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clementinegreye · 1 day

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false god

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

summary: it's never a good idea to reminisce about a relationship, especially one that ended with betrayal left you with a permanent scar

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, no happy ending, major character injury, talks of general CM related violence and murder (nothing graphic), jeid you squint but its not endorsed lol

a/n: wrote this in an hour when i was feeling sad. its not proof read and i lowkey don't love it but whomp whomp

She always thought that the ground looked so far away just after take-off. Everyone below looked like specs of dirt that you had to really focus on to see. How insignificant everything looked compared to the vastness of the sky above. The illusion of importance shattered by the cover of clouds.

Pulling the blind down she sat back in her seat, headphones drowning out the noise in her head. The jet was silent, too focused in quiet contemplation of the reading material in front of them.

Her body instinctively leaned slightly to the left, seeking the comfort it once found in his embrace. But the illusion was shattered, and she knew that no matter how much she wanted to, she could no longer lean into the familiarity. She pushed her body towards the window, forcing her eyes out to the clouds.

Her thoughts, once filled with his presence, felt unmoored.

Now she could focus wholly on work. But the space that thoughts of him once filled was now left behind and filled with a silence that echoed through her. She was alone with the sky, the clouds, the vast expanse of the world below, and her thoughts.

His scent still lingered, he’d spent so long in the seat next to her that it must have melded with the fabric. A mix of pine and the cold winter morning air. She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping, sliding down her cheek. She was left with nothing but the ghost of his presence, a cruel reminder of what once was.

But now, the seat remained cold and empty. Even the scent of him, hugging her senses, used to be a source of comfort, was now a bitter reminder of the fallout between them. She hugged herself as if trying to fill the void as vast as the sky.

She forced herself to breathe, each inhale a sharp reminder of the love that was no longer hers. But it felt different now, hollow and cold as if the warmth he once provided had faded.

You see, Spencer Reid had broken her heart, and he’d done it easily.

Spencer Reid had chosen to protect someone else over her.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The takedown was supposed to have been simple.

She turned her head slightly, the dust from the room seemed to have uprooted and created a cloud of mist. Morgan looked like he was running towards her. Why was he running towards her? Why was she on the ground? Why did everything feel so cold? It was the middle of July, she’d been warm in her Kevlar vest. Why were her fingers so so cold?

‘Agent down!’

The words echoed in her ears. It was as if the fog cleared and she tried to sit up, pain lit up her body like electricity before going numb. Suddenly everything seemed so silent. The world shifted, she could feel the cold concrete on her back as clearly as if it were in her bones.

Morgan was fast, it must have only taken him seconds to get to her. Which was odd, she’d been standing next to Spencer, but she couldn’t see him from her line of sight. She tried to force herself up again. only to be met with Morgan’s strong hands pushing on her shoulders.

‘No, don’t move.’ She turned her head to the side and through the haze of what was happening she saw something that made her eyebrows furrow in confusion. Maybe she’d hit her head. She must have hit her head.

Spencer was standing in front of JJ, his whole body poised like a shield protecting her. His arms around her shoulder, her hands gripping the front of his vest. Then the confusion unravelled like a loose thread, tugged on.

Spencer had moved to protect her. He’d left her side to protect JJ from the Unsub’s shooting. He’d actively moved further away from her to go and stand in front of JJ. But he wasn’t in love with JJ. He was supposed to be in love with her, so why had he gone out of his way to protect JJ? Was he in love with JJ?

They’d always been close, she knew that. But this? This felt more than friendship, you don’t dive in front of just a friend instinctively if the supposed love of your life is right there in the line of fire. Surely, your instinct is to follow your heart, is that what Spencer had done? Had he followed the true line of his heart?

She wanted to ask him why. Why he had done this? But her voice had deserted her, her throat drowned in icy silence. She felt the darkness creeping in, wrapping around her like a shroud.

The pain of the betrayal was raw, every nerve in her body seemed to buzz with it. She felt like a marionette whose strings had been cut, left to crumble under the weight of her realisation.

Morgan was next to her, holding her, placing his weight on her torso, he was lit up in a golden halo and his eyes looked like they were gleaming with fear and un-spilt tears.

‘Where’s the damn medic?!’ He shouted backwards in what must have been the general direction of the team.

‘It’s five minutes out.’ The voice was level, in charge. It must have been Hotch, but her eyes were getting too heavy to check.

She wanted to tell Morgan to stop looking so scared, to assure him she'd pull through like always, but the words died in her throat. Her breath hitched as a new wave of pain washed over her.

'Hang on,' Morgan pleaded, 'just hang on.'

She could hear Spencer, his voice sounded panicked, high pitched and his breathing thready. He was muttering something that sounded like an apology and a lot of cursing or praying to God. She couldn’t tell.

She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but the strength had left her body. The edges of her vision were blurring, and the last thing she heard was Morgan's desperate plea echoing in her fading consciousness.

'Stay with us,' a voice commanded, each word punctuated with a raw desperation. But the darkness was too inviting, too persistent. And as the world around her faded, she couldn't shake off the sinking feeling that something irrevocably had changed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The hum of the engine lured her out of her memory. Maybe it was her fault. She’d loved Spencer like it was breathing, had worshipped at the altar of his love, only to find it empty. It was clear he hadn’t done the same, that convenience was simply his reason.

The false god she had created of him had fallen, shattered into pieces. The truth of his mortality, his flawed humanity, had never been so palpable. The feeling was both liberating and terrifying.

She looked out at the sky and the world below, the vast expanse seeming to mirror the emptiness within her. Emptiness echoed in her ears, filling her with a sense of loss that was almost unbearable.

The scar below her left collarbone throbbed beneath her shirt, it could almost be mistaken for heartache.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #cm fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert

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loneliestluvr · 3 days

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𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔

part 1. part 2.

pairing: eris vanserra x archeron oc

synopsis: Caught up in a world of hollow grief for her people, her life, and her father, Blair Archeron is forced into a life under the light she wants no part of after ghosting through immortality since being Made. But what she finds, is not what she expects.

warning: depression, worthlessness, cauldron trauma, angst, that’s kinda it for now tbh.

word count: 1.9k

taryn thinks: ive been thinking about eris vanserra for a long time and reading lost bonds by @readychilledwine about tamlin kind of gave me some inspo and motivation i haven’t had in a while to write this. also ttpd because ive been down in the dumps and feeling angsty so… enjoy!! 🫶🏼 i apologize if it’s a bit scrambled lol, i just wanted to write it out.

The fabric Nuala and Cerridwen had dressed her in erased any and all traces of the truth. The destitute it had felt her life became since this newfound immortality ripped everything Blair Archeron had ever known away from her, tucked away. Hidden behind the gauzy chiffon.

There had been small pockets of awareness, of feeling like she had control over herself lately. Where she didn’t rot away in bed, or a chaise— alone and wrapped in the quiet of her mind. Staring into open space, ghosting through whatever this life was.

Those times were hard to come by, and even when the war against Hybern was raging it was decided Blair would stay safe in Velaris. Where she had always remained. Where she did not leave, until today.

It was a pointed argument among their small circle that this life was no better than what Feyre had been through with Tamlin, but Blair did not fight it. Simply… existed inside of it.

It wasn’t that nobody tried to help, they did. They asked questions, gave the second eldest sister every chance to open up. To get out, to experience this new world. To talk.

Elain would argue even when she did, it was mere hollows of the person Blair had been who responded. The echoes that remembered how to speak, that walked so smoothly and carelessly that she seemed to float on a hot wind.

Blair was not fearless, she was not cunning, she was not soft, nor was she anything that her sisters were. She was simply… other.

And maybe that was the furthest thing from simple, that there were no words to describe the ethereal beauty of her hollowness. Maybe there never would be.

Blair didn’t seem to mind, and she got away with it.

Content was the feeling that seemed the most appropriate to describe the life she lead now. Moved into her youngest sisters River Home, with a large room at the end of the house overlooking the winding waters. The gardens Elain had crafted and tended when she wasn’t at the townhouse sat below, the large expanse of the land out to the river in full view. The snow capped mountains that danced across the skyline, one’s she sometimes watched Feyre paint in front of from her window day after day, month after month.

She supposed she had it coming when Nesta was forced to the House of Wind. When her older sister by a mere year had pointed out that Blair had amounted to nothing in the time Nesta had been taken hostage inside that House on the side of the mountain. When Nesta had been expected to work and be something, Blair had still remained as useless as before.

“She is adjusting,” Feyre had argued on Blair’s behalf. Blair had been the kindest of their sisters to Feyre when they were in that cabin, poor and broken and nothing. Who had helped with no qualms, who had genuinely cared for them all— even their seemingly worthless father. “—she did not ask for this, the same as you. At least she is not drinking herself to death.” The smartest of them, as Feyre had described to Rhys’ Inner Circle before those meetings in the mortal realm, others would have thought the same if they knew her before.

Before she became this… thing.

“You let her wither away, sitting about in her sadness and grief and her muteness. I would think she had forgotten how to speak if it weren’t for the utterly mundane responses she gives.” Nesta had barked back at their little sister while Blair sat by the window, unmoving. Her face a mask of cool indifference like she wasn’t quite hearing anyway. “How is what she’s doing any different than what I have? Because she isn’t spending your money? Because she hasn’t tainted Rhysand’s precious Court image?”

She didn’t care how they spoke of her, didn’t care to defend herself from Nesta’s forked tongue— it took more energy than she had to argue. Blair could have washed away right into the water that rushed through the river she stared into for all she cared.

Everything had just gone so… wrong from that point. As if Nesta’s breaking point was seeing her first baby sister be so broken and discarded, she had ripped into a secret nobody had even bothered to tell Feyre or Blair— that Feyre’s babe would kill her.

The rest had been a blur like usual after and here they were, dressed and gowned in the finest clothes they had. In the short time since finding out about Feyre’s deadly predicament, everyone seemingly had agreed with Nesta about Blair’s lack of presence in their court… or any at all.

The only people who knew she existed were those that were present when she was forced into the bitterly cold water of the cauldron. When it had felt as though she drowned, that she had died there and something else had filled her body. Felt as though she could only see herself from outside of her body, outside of whatever she had became.

Blair Archeron would be making her debut to the Court of Nightmares in the same fashion Feyre would be revealing her pregnancy. She didn’t know much else, didn’t care for the details or even why Nesta had been training in dances they both knew since childhood. Just what she was to wear and to come when called.

To admit the dress she was now wearing wasn’t utterly beautiful would be a disgrace in itself, and she looked stunning.

Despite her pointed ears being viewable, Blair’s long and heavy gold-brown hair had been curled gorgeously, cascading down her freckled and fair bare back to cover where her dress did not. Kissing and tickling the skin when she moved her head, half of her hair pulled back from her face into loose twirls and braids.

Her face painted in light cosmetics that she didn’t need. It was no secret that her beauty came first out of the four sisters, even before dear Elain’s— skin freckled, dark lashes and brows, cheeks usually tinted pink naturally. But her eyes, her eyes were the rarest of her sisters and what made her so profoundly different.

A base of that gray-blue that grew more vibrant as it met her pupil. But the flecks of nearly golden amber splattered like an artist had flicked their wrist in a rush is what made them so different.

Why the black of her dress fit her so much better than it did poor Elain, her second youngest sister nearly washed out by the bleak darkness she had been presented to wear.

The dress clinging to Blair’s torso was bedecked in gold sparkling beads that formed lines of detail along the bodice and the hem by her feet, the fabric black beneath it. Hugging tight to her figure. Eating and drinking had gotten easier after the war and had allowed her to fill out again.

Her full breasts wrapped tight to her chest where they sat prettily, the dips in her hips and waist outlined by the sheer sleeves that flared well past her hands, capped around her shoulders but left her back utterly bare despite the illusion of the chiffon looking like a cape.

The dress hung from her body as she waited almost carelessly to enter the throne room of Hewn City, and Blair felt a little like she might die.

The air here, anywhere, was so much colder than the sweltering heat of her bedroom where she kept the fire roiling day and night— where she felt like she was at home even if it was just in her head. Sleeping on the floor in front of it most nights, where the crackling of the fire could drown out the sound of her thoughts. Where the warmth could make her feel something other than empty.

Now. Feyre’s voice rang warmly in Blair’s head, echoing outside of the thick walls of forest she’d been taught to put up. Spruce and oak, winding paths lined with red poppy’s and orange geraniums, fogged over meadows to traipse through at will. A maze for anyone else, with no beginning and no end.

The rest of them had gone in a half hour ago it seemed, Blair to be used if they needed to pull a distraction or anything. She would be introduced no matter what, but timing was to be used as an advantage.

The towering doors to the throne room boomed open as Blair turned the corner to the hallway, the curls in her hair bouncing with every step despite the light wind billowing through her flowing sleeves as if she were gliding.

The music continued as she kept her head high and entered the space, hands folded neatly in front of her. A small upward twitch of her pretty red lips, her face calm and still.

Still as the room became when her feet hit the marble across that threshold.

She walked, one foot in front of the other. Head in a full fog before she even entered the throne room— but there was a tug. Something that had almost made her stumble, but she sucked in a tight breath as she focused on the dais ahead.

Pulling, tugging, a line going taut the closer she became and her vision cleared. Someone that had been in deep discussion before Blair entered, someone now turned to face her as everyone else did.

All but the Court of Dreamers gaping at her, at her beauty. So much different than her obvious sisters, a third sister to the High Lady of the Night Court, but so much the same that it was easily distinguishable. Gasps and whispers filling Blair’s now clear ears, but she didn’t look anywhere but the male in front of Rhys and Feyre— as much as she wanted to. As much as she pleaded with herself to look away, she could not.

The bright auburn hair, the pale and freckled skin of his handsome face. All fae were gorgeous, she’d been told and equally come to learn but… just the very look of him made her skin heat.

A look of something similar washed through his amber eyes, the matching amber to the flecks in her own, his throat bobbing.

Something like devastation went through this male and though Blair couldn’t tear her eyes from his as she finally made those last steps to the dais, she could see Rhys’ mask slip ever so slightly from the corner of her eye before it went back up.

There was a part of her, so enamored by whoever this person was— and something about him made her slip back into consciousness. That outside look at herself faded back into her own body and she didn’t realize until she breathed again that her heart had been beating so rapidly.

Or that she hadn’t addressed her High Lord and Lady.

Or that they’d demanded the crowd go back to dancing and drinking and eating.

Or that all she did was face this male, a look of shocked confusion painting her usually dull expression because somehow, someway, she felt like she knew him.

And that the tug she felt, that line, went utterly taut before him.

🏷️: @thehighladywrites and anyone else that wants to be added to a tag list for this or anything else lmk lmfao

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #eris vanserra #autumn court #night court #elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #rhysand #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra x oc #oc #your honor i love him #me when mating bonds😦#cassian #Azriel #blair archeron

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mschoiyuki · 3 days

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Fragile

Nanami Kento x F!reader

Sometimes Nanami also had a bad day and you will always be there to comfort him.

tw : comfort. SFW

wc : 1.8k

It’s pitch black when you arrive at home. It’s already 7pm and your husband hasn’t come home yet. That’s so unusual, Nanami always comes home before 6pm.

You switch all the lights up, puts away your belongings and get ready to make dinner. Your phone rings when you wash your hand. Nanami’s name pops up on the screen.

“Hey honey, not done with the mission yet?” You put on speaker so you can prepare the dinner.

“Hey, sweetheart. I think I’ll be a little late tonight. But I’ll be on my way home soon.” Nanami voice sounded a little bit ragged.

“What happened, Kento? Where are you now? Are you okay?” You pick up your phone and put it on your ear, biting your nails, pacing back and forth.

“I’m okay, just a little injured. I’m at Jujutsu High right now getting treatment from Ieiri - san. It’s nothing serious, darling. Stop biting your nails.” Nanami try to calm you down.

You pause and stop biting your nails, been together for too long makes Nanami knows your every little habits. “Do you want me to pick you up, honey?”

“Ijichi will send me home, don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” You can hear Nanami hiss from the treatment he gets from Ieiri.

“Okay, I’ll wait for you. Be safe, Kento.”

“I will, darling. Love you.”

“Love you too.” As you hung up the phone, you try to distract your mind from the news you just heard with trying to make dinner. It’s really so unusual for Nanami to get injured from work, because he is Grade 1 after all. Does it involve with the recent accident? You can’t stop biting your lips now as you try to making dinner.

Minutes turn to hours, when you hear the front door being open you run to greet Nanami. As soon as Nanami sees your face he still gives you smile. Then you see Nanami clutching his stomach, “How bad is the injury, Kento? Show it to me.”

“No welcome home kiss for me, sweetheart?” Nanami caress your cheek, still trying his best to hide his injury from you, he doesn’t want to make you worry.

You sigh and scowl at him, but still tip toeing to kiss his lips for his welcome home kiss, “Come on, let’s sit first and let me see the injury, Kento. I want to know how bad it is.” Nanami takes off his shoes and slips into the home slippers, he takes your hand and follows you to the kitchen.

You slowly sits Nanami on the bar stool, and starts unbuttoning his blue shirt carefully, you furrow your eyebrows when you see the big patch at Nanami’s right stomach. You reach his cheek and caressing it, “What happened, Kento? How did you get this wound? Is this has anything to do with the recent accident?”

Nanami slither his arms to your waist, bringing you closer to him, “Yes, it’s the same curse that does this. Itadori - kun and I finds the culprit, I told Itadori - kun I would handle it, but in the end he also saved me from the curse. The curse can perform Domain Expansion, and I trapped in it. Although I ashamed that I had a thought to give up. I’m sorry, darling.” Nanami looks up at you, his eyes glassy with the tears that forming.

“Why are you sorry, Kento? It’s okay. Don’t be sorry, we all know the risks as sorcerers.” You still caress his cheekbones, looking into his hazel eyes.

“I know that thoughts is hard for you, what if I really gave up and leave you alone?” Nanami tighten his grips on your waist.

“One of us could die from missions, we talked about this before. And yes, the grief is hard to handle. But it’s the risks we take as sorcerers, right? To save human from curses, even though they don’t know about it.”

“Yes, you’re right, darling. But the worst part is…” Nanami pause, and looks away from you.

You pull his face towards you, “What is it, honey?” You look into his eyes, searching something behind it.

Nanami let out a defeat sighs, “The worst part is, the transfigured human, that the culprit transformed human into curse, they still have a lingering feeling as human. They cried and asked help from me, darling. Ieiri - san said that we had to kill them, that’s the only way to help them. But it feels so wrong. I don’t know what the purpose of being a sorcerer if we have to kill human.”

You stare at Nanami with wide eyes, can’t believe with the information that he just shared to you. But one thing you know, Nanami is feeling torn and weak right now and he needs all the support from you. Because whenever you are feeling down from works or from other silly things, he will be there for you. He will give his all for you, his times, his attention, his love, just for the love of his live in a heartbeat. And you will also give everything for him too in a heartbeat, no doubt.

“Kento, I know you will choose a safe way to save them if there’s a way. But this is beyond our control and yes the only way to stop this is to defeat the culprit. Don’t be so hard on yourself, honey. I know you really try your best for them, and I know they must be thankful for you because you helped them, freed them from their misery. So don’t look on the negative side, because there’s also a good side from it. Isn’t it like we also help them as human, honey? Hm?” You wipe Nanami’s tears at the corner of his eyes before it can roll down.

Nanami place his hand on yours that caress his cheek, he leans in on your touch, “Yes, that’s may be right. I just can’t help this uneasy feeling.”

You sighs and smile, you peppered his face with kisses. His forehead, his temple, his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, and lastly his lips.

Nanami tighten his hold on your waist and chuckle, “What’s that’s for, darling?”

“To distract your minds.” You give him a quick kiss on his lips again, “Despite everything that happened you’re doing good, Kento.”

Nanami sighs and hug you tightly. You kiss the crown of his head and lean your cheek on it. One hand rubbing his back and the other caressing his scalp.

“Go take a bath, Kento. Should I help you?” You pull away and check his wound again.

“It’s okay, darling. I can manage it.” Nanami slowly stand up and groan from the pain, you hold his hand to support him. Nanami kiss your temple and head to bathroom. And you start plating the dinner for both of you.

While you wait for Nanami done with his shower you prepare his pajamas and brings a new patch, walking to the bathroom sitting at the vanity holding the hair dryer

When Nanami walks out from the shower holding the towel around his hips and another towel at his head and sees you waiting for him, he chuckles and ruffling his hair.

“Come, Kento. Let me dry your hair so you won’t catch a cold.” You pat the gap between your thighs, ushering him to come close.

“I’m so lucky to have you, sweetheart. I don’t know what I’ve become if I’m alone now.” Nanami stand between your thighs and place his hands on it, rubbing your thighs slowly.

“I’m always here for you, Kento. Through ups and downs. Isn’t that our vow?” You smile and ruffle his hair with towel and starts drying it with hair dryer, sometimes gives his scalp a massage.

“All done. Handsome as ever.” You giggle and give him a quick peck in his lips.

Nanami leans his forehead to yours and reach your cheek, “Yes, darling. Through thick and thin. In sickness and health. Thank you for coming into my life.” Nanami graze his lips with yours and he gives you a slow, deep kiss. As he pulls aways he gives your forehead another kiss.

Is it because Nanami coming home with a wound or the atmosphere is making you mellow, his words makes your heart tingle, “Now let’s change the patch. I know Shoko - san gives you the best treatment for you so I don’t have to worry, but we still need to change the patch, right?”

You jump down and tells Nanami to leans on the sink and you slowly peel the patch and grimace when you see his wound. You apply another ointment before wrapping it with a new patch, “I already bring your pajamas. I’ll wait for you at dining room.” You kiss his cheek and walk out from the bathroom.

Dinner went well and both of you decide to rest since today is a little bit chaotic for you and Nanami. The worrying tired you out, and the fight and wound also drained Nanami's energy.

Nanami groan when he lay down, he stretch his arm to you so you can lay with him. You carefully lay on his chest and put your hand on it.

Nanami let out a long relieve sighs and tighten his grip on your arm, "I really glad that Itadori - kun saved me. Even though I know the risk as sorcerers, I still want to spend my life with you." You looks up at Nanami and find him gazing at you with his usual loving eyes.

"Don't say something negatives, Kento. I don't want to imagine it. I just glad that you are coming home safely." You propped yourself up on your elbow.

“Should we just retire and go to Kuantan, darling? Enjoying the beach there. Sounds good?” Nanami caressing your back, giving you an apologetic look for saying something to makes you worry like that.

“You think Gojo will let you retire so early?” You chuckle as you brush his hair with your hand.

“Well he is the strongest, I think he can manage it. Thank you for today. You are the best thing that I ever had, my love.”

“I’ll always have your back, Kento. Like how you always there for me.”

“I love you, sweetheart.” Nanami pulls you down so he can give you a kiss, a slow deep kiss that he always give you to remind you how much he loves you.

"I love you too, Kento. More than anything." You slightly pull away and mutter the words, you lean in again to kiss him and you can feel Nanami smiling against your lips.

From the outside Nanami might looks so strong and reliable, but deep inside you know Nanami has a very soft and fragile heart. That's why you will be always there for him whenever he feels down, just like how he will always be there for you when you are at your worst.

Even though it's just a small gesture, Nanami really thankful for you being there for him. Because he can feel your love through your small actions.

dividers by : @saradika-graphics

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami x you #kento x reader #kento x y/n #kento nanami #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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thelampisaflashlight · 1 day

Text

The Star

[Omega has thoughts, Dew is a thot, Aether and Terzo are mentioned, and Rain is a peeping tom.] Below the cut.

Omega looks down at Dew, who stares up at him a little wide-eyed when the larger of the pair reaches down to scratch under his chin.

Dew lets out a low purr, the buzz tingling against Omega's fingers, and closes his eyes, nuzzling his cheek into his palm when he moves it to cup his face.

He takes this moment to take in the ghoul's glamoured form and thinks about how Terzo had made it no secret that he enjoyed Dew's softer, human features... very, very much...

He could see why his lover had been so enamored with the man before him, and Omega cannot deny the rush he feels when Dew turns his head to kiss his palm, catching his gaze once more in an almost innocent way.

Despite his obviously attractive qualities, Omega has never slept with Dew before.

Sometime after the younger ghoul had been called forth from the pit and made whole in the body of Baphomet's choosing, almost stubbornly, Omega had denied himself the pleasure of even imagining such things, for reasons that he can no longer remember.

Perhaps it was because he'd been so focused on Terzo at the time, that he hadn't noticed Dew's advances.

Or maybe it was because even Dew had been more interested in someone else at the time.

Omega thinks of Aether, of how his protégé had fallen head over heels for the other ghoul from the moment he batted his pretty, pale lashes at him...

Changing his grip to a firmer one, Omega tilts Dew's head to the side, following the line his neck creatures down the expanse of his body.

There's not a single place on here that his protégé hasn't touched, and something about that thought makes him the slightest bit uncomfortable about the idea of moving forward without confirming whether or not there were still any feelings lingering there behind blue eyes.

He doesn't ask though.

He drowns out that little voice in the back of his head with the feeling of Dew taking him into his mouth.

Dew swallows him like he's nothing, no resistance, and Omega lets out a sigh as his cock sinks in further.

It doesn't take much for Omega to start filling out, and for a moment he tries to imagine it's Terzo down there on his knees, but the thought gets shot out of his head the second Dew pulls back and kitten licks his slit.

Terzo was good at a lot of things, but Dew?

"You were made for this, weren't you?" Omega almost coos at the ghoul, dragging his nails through his hair until they catch on a single knot in the silk and pull ever so slightly.

Dew lets out a moan that can only be described as sinful, and Omega happily wads his hair into his fist and tugs again.

It's not long before he can peek and see Dew's own arousal growing, and it's right as he's about to cum that Omega grins towards a crack in the door.

"Well, now... You're not at all who I expected to see." he whispers into the creature's mind.

Black, colorless eyes glare at him, possessive... obsessed.

Dew gives a whine and squeezes his thighs together, unaware of the reason why Omega had halted his assault on his throat.

"If you want him that badly..."

The door creaks slightly as webbed fingers dig at the wood.

"...You'll have to be quicker next time."

#lamp writes #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #omega ghoul #rain ghoul #aether ghoul #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band fanfic #terzo #papa emeritus iii

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spicyspiders · 18 hours

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peace of mind

Anakin Skywalker x male reader smut

2.1k words

a/n: the reader accidentally sends a vision of his fantasies about Anakin to Obi-Wan. To try and clear his mind, he tries to meditate, but Anakin interrupts. Kriff is used as a stand-in for fuck because Star Wars.

You knew that attachments were frowned upon. You could practically hear your master’s voice in your head whenever your mind spent too long mulling over what your body knew it wanted.

At the beginning of your training, you were told that they were natural, but to not let those feelings grow. However, as of late, whenever you would find your mind wandering, you have come to learn that what you felt had grown past anything but natural.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Anakin says, pulling you from your thoughts. You really shouldn’t have been all that surprised that he found you, he seemingly had a knack for finding you at your worst, through the force and physically.

“I’m trying to meditate,” you reply. If only your younger self could see yourself now. You used to hate meditating for how boring it felt, and now, here you were using it to try and work through your problems.

“Can I join you?” Anakin asks. Though your eyes were closed, his presence felt heavy, a weight you were trying to keep off.

You let out a soft sigh and unfold your hands to wave at the space in front of your body.

The walls you have up in your mind keeping Anakin away grow higher and thicker, the man immediately taking notice. In front of you, Anakin lets out a sigh before you feel his presence in your mind.

“Let me in,” it whispers.

“I can’t,” you send back as your hands clasp back together, “I’ve already embarrassed myself enough today.” Embarrassment was an understatement. You didn’t want to blame Anakin, but it would be much easier to do so. If it hadn’t been for Anakin being so… Anakin, you wouldn't have let the others on the council in on your thoughts.

“It was just Obi-Wan,” Anakin sends, the words hitting the wall the wall of your mind. You weren’t sure if that was worse or better. At least it wasn’t Master Yoda, you weren’t sure if his old heart could handle it.

“No one should have seen it,” you respond, verbally this time. Hopefully, with your audible words, Anakin would see how mortifying it felt.

“Not even me?” Anakin asks, placing his hands on top of yours.

His touch creates a breach, one for Anakin to enter. You can feel them start to crumble as he pulls your hands apart so that he can interlace your fingers.

“Let me help you,” Anakin pleads, “you won’t be able to meditate in this state.”

“If you would just leave-” you try to say, but Anakin cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours. His lips are warm on top of yours as he kisses you slow and soft, and his hands are just as warm as they stay interlocked with yours. Even the gloved one is warm, even if encased in the leather is cold metal.

Your eyes open after Anakin pulls away, greeted by the warmth of his blue eyes. You had stopped looking into them cycles ago after your thoughts had been plagued by the question of how his eyes would look filled with pleasure as you made him moan.

“Kriff,” Anakin breathes before you’re locked in another kiss, this one opposite from the last.

“I can’t control it,” you say, cutting the kiss off before Anakin can get his tongue in your mouth. You try pulling away to get some distance between your bodies and get the wall in your mind back up, but Anakin is quicker.

“You don’t need to,” he responds, pulling you closer with an arm around your lower back, “not with me,” he says, pushing you down onto the floor.

As you finally let go and let your wall down, you feel like a padawan again. Out of control, you give yourself to Anakin as the thoughts you tried keeping at bay flood over into Anakin’s mind.

You weren’t sure where the thoughts began, but they all bled into the same thing. The latest one, or more importantly the one that Obi-Wan saw, was the expanse of Anakin’s tan skin under your fingers as you mapped out the territory as you disrobbed him.

“You’re beautiful,” and kriff was he beautiful. It was unfair how his lethal physique was hidden under robes all day. It made you jealous as you pulled the fabric away, seeing what it had kept away from you for so long.

Your hands run down his smooth chest, fingers grazing a nipple as your hands go down to reach the bulge in his pants. Before your fingers can get his pants off to join the pile of the rest of his clothes, a cool metal palm wraps around the back of your neck to pull you down into a kiss.

A kiss is what pulls you from your mind to what’s on top of you. It’s much better than what your brain came up with, especially when Anakin’s tongue pushes into your mouth. His tongue plunges your mouth as his hips grind down, his hard cock meeting yours.

The moan Anakin lets out meets yours, the vibration going past your teeth and down your body right to your cock. Even earlier, he didn’t get to see what your fantasy led to, and instead of sending the thought his way, you find it much better to show him instead.

To your surprise, Anakin’s body wasn’t all that different from the one you made in your mind. His tan skin was bathed in the orange light of the setting Coruscant sun, making his body look golden and ethereal.

Once his upper body is exposed, you flip your position so Anakin’s body is between your legs. In this position, it’s so easy just to roll your hips down into his, and Anakin only makes it smoother when he places his hands on your hips to guide you down.

You could end it like that, but you wanted more. The idea made your mouth water when you first thought about it, and now you finally can put it into action.

What was in Anakin’s pants was seemingly a new territory. You would tell yourself that at least if you were going to think of Anakin in that fashion, you would not be depraved enough to think of what his cock would look like. Really, it was because you were afraid of how much time you could spend thinking about it.

The length, the smell, the taste. You knew if you thought of one, it would lead you to the others and get you addicted to what it could be. All that mattered though was what it truly was. The feel of it, even over Anakin’s pants left you eager. Eagerness morphed to satisfaction once his pants were out of the way, leaving no room between you or his cock. More specifically, your mouth and his cock.

There was already a bead of precum awaiting you at the tip of Anakin’s cock. The salty taste has your eyes slipping shut as it lights up your tastebuds. You try to draw out more by licking across the head and dragging your tongue along the slit. What you get in return is the rich sound of Anakin’s moans, which you feel is a reward enough in itself.

You force your eyes open to look up at Anakin so you can see the look of pleasure take over his face as you take him deeper into your mouth. His warm blue eyes you had just looked into were dark with lust, his pupils blown wide and nearly swallowing up the blue.

Your eyes were then exposed to the long column of his neck as his head fell back as your tongue ran along the thick vein on the underside of his cock. You tracked a bead of sweat as it fell down the length of his neck, and it had you wondering if his sweat would taste the same on your tongue as his precum did.

You pull off his cock with a wet pop and instead of licking up that bead of sweat, you go further down to the base of his cock to suck one of his balls into your mouth. Above you, Anakin moans as your tongue laves over the sensitive skin. When you’ve moved on to the other one, the first is wet with your spit, much like you assume the other will be when you’re done with it.

You pull away from his cock to watch the rise and fall of his chest as he pulls in breath after breath. Anakin watches you with half-lidded eyes, held up on his forearms. You run your hands up his thighs, past his hard cock, and then up the toned plane of his chest.

You follow behind the path of your hands with your lips, stopping at each of his nipples until they match the state of Anakin’s cock: hard and sensitive. By the time you’re done with the second nipple, you feel a heavy hand on the back of your neck pulling you up to bring your mouths together.

Anakin whimpers into your mouth when you run your finger across one of his wet nipples. You’re awarded with another noise, one much louder than the last when you run your nails over the other.

You bring your hand higher to his mouth, “spit,” you command.

Anakin sits up and spits into your waiting palm, the string from his spitting getting caught on his chin.

You bring your hand down to his hard cock, watching the way Anakin hisses when you spread the wetness across the length, staring at the sensitive head.

Anakin brings his back down to the floor, thrusting his hips up into the wet channel of your fingers. You doubt it was what the Force was intended to be used for, but you use it to keep Anakin’s hips still. You knew Anakin could overpower you if he wanted, but he instead chose to fix you with a heated look on his face, full of need.

“I’ve got you,” you sent to him through the Force, watching as Anakin relaxed under you. “Good boy,” you send through. Anakin shivers from your praise, making a hot feeling run through your body knowing that you’re the cause.

You move back down between Anakin’s spread legs to suck his cock back into your mouth. With the warm slickness of his spit, the glide along his cock is much easier.

Your hand stays at the base of his cock, stroking what you can’t get past your gag reflex. His cock stretches your mouth, making your jaw ache, the pain pushing you on and on and on.

Spit dribbles past your lips and down Anakin’s cock until the drops meet your fingers. It all creates a slick sound that rings loud in your ears, alongside the sound of Anakin’s moans.

What brings him over the edge is when you feel the touch of Anakin’s powers along your body. His Force touch lingers at your ass, like he’s pinpointing where he wants to go next. The touch makes you moan, the vibrations sending him into his orgasm.

Through the Force, you feel the weight of Anakin’s orgasm all around you like it is your own. It’s overwhelming having the taste of his cum on your tongue, and then having his Force touch running across the rest of your body.

Your orgasm hits you by surprise when you feel Anakin’s force signature on your hard cock, still confined within your robes. It causes you to choke on the cum shooting down your throat. Sorry, you feel the word running through your mind, alongside the images Anakin sends through.

They’re similar to the thoughts you had, but others come through. Softer ones, like you and Anakin both in bed, sweaty and satiated and coming down in the comfort of each other’s arms.

The last one you see is a vision of yourself through Anakin’s eyes. It’s from one of the many missions you’ve been on together. You’re smiling in the vision, your face slick with sweat as you cut down droid after droid. It only takes a few moments to recognize the moment as the stupid bet you had made with your clone troopers to see who could take down the most droids.

You couldn’t remember if you had won, but the whoops and cheers from the clones made it all worth it.

“You did win,” Anakin says, his face now inches from yours. You didn’t even remember moving. “After I joined in and helped you,” he says with a smirk.

“I didn’t need your help,” you respond, grimacing at the feel of your wet and sticky pants.

“I know,” Anakin responds, placing a hand on your cheek, “you are a beautiful fighter and I wanted to watch you closer.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” you say back, turning your face to place a kiss on his palm. You had a feeling you would be watching him much more in the future, for learning purposes to become a better Jedi Knight, obviously.

#x male reader #x male reader smut #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin akywalker x male reader #anakin skywalker x male reader smut #anakin x reader

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assistant-of-drama · 1 day

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Assistant Noah's World Tour!

After Jamaca...

Noah screamed into his hands as he sat in the confessional, blushing like crazy.

He felt hot. Both in anger and in lust. Anger that Alejandro's latest scheme to eliminate the final member of Team Victory almost got DJ sent to a hospital. And lust that Alejandro's evil brain was so brilliant. It didn't help that the manipulate charmer somehow looks even handsomer, while he was being so deliciously devious.

Oh god, does Noah seriously have a thing for bad boys?!

And did Alejandro seriously have to wear a speedo of all things?!?

The dude might as well be in his underwear!

No sane person would wear that type of swimwear!

Noah shakes his head and splashes cold water from the sink on his face.

Noah was tempted to buy Alejandro a pair of regular swim trunks… but then the Spainard might see it as his handsome body finally getting to the Cynic… and flustered Noah refuses to give in.

Noah looks in the mirror, ignoring the confessional camera and begins to take deep, calming breathes.

Noah quickly bangs his head against the bathroom's mirror to get rid of those thoughts of that stupid, evil man.

With a sigh, Noah leaves the confessional after finishing what he had to say and cleaning his face, then putting his sunglasses on. When Noah returns to the beach, he decides to enjoy while he still can.

Noah wants to stay as far away from stupid sexy Alejandro as possible, taking a spot at the other end of the beach. He'd rather focus on the beautiful view and the warm sun on his skin than on the Spaniard's charm. It didn't take long for Noah to sink into the soft sand, watch the sea and letting the sounds of it wash over him.

Alejandro however had different plans. His gaze locked on the dark-haired man on the beach. He smiled to himself, feeling a thrill run through him at the thought of teasing Noah again.

As the flirty man approached, he gives a playful smirk. "Hola, Noah. You seem to be enjoying the beach." He says, leaning down to place his towel down beside the other man's. "Or are you just avoiding me?"

Noah glances over at him, keeping his eyes away from the speedo. "Is it that hard to believe that I want some alone time?"

Alejandro begins to casually stretch his muscles in front of Noah. The cynical assistant is able to keep his face stoic and blush-free. But not even he could stop the passionate, burning, fire-like feeling inside his heart and body.

"I don't know…you seem to be avoiding me a bit too much. Don't you like me anymore?" The charmer asks with a playful pout, running a hand through his wet hair.

Noah chuckles sarcastically, rolling his eyes with a small smirk. "Oh please. I never liked an eel like you."

They both know that was a lie.

Alejandro smiles at Noah's retort, enjoying the way the other man's cheeks flush under his tan.

"Oh, I see. So you don't like me because I'm an eel, huh?" He asks, his voice dripping with fake hurt. "Well, that's too bad. I was hoping you could help me out with something."

Noah glances over at Alejandro, arching an eyebrow. "And what's that?"

Alejandro grins manically, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Well, you see, I've been in the water for quite some time now, and I think I've gotten a little…overdone. And I was hoping you could help me out, rub some sunscreen on my back. Maybe give me a nice massage while you're at it."

The taller man lays on Noah's towel, revealing the toned expanse of his back. Noah feels his heart skip a beat as he takes in the sight of the Spaniard's broad shoulders tapering down to his perfectly sculpted waist. Even his back is attractive. Alejandro smirks at Noah's obvious hesitation, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Will you help me, Noah? I'll put sunscreen on your back, if you do mine first."

Sighing, Noah drops to his knees beside Alejandro. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart as he reaches for the tube of sunscreen. His fingers brush against Alejandro's skin, sending a shiver down his spine. He can feel the heat emanating from the Spaniard's body as he slowly rubs the cool gel onto his back.

Alejandro moans softly in satisfaction, arching his back and pressing closer to Noah's touch. The feel of the charmer's smooth, warm skin beneath the cynic's fingers is almost unbearable. Noah's heart pounds in his chest, his blood flowing hotter and faster as he continues to massage Alejandro's back.

Noah can't help but wonder what it would be like to feel those strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

When Noah was finished with Alejandro's back, Alejandro told Noah to lay down, so Alejandro could return the favor.

As Noah lay on the towel, he felt Alejandro's strong, warm hands begin to knead his shoulders with sunscreen. It was such an intimate, sensual feeling that Noah could barely contain himself. He let out a soft moan, arching his back slightly into the touch.

Those strong, warm hands moved everywhere, massaging Noah's upper back and then down to his lower back. The cynic felt a shiver run down his spine as Alejandro's fingers dug into his flesh, eliciting a deep, satisfying relief. It was as if the Spaniard was trying to wring every tense cell in the muscles loose.

Then when Alejandro was done, he flipped Noah over on his back and began playing with the smaller man's soft chocolate hair. Noah felt too relaxed to stop him. Noah and Alejandro gazed at each other, with peaceful smiles. One laying down, while the other was sitting. Their faces were quite calm, their bodies were more relaxed, but their hearts were pounding.

Alejandro slowly lowered his head, his eyes locked on Noah's lips. The taller man leaned in, his breath warm against the smaller man's skin, as he prepared to close the distance between them. Noah felt his heart race, his body tense with anticipation. He could feel the heat emanating from Alejandro, could practically taste the Spaniard's mouth on his.

But then Noah turned his head last minute, so Alejandro would only kiss his cheek.

"Nice try." the relaxed Noah whispers, pleased with himself. "I don't kiss people that injure animal lovers."

Alejandro simply smiles back, and they continue to peacefully gaze at each other. "But you're willing to let them massage your back?"

"I'm not a perfect person." Noah says softly, with a small shrug.

But Noah actually was perfect. At least to Alejandro he was. The Spaniard couldn't help but feel drawn to him, admiring the way he handled himself, his intelligence, his boldness, and of course, his sass. It was refreshing, a much-needed breath of fresh air in a world full of people who only have a few braincells.

So, when Alejandro felt that Noah was turning his head to avoid the kiss, he felt a little disappointed, a little rejected even. But he wasn't going to let that show. He understands why Noah keeps rejecting him.

Noah doesn't want to be used. Which is fair, cause Alejandro did want to use him at first. But now, the thought of using Noah makes Alejandro feel sick and he doesn't know why. He doesn't feel shame when using others. Why is it different with Noah now?...

...And why does Alejandro want to kiss him, without getting anything in return?...

...Anyway, the charmer glad that the assistant is willing to be friends, or at least friend-like acquaintances.

Noah's friendship should be enough for Alejandro… right?

#assistant noah's world tour #assistant noah #total drama #total drama world tour #td noah #alejandro burromuerto #alenoah

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your-eternal-lies · 2 days

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_ YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME (chapter eight)

Main Navigation || Series Masterlist Please follow @your-eternal-library for all my fanfiction updates.

Pairing — Steve Rogers x f!Reader Summary — As his perfectly normal civilian neighbour, you’ve always been secretly curious about the Captain. Getting to know him while trapped together in your building’s elevator, however, definitely wasn’t on the agenda.

Warnings — None.

YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME

CHAPTER EIGHT THE SMALLEST OF GIFTS

Time seems to slow to a crawl in the steel cocoon of the elevator, but Steve finds a sense of tranquility as he keeps vigil over your sleep.

He’d been through wars, seen the best and worst of humanity, yet nothing’s prepared him for the quiet upheaval that came with caring for someone in such a simple and unguarded way.

There’s a promise forming within him, unspoken but resolute, vowing to bridge the gap between your brief encounter here and the uncertain expanse of the real world beyond. Even he, in his infinite attempts at denial, knows he needs to find a way to make this connection endure, to weave the thread of this shared experience into the fabric of your everyday lives.

But life, much like you, has a way of surprising him when he least expected it.

With a soft sigh, you stir in his arms, your body shifting ever so slightly as consciousness begins to seep back into your features. Your eyelids flutter, revealing sleepy eyes that blink up at him, still hazy from dreams.

A smile spreads across Steve’s face, one that reaches deep into his eyes, crinkling their corners with genuine delight.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmurs, the affection in his voice wrapped in a playful tease. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Your eyes go wide with shock, and just as you’re about to leap back in surprise, his arm tightens around you, the motion almost instinctual.

Something shifts inside him then, like the tectonic plates of his very soul rearranging themselves to accommodate the seismic event that is you.

He pictures you waking just like this in a bedroom with linen sheets, the sun streaming in through a nearby window, looking up at him with a sleepy smile.

He imagines introducing you to the Avengers, his friends, all the banter and jokes at his expense, and the looks of surprise when they would see this unassuming woman who’s captured his attention.

It’s not lost on him, the absurdity of contemplating a future with someone he’s only known a few hours, but he can’t seem to shake the feeling that there’s significance in this chance encounter.

Warmth seems to grow with each passing minute with the fantasy, feeding a fire that sparks unexpectedly in his heart.

Suddenly, thoughts of the world outside that demands Captain America disappear, the weight of his shield feels distant, and he begins to truly appreciate a very peculiar kind of magic at play.

“Steve?” You whisper, your breath fanning across his cheek. He only holds you tighter in response, moving achingly slow as he places his chin on top of your head, allowing you to find purchase against his chest.

He closes his eyes, his lungs seem unable to draw in enough breath, no matter how deeply he breathes.

Because, for the first time in years, Steve dreams for something beyond a hero’s call—a shared future, unpredictable and thrilling in moments of vulnerability and laughter.

“Never thought I’d get cozy with Steve Rogers in an elevator,” you mumble, heart in your throat.

You shift, your leg brushing against his as you settle further into his chest. The contact is electric, sparking a connection that surges through your veins, setting every nerve ending on alert.

At any other time, in any other place, you might have straightened up, put distance between you out of respect for personal boundaries. But here, the rules of engagement seem rewritten by an unseen hand.

“Am I heavy?” You ask, though what you really want to ask is whether he can feel the racing of your heart, or if he knows just how much this moment means to you.

“Not even a little,” he assures, his tone light. “Are you comfortable?”

“Never better,” you whisper, watching the fabric of his t-shirt ripple under your breath. “You make a surprisingly good pillow, Rogers.”

“Happy to be of service,” he pulls back just a little, so that you can stare into his handsome face. The close quarters strip away his larger-than-life persona, leaving behind just a man—Steve, who is so much more than just a caricature of red, white, and blue.

It’s a peculiar thing, you muse, how a simple twist of fate can pivot your entire existence. A malfunctioning elevator has become a crucible, forging a bond that feels almost as strong as vibranium, yet as delicate as the silence that envelopes you.

Your heart swells with a mixture of joy and uncertainty in his arms. You wonder if you’re just running on borrowed time, if this newfound intimacy is just a result of adrenaline and forced proximity, that maybe the doors would open eventually and reality would come flooding back in.

But you cling to hope that this is just the beginning. Steve gives you a small smile in the darkness, the weight of his arm around your waist reassuring as you realize you don’t just want more moments like these; you need them.

Taking advantage of your closeness, you carefully study his face: the slope of his nose, the spots of freckles that you hadn’t noticed before, and the curve of his lips, like a cartographer charting out the contours of newly discovered land.

For now, you allow yourself the luxury of believing it’s possible—that someone as magnificent and lovely as Steve Rogers could feel for you even a fraction of what you feel right now.

“Steve?” You say his name again, your voice barely audible, a whisper against the quiet thrumming of the lift.

“Yes?” And when he says yours in return, you fall in love a little with the way it sounds.

“Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“That… we’ll go get your coffee after this,” you lean back against his shoulder, keeping your voice light, but there’s a seriousness in your tone that you can’t hide. “I need to make sure you’re not just a figment of my caffeine-deprived imagination.”

“Cross my heart.”

« Chapter 7 || Chapter 9 »

Taglist — My taglist has been discontinued. Please follow @your-eternal-library and turn on notifications for all my fanfiction updates.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers series #steve rogers fluff #summer’s fics

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dancingtotuyo · 4 hours

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11. up from the dust, inconceivable love

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Ellie learns the truth. Your family gains a member.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy related things, angst, hurt & comfort and no comfort?, self worth issues, canon violence, anger, child birth

Notes: huge thank you to my constants, my rocks @ramblers-lets-get-ramblinand @janaispunk for beta reading and letting me yell and scream and break their hearts.

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader! The final part is out now!

Words: 5352

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

“What do you think of Peace?” You ask, propped up in bed, hand over your swollen stomach. You’ve gained more weight this time, probably because you’re not in the throes of grief.

“I mean, I’m a fan. I hope everyone is.” Joel says, trimming his facial hair with the bathroom door wide open.

You bite your lip, admiring the expanse of his bare back. If getting out of bed wasn’t an event, you would be behind him right now, kissing his shoulders.

“No, as a name for a girl,” you say. Joel turns around looking at you like he’s contemplating checking you into a psychiatric ward if those still existed. “A middle name, not a first name.”

Joel sets his trimmers down, leaning in the doorway shirtless. “And what would her first name be?”

“Willow.”

Joel furrows his brow stepping into your bedroom, your shared bedroom. “Darlin, I know we live in a commune, but we’re not hippies.”

“You bring me wildflowers and we walk barefoot through the fields. I wouldn’t be so sure.” You can’t help but laugh. Joel cracks a smile. “Do you have suggestions then?”

“Thought about naming Sarah- Katherine.”

You make a face. You know one too many Kates and Katies even in Jackson.

“It’s not a bad name,” Joel chuckles.

“Neither is Willow.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re a hippie?”

“Would you leave if I said yes?”

Joel shrugs “I don’t know, but I knocked you up so I guess I have to stay.” He crawls into the bed. His head is level with your stomach as he watches for movement.

You roll your eyes. “How romantic.”

He grins up at you and then his eyes are back on your belly. He rests a hand at the top, staring, waiting in wonderment. Neither of you can believe this is all real. Your baby moves around all the time, kicking your bladder and lungs, signifying life. A life you did not think would make it.

You thread your fingers through Joel’s soft brown hair. The outline of a foot appears and then disappears. Joel’s eyes sparkle and he kisses the same spot. He’s soft and gentle. In these moments, all your anxieties are carried away like leaves on an autumn breeze. This is your peace.

“What other names did you have picked out for Carter?”

You bite your lip. “We didn’t have any other boys' names.”

“And if he’d been a girl?” He’s still enthralled with your stomach as if there’s been an enchantment cast over it.

“Sarah.”

His head snaps up.

“Tommy and I talked about her a lot when I was pregnant. She was on my mind… being a part of Sarah’s life made me realize I wanted a family… even in this world where I had no right to do so.”

You keep playing with his hair. His eyes go glassy making you wonder what memory is playing behind his eyes. You stay like that until Joel is ready to talk. Eventually, he sits up, clearing his throat. His lips touch yours.

“What about Willa?”

You tilt your head to the side. You don’t really see how it’s any different than Willow, but you’re not going to bring that up. “I like it.”

“And Miles for a boy.” His smile returns. He doesn’t tell you that he’s positive you’re having a girl.

“Miles is an old man's name!”

“Good, then he’ll grow to be an old man.”

You take in a sharp breath. It’s just an offhand comment, but it carries so much weight. It’s a stark reminder of the heaviness of the world, and the twinge of guilt you feel bringing another child into it.

Joel takes your hand, kissing your palm. You see it in his eyes too. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’tve-”

“It’s okay.” Your fingers comb through his hair. He leans into your touch. His grays are more noticeable than they were a year ago, but the brown still outnumbers them.

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asks.

“I don’t know… I- I haven’t really let myself think about it until today.” It's true. The fact of the matter is you’re within a month of your due date. You and Joel are so close to welcoming this baby into the world and are wildly unprepared.

“We’re getting close… We need a crib.”

“The one I used for Carter is in the attic.”

“I can bring it down in the morning.”

“I need to get some baby clothes. I traded all of Carter’s.”

“Looks like we have a bunch of work to do, Mama,” Joel smiles, kissing your forehead. He still hasn't told you about the swaddles and onesies tucked in the back of his drawer, but it seems you’re finally ready for them.

You cock your head to the side, contemplating the nickname. There’s a mix of emotions with it. You’re already a mother. Joel is a father, but this is a life you’re bringing in together. It’s uncharted territory for both of you. Sarah’s mom was out the door before she was six months old. Neither of you have done this part with a partner before.

A sharp knock on the front door pulls your mind from its wandering. Joel’s brow furrows, rolling out of the bed. People don’t knock on your door often. They usually barrel right in, unless it’s bad. Your stomach drops.

Joel is out of the bedroom, shrugging on a shirt. Dina’s voice calls through your home. “Hello?” She sounds worried, desperate.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed. It takes more time to stand these days. If you try too quickly, your head rushes making you feel dizzy.

“Dina? What’s wrong?” Joel’s at the bottom of the stairs now, but his voice carries. You have to stop at the top of the stairs to catch your breath.

“Ellie is gone.”

You freeze, grabbing the railing for stability. “What?”

Joel turns around, worry etched in his face. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. She mentioned something about the Fireflies and a hospital, but she wouldn’t talk to me.” You make out the flicker of hurt in Dina’s face. Those two tell each other everything, or most things. You’re not sure Ellie has told her about her immunity. You all keep that one pretty close to your chests.

“Shit,” Joel mumbles. He glances between you at his back and the front door in front of him. You see the push and pull. He needs to go after her. He needs to be here for you.

His eyes settle on you. Your hand settles on top of your swollen belly. He’s looking for permission. You want to give it, but what if he’s needed here before he gets back.

“She’s been off lately. I don’t know why. She won’t talk to me.” Dina seems to sense the silent conversation going on. “I can go after her, but-“

“No, I need to go.” Joel swings back toward the teenager, both hands placed on his hips. You try to bite back the panic rising inside you. He’ll be fine. They’ll both be fine. “Do you know when she left?”

“Probably sometime before the sun came up. Shimmer isn’t in the stable.”

Joel lets out a ragged sigh, hands running over his face. You try to keep the tears away, your hormones making it difficult.

“Will you let Maria know I’m going after her? I need to pack.”

Dina nods, her eyes flickering up to you before she’s gone in a flash of dark curls. Joel turns around, hand resting on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. You swallow and walk back into the bedroom.

It’s silent at first, nothing but the sounds of draws opening and closing and the soft slaps of his leather saddle bags. You sit in silence at the edge of your bed, chewing on your lip as you watch him. Ellie needs him. It echoes on repeat in your brain.

“I can probably catch her. We’ll be back in two weeks if I don’t.”

You stare down at your ever growing belly. You could easily be pregnant when he returns, but what if you’re not? You’re fairly certain you’ll have this baby sooner rather than later, but Ellie needs him too.

“Why does she want to go back to Salt Lake?”

Joel freezes for a second, like he’s contemplating his answer. It sets an uneasy feeling in your bones. “I don’t know. Maybe she thinks some of the Fireflies are still there? That this whole cure business is still an option?”

You nod, thoughts drifting to her face when you looked at her blood a couple months ago. She looked desperate. You hadn’t seen her like that before. It was almost unnerving, like the need to be needed by humanity had returned tenfold. It made you wonder if you’d been there for her enough these past few months.

“I have to go after her.”

There’s a desperation you don’t quite recognize in Joel’s eyes, sending a thread of dread through your body. Is he leaving something out? Not telling you something? You nod, biting your lip. “I know.”

He lays his hand on your bump, fingers stretching out over it. “We’ve got time.”

You nod. “Hurry back, and be safe, okay?”

Joel kisses your forehead. “Always.”

He rides out thirty minutes later.

You try to stay busy while they’re gone, cleaning the clinic and the house thrice over as the nesting and anxiety sets in. You ask Tommy to get the crib out of the attic as you prep the corner of your bedroom for the baby, wiping it free from the dust and cobwebs.

Maria hosts a small get together for you pulling together some semblance of a baby shower, something you hadn’t had with Carter. It's nice, but you feel like they skirt around the questions nagging in their brains. Where did Ellie and Joel go? Will they be back in time? You don’t have answers. You have the same fucking question. Will they be back?

The braxton hicks kick up, so much so you think you’re in labor ten days after Joel rides out. The fear that courses through your body is so paralyzing that you just lay in bed. Your body tenses with the memory’s of Carter’s labor. It’s not the physical pain of it, but the emotional rollercoaster you went through, alone. You’re not supposed to do this alone this time.

Then, the contractions stop with no explanation and you fall into a restless sleep. You miss Joel, his warmth and comfort. His unspoken love that fills the room. You’re becoming more comfortable with the idea of it.

You miss Ellie too, worried about what she’s going through. Providing it’s still vacant, Salt Lake won’t hold any answer for her. What lengths will she go to? How many miles will she travel in search of answers you believe don’t exist? How will she handle reality?

You see the differences in Carter too. In his mind, Ellie and Joel have always been here. Two weeks without them feels like a lifetime to him, and to you.

On day twelve, your front door flies open as you come down the stairs. Ellie bursts through looking frantic and frazzled. Her short cropped hair sticks up in certain places. Dirt smudges her forehead. You’re too relieved to see her to worry about her appearance. If anything, it’s expected after two weeks of travel, but your relief is short lived.

“Did you know?” She yells. The door stays wide open behind her, rage flaming in her eyes.

“What?”

“Did you know?”

“Know what?” You step toward her, reaching out, but she backs away like a wild animal.

“He killed them! All of them!”

“Killed who? Ellie, take a deep breath.”

“Joel! He killed the fireflies! They had a cure!”

Your breath catches. It’s not that Joel has killed people. You know about the years he spent as a raider. You know the cost of surviving in this world, but this isn’t the story you have been told about Salt Lake. When you asked him why she would go back, he lied. He knew. Knew the story hadn’t lined up in Ellie’s mind.

“So he lied to you too!”

“Ellie!” Joel is stern as his frame fills your doorway.

She spins around, the week of silence she spent next to him on the road back, wrath bubbling over and focused on him. “Tell her! Tell her, Joel!” She steps toward him. “Tell her what you did!” She shoves against his shoulders.

“Ellie…” He repeats her name, softer this time.

“Don’t do that!” She turns back to you, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They were going to make a cure from me, and you stopped them! You slaughtered them!”

“They were going to kill you!”

Your eyes widen, and it makes sense. Why Joel hasn’t talked about it. Why he needed to go after her. Why Ellie feels so useless. She’d been promised the cure. He’d taken that from her with a facade of an excuse.

“You should have let them!” Ellie screams until she pushes past him, rushing out of your house.

Joel lets out a sigh, defeat evident across his features. You can’t even enjoy their homecoming, their safety, your head spinning too much.

Joel shuts the door behind him, stepping closer like he’s expecting an embrace, but you step back, a mother’s anger building in your bones. He looks surprised. “Sweetheart…”

“You lied to her.”

“I protected her.” Joel’s eyes narrow. He’s tired and irritable. Neither of you expected a fight to ensue the moment he got home. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“You’ve watched her struggle with this for years!”

“They were going to kill her!”

“Have you listened to anything she’s said?”

You almost don’t recognize the Joel in front of you. He looks like a shell of the assured, warm man you know. You wonder if this is the version of Joel Tommy used to speak of. The one Joel has told you about during those late night chats when you spilled the depths of yourselves to each other, or you thought you had. The one who floated through his days, barely living.

“I couldn’t lose her!”

“Except you did!”

Joel straightens, shoulders setting in denial. “She’s alive! That’s what matters.”

“You’re missing the point!”

“You’re saying I should have let them go ahead with it! Let them cut open her head for a cure you don’t believe is possible!”

Fire blazes in Joel's eyes. You see it. There’s no rationalizing with him about this. In his eyes, there were no choices to be made. He did the only thing. It doesn’t matter what else he has to sacrifice, she’s alive and that’s all that matters. “That’s not-”

He scoffs, cutting you off. You see the pain and hurt ripple through his body, causing him to step back from you. “Sure sounds like it.”

“Joel!”

“Don’t.” He yanks the front door open. “I can’t be here right now.”

He disappears across the threshold in the blink of an eye leaving you with a mountain to process and a growing tension across your stomach.

Joel knows he’s in the wrong. He knows he shouldn’t have lied to Ellie, held the truth from you. He’s a grown man, of course he knows what’s right and wrong, but that admittance doesn’t do anything to calm him. He needs to get out. Out of the house. Out of the walls into the open. It doesn’t matter that he just came from two weeks out there.

He sneaks over the wall with more ease than he should be able. Instantly, he feels the tightening in his chest begin to ease. He paces the outside of the wall like a caged animal, the series of events reeling through his mind. He doesn’t realize how much he’s been pushing it back since they left Salt Lake. Her words, her pleas, over and over. She’d given him every opportunity to tell her the truth and he kept the lie going.

There was no cure. The words he’d utter to her after they found that couple, one dead the other infected while out on patrol.

He’d almost told her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t risk it.

His pacing becomes more frantic as he remembers the fear he felt at the thought of losing Ellie, the fear that pushed him into wiping away every firefly that crossed his path. The same fear that put lies in his mouth before he had time to think, that kept him from telling her the truth. He knew this would happen one day, but hadn’t been enough. He’d kept it from everyone, including you.

Tell me, she had pleaded with him, begged him and he still felt the pull to replace his lie with another.

She’d had to poke and prod to get the words from his mouth. Had to threaten to leave before she got the truth. That hurt almost as much as the fallout. Everyone thought he was a better man than he actually was. Ellie, you, himself, but when it came down to it. He failed that test. Good men don’t make someone threaten to leave to get the truth.

I’ll go back, but we’re done.

Joel wears a path in the fresh grass beneath his feet, letting the spring chill take over when the sun sets, leaving him in darkness. Ellie had kept her word. He’d never heard her stay quiet for so long. The loss had begun to settle in with her riding next to him.

Joel’s muscles ache from two weeks out on the road. He misses you and Carter. He hasn’t even touched you yet. Will you let him?

Getting over the wall from the outside proves more difficult than it had the first time. Which is a good thing, but had Joel feeling every one of his 59 years. Embarrassment creeps over his cheeks with each step toward your home. The one he shares with you, but he feels like a guest as he climbs the steps. He doesn’t catch a glimpse of you or Carter or anyone else through the windows.

The house is silent when he enters, no signs of life except for the faint buzzing of light bulbs. His brow furrows. You wouldn’t have left the lights on if you weren’t home. Then a faint sound comes from upstairs, movement at the very least. He follows it, placing his hand on the closed bedroom door before cracking it open.

Soft groans come from behind the cracked bathroom door followed by a whispered curse. Maria's voice follows. Joel’s throat drops into his stomach. His boots echo off the wood floor as he crosses the room. “Sweetheart?” he calls, staying on his side of the door. “Is everything alright?”

“Joel? Get in here,” you groan out.

It sends some reassurance through him to hear you so clearly before he swings the door open. His eyes go wide at the sight of you in the tub, sweat staining your skin as Maria kneels next to you. “Shit, are you?”

“Make yourself useful and hold my hand.”

He nods, kneeling beside you. Maria stands, grabbing a few instruments from the bathroom sink, she gives Joel a look that lets him know you’re near the end of labor. Your baby will be here in minutes. It sends a rush through him. “I’m sorry, Darlin.”

You grab onto his hand tightly. It’s wet from the bathwater sloshing around you as you fight to get comfortable. It’s a useless pursuit, but it doesn’t keep you from trying. “Can we do the apologizing later? I’m kinda busy at the moment.”

“Yes,” Joel takes a deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears. He squares his shoulders next to you, giving an air of assurance you know he doesn’t have. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

“I think you missed most of it.”

“Not that you’ve had much to miss,” Maria says, stern. She pissed at him, which is more than fair given everything. You’d had some time to explain what happened. “We tried to find you. Her labor progressed pretty quick.”

“Speaking of which-” You let out a gasp, face twisting in pain. “I think the baby is crowning.”

“She must be in a hurry,” Joel says.

“She?”

“Just a hunch.” Joel smiles, kissing your head.

For the next few minutes, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Your fight never happened because there’s only one thing on your minds, bringing your baby into the world. The world goes silent again, but not in a bad way. A way that makes you feel at peace, Joel’s warm hand in yours. It doesn’t take long until she announces her arrival with a fiery scream once Maria pulls her out of the water.

You hold her close, tears of relief gathering in your eyes. Joel leans in, his forehead pressed to your temple, arms wrapping around you and your daughter as she pulls air into her lungs.

“You did great, Sweetheart.” He whispers into your hair as he kisses your cheek, cupping your daughter’s head. “She’s beautiful.”

Your eyes flicker between him and your newborn. It’s the moment you’ve been envisioning for months, the one you thought you’d get with Gabe when Carter was born. A little piece of you mends. Your child soothes against your skin.

After you’re both cleaned up, Joel helps you into bed, then settles beside you. She sleeps in your arms, tiny fist clenched around one of Joel’s fingers still curled up in your softest bath towel. You brush her cheek softly.

“I believe we decided on Willa Peace?”

“Did we?” You tilt your head to the side, a grin verging on your lips. “I thought we weren’t hippies.”

Joel shrugs, tracing your shoulders. “I had a lot of time to think about it the past couple of weeks.”

“Joel…”

Dirt still traces over his face. He hasn’t had time to clean off since he got back. You catch the faint smell of sweat on his clothes and skin. “I know.”

“I would have done the same thing to save her. You know what I think about cures.” You keep your gaze on your child. It only reminds you what you brought her into. “You lied to her over and over when she needed the truth.”

“I was trying to protect her.”

“I wish you would’ve told me.”

“I know.”

“This only works if we’re open with each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” You bite your lip. “I’m going to need some time with this one.”

Joel nods, arm wrapping around you. “I know.”

You lean into him, enjoying the quietness that surrounds the three of you.

“Willa Peace Miller,” You smile. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah.” Joel hums beside you. “Can’t believe she’s actually here.”

“And we’re both okay.”

He nods, and neither of you can tear your eyes away from the precious little being in your arms. You hang on every rise and fall of her chest, everything micro movements, the soft flutter of her eyes that never quite open. It all feels so fragile, so sacred.

You remember similar moments with Carter. When the grief and the world got too loud, you would lay on the floor or bed with him on your chest asleep. The weight of his small body was a tether that kept you from flying away.

Even in this moment, as your heart inexplicitly expands, you feel that thread of fear winding itself through your body. Another person to love and protect. Another person to keep from the jaws of the world. Another person you can’t bear to lose.

“You know,” you say, pulling Joel’s attention. “If you were ever gonna pull those baby clothes and blankets out of your drawer, now would be the time.”

His brow furrows and then eases with realization. “How long have you known they were there?”

You let out a soft chuckle. “I washed them the next time you went out on patrol. I wasn’t going to leave those filthy things in your drawer.”

“You were going through my things, I see.”

“Next time don’t try to hide something in your drawer from the person who washes your clothes.”

Joel laughs, easing out of the bed to fetch the items from the drawer. “Got it, I’ll be sneakier next time.”

“Can you get the onesie with the yellow flowers?” You bite back a smile. He doesn’t know how you often pulled the drawer open and just gazed upon the items. It helped you visualize it all even when the fear threatened to take over. Another child, and here she was. You’d been most drawn to the little yellow flowers.

Joel laughs, grabbing the onsie and the swaddle with little yellow flowers to match. You’re gentle with her as you work the small article of clothing over her tiny body. It’s a bit baggy, but you can’t complain. It just means she can wear it for longer. She sleeps through all the jostling as if she’s fully absorbed her middle name.

She’s settled back into your arms when a soft tap echoes on your door. “Mommy?” Carter’s voice comes through muffled.

“You can come in.”

The door flies open as your son bursts through the door, grin spread wide on his face. Ellie stands behind him, looking like the space might envelope her.

“Aunt Maria said I have a baby sister.”

“You want to meet her?” you ask.

Carter nods eagerly, dashing toward your bed. Joel catches him before he can jump onto the bed beside you and potentially on you.

“Daddy!” Carter’s eyes go wide. He hasn’t seen Joel in almost two weeks.

Joel laughs, arms tightening around the boy. “Hey, bud.”

Your eyes meet Ellie’s. Her eyes are red, bags deep underneath. You motion her next to you. She hesitates before sliding onto the bed beside you. She’s timid, keeping to the edge, eyes flicking over you and Willa.

“You can get closer.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I never got to hug you earlier.”

She looks down, eyes scanning over your comforter like she’s reliving her homecoming. Once she’s close enough, your arm slips around her shoulders, tugging her close. She nuzzles into your side like a child seeking comfort. “You’re alright?” she asks.

“Yeah… we both are.” You say, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“But I’m still sorry you’re going through this.”

Ellie seems to sink into your further, eyes pinned to Willa. She doesn’t answer you. She doesn’t look at Joel as he sinks next to you with Carter, but you feel her tense when he does.

“What’s her name?” Ellie asks.

“Willa,” you reply.

“Baby Willa.” Carter grins proudly.

And the five of you sit there together in silence. You try to push it out of your head that it’s the last time you all might be together for a while. Even now, you feel the underlying anger rolling through Ellie’s body. This is a wound that’s been festering. It’s going to take time to heal.

Eventually, Ellie slips from your side without a word to leave. She’s barely out the door when Joel goes after her.

“Ellie,” Joel says, catching her on the front porch.

Her head whips around, expression set in stone. “I’m here for them, not you.” She keeps her voice low to not be overheard by nosy neighbors. “They’re my family. Do you understand?”

Joel’s apology catches in his throat. He’s been apologizing the whole way back from Salt Lake. He knows there’s nothing he can say to rush this process. He made a decision, and these are his consequences. “Yeah… I got it.”

“Good.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else.

The bed is empty next to you, the sheets cool to the touch. Your eyes blink open. Cool moonlight shines through the window. You glance at the bathroom door. No light shines through the crease. Joel’s name is on your lips, interrupted by his voice.

“Do you like the butterflies?”

You turn to your side. Joel sits next to the crib, talking to Willa. She’s awake, moonlight reflecting off her big eyes. She’s content and still.

“Your big sister liked butterflies. When they come out in the summertime, I feel her around me.”

She stares at Joel, mesmerized by his voice. Your eyes float upward to the mobile Joel made. He hadn’t explained it to you, but you already knew. Sarah had pinned them all throughout their Austin home. You keep one stuck to the window above the kitchen sink. There’s one tucked in his nightstand drawer.

“I think she sent you to me.” He lets it sit there, contemplating the weight and depth of what he said. “I think she sent you to me, your momma, Ellie, I suppose she’s your big sister too, Carter. All of you.

“Her name was Sarah. She would have loved you.” He chuckles. “She used to ask me for a baby brother or sister. I didn’t know your momma yet… Well, I guess I did, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.”

You stifle a laugh unsuccessfully. Joel’s eyes lock on yours. He smiles, shooting you a wink. He looks younger under the moonlight, more at ease. The creases in his skin are less apparent.

“Your momma, she’s quite a bit younger than me.” The smile stays pinned to his face. “It’s not so creepy now- least that’s what she tells me- but it would’ve been then, and I was a decent fella back before the world went to shit. Besides, between you and me.” He leans closer to Willa’s ear, but his eyes are still on you. “Your momma had a pretty big crush on me back then.”

You groan, heat flushing your cheeks. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is. You chuck his pillow at him. Joel catches it, laughing. It’s the kind that sits deep in one’s chest and bubbles up with the purest kind of joy. You can’t help but smile.

He slowly stands, grunting as he does. You hear the familiar pop of his joints. He leans into the crib. You notice Willa’s eyes have fallen shut. “I love you, my little wildflower.” He kisses her cheek before falling back into bed next to you.

His arm wraps around your waist. Pulling you close, he steals a kiss on your forehead. “I’m getting too old to sit on the floor like that.”

“You’re getting too old to have a newborn, yet here we are.” Your fingers run through his hair.

“Still can’t believe she’s here… you’re both healthy.”

“Neither can I.” You glance back at the crib. She’s just a few days old and already, you can’t imagine life without her.

Tears well at the corner of your eyes. Your heart has grown so much. You thought you couldn’t open it to more people, yet here you are. The you of 4 years ago would be too terrified of losing this life to give it a chance, the price of pain too high. Yet here you are, embracing it, taking that risk, because this is living, and the love and belonging far outweigh the potential for pain even as it grows with every passing day. You fell into the trap,and it’s a crowded one, but it’s a happy one.

Joel kisses your cheek. “You should get some sleep before she wakes up hungry.”

“Mmm,” you hum as his hands move soothingly over your back. “Someone not named Willa woke me up.”

Joel chuckles. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

But even now you feel your eyelids getting heavier.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“About?”

You let your eyes fall shut as Joel massages out a knot in your back. You lean into it. “About Sarah sending us to you.”

“I did.” He kisses your forehead.

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

#woman (joel miller)#joel miller #joel miller x reader #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #tlou fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro stories #ppcu fanfiction #em's fics

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rataccatak · 8 months

Text

Analysis of how Natalia Zaidova draws Sergey Razumovsky

Or: trying to justify a thirstpost about the world's most terrible man

Sergey's gone through a number of artists through the years, and I gotta say, Natalia Zaidova's rendition has captured my heart. In fact, it was a screenshot of Natalia's Sergey that first got me into Major Grom. While Phob's is the official art style that we associate with the comics, Natalia's style, I believe, better serves Sergey's character in the current PD run.

Genre-wise, PD returns to being a big-action, ensemble comic, which--compared to The Game's tight conflict and human drama focus--deliberately implements Natalia's more traditionally comic-book style to this effect. The first arc (nine volumes in total) of PD are all Natalia; though the current issues are being outsourced to a number of different artists now, Natalia's style--with its roots in distinctly American superhero comics, such as DC--was what they wanted to prime audience's expectations with. After Time of the Raven, there was a big push for Bubble to adhere their stories to big names like Marvel, and with that came the desire to usher in things like a multiverse, space and supernatural elements, and franchise crossovers. Plague Doctor was one of their latest installments of that new "culture," and they had to match their aesthetics appropriately.

Okay, but that brings me back to the brainrot part of this post, which is HOT DAMN NATALIA'S SERGEY LOOKS SICK???

The whole idea of Plague Doctor is that, for like seven years or something, Sergey has been declared dead or missing or otherwise MIA. Nobody, both in-universe and irl, knows where he is or what the fuck he's up to. You crack open issue 1, encounter a guy in sunglasses and a hat who is painfully obviously Sergey, but you get to the last page and

(I will say this is probably the most unflattering frame of him. His chin makes him look like such a chad derogatory)

BAM. HOMEBOY IS ROCKING A NEW HAIRCUT, HE'S WEARING ANOTHER STUPID PURPLE SUIT, HE'S RIPPED, AND HE HAS BLUE EYES.

This isn't the soft, sort of angelically beautiful Sergey we're used to seeing from Phobs. It's radically different, an entirely different character almost, which was the intent.

His new look is more practical, both tactically and socially. His hair is cut, so people won't recognize him as easily. It won't get in his face or get grabbed during fights, and combined with his more muscled build, this is a Sergey who's taking things more seriously this time around. Gone is the flamboyant cape and swishing fiery locks; the plague doctor campaign is no longer a passion, but a duty. And he's ready to enter the thunderdome and get his hands dirty and god damn it, he will die trying.

Natalia does take care to preserve the core elements of Phob's Sergey, while making a hard left into traditional masc territory. He's still unrealistically attractive, in that distinctly soft and youthful way. He's more noticeably fit but still maintains a slim, smooth appearance.

But on top of that, she adds this charm and charisma to him that is distinctly boyish (as in, young and mischievous, a pretty face that's up to no good). It makes his persona as a young, leftist radical more believable; he looks like a student revolutionaire, angry and passionate about all issues topical and trending.

He does look more obviously aged. Guy is now in his mid(?) thirties, and the past five years probably amounted to like three lifetimes of stress, so it certainly makes sense. Compared to how Natalia drew The Game Sergey, his face is more defined with sharper lines, muscularity, and wrinkles. The short hair also ages him somewhat, making him look less angelic and more like... a regular dude.

And of course, there's the overnight peach fuzz.

The more mature, aged look helps him actually look like a person who's lived a life as loaded and fucked up as Sergey's. He's a guy whose parents died, grew up in foster care, became a CEO that rocketed to stardom in five years, committed the most elaborate fucked up terrorist campaign ever, and then immediately fell from fame to the deepest coldest cell in St Petersburg (and this is all just the OG Major Grom run). He's not Phob's Sergey (or Rag, whoever it was in The Game)--a blameless childish pretty boy who's detached from his crimes. Natalia does a good job in making Sergey have this subtle undertone of... unsettled, unhinged, what have you. I don't know how much of this is hindsight bias, but he looks like a guy with a fucked up secret. You wouldn't think twice if you were seeing him in a grocery store or something but I can imagine later recognizing his mugshot on the news and thinking wow now that i think about it, he really does look like a serial killer.

And let's talk about his fashion. For all the features of Sergey's flamboyant costumes in Phob's renditions, Natalia dresses him quite casually, and it works, ironically, to make him look deceptively plain in the way all extremely rich people dress (think of the $10k white t-shirts and sunglasses get-up all rich men wear). He dresses like his current social stature: a new-money sod who has gotten used to his wealth enough that he doesn't have to show off with his clothes anymore. Of course, this could also be turned on its head and instead, be an indication of Sergey's original, cheap clothes that he habited from his childhood. Certainly, the ironic rightwing graphic tees Natalia puts him in edge towards that point of view, only now they're colored by Sergey's sense of political humor. I doubt a "god guns government" shirt is selling for $500 at some luxury tailor shop.

This is what I love about Natalia's Sergey. In making him look more human, we get to orient him more organically into our own world. He looks like a thirty year old loser who studied CS in college and now commits cyber terrorism and doesn't know how to cook. He looks like a young adult leftist who is terminally online and has 500+ open tabs on Marxist theory. He looks like a guy who became too rich too young, who was the world's angle and then its devil in the span of like two years, and is now disillusioned with it all, who wears $5 graphic tees and stays up all night looking behind his back and tries desperately to find something that actually matters.

Once Sergey looks more believable, he becomes more understandable. And the more we understand him, the more the story has the potential to make him intrigue and surprise and reach us in multiple, unexpected ways.

#not as expansive as I wanted but I wanted to get The Thoughts out #major grom #plague doctor #sergey razumovsky #bubble comics

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