaeadira/716973764382998528/this-will-be-the-day-that-i-spy-part-1)
@julesonrecord - Ezra x f! reader (Gold Rush AU) (https://www.tumblr.com/julesonrecord/718516713516367872/i-am-yours-to-do-as-you-please-hello-hello-on?source=share)
@deadhumourist - Marcus Moreno x f! reader (https://deadhumourist.tumblr.com/post/695540533514420224/step-into-my-office-baby)
What a list! Thank you for sending them, and I'm so glad you enjoyed part 1 of IRL! I put Adira's fic in last week's thro-back Thursday list because I had read it already, but I didn't get to the others until the weekend.
I haven't read the dark!Marcus fic yet, I don't usually read dark fic, I have to be in a very specific mood.
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WIP Tag Game
Tagged by @curator-on-ao3. Thank you!!
RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.
This is the last unposted sentence I wrote:
He looks like he wants to debate the point further, but his features fall slack in resignation.
It's from the rough draft of Sealed By Blood (OUAT/Captain Swan Supernatural AU).
Tagging (no pressure): @more-better-words, @talshiargirlfriend, @kmomof4, @hollyethecurious, @belovedcreation, @somebirdortheother, @helenvader, @jhalya, @demonscantgothere, @scriberated, @searchingwardrobes, @pursuitseternal, @bywayofmemory, @thisonesatellite, @jomiddlemarch, @theriverwild, @thecoziestbean, and anyone else who wants to play!
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Tagged by the lovely @jomiddlemarch to do a WIP share. This one is f rom a WIP that should be ready to go in February?
----
“How’s your headache?” Ross set the steaming mug down on the bedside table before attempting to fluff the pillow behind Demelza’s head. He stole a quick glance hoping her face might reveal her true state but Muesli, the cat planted on her pillow, glared at him, seemingly annoyed at the interruption.
“Don’t fret, Ross,” Demelza laughed lightly then grabbed his hand to reassure him. “It's not a migraine, if that’s what is worryin’ you. Those seem to come just before my period. Today’s is… just tension or maybe eye strain. I wasn’t wearin’ my glasses yesterday.”
“Okay,” he feigned acceptance of her string of explanations. “But maybe take something?” He held out the blister pack of paracetamol but she shook her head in protest.
“I already did. I’ll be okay. I promise. Thank you for the tea but do you think you could pull the curtain?”
“Of course.” He moved quickly, eager to please her or at least to offer comfort. He didn’t believe what she said but he was hesitant to press her. She’d been known to downplay her ailments around him and she hated being fussed over by anyone.
But would she actually lie to him? Now?
It was already dark outside and with the curtains pulled, the room was nearly blacked out, save for the little lamp on the table beside her.
“Just a few more weeks and we should be seeing some spring.” Ross sat down at the foot of the bed and rubbed her knee through the covers.
“Mmm, thank you.” She stretched out so Ross would have access to even more leg, then she settled against the pillows with a sigh. “I don’t know, call me a hypocrite but I miss December,” she said.
“December?”
“Yes, there is somethin’ about that time of year. Even the smallest light feels so cosy in that much darkness.”
“I won't call you hypocritical but maybe forgetful,” he laughed. “All there was in December was ice and darkness. The sun set at 4 o’clock.”
“No, 4:30--you exaggerate,” she corrected him.
“No, 4:19. Precisely so. I remember.”
“I don’t doubt you do, Ross,” she laughed. “It’s a farmer’s nature to pay attention to things like that. But no matter how early it got dark, everyone made the most of it, didn’t they? Everythin’ was festive and warm…”
“Okay, I stand corrected. You are not forgetful, just pagan.”
“What?”
“Maybe nostalgic?”
“And why shouldn't I be nostalgic for December? It was that special. We were in our first days of love then…”
“Are we not still? It’s only been six weeks.”
“Seven weeks. And of course we are, Ross.” She leaned forward to kiss his hand and pulled him closer to her.
---
Okay, tumblr friends, what are you working on?
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Five Things You Might Find in My Fics
Thanks to @jomiddlemarch for tagging me!
1) Puns.
2) Dramatic irony.
3) A very particular variant of dramatic irony, where the narrative undermines the dialogue.
Ex: “I’m perfectly happy,” he lied.
Or
“How sad,” she said happily.
Or
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said.
It wasn’t.
(A trick I stole from Arrested Development and still find very funny, ngl.)
4) Clothing as a means of revealing a character’s emotional state or growth.
5) A dog that is very stupid but a very good boi.
Tagging @rain-sleet-snow, @aquitainequeen, @kcrabb88, @cosmonauthill, and @ratheralark.
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looking California and feeling Minnesota
Joel Miller x OFC Grace (and a nod to Joel x Tess)
Prompt: “what do you want from me?”
THANK YOU to the incomparable @jomiddlemarch for 1) creating this OFC and letting me take the character for a spin, 2) being the best beta reader and editing this so it’s actually readable, 3) the prompts, and 4) being generous and encouraging.
Do yourself a favor and read the series she started on this OFC/Joel on her AO3. It’s a loose fit series with a Ted Lasso AU crossover. This fic can be read alone here on tumblr and is so lovely
I haven’t written a fic in 5 years (an explanation, not an excuse) - you can find this one on AO3 here.
Rating: M (language, a sprinkle of sexy-time spice, no full-on smut sorry)
Word Count: 2.8K
Summary: Joel says Tess’ name in his sleep. Grace (an OFC) asks too many questions. Joel and Ellie are evasive. Joel and Grace quarrel. A scavenging mission becomes a cold war. Little traumas everywhere.
Pairings: Joel/Tess, Joel/OFC-Grace, OFC-Grace/OMC-Kian
Warnings/Heads-up: angst, brief allusion to torture and violence, politics, foreshadowing for season 2 if you squint, alcohol, post-coital angst, foreplay angst
It wasn’t the first dream he’d had about that afternoon in the rotunda.
The gasoline scented air thick with dust and heat. Black cables snaked on the tiled marble.
“I never asked you for anything, not even to …”
"I felt the way you felt, Tess. I’ve always had.”
She arched her neck to the side, revealing a peach flesh tendril under the army green collar.
“You flinched.”
“I’m - I’m sorry.”
Tess shrugged.
He watched her thumb the silver wheel on the lighter again and again: flick, flick, flick.
“You should go."
“I saved Ellie,” he offered.
"Keep going, Joel. Save who you can save.”
Save who you can save. A plea, a promise.
Tess. Joel whispered her name like a prayer, a secret. Eyes shut, drool pooling on the corner of his partly open mouth, his right cheek pressed against the pillow.
___
Joel. Joel. Grace repeated his name three, four times. She’d already lightly run her fingers through the tufts of soft curls as she murmured into his left ear “Joel, you’re okay, you’re in Jackson, Wyoming. This is Grace.”
He jolted awake.
“You ok? Must’ve been some dream.”
____
Grace didn’t want to ask, she knew she shouldn’t, and that they don’t - not here, not now - but she wanted to know. She had those types of dreams about Before Jackson - the ones that made you sit bolt upright in sweat drenched sheets.
His name was Kian. Tall, dark brown eyes. A boisterous laugh that filled every room.
“How’d you predict it’d fall so quickly?” It was the month FEDRA had begun disappearing people in the Seattle QZ, mutilating corpses in the square. She figured he’d give some answer about being the son of parents who fled Tehran during the revolution, some intergenerational trauma or imprinting, a Spidey sense of recognizing fascist fuckers lurking on a street corner.
“History rhymes. You really thought our institutions were going to save us? Bush v. Gore didn’t prove to you that the courts were never going to save us?”
He looked down at her as their legs tangled on a twin bed narrower than the one she had in college, a thin mattress against a wooden frame, rumpled sheets, the comforter and clothes strewn on the floor.
Outside the sirens blared as he whispered, softly chuckling into her hair: “Grace, babe, we save ourselves.”
And she failed at that.
Grace never told a soul how ready she was that still-dark morning. She’d heard his screams from her cell. She was done. Grief turning into a death wish. A clean shot to the back of the head. She imagined dead-Lauren quipping: that would have been enough.
The FEDRA woman ripped off her blindfold and cut the zipties.
It was dawn and streaks of red orange hovered over the darkened trees on the horizon, the moon a faint sliver in the purple gray clouds that filled the rest of the sky.
“You came in the middle of the night to save my life at Harborview back in ’01. I remember you - Dr Yang, yeah?”
Grace swallowed and nodded, her head aching and dizzy, unable to recall how or what she’d done, whether she’d cauterized a bleeding stomach ulcer or merely fished out a bone lodged in the esophagus, how this officer must have mistaken her for someone else who’d done real heroic shit.
“This is what you’re going to do,” the FEDRA officer continued.
She rolled the body bag off the truck, a hard thump on the ground, and proceeded to throw Grace’s belongings at her feet, along with a revolver she removed from a holster, and pressed Kian’s cherry red Swiss army knife into her palm.
“You have one hour. Bury your boyfriend, then get out. Follow the train tracks. Go east. We’ll call this even.”
___
Ellie and Grace waited by the gate for Joel. The sun already hot by mid morning, Ellie took off her hoodie and tied it around her waist.
Against her better judgment, Grace blurted out: "Hey, may I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…
The fourteen-year-old eyed her skeptically. “Um, okaaay.”
“Who’s Tess?”
“Tess?” Ellie echoed in a lilt.
“Yeah, Tess.”
“Um,” Ellie’s eyes darted behind them, as if to make sure they were alone. “Um, Tess was Joel’s partner in the Boston QZ. She died on our way here. The Fireflies had paid her and Joel to take me to this a hospital in Salt Lake City where um, my condition was going to help create some vaccine.”
“Wait. What’s this about a vaccine? What do you mean, ‘condition?’”
Ellie pushed up a sleeve to reveal her forearm, the gnarled bite mark resembling a skin graft, a soft rubbery keloid.
Wide-eyed, Grace exclaimed: “Oh God. Was that a bite? You’re immune? What the hell happened in Salt Lake? Is that where you and Joel went last year? What’d they do? Did they run blood tests? Do a spinal tap? How did…?”
Grace was relentless in her line of interrogation. She asked Ellie a total of twenty plus questions about drugs, equipment, storage, procedures, doctors and nurses and staff, the Fireflies, how she originally got bit, who was with her, who found her, when she realized she was immune. She didn’t probe any further about Tess. Maybe it was that death had become so present, she felt no urge to dig for details, and imagined somewhere Tess and Kian and maybe Lauren were throwing back drinks, exchanging stories about those they left behind.
Ellie began to stammer: “Shhhhh. Stop. I don’t know. I don’t know! I mean, I’m immune, for sure. But I don’t remember much - I was drugged up. Joel had to get me out of there when the raiders attacked. He said they didn’t need me, that there were other kids immune, too.”
She looked down before continuing.
“I remember Marlene and then waking up in the back of a car in this paper hospital gown….” Glancing up, slightly panicked, Ellie pleaded: “You can’t tell anyone, Grace. I swear. About me. About all of this. We can’t talk about this anymore.”
____
“Joel, don’t freak out.” Grace drew in a deep breath. “I just thought you should know. That I know about Ellie and what happened in Salt Lake. And I promise I won’t tell anyone. I’m just glad you both made it back … back safe.” She wanted to say “home,” but was unsure what that word may mean to him when she couldn’t figure out what it meant to her.
Joel looked at her, startled, and opened his mouth to reply before she interrupted and began peppering him manically with questions, her curiosity getting ahead of her.
“What did they have? What did they say? Was there a lab? Do you remember who you talked to?” She began gesticulating wildly, a habit she slipped into when excited and talking too rapidly. “There was this woman Abby I met when l left the Seattle QZ and she told me her dad was some doctor out in Utah or Colorado trying to do something with vaccines and I asked her how they had the technology or a way to operationalize it in the middle of all of this and it just sounded too good to be true. You know? And then Ellie said you said there were other kids like her? Were they all there? How…”
Joel waved his hand dismissively and shrugged. “I don’t remember much about it. I saw Marlene, but I don’t remember anyone else. Lots of clickers turned up. Last thing I know I grabbed Ellie and we got the hell out."
“Holy shit, raiders AND clickers? Ellie said raiders attacked.”
“Well, yeah, both,” Joel backtracked. “I can’t recall every detail…” He straightened his posture and squared his broad shoulders, crossing his arms defensively and she couldn’t help but spy the muscled forearms exposed below his rolled sleeves. ”How did you even start talkin’ to Ellie ‘bout this?”
“I dunno.” Grace mumbled, looking down at her boots and blushing. “I asked her who Tess was and then…”
“How did you hear about…?” His eyes darkened. “We don’t talk about Tess. We don’t ever bring up Tess.”
Staring back at his scowl, Grace felt her ears burning and heart pounding. She bit her lip trying not to say what she wanted to yell: you brought Tess up first. Said her name in my bed.
“Dude - what the fuck. It’s fine. We all have our histories. I’m just …”
“Well, we can keep our fucking histories to ourselves.” Joel snapped.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel. You love who you love. I’m just trying to…” Her fingers curled into fists on the frayed straps of her backpack, its bottom slack since she’d kept it half-empty to hold anything they’d find, the stitched-over seams loose for once.
“What do you want from me?” Joel growled.
Dead-Lauren would have warned Grace: You get really petty when you’re angry. Grace stomped ahead deliberately to his right, up the rolling incline swatting away the wildflowers brushing her knees, muttering under her breath Not this fucking bullshit.
“What did you say?” He turned to her.
“Nothing.” Bile in her throat, her voice rising into a shout. “Nothing, alright? I want nothing.” She quickened her pace as she looked back and spat out: “And don’t you dare fucking talk that way to me again.”
___
Ellie was stuck. Between Joel’s asshole voice and Grace’s resting bitch face, their fourteen days were painfully silent hikes interrupted by surprisingly successful scavenging: dilapidated convenience stores, an untouched mom-and-pop pharmacy, an abandoned vegetable garden overgrown with mint. Ellie launched her best puns and jokes, none of which landed, both Joel and Grace humoring her by letting out the occasional chuckle, and then marching quietly ahead up yellow grassy hills or down rocky pastures. They stole glances at one another when they thought they could, glimpses quickly turning into glares when Ellie caught them in the act, the teenager rolling her eyes and shaking her head in exasperation.
In the evenings around the campfire, a crackling flame pierced the silence as they ate wordlessly, pine and sage and forest moss wafting in the smoke.
____
“Grace.”
She shifted on the boulder and lifted her head at the sky, trying to find Orion, fiddling with the zipper on her fleece, pretending not to hear him.
Joel walked toward her and held out his worn bronze honey-colored jacket, “weighty and warm,” she had remarked when months ago he first draped it around her thin shoulders, both of them huddling under the stars, him pressing a chaste kiss on her cheek.
“Grace,” he tried again now with the jacket at arm’s length: “Here, take this. It’s freezing.”
“No thanks, I’m fine.” She replied evenly, a sharp breath of cold air rose into the dark.
He refused to plead. “Okay, suit yourself. But wake me up later, alright? Ellie’s exhausted and I’ll take her turn.”
“Whatever,” her eyes narrowing, “I’ll do the whole night.” She’d worked 100-hour call weeks for three years throughout a malignant residency program. She could survive the chill and long hard hours, even loneliness. She wasn’t ready to endure the nearness of Joel.
The following day they trekked back to Jackson and helped restock the community pantry and clinic stash, carefully lining the dusty jars and bottles on the shelves. Tommy and Maria greeted them, initially not noticing how Grace and Joel barely regarded one another.
“We’ve got dinner ready for y’all,” Maria said. “Grace - it’s the fancified top ramen recipe you shared - poached egg and chashu pork slices. Come over before you head back to your place. You must be starving.”
Grace winced. She was famished, but found herself more exhausted than hungry, and just wanted to be alone.
She smiled wanly at Maria: “Thanks so much, but I’m gonna head back. I’m sorry. I’ll see you around?” She turned on her heels to walk away before she could catch Tommy looking questioningly at his brother.
When she reached her house, she closed the door behind her, slumped to the floor, and sobbed.
___
Grace used to have a post-call ritual. Riding the post-call high before crashing into the post-call delirium, she’d take a luxurious hot shower so long the mirrors would steam and the fresh gardenia scented soap perfumed the bedroom. She’d pop in the Before Sunrise DVD and lounge with a Pinot from Walla Walla or Dundee. While the leftover spaghetti was reheating in the microwave, she’d momentarily debate calling the nurses station to make sure she’d placed that PRN order for trazodone.
That was then. Now it was midnight. She did indulge in a warm shower and scrubbed away the grime from the terrible-no-good-two-week expedition. She even allowed herself a bigger dollop of shampoo than usual, and a squirt of travel-sized conditioner she’d saved for rare occasions. She combed her wet hair and let it air dry and pulled the oversized Lollapalooza t-shirt over her head, the hardwood floors creaking beneath her bare feet. This tee - thinned over multiple washes with red block letters now a pale pink - was one of three items she still possessed from Before.
1992, Shoreline. Converse sneakers indented the muddy grass. Amps blaring as a chord from an electric guitar revved up the crowd, two teens yelling at each other.
LAUREN! This is way too big!
That’s all they had left! Just take one - it can be a pajama top!
Grace decided to make herself an old-fashioned. The range in her kitchen was temperamental. After repeatedly turning the knob click click click and click click click and click click click with no burst of a purple flame, she finally resorted to striking a match against the black grate to light her stove.
She prepared simple syrup to mix with the whiskey she borrowed from Tommy. Equal parts sugar and water, foam swirling in liquid amber in a pot. She wished she’d had Angostura bitters, but the unspoiled orange would have to do. She was pressing a blade against the pebbled skin to peel the rind when she heard a loud knock at the front.
Wiping her hands quickly, she peered out the window and saw him standing on her porch. She imagined real-Lauren, the ultimate wingwoman, whistling at the sight of a broad-shouldered dark, handsome stranger showing up at Grace’s doorstep, his hair slicked back, the green flannel somehow bringing out the glint of grey in his scruffy beard. Almost resentful he cleaned up better than she did, Grace exhaled loudly and attempted a pep talk: Keep it together, don’t fucking cry.
She opened the door. She held his gaze and found his brown eyes softening.
“What is it, Joel?” She cleared her throat, trying not to let her voice tremble. “What do you want from me?”
He stepped forward and leaned down to kiss her, one hand cupping her cheek and the other around her waist, and only when he crossed the threshold did she finally pull her mouth from his, breathless. She looked up at him and stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck, her lips meeting his for a more urgent, bruising, hungry kiss. Tangled, they stumbled into the other room, she led him to the kitchen chair before climbing on top of him, his jeans scraping against the back of her bare thighs. It wasn’t until she nearly forgot about the concoction simmering on the stove, the syrup thickening into a caramel, that she realized that was the only answer he gave her.
_____
“This used to be some old boyfriend’s?” Lying on the edge of her bed, Joel reached down to the floor with one arm to pick up the shirt to hand it to her.
“Um, no,” Grace replied, not meaning for the emphasis to sound so harsh, “It’s mine. I actually went, believe it or not.” She bunched up the tee before throwing it into the corner across the room.
“I don’t recall them letting little kids into Lollapalooza,” he teased.
“I was 15, Joel,” she bristled. “Definitely not little.”
“Figured you were younger.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” She plopped her head down onto a pillow and turned away from him.
“You don’t disappoint.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, interlocking his fingers with hers, squeezing her palm.
“Sure, whatever.” She pulled the covers over her breasts and nestled her back against his chest, closing her eyes. He kissed her neck and shoulder before shifting his weight and rolling onto his back. She heard him take a deep breath.
“What a lineup that year,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling. “Tess loved those bands.”
Surprised, Grace opened her eyes and laid still on her side, slowly smiling to herself: “Yeah? She had great taste.”
#joel miller#joel miller x ofc#joel miller fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#joel x tess
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tagged by: @combat-librarian, @tortoisesshells, @undisclosed-serendipity and @tough-n-dumb. Thank you all!
last song: must’ve been Calm Down or that Sam Smith song on the weekly Top 40 we listened to on the radio yesterday afternoon (why am I still getting tagged on music things? I’m just embarassing myself).
currently watching: Mainly the weather forecast because I’m off this week and my kids have baseball tournaments and I have no idea how any of this will go between the rain and the forest fire smoke alerts. Look at the sky in the Old Port yesterday:
TV-wise, I’m between shows right now. The last one I watched was season 2 of Girls5Eva which I cannot recommend strongly enough to my fellow Millenials. Next one is probably The Great ?
currently reading: The Toss of a Lemon by Padma Viswanathan. I’ve probably been reading it for half a year because the fanfics my fellow The English fans write are all novel length (and I’m STILL not caught up with @combat-librarian’s latest).
current obsession: Too overwhelmed to be obsessed. June has been a massive stress fest of trying not to forget anything school (I swear, they had some special event every other day), work, or baseball-related, while effusively cursing myself for not managing to finish anything writing-wise, even though I’ve had multiple half-baked chapters in limbo ever since finishing Acikskatakusiir. But now school is finally over, I’m off work for this holiday week, and I’m getting the hang of juggling multiple teams, so hopefully I’ll be able to edit a decent chapter or two out of the 12K words written. Or not, and they’ll all stay in WIP Land for another month, and maybe another two after that, all the way until Fall and I get my evenings and brain back.
tagging @divinecomedienne, @fericita-s, @jomiddlemarch, @theimprobable1, @laiqualaurelote, @broadwaybaggins and anyone else who wants to play!
#yes I also turned 40 last week#no I did not much care to#but hey it's just a number#and if Girls5Eva can do it so can I
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Writing Patterns
Tagged by @jomiddlemarch - thank you, kind friend!
Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern.
1. “Miss Winters,” said Jeremiah Collins, stepping out of the night into the gloom of her lamp: he had a half-shuttered lantern of his own in one hand, and a bundle of heavy wool in the other.
2. It had been late when they left the Cushings’ party; it was later, now.
3. In stretches of silence, along the long dark road from Bangor, she had had the strange sense of being alone in the world – that it was only Roger Collins and her left alive, and all the rest had gone.
4. “Spenser, from our Chaplain? Has Holy Scripture been exhausted already?”
5. Things change in Collinsport, Joe Haskell believes – the weather, hourly; Carolyn’s moods, the same – the tides, the light, the seasons.
6. There had been noise – now there wasn’t.
7. “Captain –” an embarrassed cough, trailing into an equally uncomfortable silence; the tall, grim being (thing, some part of Elizabeth Swann thought unkindly) that had been James Norrington in life bowed, and settled on formality.
8. Her mother died twice.
9. Victoria Winters woke thinking of what she had gone to bed dwelling on: that her best handkerchief was missing, and she’d lost it in the dining room of the Collinsport Inn of all places.
10. “It’s unusual, that’s all I’m saying,” said one of the men at the oars to another, shivering.
I tend to do a lot of scene-setting, I think? Not as much as I used to, maybe. I have two starting lines under 10 words, which is possibly a sign of the end times? Collinsport gets namechecked twice, which I suppose is: have I mentioned we're in (fictional) Maine recently? we're in Maine.
Tagging: @boltlightning, @enchi-elm, @kazoobreakdown, @fatherramiro, @admiraleyk, @foolishpsychopomp, @itsalongwaytotipperary, @sagiow, @starsuncounted, @shoshiwrites, and you, tumblr denizen reading this!
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WIP Wednesday
Thank you, @wildemaven for the tag and for inspiring me to make a WIP Wednesday header of my own! I’ve been really bad with responding to WIP Wednesday tags so I am going to try to be more efficient…
This week, I’m cooking up a new adventure for The Thief and our Museum Professional, last seen in Reunions.
“You know, if you wanted to ask me out again you could have just called or emailed, like a normal person.”
He hands you a cup of strong black coffee and joins you on the couch in the apartment’s enormous living room.
“Do you think I’m a normal person?”
You take a sip and chuckle. “You are definitely not a normal person.”
He smiles in satisfaction, taking you in from head to toe as you feel a warmth building deep within.
“It’s very, very good to see you, chérie.” His voice is warm and honeyed, an inviting purr that makes you ache between your legs.
Today, he is wearing a black cashmere turtleneck with a pair of perfectly-tailored grey dress pants and some heavy, brown-framed glasses. It’s all you can do not to climb on top of him there and then.
“It’s been almost two months, Thief. Did you forget about me?”
He shakes his head, eyes softening with what you want to believe is genuine regret. “Never. I had to spend some time away, in South America - dealing with the family business, you know - and then I came here, to look at Madame Deseine’s…collection.”
The way he enunciates the final word gives you pause. What was in this “collection”?
Tagging @jomiddlemarch @secretelephanttattoo @iamskyereads and anyone else with a WIP to share!
#wip wednesday#pedro pascal character fanfiction#the thief#casillero del diablo#pedro pascal#pedrostories#la dame writes
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