Sorry I'm Late, I Was Reading Fanfiction!

Note: You don't have to know how to make anything fancy. Just do you know the basics well enough to at least get started?

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I'm really appreciate that Tech doesn't fit in the trope of "scrawny nerd man is weak". I love that he's a huge nerd and an elite soldier.

I love scenes where his strength is shown like when he literally carries echo on his back up that ventilation shaft when they save him. Or when he peels back the freaking metal wall.

My favorite one has to be when he's bitching at Wrecker for dropping the ipsium and they're just like

Wrecker: You carry it then!

Tech: Fine! >:(

Then he just slings that huge container onto his back.

ch.4 - fences and cities - dbf! joel miller &f!reader

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previous chapter

A/N: I know you've been waiting a while for this chapter, so here it is!! we are nearing the sweet sweet spot of the story and I am loving every second of this. I went back and forth about how I wanted this chapter to play out and I think I ended it perfectly and you know where its heading next 🔥😉

mentions: it gets steamy, hot heavy tension, joel being so fucking hot and possessive, teasing and also alcohol consumption, throwing up (not described though) if there's any mentions you think are missing, let me know!

Minors stay out or read at your own risk! I'm not responsible for your consumption!

Do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own. Thanks!

He’s just finished mucking out a stall, sweat clinging to his neck, shirt slightly clinging to his back—rough hands, tired eyes. He turns a corner and stops short.

You’re laying on the hay-strewn ground, arms soft at your sides, legs relaxed. One of the more temperamental horses—usually wary—has its massive head nestled in your lap. You’re absently stroking its mane, speaking quietly, rhythmically.

It’s such a tender image. Quiet. Peaceful. And for a second, it breaks something in him.

He says, kind of stupidly, kind of under his breath, “Horses are... they’re sensitive. They pick up on people. You’ve got good energy.”

You glance up, smiling softly, still stroking the horse.

“They like you,” he adds, voice lower now, something unreadable swimming in it. Then, like a fool: “I do too.”

And immediately regrets how it came out.

Cue a small beat of silence—your heart’s doing something weird in your chest. But you don’t make it awkward. You say something that keeps the moment soft. Maybe:

“Yeah? I thought you just liked how I shovel hay.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. The tension breaks—but it lingers too.

He left a minute ago—said something like “Don’t stay too long, alright? We got work to do” before walking off.

The horse lets out a soft huff, nuzzling into your hand, and you sigh like you’re finally letting something out.

“I know. I know he’s off limits,” you murmur, half to the horse, half to the universe. “But he’s so…” You trail off. A pause. Then, “Have you seen his hands?”

The horse shifts its weight but stays pressed to you like it’s listening. It's like it gets it.

You keep going, just letting it spill.

“He looks at me like he knows things he shouldn’t. And when he says I’m a good girl—Jesus, like my bones forget how to work.”

You laugh, embarrassed at yourself. “I sound like an idiot. He probably just thinks I’m some kid playing pretend out here.”

You’ve just finished with the horse. You gave it one last stroke, whispered a little “thanks for listening” into its neck like a secret. Now you’re stepping out into the cool evening air, brushing hay off your clothes, cheeks still warm from your little emotional monologue.

You’re not expecting to see him.

But Joel’s there. Leaning against the side of the barn like he’s been waiting.

You freeze. He doesn’t speak right away—just watches you with that unreadable expression of his. Then:

“You talk to them often like that?”

You blink, startled. “What?”

“Horses. Or were you talkin’ to me?”

Your throat tightens. You try to laugh it off.

“Didn’t know I had an audience.”

He pushes off the wall, steps closer. Not threatening—just intentional. There’s something in the air now, sharp and heavy.

“Wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” he murmurs, low. “But I heard enough.”

You go quiet. Heat rushes to your face. You look down.

He stops in front of you—close enough to smell the leather on his gloves and the pine on his shirt. He lifts your chin with two fingers, slow and careful.

“You think I don’t see you?”

Then it happens.

He leans in—and kisses you.

Soft, but intense. It's like he’s been thinking about it for days or like he’s finally letting the thing unravel. Your hands find his jacket, his thumb brushes your jaw.

When he pulls back, both of you are breathing harder. He looks at you like he’s just crossed a line—and liked it.

“This ain’t smart,” he mutters, more to himself than you.

But his hand’s still on your face.

“I don’t care.” You say quietly.

And neither does he.

________

You went home straight after the barn. Showered. Changed.

But nothing helped. Not the water, not the coffee, not even the nap you tried to take. His face wouldn’t leave you. His voice.

You told your dad you were going to see a friend. You needed air. Needed to feel normal again—shake off the way his lips felt against yours, how you’d replayed that kiss twenty times and imagined twenty more.

You’re sitting at the bar now, glass in hand, staring blankly ahead. Guilt swims under your skin, warm and tight.

Then you see him.

Joel.

Your stomach drops.

He’s not alone.

There’s a woman with him. Laughing at something he said, hand brushing his arm. She leans in too easily, too familiar. And he’s smiling—not like he smiled at you, no—but still.

Your blood turns to fire.

You turn back to the bartender.

“Something strong. Surprise me.”

The glass hits the bar. You down it too fast, throat burning. You don’t even flinch.

But you keep watching him. You can’t stop. Rage and confusion brewing in your chest like a storm. How dare he. How fucking dare he.

And then—he notices you.

His eyes find yours across the room. You don’t look away. You want him to see you angry. You want him to feel it.

He shifts, says something quiet to the woman, then gets up and walks toward you.

Each step makes your pulse spike.

He stops beside your stool, jaw clenched, voice low.

“What are you doing here?”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“Oh, fuck you, Joel.”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“You kissed me. You told me—” Your voice catches. “And now you’re out here with some woman like that didn’t mean anything to you?”

He leans in, angry too now—but not at you.

“You think that meant nothing?” His voice is quiet, gutted. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it since it happened.”

You stare at him, stunned, fire still dancing behind your ribs.

“Then what the hell is she doing here?”

He runs a hand down his face. “She’s just—she’s no one. Christ, I wasn’t even— I didn’t know you’d be here.”

A beat of silence.

You slide off the stool, push past him, headed toward the back door. You don’t want to cry in the middle of the goddamn bar—and besides, you don’t want to make a scene in a place where surely a lot of people know your dad.

But he follows

You push through the door, the night air hitting you like a slap. Cool, biting. You pace a little, trying to breathe, trying to calm the mess in your chest.

Then the door swings again.

Joel.

His steps are hard, sure. Voice rough with urgency.

Joel catches up, grabs your wrist—not hard, but firm enough to stop you.

“Don’t walk away from me like that.”

You whirl around, fire in your chest.

“Why?” Your voice cuts like a whip. “So you can go back to your little date and pretend you’re not fucking around with your best friend’s daughter behind his back?”

He flinches. Actually flinches.

“She’s not—It’s not what you think.”

You laugh—sharp, bitter, broken.

“Really? Because it looked like flirting from where I was sitting.”

A pause. Tense. His hands are clenched at his sides. He steps closer.

“You think this is easy for me?”

His voice is low, taut with emotion. “You think I’m not fighting this every damn second?”

Your voice breaks.

“Then why’d you kiss me?”

He breathes like he’s been holding something in for months.

“Because I couldn’t not.”

The alley goes still. Everything else fades, people walking around, the music that blasts from the inside of the bar. All you can focus on is him.

“I tried,” he says. “God, I fucking tried. But then you looked at me with those eyes. And that mouth. And I—” He takes another step. His voice drops lower. “I wanted to ruin you.”

Your throat tightens. Your stomach flips.

“Say it, Joel.” It’s soft. Pleading.

He stares at you like you’re the edge of a cliff and he’s already falling.

“I want you. Not just the kiss. Not just your hands on me.” He exhales like it hurts. “I want you. Every goddamn inch of you.”

“Then stop treating me like a child! I’m not a child!” Your voice cracks—quieter now, trembling at the edges. “I don’t want to be your child. I want to be…” You trail off. You can’t even say it.

And then—you don’t have to.

Because you crash into each other like gravity demands it.

His mouth finds yours, bruising and hot and desperate. Your back hits the wall with a soft thud, and his thigh slides between yours—firm, possessive, grounding. One big, calloused hand slips under your skirt, the other fists in your hair, tugging just enough to make your knees buckle.

You gasp into his mouth, breathless, wrecked, gone.

Then his lips hover over yours, his breath ragged against your cheek.

“You want to be what, sweetheart?”

Your eyes lift to his, wide and wet and dizzy with want.

And you whisper it.

The truth that’s been choking you for days.

“I want to be yours.”

The words leave your mouth like a confession—soft and broken.

And Joel groans.

Like he’s been starving for it.

He surges forward, kissing you again—hotter, deeper, hungrier. His hand pushes further under your skirt, rough palm sliding up the back of your thigh, fingertips grazing the edge of your underwear. You moan into his mouth, your hips rolling into him instinctively, the tension unraveling in messy gasps and the sharp pull of need.

His thigh presses tighter between yours. His hand in your hair tilts your head just how he wants it, exposing your throat as his mouth trails lower, biting softly at your jaw.

“Say it again,” he growls against your skin. “Say it, baby.”

You do.

“I want to be yours.”

But then—

It hits.

The flip in your stomach. That sudden lurch.

The alcohol. The adrenaline. The emotion.

Your breath stutters. The world spins.

Joel feels you falter.

You shake your head, pushing past him with a stumbling step.

You take two shaky steps to the side and double over the bushes behind the bar, the night spinning as your stomach violently turns.

You throw up.

Joel’s there in seconds.

Hand on your back. The other pulling your hair away. Kneeling beside you, murmuring your name like it might keep you steady.

He stays quiet while you heave—humiliated, tears stinging your eyes, from the alcohol, the choking heat, and the words you just said out loud.

The worst part? He doesn’t leave.

He doesn’t move away like it’s too much.

Instead, his hand rubs gentle, slow circles on your back.

“Okay, okay,” he says softly. “You’re alright. Let it out.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your whole body trembling.

He takes off his flannel and offers it like a shield against the cold air and your shame.

You don’t look at him.

Not yet.

“Don’t look at me.”

“Too late,” he says gently. “Already do. Can’t not.”

You sit down on the curb, head in your hands.

He crouches beside you, quiet for a long beat. 

“You don’t even know what you’re askin’ for, do you?”

You lift your head, glassy-eyed.

“Maybe not. But I know I want you. Isn’t that enough?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares at you like he wants to both hold you and run from you.

Then he stands, offers you his hand.

“Come on. I’m takin’ you home.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, voice low and calm now, everything about him shifting to gentle.

“Let’s get you home, alright? Come on. I’ve got you.”

You nod, weakly. Eyes wet. Chest still shaking.

But his arm stays around you the whole walk back to the truck.

And even when the burn of the kiss fades, the weight of what you said—I want to be yours—doesn’t.

Not for either of you.

You’re slumped in the passenger seat, cheek against the cold window, wrapped in his flannel. The engine hums low. Neither of you speaks.

The silence isn’t awkward. It’s heavy.

His knuckles tighten on the wheel every time he glances over at you.

You’re pale. Your eyes are half-lidded, fighting sleep. But he can see the tears that dried on your cheeks.

And he still hears it.

I want to be yours.

He doesn't say anything. But he doesn't stop thinking it, either.

You’re slumped in the passenger seat, cheek against the cold window, wrapped in his flannel. The engine hums low. Neither of you speaks.

The silence isn’t awkward. It’s heavy.

His knuckles tighten on the wheel every time he glances over at you.

You’re pale. Your eyes are half-lidded, fighting sleep. But he can see the tears that dried on your cheeks.

And he still hears it.

I want to be yours.

He doesn't say anything. But he doesn't stop thinking it, either.

He pulls into the driveway, cuts the engine.

Inside, the living room lights are on. Your dad’s passed out on the couch, half a beer still in his hand, the football game blasting. The sound of roaring crowds filters through the open door.

Joel slips in with you in his arms. You’re warm and boneless, your cheek tucked against his shoulder, breath soft against his neck.

He carries you through the hallway quietly, like it’s sacred ground.

Your bedroom door creaks open. It’s modest. Familiar. Yours.

He lays you down gently, brushing hair from your face. You stir a little, lashes fluttering.

“Joel…?”

“Shh. You’re home now.”

You smile, dazed. Your hand finds his wrist and holds it weakly.

“Don’t leave.” It nearly breaks him.

He sits on the edge of the bed and watches you. His heart’s a fucking mess.

“You’re gonna feel this in the morning,” he says, voice low. “And I’ll hate myself if I stay.”

You don’t respond. Already half asleep again.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek. Then, after a long pause, he leans down and kisses your forehead. Gentle. Almost reverent.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

He can’t stay.

He wants to—but he knows if your dad wakes up and finds Joel in your bedroom at dawn? That’s it. Game over. Dead man walking. No amount of apologies or "I swear nothing happened" will save him.

He stares at you like he’s memorizing the moment.

Then he slips out the door.

Quiet as a ghost.

By the time the sun comes up, he’s gone.

I am so excited about where this is heading, and I hope you are too!!

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ch.3 - fences and cities - dbf! joel miller &f!reader

series masterlist

previous chapter

A/N: A lot has happened, I wrote this then it got lost and I thought maybe I wrote it in a dream, you know those kinds of dreams where you go about your day but I didn't give up, I was SURE I had written it. Anyways, save a horse ride a cowboy

warnings: sex jokes. cowgirl pose reference, if I am missing any warnings please let me know. there're some hints for the future 😉

Minors stay out or read at your own risk! I'm not responsible for your consumption!

Do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own. Thanks!

"Rise and shiiine!" Your dad flicked the light switch on and off repeatedly, making the room flash like a faulty strobe light. You jolted awake immediately.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" you groaned, yanking the sheets over your head. It was way too early for this.

Your dad chuckled as he walked over and ripped the blanket off. "Come on now, gotta make the most of the day."

"What time is it?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

"Almost 5 a.m.," he said, clapping his hands as he headed for the door. "Making some coffee downstairs before driving you to Joel."

Shit—right. You had to work with Joel today. The only thing motivating you to get out of bed… and simultaneously, the one thing making you want to stay buried under the covers. Because having a crush on your dad’s friend—the one you had to work with—was both exciting and painfully embarrassing.

You head downstairs, dressed in comfortable clothes for the ranch—practical, but with just enough effort to look cute and put-together. Not that you’d admit it was for Joel, but if it made him do a double take, well… that wouldn’t be the worst thing.

Something had been off about him last night. He wasn’t his usual self. And maybe—just maybe—you were a little too tempted to poke at whatever was bothering him, like pressing on a bruise just to see how much it hurts.

Your dad drives you to the ranch, and after a quick goodbye, you step out, making your way toward Joel.

Joel turns when he hears your voice—or maybe it’s the sound of your footsteps crunching against the packed dirt and gravel. Either way, he does, in fact do a doubletake.

He plays it off like he hadn’t thought about you last night after dinner. Like he hadn’t pictured your face, your lips locking with his in the dark, or the shape of you—your waist, the way you moved. Like he wasn’t just caught looking.

"I’m shocked you actually showed up," he says, his voice edged with something unreadable.

"Oh, come on," you tease, tilting your head. "Why the bad image of me? Thought you had a better impression."

Joel shakes his head with a smirk, wiping his hands on his jeans, but his eyes linger on you a second too long. “Uh-huh,” he mutters, clearly unconvinced by your teasing. His eyes linger on you a second too long before he turns away.

“C’mon, let’s get to work.”

He leads you toward the stables, where the horses are saddled up. You already know what’s coming.

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head. “Not happening.”

Joel lets out a low chuckle, resting his hands on his hips. “What, you scared?”

“I’m not scared,” you scoff, folding your arms. “I just—” You pause, glancing at the horse. “I don’t ride.”

Joel raises an eyebrow, voice edged with something unreadable. “You forgot how to?”

Your stomach tightens at the way he says it, slow and deliberate. You pretend not to react. He doesn’t need that kind of power.

“Well, I’m not about to relearn today,” you mutter.

Joel ignores you completely, adjusting the saddle straps before turning to you expectantly. “Put your foot in the stirrup.”

You don’t move.

He sighs, stepping behind you. “Here,” he says, voice lower now, hands settling firmly on your waist. Before you can protest, he lifts you effortlessly, guiding you up onto the horse.

It happens fast—one second you’re on the ground, the next you’re settling into the saddle, straddling the horse, legs spread over either side.

You struggle for a second, adjusting yourself in the saddle, shifting your weight, fingers fumbling with the reins. This is harder than it looks.

Joel stands nearby, arms crossed, watching as you awkwardly try to mount the horse. He’s ready to step in, but he’s clearly trying not to overstep.

Finally, after a few wobbly adjustments, you settle in. You exhale, trying to play it off like you’re totally in control.

“Well, I’m definitely not a professional cowgirl,” you mutter, still shifting slightly, “but I guess I’m figuring it out—kinda like when you’re learning a new position.”

You laugh awkwardly. And then it hits you.

Oh. Oh.

Joel freezes. Blinking at you like he just misheard. Then his expression changes—his lips twitch, his shoulders shake slightly, and suddenly he lets out a deep, unrestrained laugh.

“Did you just—” He snorts, shaking his head. “Did you really just make a cowgirl joke?”

Your eyes go wide. “Oh. My. God. Why would I say that?!”

He exhales sharply, grinning as he drags a hand down his face. “Christ. Now that’s stuck in my head.” His voice dips slightly, eyes trailing over you, slow and unreadable. “And I can’t decide if that’s a problem or not.”

And that’s when your brain fully malfunctions.

You freeze. Your whole body burns.

Joel smirks, clearly aware of what he just did to you.

Now you’re both in full-on awkward mode, avoiding eye contact like two people who just walked straight into something dangerous and are pretending it didn’t happen.

You focus very hard on getting comfortable in the saddle, adjusting your posture, gripping the reins, trying to seem like you have a clue what you’re doing. But every small shift you make, every slight adjustment in the saddle, feels too much, like you can practically feel Joel’s gaze flicking to you—watching, thinking, replaying.

Meanwhile, his brain is racing.

He’s staring straight ahead, jaw tight, but he’s not thinking about the horse, not thinking about work. No, his mind is looping one single thought over and over again—what you just said.

You clear your throat, desperate to move past this. "Okay. So. How do we—uh—start moving?"

Joel takes a second to respond. Maybe because he’s still forcing his brain to reboot.

He exhales, stepping beside the horse. "Just a light kick, let her know you’re ready."

You do as he says, and the horse starts to move at a slow, steady pace. Crisis averted.

Or… not.

Because as you walk alongside him, your hand accidentally brushes against his arm. A small touch, barely anything, but it’s like an electric shock.

You both flinch, just slightly.

Neither of you say a word, but you know. You both know.

You’re not thinking about the joke. Except you are. So is he.

You try to act normal, cool, indifferent—but the tension is palpable, crackling in the air between you.

One accidental glance at each other—just one—and everything feels like fire. And suddenly, you need out.

The second you get the chance, you slip away, finding a quiet room in the stable, shutting the door behind you.

You lean against the wall, pressing your hands to your face.

"Did I really say that? What is wrong with me?! What just happened?!"

The secondhand embarrassment is real.

You groan into your hands, replaying it all over again.

But then the overthinking starts creeping in.

"Did I just make it super weird?! Or did he? Was he actually flirting with me, or was he just messing with my head?"

You think about the way his eyes lingered on you. The way his voice dipped just slightly. The way he said he didn’t think he wanted to forget it.

You shake your head to yourself. No. No way. He was just teasing.

Right?

Meanwhile, outside, Joel is definitely not as unaffected as he’s trying to be.

He goes back to work, hands busy, mind not busy enough—because he keeps thinking about what you said.

He’s still smirking to himself, shaking his head every now and then like he can’t quite believe it. He should let it go. Should pretend like nothing happened.

But he’s aware of you now.

Every time you move, every time you speak—hell, even when you’re silent—he notices. Every small brush of your arm, every glance that lingers a second too long.

And then he realizes you’re gone.

He frowns, scanning the stable before heading toward the room where you probably went in hiding. He hesitates for a second before knocking lightly.

“Y’alright in there?”

You freeze.

Shit. Shit.

You take a second before responding, forcing your voice to sound normal. “Yeah! Just—uh—checking something!”

Joel’s voice is too casual when he replies. “Right. Well. You done checkin’ yet?”

You swear you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You swallow hard. Your heart is doing something ridiculous.

You open the door just enough to peek out, avoiding eye contact.

Joel is standing there, one hand resting on the frame, a steaming cup in his other hand. His eyes flick over you, watching the way you shift on your feet, the way you won't look at him directly.

He notices.

He doesn’t say anything about it. Doesn’t push.

But he doesn’t leave either.

And that’s when you realize—you can pretend all you want, but whatever this is… it's not going away.

"Don't hide from me next time."

Then he walks away.

_____________________

You spend the next couple of hours pretending that moment never happened. You avoid looking at him for too long, focusing on the horses, the work, anything but him.

Joel? He doesn’t say anything about it.

Not at first.

You think, Okay, maybe we’re just moving past this.

Then, mid-task, while you’re standing side by side, working in comfortable silence, he suddenly leans against the fence and says,

“So, I’ve been thinking about that cowgirl joke…”

You freeze.

Your heart does something stupid, and you turn to him way too fast.

Joel just watches you, waiting—expression unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something mischievous in his eyes. He’s baiting you.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

He smirks. "What?" he says, voice slow and knowing. "You don’t wanna talk about it?"

You flinch. "I—no, I just—Why are you—"

He leans in slightly, arms crossed over his chest.

“You know,” he drawls, way too amused, “I’m not sure I’ll ever look at a horse the same way again.”

Your jaw drops.

You gasp, whipping around to glare at him. "Joel!"

He laughs—low and entirely too pleased with himself.

You slap his arm. "Oh my God, you’re the worst."

He doesn’t even flinch. Just grins down at you, eyes still flickering with something unspoken.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face, but you’re laughing too.

And he just watches you, smirking, shaking his head like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. And he knows he shouldn’t.

But the thing is?

Joel doesn’t seem to care. Not right now.

Because for some reason, none of that matters. Not the age gap. Not the fact that your dad trusts him. Not that this is a bad, bad idea.

Because he likes this. Likes watching you get flustered, he likes the way you’re pretending you’re not thinking about him too.

The workday finally comes to an end and the tension is still hanging thick in the air.

Joel doesn’t say much when you get into the truck, just a quick glance your way before starting the engine.

The drive is quiet. Not awkward, not exactly. Just… charged. Like there’s something unspoken pressing against the space between you.

Joel parks his truck in your dad’s driveway. You could get out now. But you don’t.

You sit there, stealing glances at him, pretending you’re not hyper-aware of how close you are.

Joel keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift. He looks calm and composed, but you notice his fingers twitch—like he’s thinking.

And then, he glances at you.

No, he's looking at your mouth.

For a full minute, his gaze lingers there. Slow. Deliberate.

You don’t move. You don’t even breathe.

Your pulse pounds, and suddenly, you can feel every inch of your skin.

Joel shifts in his seat. His grip on the wheel tightens.

He’s debating something. You can see it. Feel it.

And then—just as he makes his decision, just as he starts to lean in—

Your dad’s voice cuts through the air.

“Joel!”

You jerk back, the moment shattering instantly.

Your dad walks up to the truck, leaning against the open window, completely oblivious.

Joel exhales sharply and immediately leans away, one hand gripping the wheel like he needs to ground himself. His eyes snap forward, blank, unreadable.

Your pulse is thundering. You don’t look at him. You can’t.

“How was the workday?” he asks.

Joel inhales sharply, blinking like he just snapped out of something. He clears his throat.

"Good," he says, voice a little rough.

Your dad grins. "How was she?"

Joel’s eyes flick to you for just a fraction of a second before he answers—too smooth, too casual.

"She was a really good girl."

Your breath catches. That fucking sentence.

Your dad smiles, then playfully taps the roof of Joel’s truck, a familiar, warm gesture—one that feels easy, trusting. Like Joel is just some guy your dad’s comfortable sending you off with.

Like this is nothing.

“Guess I’ll be sending you off to work with Joel often then,” he says, still grinning.

Joel just nods, his smirk barely there—but his eyes?

They’re still on you. Burning.

And as you step out of the truck, heart pounding, you realize:

This isn’t over.

Not even close.

THAT LAST SENTENCE WHEN I TELL YOU I WAS SCREAMING GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE!!!! UH UHUHU AAAH AH AH

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think of this chapter and stay tuned for the next one!

taglist: @burningnerdchild

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Reblogs, likes and comments help this story grow! ✨✨✨I'm grateful for each one of them!

Bad Batch Cuddle prompt for @happydragon: "Stop Acting Like I'll Shatter"

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Wish Fill for @happydragon! for @galactic-gift-gathering. Prompt: Bad Batch cuddles.

some rendering practice with THE hunter bad batch today

I recently made a bunch of Hunter reaction memes.

Enjoy!

Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure….

KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLES KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLES KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLES KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLES KISSES

Smoking, side profile + wedding ring, lethal combination.

Shatterpoint: A Mace Windu Musical Concept Chapter 1: Guide Us

A fun fact about me besides my love of Star Wars is that I love musicals. I have no musical talent whatsoever, but I still like the idea of writing musicals. And in the last few days I’ve had a rather silly idea of taking Revenge of the Sith and framing it as a musical, that idea eventually morphed into a musical set during the Clone Wars, but from the perspective of Mace Windu.

Mace is an often misunderstood character, especially from people who never read legends. And I thought this would be a fun idea for me to just have some fun with this. So, I got to writing an opening song for this, though as I said I’m not a songwriter by any means, but if anyone really wants me to continue let me know.

Link to song.

Chapter 2: A Leader

Chapter 3: A Daughter

Guide Us

[The musical begins, the sounds of blaster fire, vague battlefield orders heard, sounds of struggle as smoke fills the screen, intercut with lights of lightsabers and blasters. Three young padawans followed by clones enter. The padawans desperate and feeling overwhelmed sing].

Padawan #1 Come on my Jedi Can’t you see? We must hold the line For if we fall, the people die.

Padawan #2 There’s too many We’re surrounded

Padawan #3 There’s too many of them.

Padawan #1 Hold the line!

Padawan #2: We need another plan.

[Clones Fall and a Jedi does as well. A chorus begins to be heard humming. This chorus of Jedi will frequently return, they’ll act as a sort of Greek Chorus]

Jedi Chorus: So many fall So many die The young and brightest of our order In the name of peace and a republic That does not care.

Padawan #3

Retreat! We must retreat

Jedi Chorus: Untrained for war Untrained for this Meant for peace, but what is peace? Have we lost our way.

[A clone Commander appears, he runs to the eldest of the padawans.]

Clone Commander: The droids have broken our lines, Commander, what are your orders?

[The Padawan hesitates, and the clone grows more desperate.]

Clone Commander: What are your orders?!

[Suddenly a commanding voice sounds out.]

Mace Windu: Hold the line, Commander. Hold the line! (To the Padawans) Young ones, courage now—this is not the time to falter.

[The smoke clears slightly as Mace Windu strides into view, his purple lightsaber igniting with a resolute hum.]

Jedi Chorus: Master Windu, champion of the Jedi… Master Windu, where justice and courage lie… Master Windu, the shield against despair, Master Windu, a light in shadows’ lair.

Mace Windu:

Listen, young ones, the storm is here, But a Jedi stands, we do not fear. The galaxy turns in endless strife, Yet we are the shield, the blade of life.

Feel the Force, let it guide, Hold to the light, don’t run, don’t hide. Even in darkness, hope will rise, For the Jedi endure where chaos dies.

[The Padawans, emboldened by Mace’s presence, sing with renewed strength, echoing his confidence.]

Eldest Padawan: Come on, let’s do this!

Other Padawans: Master Windu, we follow— For the Republic, we fight, fight, fight!

Mace Windu (Inner Monologue): Meant to be a leader, meant to be a warrior, But they don’t see my doubts—my barrier. Could have ended this war before it began, Had my sword at the ready, but I had doubt… I’m just a man.

We must fight, change our role, But all of this war—it takes its toll. I see them fall, I see them die, My brothers, my sisters—hear their cry.

Jedi Chorus: Master Windu, guide us, lead us… Master Windu, hear us, teach us… Master Windu, show us what a Jedi can be, Master Windu, the strength of us is he.

[Mace Windu fights back, uses his lightsaber to lead and destroy battle droids as he gives orders the music grows quiet signifying that we are listening to his inner thoughts.]

Mace Windu: Jedi, follow my lead The republic will not fall, this is our creed Fight for the light, fight not for peace We fight for justice, this war will cease.

Padawans and Clones (chorus): Hold the line, hold the light, In the shadow of war, we fight, fight, fight! For justice, for hope, for the galaxy’s flame, We’ll endure, we’ll prevail, we’ll honor the name!

Master Windu, guide us, lead us… Master Windu, hear us, teach us… Master Windu, show us what a Jedi can be, Master Windu, the strength of us is he.

[The scene ends with Mace Windu standing strong, his purple lightsaber cutting through the haze, the battlefield momentarily stilled as the music fades into silence. The Jedi Chorus lingers as if carried on the wind.]