#// there's at least like three other different ones i want to draw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

voidpetrova · 8 months

Text

watch your back — carl gallagher x reader

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genre: swearing, drunk sex, body worship, vouyerism, masturbation, squirting, dirty talk, lip is a perv, all the characters in the fic are over the legal age of consent

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: one of the gallagher brothers is having their way with you, while one of the others can only stand by and wish it were them

✧.*

the neon lights of the alibi room flickered behind you as you stumbled down the dimly lit sidewalk, carl's arm draped over your shoulders for balance. laughter bubbled up from both of you as the alcohol in your systems worked its magic, making every step an adventure in itself. the night air was cool, a welcome relief from the warmth of the bar.

“did you see the look on kev's face when he dropped that tray?” carl slurred, his words tinged with amusement.

you stiffled your laughter, a giggle escaping your lips. “and how v nearly tackled him for it? classic.”

carl's grin widened as he gazed down at you, his eyes slightly glazed but filled with affection. “you're fucking amazing, you know that?” you leaned into him, playfully nudging his side. “only when i'm three shots and a cocktail in.”

as you reached the front door of the gallagher household, carl fumbled with the keys for a moment before finally managing to unlock it. the door swung open, revealing the familiar chaos of the home. you both stumbled inside, laughter echoing through the hallway.

“home sweet home,” carl declared, his arm still draped over your shoulders as he led you further into the house.

you both swayed slightly as you made your way to the kitchen, the room bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light. the scent of leftover takeout and a hint of spilled beer lingered in the air.

“can you get me a beer?” you slurred as you dropped down to the kitchen floor, legs spread in a manner you would have thought twice about if you were sober. carl shot you a smile, already two steps ahead of you as he waved the bottle that was already in his hand before throwing it at you. “you know me so well.”

he cackled at the way you nearly dropped the bottle, shaking his head. “dude, you're fucking wasted.” With a playful roll of your eyes, you managed to pop the cap off the beer and take a long swig, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “i'm living my best life right now.”

while your laughter grew louder, lip gallagher felt himself stirring from his sleep in the room upstairs, his curiosity piqued by the commotion. your whispers and laughter, though still playful, became a bit too raucous, the noise gradually seeping into lip's consciousness. he groaned, rubbing his eyes as he got up from the makeshift bed he'd crashed on earlier in the night. groggily, he shuffled into the kitchen, his disheveled appearance drawing no attention from you two. you hadn't even notice him there. he wanted to say something, but he froze in his tracks when he saw you with his brother.

“this is the last time i let you go out like this,” carl slurred, referring to what you were wearing. it was nothing too scandalous, but he knew he couldn't look away when your breasts were pushed up together, spilling out of your dress, the fabric outlining your ass and waist in the worst way possible. “had the nerve to beat up about 12 different guys tonight.””

your laughter bubbled up again as you playfully nudged carl, the flirtatious energy between you two palpable as you climbed into his lap, snaking your arms around his neck. “you really are my hero.” carl smirked, his fingers grazing the exposed skin of your thigh. “damn right.”

lip, still standing unnoticed in the doorway, a mixture of amusement and disbelief settling over him. the sight before him was unexpected, to say the least. he had no idea things had progressed this far between you and carl. he knew he needed to look away, but all he could do was stand there and watch. he watched the way your bare thighs hung out exposed, tits poking out from the side, your ass pressed against his brother's jeans. he swallowed his nervousness, ignoring the way his jeans tightened at the sight of you.

as the flirtatious banter and playful teasing continued to fill the air, the magnetic pull between you and carl seemed to intensify. his fingers gently traced the curve of your jaw, his touch sending shivers down your spine. you felt your breath hitch as his gaze locked onto yours, the world around you narrowing to focus solely on each other.

without a word, his lips descended towards yours, his movements slow and deliberate. the anticipation was almost unbearable, your heart pounding in your chest as your lips grew tantalizingly close. the soft warmth of his breath danced across your skin, and then, finally, his lips met yours in a gentle, lingering kiss.

the sensation was electric, a rush of warmth flooding your senses as your lips moved against his. the kiss started tenderly, as if testing the waters, but the desire between you both quickly overtook any hesitation. his fingers threaded through your hair, pulling you in closer, and your arms wound around his neck, drawing him impossibly near.

his lips were soft yet demanding, a perfect balance between urgency and gentleness. each press of his mouth against yours sent waves of heat through your body, the chemistry between you igniting like a wildfire. your lips moved in sync, a rhythm born from unspoken longing and shared attraction.

carl's kiss deepened, his tongue gently seeking entrance, and you parted your lips with a soft sigh. the taste of him was intoxicating, the mingling of desire and the faintest hint of alcohol creating a heady concoction. your tongues danced together in a sensuous exploration, a dance that felt both familiar and new.

time seemed to slow as the kiss deepened further, the world outside the kitchen fading into obscurity. the room was filled with the sounds of heavy breaths and the wet, delicious sounds of your mouths moving against each other. every touch, every sensation, seemed to reverberate through your entire being.

your fingers traced the contours of his strong jaw, the heat of his skin searing into your memory. his grip on you tightened, his hand moving from your hair to the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer as he began to lift your dress. the intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, a combination of pent-up desire and the freedom that came with the intoxicating mix of alcohol and desire. lip was still watching from the sidelines—of course, he wasn't watching his brother. he was watching you, the tightness in his boxers waking him up fully.

“take it off, princess,” carl snarled into your mouth, slurring his words ever so slightly. “take the dress off for daddy.” lip mentally cursed himself as he watched, only able to beg the man above to bring this to a halt. he wished that you wouldn't comply, so that he could look away and retreat back to his room, but when he heard you giggle, he knew there was no going back.

you pulled the dress off your head, discarding it onto the floor, leaving you in nothing but a bra and thong. carl groaned at the sight of you, feeling the way his jeans only grew tighter and tighter, but he wasn't the only one losing his cool.

from the sidelines, lip whispered a quiet “fuck,” under his breath as he admired your curves, all of you. you were the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen, and he couldn't do much about it. the only thing he could do was quietly pull his pajama bottoms down, along with his boxers. he quietly hissed at the cool air caressing his bare cock, but he couldn't resist himself. he needed you to take care of his urges.

“all mine,” carl groaned as he pulled you in for another aggressive kiss. he groped your tits with a force that was bound to bruise you, exploring your mouth with his tongue. your bra came off in an instant, bare tits now free to hang right under his chin. he switched positions, with him now practically on top of you, but your back pressed to the kitchen drawers. “need you so fucking bad.”

lip watched you from an amazing angle, his spit-slicked hand stroking his cock in slow, agonizing motions. he watched you from the side, admiring the way moans passed your lips, tits bouncing with every move. he licked his lips, stiffling grunts as he jerked himself off.

carl's hands roamed your body, groping everything he could touch. he left a trail of kisses down your stomach before sliding your panties down with his teeth. “jesus fucking christ,” he practically moaned as he admired your pussy. “dripping all over the fucking floor.” his words only fueled lip's experience, and he was right, you were gonna stain the tiles with your slick. you whined as his hot breath fanned your core, lips leaving faint kisses along your inner thighs before his tongue began prodding your clit. “can't help it, daddy,” your fingers tugged at his blond locks, pulling him in closer with a groan of delight. “need you to fuck me so bad.”

lip sighed as your voice filled his ears, spoiling himself by massaging his balls and taunting thebslit of his dick. all he could think about was you—on your knees, helping him out with the same generosity carl was used to.

“you want daddy to fuck you, huh?” you nodded eagerly, pressing one of your bare feet to his crotch and he quickly began undoing his belt. “so needy you can't wait five minutes, huh princess?” you shook your head, desperate sounds leaving you as you pressed your bare back against the cold wall.

“so needy, daddy, need you right now,” you moaned in response. carl grinned, sliding his bottoms off with no hesitation before crawling back towards you, his lips inches away from yours. he positioned the head of his dick right on top of your entrance, but didn't push in, staying right where he was. “gonna let daddy tear your pussy up, huh?” you nodded, smiling right back at him with nothing but a playful glint in your eyes. “i'm gonna let daddy use my pussy and fill me up,” you both smiled before he pressed his lips to yours, engaging in another passionate kiss.

lip couldn't believe the filth that was coming out of your mouth. it had exposed him to a side of you he never knew existed. the same girl who used to sing liam to sleep, was now fueling his need to cum. his hair stuck to his forehead as he pumped his dick, watching the way your legs were spread, wet pussy shimmering with carl's dick placed on your clit. he couldn't wait to see and hear you get fucked.

“gonna ruin you,” carl groaned as he grabbed his shaft. it only took a second for him to bury himself into the depths of your pussy, all the way from his tip to his balls. you let out a cry of ecstasy, holding onto his shoulders for support. he was now seated on the floor, his back against the counter with you in his lap. “bounce on daddy's dick now, okay?”

you leaned back, moans passing your lips as you arched your back, now bouncing up and down on his cock. you shuddered as you did so, the angle setting off fireworks in your stomach. you sped up the pace, carl grunting as he tilted his hips upward, now meeting your bounces with thrusts. you locked your fingers in his hair, pulling him into your tits. he didn't hesitate to suck on them, marking the fat and biting your hardened nipples. you couldn't help but squeal at the overwhelming feeling of your pussy sucking him in.

“look at you, taking my dick so well,” he wasn't the only one looking at you. lip trembled as he continued to ferociously pump his cock, watching the way you kept bouncing. he watched the way your greedy cunt sucked up his brother's dick, the way your tits and ass bounced along with you, the wsy the counter shook from your brutal movements. he couldn't help himself—he would've given his liver to switch places with carl, for a chance to make you feel good. “you like the way daddy fucks you?”

you nodded feverishly, your bounces quickening in order to match his harsh thrusts. you spread your legs, giving your boyfriend and uninvited visitor a good look at the way your pussy took his dick—the way it disappeared inside you and came back for a split second, the way he was soaked in your juices. you began to whimper, a familiar sensation in your stomach forming. “i can't, i'm gonna cum,” you whined, holding onto carl's legs for support.

he had taken ahold of your hips, now thrusting inside you on his terms. he groaned loudly at the feeling of your pussy sucking him in, refusing to let go. “i'm gonna cum, too,” he announced, but he didn't stop. he didn't stop pounding into you, burying his thick cock until it was slamming into your cervix. he didn't stop until his brain went foggy and your cries were his only source of sense. “doing so good for me, baby, come on. cum on daddy's dick, baby. yeah,” he sputtered out words of encouragement until you were practically sobbing his name.

when you came, lip came, too. he stood in the doorway, his fist in the shape of a tight hole that was no match for you, draining the rest of the cum he had pent up inside him. he came with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, suppressing the sounds threatening to catch your attention. he milked his orgasm dry, getting every last drop that he had wasted on you. he came happily, knowing his last sight was a good one—with you drenching yourself in your own arousal.

#shameless #shameless fanfiction #shameless angst #shameless smut #shameless x reader #carl gallagher x reader #carl gallagher smut #carl x reader #lip gallagher x you #carl gallagher x you #lip gallagher smut #lip gallagher #carl gallagher

2K notes · View notes

roosterforme · 19 days

Text

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The collection of letters that Bradley received from the fourth grade class provides him with entertainment while deployed. He takes the time to answer their questions and send a package back to the United States via air mail. But he has your email address. He also has a bit of a crush and some questions himself.

Warnings: Fluff, language

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

A few days later, when Bradley was done with his training protocols for the day, he returned to his bunk with a different mission in mind. While he unzipped his flight suit, he eyed the box which was taking up most of his nightstand, and a smile found its way to his lips. He managed to find a notebook that nobody wanted along with a thick, padded envelope, and he was going to take the time to respond to the fourth graders who wrote to him.

He'd spent hours poring over the letters, laughing at some of the questions from the kids and frequently picking up that one photo. He couldn't stop going back for more. For another look at you. Just one more look. Okay, this really was the last one. He had to toss it across the small room toward his duffel so he could focus on something other than your smile and the fact that he might have a tiny crush on a fourth grade teacher who knew absolutely nothing about him. Yet.

The note from Jayden was on the top, and Bradley opened it up and started to jot down a response.

Jayden,

It was so nice to hear from you and the rest of your class. To answer your pertinent questions, I am currently stationed on the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The most disgusting food in the mess hall is easily the cabbage rolls (which taste nothing like cabbage... or rolls). The best food in the mess hall is surprisingly the meatloaf. And yes, I would love to see a photo of your Cocker Spaniel. Please send one next time. I hope you're studying and doing your best in school.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The next note he decided to tackle was the one from Violet who had the tiniest handwriting he'd ever seen. The page had at least fifteen questions written out, but he decided to answer just a few for her. He had to squint as he skimmed through them again.

Violet,

You seem very inquisitive. That's a great quality to have, especially if you want to be a pilot someday. No, I did not attend the Naval Academy. I went to the University of Virginia. Yes, the Navy is way better than the Air Force. Yes, I can hold my breath underwater for three minutes. Yes, they actually made me do it. No, I don't think I could make it as a Navy SEAL. Yes, I have been staying hydrated and getting enough sun, thanks so much for asking. Keep studying hard, because you have a lot of school ahead of you before officer training.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

Okay, so this was actually a lot of fun. Up next was a response to the note from Oliver, which made Bradley laugh every time he looked at it.

Oliver,

Thank you so much for drawing the different Naval aircrafts for me. I hate to break it to you, but I actually do not fly the F-35 Lightning II. Yes, I know they look 'sickeningly cool'. Yes, I know it would be like 'slam dunking off the back of a dragon'. I guess I never knew I was jealous of those pilots until right now.... But I fly the equally cool if not quite as sickening looking F/A-18 Super Hornet. And yes, I would be more than happy to draw my own version of one for you. See below.

Lt. Bradley Bradshaw

The ten minutes he spent replicating his own aircraft to the best of his ability for Oliver churned out a pretty damn good result. He fished his phone out of the nightstand and took a picture to email to Nat when he had time, because she would find this whole thing amusing. Then he reached for the letters from Harrison, Nia and Jackie. He wrote his responses, and after a bit, he had a decent sized stack of letters all ready to go back to the fourth graders.

After a few more days, he worked his way through the entire class, and each kid would soon have a handwritten response on the way. He just needed to figure out what he wanted to say to you. The pretty teacher from the class photo that he now kept tucked in with his personal items. He worked on that one last, writing your full name at the top of the page and wishing you didn't go by the very non-specific Ms. which gave him zero clue as to whether or not you were married.

The package you sent was the nicest piece of deployment mail I have ever received. Thank you. I'm lucky it ended up in my hands. I'm impressed by how much all of your students have learned about aviation this year. I just hope I did them justice in regards to the questions they had for me.

I also hope you don't mind that I replied to each kid individually. They had some very amusing stories and questions, and I wanted to acknowledge all of them. But there was one question in particular that I was asked so many times, I thought I'd answer it here instead. My call sign is kind of a silly one, so it's okay if you all laugh. I go by Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, and my helmet is mostly red, yellow and black.

Your kids seem like a fun bunch, but I bet they keep you on your toes. Feel free to let them know they can write back to me again, but please include my name on the package this time. I don't know that I'd be lucky enough to have it fall into my hands again by chance. I'll just be here somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a few more months, ready to answer any questions you throw at me. Hope to hear back from you soon.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The following day, he packed everything up and dropped it off with the rest of the ship's outgoing mail. There was a rumor that a helicopter would be coming to pick it up in the next day or two, and he wanted to make sure it got back to California and those fourth graders as soon as possible. On his way back to his bunk, Bradley stopped by the lounge to see if there was an iPad free, hoping to send a quick email or two. He was in luck. He also happened to have your email address memorized.

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

You yawned at your desk and checked the time on your computer. Within the next ten minutes, your classroom would go from silent solitude to mass chaos, so you took a minute to clear out your email inbox. You had a few messages from some parents and a reminder about Spirit Week from the superintendent. And a random piece of junk mail that must have slipped through the spam filters. You didn't know anyone with a US Navy email address, and you didn't know anyone named Bradley Bradshaw.

As you closed your laptop, you gasped and tried to pry it back open again as quickly as you could. The Navy! The package you sent a few weeks ago! Maybe it was someone writing back to your class! Of course it could just be someone saying they were sorry that they didn't have time to engage with your students, but you figured even that was better than nothing.

"Come on," you whispered, entering your credentials again before your inbox reappeared on your screen. The email was just a few lines long, but it was addressed to you by name. You were smiling immediately as you read it.

I just wanted to let you know that I got the mail you sent to a deployed Naval Aviator. There's a package on its way to your school for your class. It should arrive in about a week or two. Your fourth graders provided me with several hours of entertainment, and I hope they find my answers to their many (and amusing) questions useful. Thanks for the laughs, and thanks for the photos, too. Can't tell you how much I've been enjoying them. Hope to hear from all of you again.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

You squealed and pumped your fists in the air. Someone actually got the box! And he actually responded! The other, older teachers thought you were just wasting your time when you deviated from the lesson plans a bit. Literally all of them said there was no way anyone would write back, even though you took the time to go through the proper channels at Top Gun on North Island. But now you could rub it in their faces, all thanks to Bradley Bradshaw who sounded like he'd had as much fun with this whole thing as your class had.

Then your day really started as Violet and Oliver burst into your classroom, calling out your name with excitement in their voices. The rest of your kids followed behind them, already asking about the plans for the day and what kind of adventure you'd be taking them on in each subject.

When you clapped your hands twice and said, "Good morning," they all clapped and replied with their own greeting, and then they sat quietly with their gazes fixed on you. "Guess who I just got an email from!"

"The president!"

"My grandma!"

"My Cocker Spaniel!"

"Oliver's grandma!"

You just shook your head and tried not to laugh as you said, "None of the above. But do you remember when we wrote and packed up those letters for a real aviator in the military to read?" Most of the kids nodded, so you added, "Well, he emailed us! And he sent us some mail that should arrive in about a week!"

And telling them that was a mistake. Because you didn't know a moment of peace after that. Every morning, you had kids rushing into the room to see if the promised piece of mail arrived yet. Every day you had to disappoint them, but you were finding yourself a little disappointed, too. You wanted to know what this Bradley Bradshaw guy sent back.

You'd responded to his initial email letting him know you and the kids in your class were delighted to hear from him and that you would let him know when the mail he sent arrived at your school. He didn't respond, but you figured he was busy. Too busy to constantly muck about with your class while he was thousands of miles away on a deployment.

And that was what left you standing at your desk with your mouth hanging open in awe when the padded envelope did finally arrive one morning. Because when you carefully cut it open, you found not just one letter to the class but individual handwritten notes, one for each child.

"Wow," you whispered, pulling the note with your name written on the top out of the stack. This man seemed humble and sweet, and his letter made you laugh in more than one spot as you read through it. Then you read it again. He sounded apologetic about responding to each individual kid, but you felt like your insides were melting. Who would do that? Who would take the time to give individual attention to a bunch of nine and ten year olds besides you? And you were technically getting paid to do it.

Bradley Bradshaw seemed willing to continue to engage with your kids, and you weren't going to stop him. Because starting that morning, he became something of a legend to your class. A celebrity. A real lieutenant in the Navy replied to all of their silly questions, and their love of aviation just grew from there. You figured you were going to have to keep your lesson plans going a bit longer while their faces lit up as you walked around the room and handed them each their notes. You had taken the time to skim them beforehand, often laughing at his sense of humor which seemed to jump off the pages.

"Can we write back to him?" Jayden asked as everyone read their notes from Lieutenant Bradshaw. "I have more questions."

You smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may write back to him." Then you postponed your geology lesson until the next day and let them spend the next forty minutes writing some followup letters. You took some pictures of them diligently toiling away at their desks, excitement on their faces. Then you bit your lip and sat down at your own desk.

As you started to construct an email letting him know the envelope had arrived, your thoughts drifted to what he might be like. Humble and sweet, for sure. But he also made it a point to tell you that the box from your class was the best piece of mail he'd ever received while deployed. Maybe he was a little bit lonely. Maybe he was single. Maybe he was stationed on the west coast. Your thoughts started to get ahead of you, and it was hard to reel them in when you imagined him excited to see another email from you. Smiling when he was handed another box from your class during mail call.

Dear Lt Bradley Bradshaw,

We got the envelope from you today, and my kids are absolutely thrilled! I'm not sure if you know how hard it can be to wrangle eighteen fourth graders all at one time, but they are currently sitting quietly and working on new letters for you to read. Once again, please don't feel obligated to continue correspondence if you're too busy. I'm sure you have other people you could be writing to who want your attention as well. I just wanted you to know they are overjoyed that a Naval officer took the time to answer their questions about aviation.

I have attached some photos as proof that they are sitting still. Thanks again for making their day.

You signed your name at the bottom the way you always would from your work email account, and then you attached the photos. After a brief debate about adding the selfie you took with Violet where most of your face was visible, you decided to just go for it. Adding it to the mix wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't like this semi mystery man would be up all night thinking about you.

But you found that you were still thinking about him when you went home to your silent house and made dinner that evening. Maybe he was a little bit lonely, but maybe you were, too.

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

It was amazing how infrequently Bradley found himself thinking about Vanessa. He was busier now with his duties picking up a bit more as his deployment wore on, but even when he was tired and in his bunk at night, his thoughts seldom settled on her like he was afraid they might. He didn't miss her or her half-hearted emails, and he wasn't craving the connection of reunion sex with her.

Instead, he was thinking about what a group of fourth graders were learning about this week and what their cute teacher was up to. It had been a few days since you emailed him, letting him know that his package was delivered to your school. You made it sound like the kids were excited that he sent it in the first place, and when he really thought about it, he supposed some officers would have just eaten the snacks and tossed the notes in the trash.

He didn't reply to the email yet, still thrown off a bit by the pictures you attached. Your classroom was vibrant, and the kids were absorbed as they worked on more notes for him to read whenever they happened to be delivered to the carrier. But the photo with you in it held his attention longer than it should have. The fact that you were working at a school that was just a handful of miles from his damn house made him feel warm.

But what would he do about it? What could he do about it? Nothing. He didn't want you to think he was creepy. He still knew essentially nothing else about you. The only thing he could do was keep it friendly if not professional. Unless of course you did something to push the boundaries of conversation into a more personal realm. God, if you did....he didn't think he would be able to handle it.

The next day, when he was heading out on deck to talk to the mechanics who were doing regular maintenance on the aircrafts, he took his phone. "Hey, you mind if I take a few photos of some of the engine parts? I want to send them to a class of fourth graders who will think it's cool."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the head mechanic replied. Then he smiled and asked, "You dating a teacher?"

Well. Wouldn't that be something? Bradley would never run out of curious pen pals. He would always have some fourth graders to take interesting photos for and to send notes to. He'd always have a classroom to visit as soon as he got home from a deployment.

He couldn't help but picture you as the teacher.

"Nothing like that," he replied, his voice a little gravelly. "Just writing to some kids who are learning about aviation."

After dinner, when he had a chance to use an iPad in the lounge, he did his best to put together a response to your email that would at least hint at the curiosity he felt.

If all it takes is mail from three thousand miles away to get your class to sit quietly, then I should probably be writing to you every day. But I'm sure you're a great teacher. That's a given considering how much your students learned and shared with me. And I can assure you that I'm more than happy to take the time to write to your class. And you. Please don't think I feel obligated, because I do not. I want to.

I have attached a few pictures of some F/A-18 engine components as well as some of my cockpit controls. Each photo is labeled, but please let me know if you have any questions.

It was nice hearing from you.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

As soon as he hit send, he wanted to kick himself. Should he have included a photo of his face like you had twice now? Or did he already sound too desperate to hear from you and your class again?

"Shit," he muttered, looking around the lounge as if there was going to be someone here proficient in the art of getting to know a fourth grade teacher without sounding stupid. But it was too late now. All he could do was wait for the next mail call or hope you decided to write back to his ramblings by the next time he checked his email.

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

You were going to have to scrape your jaw off the floor. You had no idea what this man's face even looked like, but his hands were... something else. And his thighs... well, they were pretty great, too. It must have been too long since you got laid, because you were sitting at your desk in your classroom staring at the set of photos in your inbox, currently unable to look away from his right hand. It was wrapped around the throttle of his aircraft. It was elegant with attractive veins and rough calluses. You were sure that you were supposed to be focusing on the cockpit controls, but all you could see was that hand and his thick, muscular thighs below.

The next photo was no better for you. He was holding up his helmet with his call sign Rooster emblazoned across the front, and you were able to see his left ring finger. There was no wedding band. There was no evidence of an outline where a wedding band would belong. There was just his big, strong hand.

You whimpered softly while your students worked on their math tests. You couldn't help it as you took one last look before logging out of your email account. And now you needed to know if his face matched the very attractive image you had in your mind.

When Jayden called your name, you rocketed to your feet like you'd been caught red handed. "Yes?" you squeaked, your voice sounding higher pitched than usual.

"I'm done with my test. May I have the hall pass and use the restroom?"

You handed it to him as the rest of your class finished working through the math problems. A few minutes later, when you collected the papers from them, Violet asked, "When is Lieutenant Bradshaw going to write back to us?"

It had only been a few days since you mailed him the second box of notes and some more snacks, but it made you happy that they were all so invested in learning more from him.

"It will probably be a few weeks before we get anything in the mail. However... he did email me some pictures of engine and cockpit parts from the aircraft carrier for me to share with you guys." When you looked around the room, the kids were on the edges of their seats, excited expressions on their faces. With a laugh you added, "I was going to wait until tomorrow and use the projector to show them all to you, but if you're very well behaved for the rest of the afternoon, maybe I could pull them up on my computer for you to see them today."

Not two hours later, you were just as excited as the kids were to look at the photos... again. As they crowded around your desk, you opened up the first one of the cockpit to a barrage of questions.

"Is that really his jet?"

"Is that the throttle?"

"What do all the buttons do?"

"Was this right before he flew it?"

Once again you were distracted, but you managed to click over to the next photo, and the kids gasped in delight.

"His helmet is so cool!"

"It says Rooster!"

"That's his call sign!"

"Red is my favorite color!"

You just smiled softly and laughed. "Should we go ahead and start working on another list of questions for him?" you asked as you slowly scrolled through the rest of the pictures. "He said we can write back to him as much as we want to." When everyone cheered, you handed Oliver a marker and pointed to the board at the front of the classroom. "Let's start making a list."

You listened to all of your students call out questions for Bradley while Oliver wrote them down. Then Violet asked, "Can he send us a picture of his whole jet? From the outside of it?"

You cleared your throat and added, "Maybe he could get someone else to take the picture so he could stand in front of it. For size comparison."

Violet nodded, but you knew you were a fraud. Sure, it would be great for the kids to understand just how massive the F/A-18s were compared to an actual person, but you were the one who wanted to see all of Bradley. You were itching for it now.

Later that night, you drank most of a bottle of wine and did something you promised yourself you'd never do. You logged into your work email account after nine o'clock. You skipped over the handful of unread emails from parents and clicked on the icon to compose a new message. With your liquid courage goading you on, you typed up a response to Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw and hit send before you could think twice.

Thank you for the photos. They were very enlightening. We especially liked the ones where you were showing off your cockpit. Or I did, anyway. The kids liked all of them and started on another list of questions for you. Good luck getting rid of us now.

We were wondering if you could have someone take a picture of you standing in front of your jet. For size comparison purposes. And also because my students would like to know what you look like. Hearing from you makes our day even better.

You couldn't believe how forward you were being with this man who you'd never even met in person, but you fell asleep thinking about his hands and what they might be capable of.

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

This Bradley makes me swoon. I've never wanted to be a fourth grade teacher so badly in my life. There is something that's starting to blossom between them even though they haven't even met in person. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@wintercap89

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@chaoticassidy

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

900 notes · View notes

fumifooms · 2 months

Text

The Nakamoto household - facts & theories masterpost

Table of contents:

the hierarchy & general situation

The parents

The Maizuru situation

The siblings

The other retainers

Izutsumi

Toshiro

Conclusion

I also made tldr summary charts here. This post is about collecting facts about the setting and characters, but it’s gonna be a lot of analysis on what it means through the lens of Toshiro as well, his relationship and place in everything etc etc. They have entangled drama the scale of Daltian Clan. Things are so interwoven it’s hard to keep topics neatly in their own section, because of this pictures may be relevant at several point of this but I mostly won’t be putting them in twice, you might have to do some scrolling up while reading if you want the visual proof to accompany statements. Unlike with Chilchuck’s family there’s less ambiguousness and more intricate details and implications so it’s less theorizing & headcanoning and more stringing together all the crumbs canon gave us. I also dig into some cultural parallels, especially since characters from Wa are the most culturally coded in the series. Also disclaimer that I’ll be calling Shuro Toshiro through this whole thing bc that’s his actual name & Shuro isn’t even a nickname he likes, for accuracy’s sake. The servant girls have real names but are typically called by their code/given names so I’ll call them as such, except for Izutsumi who was named Asebi which I won’t be using.

The general situation

To start off, what’s the situation in canon? All three kids of the head of the house, the three sons (Toshiro and his two younger brothers), are sent out on a vague mission to find something interesting for his father to pick the heir. Each son is thus on their own journey, out with their own group of retainers for an unsure length of time, during canon it’s been 2 years that Toshiro left the house for this mission, and they seemingly all drifted towards dungeons. It’s important to remember that this state of things is the exception and not the rule, and before this the sons lived at home and had different uses of their time, and the retainers had other jobs than care after them. See the next paragraph.

The household offers ninja services, no exaggeration or misuse of the term, mostly spyint but also "covert maneuvers" which could include anything including assassination of people high up. That’s the job of their servants/retainers at least, the heads themselves are more like managers probably, possibly samurais themselves though especially since as we see with the heirs (besides the samurai armor) they also got trained in fighting as their skills showcase. I need to dig into the history of samurais more before I can draw the parallel confidently though. The Nakamoto household is noble/wealthy, distinguished as the Adventurer’s Bible puts it, but it works for and puts its service at use for "their local lord". It buys servants, but also has families who have served it for generations like with Hien. The comic shows that there aren’t only women servants, it’s just the ones we see all happen to be because Toshiro’s retainers are only a small team of all of Nakamoto’s servants.

Above, in a page showcasing characters’ relationships with their party leader: 父親の部下を借りている状態なので、距離がある。Doubtlessly there must be a translation of this already somewhere but I’m lazy and impatient so I turned to machine translation instead, this translates into: "Since he is borrowing his father's subordinates, there is a distance between him and them". Calling the servants retainers is what most of the fandom does and it’s accurate so I’ll be calling them this.

Hien and Toshiro were childhood friends which means the servants do have some degree of contact not even just together but with the heirs too, or maybe just specifically Hien, since both their parents were ninjas for the Nakamotos she ended up getting raised there and they let her play with him as an exception? They did end up drifting away as adults as their relationship got more professional, so it’s possible. The servants eat and sleep in shared spaces, separate from the masters, though Maizuru has her own bedroom, if the room configuration at the in is to be believed + it’d make sense since she’s governess/head servant. I’m hesitant wether to say it’s implied that this group of 4 retainers was always a bit of a team or it wasn’t and got formed for Toshiro specifically. We know that Benichidori had little contact with Toshiro before they were sent out together for example, but we do see all three girls with Izutsumi in Inutade’s extra when they were younger, and them eating in the same japanese styled room etc. The inn they stay at on The Island is western styled though they do have futons rather than beds (there’s only one bed in their shared room and Hien has it because of her rank).

From Izutsumi’s Adventurer’s Bible profile: "Maizuru, who was also Shuro's governess, is the one thing Izutsumi fears. After Izutsumi was taken in by the Nakamoto family, Maizuru forced her through a harsh training regimen of speech, common sense, and fighting skills. Since Izutsumi refused to listen to her, Maizuru set a curse on her that would activate if Maizuru didn't touch her within a set time frame: "Ninja Art: Babysitter." "

Maizuru, called a governess, is the one training the girls, at least some of them, we know for a fact she was the one to train Izutsumi for example, and in general she’s the one in charge of the ninja girls we see. She was a ninja herself but retired from frontline missions, but has a central role managing the servants instead. Inutade for example is strong but not stealthy, and it’s said that it’s Maizuru’s job to choose how to train her and what role to give her in consequence. Her training includes manners but fighting as well, notably kunais and martial arts. Hien is shown to use bombs and Benichidori is implied to be good at disguises, Inutade uses a bold weapon like a club but it’s implied with "ogres and clubs just go together" and Maizuru not knowing where to put her to use that it’s uncommon for Nakamoto servants to use those. Their board game artworks also show their specialties neatly. When brought into the household, the servants are given new names and their whole lives become devotion to the house and their duties. The names might be intended to act as code names due to them being ninjas? It’s implied that they never use their non-code names anymore once they start serving the household. Maizuru’s training also contains language and "common sense"… Critical thinking? As well as implied etiquette. This isn’t surprising, as she was the one put in charge of raising not only Toshiro but his brothers as well.

Oh yes I want to mention that all the retainers’ "first deaths" are in the dungeon during canon, considering our main cast we’re used to death being permissible because dungeons make resurrections possible, but it’s relevant to remember that these people never died before. Never. These girls are professionals, ninjas with a sometimes very dangerous job. Messing up means death, permanently.

From what we see and with who we see, the hierarchy is:

Father (head of house, his word goes)

Mother (has status which puts her wishes above others’ and give her some control over the house, it’s unsure how much though, but hierarchy wise she’s very much above the rest but below the father)

Maizuru (governess, in charge of (at least some) servants and raising Toshiro. Two dots)

Hien (leader of their squad, trained servant from a family devoted to the Nakamotos. Two dots)

Benichidori (trained bought servant. Two dots)

Inutade and Izutsumi (bought servants. Power wise from their rank it’s unsure just how much the difference between Inutade (who has one dot), Izutsumi (who has none) and Benichidori (who has two) is, since Hien is team leader between the four servants at least that’s measurable. Inutade gets some janitor duties, and Izutsumi has a curse put on her so she doesn’t run away I suppose. Power wise it’s unsure, but socially/role wise Inutade and especially Asebi are treated worse.)

I didn’t add the sons because I’m talking more generally about the power structure and it’d depend on each sibling, like Toshiro’s wants and directives during canon trump Maizuru’s, but Maizuru is also his nanny and manages the girls so she has a lot of importance and sway even on the final decisions.

The parents

I am so pissed I forgot that we know Toshiro’s father’s name, Toshitsugu, from these panels showing the progression of the family tree. I am so pissed I’m adding this halfway into writing this whole thing, I am not gonna go back and replace every "the father" by his name atm.

The father is the part of this puzzle most important yet most shrouded in mystery, or rather a lack of details. What we do know paints a pretty full and vivid portrait: impulsive and cares mainly about his own entertainment. Maizuru calls him a fool, his sons are exasperated and go "This again?" when he summons them saying that they’re boring/dull, everyone knows he’s having an affair and he often has undignified demeanor, but what he says goes so yes Maizuru will take Izutsumi under her wing, yes the sons will be going out right away into the world to find you the 8th world wonder, yes whatever you want lord. He seems to have little care for how his action affects others, like crashing into Maizuru’s room at night and asking she take care of a catgirl, or sending out his sons suddenly with kicks to the butts. He does what he wants hen he wants and others have to comply.

Like we see with Izutsumi and Inutade, he tends to take a liking to slaves here and there and buy them on the spot, usually at entertainment places, like sumo wrestling matches for Inutade and a freakshow for Izutsumi. The Adventurer’s Bible states him acquiring Inutade as "By coincidence, Shuro's father came to see her first match; he liked her and bought her for the Nakamoto family." and Izutsumi as "She was on display as a "cat-girl" in a sideshow when Shuro's father took an interest in her and bought her." In Maizuru’s extra, he calls Izutsumi a "souvenir" he got for her, and he’s drunk so it could well be assumed that buying Izutsumi was a drunken whim, and that he mitht be alcoholic. You can’t really say that he picks them out because he sees potential in them to be a ninja or would be useful, since with Izutsumi she had no fighting training and Inutade doesn’t fit the skills they seek like stealth and she has trouble fitting in. You could assign noble goals to him like maybe wanting to help or relating to the misfits, but I think with what we see of him it’s more likely that he likes to pick up "oddities", like a catgirl at a freakshow or an ogre, especially since one of the only things we know of him is he wants his sons to bring back interesting trophies from their travels. Toshiro, about his father buying Inutade, says: "People in power desire ogre as servants, and ogres are chosen as opponents in tests of strengths or military exploits. My father bought her for similar reasons."

Also from this we can infer that he goes out to events often, like circus and sumo wrestling, again mostly for entertainment from what we see. I like to think it’s implied that he used to travell maybe still does, due to his own liking for it as a test and because he visits various places like the sideshow, plus his forearm scars in Toshiro’s extra… But him being a samurai in service of a lord could definitely explain that.

This all paints an interesting picture doesn’t it… The Nakamoto’s lifestyle is super encased in rules and social propriety, duty and hierarchy. Old noble man who’s been surrounded by propriety all his life and just wants some spark of interesting stuff happening amongst the humdrum of his lavish cushioned life at home, and is shitty to people around him in consequence and due to his privilege allowing him to. He’s despicable, but from his 3 appearances he becomes an interesting well-fleshed character, at least proportionally to the screentime he gets…

We also know that the affair with Maizuru is well known at least inside the household, so there’s no genuine secrecy around the topic. Makes sense that the wife would hate her guts.

Ahh yes the mother. Little is known about the mother, except that from Maizuru’s profile "Shuro’s mother can’t stand the sight of her, to the point where there are areas on the property Maizuru is forbidden to enter. Maizuru, however, is impressed by his wife’s strength of character." From this I glean that she does have enough power/respect in the house that she can make rules like where Maizuru is allowed to go. Also the implication that otherwise Mazuru would have access to EVERYWHERE in the house despite being only a (high-ranking) servant is a bit interesting. Wether the mother’s "strength of character" is overt and hot-headed or understated and cool-headed is unsure, but I imagine the latter more. I could see Maizuru’s angle in many ways, from being able to tolerate "that fool" aka the father both just in general and with knowing that he’s cheating on her, to knowing how hard it is to be respected as a woman and admiring her putting up with it all and still being able to have sway in the household. This is I think the only mention of the mother anywhere. Doesn’t seem like she is an important figure to Toshiro at all: in fact we hear about her on Maizuru’s profile, and seeing all of this we can see the importance of her in Maizuru’s backstory and life, moreso than Toshiro’s. I imagine she’s a bit of a recluse, which is part of why Maizuru not being allowed to roam the full house is important, because them running into each other at the house is high.

It’s unsure how much contact the parents have with their kids. What we know is that they left the principal tasks of raising the kids, or at least Toshiro, to servants. Toshiro’s profile says that he’s more attached to Maizuru than his parents, and that’s the phrasing. From the comic where their father summons the sons, it does seem like they’re more or less used to interacting, with the sons’ "This again?". So it’s not that they’ve only interacted with them few times enough to count on fingers, but how meaningful were those interactions? From Toshiro’s profile we know he has a complex where he thinks he’ll never get recognition from his father or be able to measure up to him… But is that more born out of secondhand gossip and expectations, or from direct interactions with him that made him feel that way? Likely a mix of both, especially since the father does seem to be very dismissive, uncaring and insulting with his sons. Oh, but it’s definitely notable that in the Hag monster tidbit (below in Maizuru’s section) six years old Toshiro runs to his father scared shitless for help against the shikigami, and his father casually helps him without batting an eye. Toshitsugu knows how to deal with Maizuru’s shikigamis, and he does so efficiently and without any sense of worry or urgency. Although the event traumatized Toshiro and he was very scared, it doesn’t seem like his father offered any comfort, beyond just helping getting rid of it and letting him cower behind him without comment. Toshitsugu gives hungover vibes in that one imo haha. It’s shown he was already training as a ninja, perhaps this event only reinforced Toshiro’s complex, seeing his father, the samurai the achieved man who has expectations for him, so unfazed and uncaring like that.

The Maizuru situation

Let’s establish a timeline first. It’s left vague how much time she’s served the Nakamoto family for, or how she came to be in their service. The central point is that "She was put in charge of raising their children at a young age". If straight from his birth, Maizuru started taking care of Toshiro when she was 15 years old. If from toddler age, then 16. It’s uncertain if when she stopped getting front-line espionage missions, but we know it’s late rather than early despite having kid raising duties. But well, since she’s also in charge of the ninjas she’s definitely has a multitasking role even now.

The dad prob has around 5-10 years more than Maizuru, I’d say. We only see half of his face and only a good few years in the past, around ~3 years ago probably with the shuro quest and a good 7 years with Izutsumi as a kid, but visually those are the vibes I’m getting. From Toshiro’s birth, it’s possible that the father was 15 when the baby was born too? But conception would have been closer to 14 years old then, and yeah I don’t think they marry and have kids that young. Toshiro is 26 years old in canon and is unmarried, and the heir hasn’t been officially picked, so marriage and kids don’t seem to be in the family’s priorities. Even if Maizuru do say that the father would love if Toshiro brought back a wife.

Now the elephant in the room: she has an on-and-off affair with the father and it has been si for many many years, at LEAST 7 years since that’s when we see that comic of him going into her chambers about Izutsumi, and in the comic above, Hien in that panel has an ambiguous age. Regardless it’s definitely implied that it’s a long, long-standing thing. Hien’s phrasing above makes it sound as if it’s not purely physical, as if feelings are involved, "he’s head over heels for his confidante", and who knows if this relationship is part of why Maizuru was chosen to be the governess, or even hired at all.

It’s in the feud with his father that we learn about maizuru’s affair and how after learning it he started shutting her out emotionally. It’s left vague when Toshiro learned about it, Hien made it sound as if everybody always more or less knew but I don’t think Toshiro started shutting her out when he was still pretty young. Regardless, the two are implied to be linked, his dislike of his father/complex and how he stopped getting along well with Maizuru/being emotionally open with her. Is it that he now feels as though Maizuru is actually on his father’s side and not his own, that after all if she had to choose she’d pick him over Toshiro too? Or is it that, because his father’s known to be a self-centered frivolous jerk, that knowing she lets it happen, "can’t seem to shake it", he respects her less? He has an irresponsible reputation and she does give off the vibe of needing to clean up his messes, so that wouldn’t be unplausible either.

On the flipside from her perspective, since he learned she was his dad’s mistress he emotionally shut her out, which can partly explain why she’s SO fussy with him and happy at the slightest hint of happiness or compliance, like when he listens to her and eats, or maybe even being happy that he lets her help him dress and keep tidy (imo this is supported by how they interact in the page showing him interacting with all his party members). She wants to regain that closeness they once had and for her baby chick to be alright as he’s slipping through her fingers. Man so sad to think about him rejecting her when he’s the only thing in her life. She’s raised him for 26 years, no wonder she’s so attached to him, the only thing in her life she feels true unconditional attachment for. Maizuru says that she thinks Toshiro’ll be a better head of the house than the father, too. The respect and care is somewhat onesided, given freely from her side but repressed from his end. When she cares for Toshiro is when her demeanor immediately and drastically softens. She gets easily carried away when it comes to him, rambling enthusiastically or smiling widely or tearing up. Her tendency to ramble or tell anecdotes about Toshiro is shown making Hien and Benichidori go "Here she goes again…" twice through canon.

With Izutsumi’s timeline we see Izutsumi was taken into the Nakamoto household at 10 yo, and since in the comic with Maizuru and the dad she’s shown as stinky and all I imagine she arrived there the same day, so Maizuru was in charge of her since she was first here. In fact if we assumed that it’s the same day as when he bought her at the circus show, then we could assume that buying her was a drunken whim like mentioned.

Since Izutsumi was taken in at 10 and she’s 17, this would mean that Maizuru is 34 years old here. She looks younger without makeup, but lower than that is mathematically impossible besides maybe 33 if Maizuru and Izutsumi’s birthdays line up just right.

Time for the second elephant in the room!!

Maizuru’s magic

Maizuru is the only person in the Nakamoto household, anyone from Wa really, who we see using magic, I doubt she’d be the only one who can use magic in the household but as the governess it wouldn’t be unplausible I suppose. From what we see, the magic is estimated by Marcille to be an "appropriation of gnomic magic" with an eastern script. For my analysis of written magic (though with only a brief glance over Maizuru’s magic), see this post.

If you scroll up and read the little section on Maizuru’s profile, Ninja art: babysitter: "One of the curses put on Izutsumi is Ninja Art: Babysitter, which manifests as a terrifying hag shikigami. Unless Maizuru touches the victim within a set time frame, this terrible curse makes a hag appear and chase them around with a carving knife. Maizuru originally created it in an attempt to keep Shuro from getting lost, but it ended up traumatizing him…"

From Izutsumi’s profile: "Maizuru, who was Shuro’s governess, is the one thing Izutsumi fears. […] Since Izutsumi refused to listen to her, Maizuru set a curse on her that would activate if Maizuru didn’t touch her within a set time frame: "Ninja Art: Babysitter." It was put on her when she was 12. Since Toshiro had it as a kid, presumably the curse can be lifted off rather easily, Marcille was confident on reverse engineering it as well. It’s unsaid what the time frame is, it’s kept vague everywhere and Izutsumi herself says "who knows" how long it is. Izutsumi ran away despite the very real risk of it killing her. Essentially, Maizuru can put people in a timebomb collar

… MAIZURU WHAT THE HELL

As we might have expected, Maizuru being given the task of rasing a child at 15 did not go perfectly. This, a babysitting technique??! This comic happens when Toshiro was 6 and so Maizuru was 21. Interesting to note that Toshiro didn’t even know it was Maizuru’s doing before this conversation during canon, and he doesn’t know how to bring it up or deal with it how it affected him. Maizuru seems surprisingly uncaring of Toshiro’s feelings on the matter here, oblivious to his conflict her and fondly recalling it all.

This curse is a shikigami. From her profile: "A shikigami user, Maizuru has a variety of shikigami that have been sealed in paper as her servants. Her favorite seems to be Gyuki, a bull ogre." Now don’t ask me when Gyuki appears, I do not remember it. But before we go into the cultural/historical basis for this practice, let’s take a second to recognize the parallel that Maizuru has servants she keeps sealed unless useful in the moment, even despite having enough "attachment" to have a favorite. She’s the governess in charge of the other servants, and she has shikigamis, which she has used on the heir and the runt at the bottom of the hierarchy alike.

Shikigami, in traditional japanese folklore, are conjured to exercise risky orders for their masters, such as spying, stealing and enemy tracking. Shikigami are said to be invisible most of the time, but they can be made visible by binding them into small, folded and artfully cut paper manikins.

Shikigamis are from onmyodo, onmyoji is a profession-legal title historically but it’s what you call a practitioner of onmyodo, and so I feel content in saying that Maizuru is an onmyoji, or based on it. Her outfit reminds me of a shinto priest. It’s interestingly closer to a shinto priest outfit than a miko/shrine maiden’s (in picture below, 2 instead of 5), and I feel like red being chosen for the inner sleeve is a very charged decision since the white & red color combo is the shinto clothes color combo. Especially white clothes with red inner sleeve. Shinto priests can be women nowadays but they’re rare, and onmyojis can be considered shinto priests though it’s a more complex than that. Image below as example, source. Now I don’t think Maizuru has the role or prestige of a priest at all- But the association with onmyodo and spirituality is definitely meant to be made I think. Onmyojis are usually clothed similarly to this.

The babysitter ninja art seems to be based off of the hannya yokai. "They were once human women who were consumed by jealousy and transformed into demonesses", twisted by anger and resentment. Interesting considering her being a mistress to a man whose wife hates her. Hannyas are associated with wisdom because of its name, but there is nothing positive about them. At its highest level of "demonic corruption" if I can call it that, their body tend to become serpentine, fun link to make with her name being from the snakeberry plant.

Other cultural ties or symbolism on Maizuru’s character could be found in the motif of cranes due to her sleeves, in the tales of the crane wife, origami cranes (called orizuru, from deformation of 鶴 "tsuru" aka "crane". All names are written in katakanas in Dungeon Meshi, but thus if we had had the kanjis it’s possible her name would have been written with the kanji for crane), tennyos, and japanese crane symbolism in general. I thought cranes might have been associated with motherhood, but seemingly not in japanese culture at least, I was thinking of storks haha.

Ok speaking of her name. Maizuru is the name of an existing japanese city (舞鶴), meaning "dancing crane". From @room-surprise’s work in progress research paper on Dungeon Meshi characters’ names: "Maizuru is her ninja code name, and comes from “maizurusou”, which is maianthemum dilatatum, the snakeberry plant/two-leaved Solomon's seal/false lily of the valley. Lily of the Valley is a plant associated with motherhood and virtue… So Maizuru being a false Lily of the Valley implies that she is a false, replacement mother, and also hints at the way that Toshiro became cold towards her when he realized she was his father’s mistress, and not a pure, virtuous mother-like figure that he thought she was. Also, lilies are toxic to cats, which makes sense since Maizuru and Izutsumi have an extremely bad relationship." For more details I’ll leave it up to Room when the paper is ready to be released.

So some big themes of her character are: (false) motherhood, spirituality/magic, control, cranes, woman’s jealousy.

The siblings

Alriight so besides Toshiro the eldest at 26 years old, there is Toshiyuki (Toshitsuge in one fantranslation) the middle son and Toshizane the youngest (Toshikage in one fantranslation). They were all said to be raised by Maizuru. "A strange level of distance" is interesting. Why strange? I feel like this implies they do interact regularly, and that they’re all rather civil wirh each other, but they still have little bond to speak of. That wouldn’t surprise me, especially since even inside the family etiquette and propriety and rules are enforced, the summoning by his father feels very formal and they all listen to him standing in silence despite having snappy inner thoughts. It’s unsure if they were largely raised together or apart, but since Maizuru was their (at least main) caretaker/governess it implies that they were imo. They were put in competition with each other for the title of heir to the house, though it’s unsure to what degree. It’s examplified by their family all having names that start with "Toshi" that the legacy is very important and thrust upon them, cogs in a machine almost. They all think the same thing when their father summons them and has a spiel, so they’re used to the same sort of treatment and they are indeed brothers for being on similar wavelengths haha.

Toshiyuki, as seen in the comic about his retainers, the poor soul sent into Darkest Dungeon, is brattish. Rude, selfish and rather lecherous, does not hesitate to be mean to his retainers and complain he wasn’t given women retainers. Visually he looks what, 14 years old top. I wonder if Maizuru stopped using her babysitter ninja art on the heirs after it traumatized Toshiro, and if so maybe that explains why Toshiyuki Knows No Fear In His Heart™️ and that’s why he can spout off stuff like that.

The retainers for the youngest brother, Toshizane, don’t seem to be as clad in ninja gear as the other two, seems like the priority is to take care of the very young young master there? Rather than truly go adventuring and dungeoneering, perhaps. Not that it’s ever said by anyone that their quest is to go into dungeons specifically, only to find something "interesting" to bring back, but both Toshiro and Toshiyuki are shown to have ended up drifting into dungeons. Toshizane looks young, I’d clock him 8 years old personally. He’s drawn looking rather innocent, especially the headshot doodle above and in the Toshitsuge complaining about his retainers comic. ALTHOUGH on the latter, interestingly as we see with Toshiro having a smug smirk in that same panel (or alternatively a smug indifferent/uncomfortable "i don’t care about this, even though you want it so much" look which at the very least is very exaggerated from how he emotes in reality), it’s Toshiyuki’s unreliable/exaggerated vision of his brothers and it doesn’t necessaeily reflect reality, though it’s still interesting to note that that’s the vision Toshiyuki has of his brothers/the impression Toshizane gives off. That can imply juicy dynamics for the brothers, for example if Toshiyuki feels as though he’s in competition with his brothers, feels superior to them, that instead of pushing the shitty family dynamic angst onto his father he puts the blame for it all onto Toshiro. Toshizane seems maybe too young to notice the tensions and seriousness around him, maybe more coddled… IS WHAT I WOULD SAY BUT in the comic where their father send them away he’s as well-behaved and serious as the others, so clearly he has a grasp on his role.

When talking about which retainers go with who, it’s said it was the father’s choice. I’d like to assume it wasn’t an airheaded/random choice. Maybe he knew that Toshiyuki would be weird about having women in his team of retainers? And wants to forge their character or protect them in the way they need. Though how Toshiro’s party only has women isn’t only pointed out and commented on by the comic with Toshitsuge but also in the main Dungeon Meshi story, both Marcille and Chilchuck going "his party is fully made up of women", one more loudly than the other haha. So it does feel like a somewhat pointed/purposeful decision, if not that the 4 girls were already a team like I mentioned.

The other retainers

Already made an analysis of Hien and Benichidori’s relationship (+ moment compilation) here. Honestly my juices are exhausted so quick rundown:

Hien’s parents both serve the Nakamotos, so she grew up with the family and was even a childhood friend of Toshiro. She assumed he and her might end up in a Maizuru-Toshitsugu situation ‘just because that’s how things are’/‘it’d be a natural development’ if we’re to believe Hien, ahh what growing up in the Nakamoto with those role models will make you believe is normal hah, and was surprised when it ended up not in that way at all. They grew more distant with time, in good part because of the professional nature of their roles in relation to each other (truly a reversal of the Maizuru-Toshitsugu situation). She’s the leader of their lil squad, under Maizuru, she’s confident and she gets the perks, like getting the bedframe in the shared inn room. For all the details just read her page. She has two dots, showing her rank as a full fledged ninja.

Benichidori was bought, by "the Nakamotos" so we don’t know who made the final decision. She’s perceptive and submissive, her specialty is implied to be disguise. She never had much contact with Toshiro before she became part of his party. She has facial dysmorphia where she fears the judgement of others if she doesn’t wear makeup and highly values beauty, in her extra her anxiety really shows and she ends up angrily snapping at Hien. Benichidori ends up taking a big liking to Hien and from there on they’re implied to be inseparable. She has two dots, showing her rank as a full fledged ninja.

Inutade is said to worship Toshitsugu because he "saved her" from her horrible life conditions, buying her personally from the sumo matches, she’s extremely grateful to the family and is happy to do any work they give her and is highly satisfied with her current living conditions. She seems to find Toshiro intimidating, though. She was separated from her parents from before she can remember and raised as a sumo wrestler in inhumane betting matches, where her front tooth broke. It seems she has very littke ambitions and dreams besides obeying orders day to day, but after Izutsumi fled away she was happy for her and mused that she’d love to go out and find her one day. They’re so besties Izutsumi gave her a dream of her own I’m sobbing… </3 She has one dot, showing she still has to be attributed her role and earn her stripes.

Their approval rating of their leader. The highest total score from all the parties.

Izutsumi

Sighh where to even begin. Her timeline was put in Maizuru’s section of this post but the rundown is "taken away from parents and turned into a beastkin" at 6 yo (the human half of her soul), "sent to a sideshow on the island of Wa" at 7 yo and bought by Toshitsugu at 10 yo when he took an interest in her when he visited the sideshow. Maizuru put the curse on Izutsumi at age 12, so from then on she always had to not stray much far from Maizuru or risk death, it’s unsure if Inutade’s extra is from before that time, before she was 12, so she could still attempt many many tries to run away. If that’s the case, then Maizuru’s curse was very much treated as a last resort, honestly beyond everything else I can see it being a pain that Maizuru would need to touch her every so often on Maizuru’s schedule as well. The alternative is that, not unlike Kabru who had no regrets dying in a dungeon rather than staying with Milsiril, she’d risk her life to get a taste of freedom. Besides, you know, being a slave and having a timebomb collar with Maizuru’s curse, her frustrations with her life with the Nakamotos is most concisely put in the comic just up above, Inutade’s extra.

She has no dot tattoo, meaning she’s at rock bottom of the hierarchy. It makes sense, since unlike Inutade she’s rebellious and needs threats to obey orders, and even then might try shifty business.

This last part where Izutsumi tries sleeping with Toshiro is most interesting to me. So she’s sought out contact with Toshiro before, she considers him "the stuck-up guy" but she doesn’t exactly hate him. I wonder if this comic is set in the inn on The Island or back at the Nakamoto household, because if that’s the latter it implies that she could get access to his room if she’s sneaky.

Oh oh also, this is fanon but since Toshiro’s weapon is one used usually on horseback, and with the steadfast and upright character of horses I associate Toshiro with horses a bit, though this is wild fanon. What’s interesting is that the plant Asebi was named after is a plant infamous for being toxic to horses. Hehe hehehe he wears a ponytail… Hm now that I think of it hairdos have importance for samurais, should look into that.

Toshiro

God. Ok. Everything was leading up to this guy. Need to split open his head like a geode and vibecheck his brain crystals. Let’s get some interesting details out of the way first.

His weapon is a tachi, not a katana. The wikipedia on tachis is more in depth if you want, but I consider the article I linked to be in deoth and digestible. Tachis are heavier and longer blades than katanas, and make for better horseback weapons than close combat. The way Toshiro uses one instead of a katakana shows that he’s extra strong… And does make sense, since most monsters won’t fight in as close quarters as human fighters. If katanas aren’t a thing in the world yet could make a difference, since tachis were invented first, and once the katana was invented and spread tachis became something more common in higher-ranking samurais. In the monster tidbit of the Hag, it’s shown that even at 6 years old Toshiro was training and learning ninja skills, his first instinct to the shikigami besides running being to fight.

Toshiro knew that Izutsumi wanted to leave, for sure. He may have been sympathetic, if his cryptic look back at her in the ‘Toshiro interacting with his party members’ page means anything. As seen below though, him being sympathetic doesn’t necessarily mean that much. Also, Toshiro had to have known about the curse on Izutsumi, where if Maizuru doesn’t touch her once in a while she’d die. "Asebi must have ran away, leave her" can be seen as subtle support for her to gain her freedom, but it could just as easily be seen as him leaving her behind to die. Because the outcome options are 1) she gets killed by Maizuru's curse, 2) she finds a way to break the spell, 3) she finds a way back to them.

He’s very conflict averse. Wether it be in relationships like with Laios or the status quo. Will not stand up for 99% things including himself. He obeys his father quietly despite his anger and dislike. This is the same guy who can't even get himself to speak up to correct the butchering of his name, the slippery slope that got him tangled in the Laios party seemingly without resistance. It’s very japanese etiquette from even nowadays, never saying a direct no to not be rude. ALSO THAT PANEL, has Toshiro beaten an ogre before?? Is that a brother of his?? Does seem in character for Toshiyuki the most, unless Toshiro was desperate to earn his father’s attention with feats. On the right I’d say the ones in the foreground are two of the brothers, maybe the third being the one to gesture to the ogre. It’s worth noting that inheritance laws during the Edo period often made the heir the son with "the most merit".

When with a goal that’s important to him he’s fine with even starving for it. Although what we see him be like that about in canon is Falin, aka self-admittedly in the post-canon proposal comic "the first person he has liked this much", which for him I feel is like admitting she’s one of the first things he has truly wanted for himself and fought for, soo… It’s more like an exceptional freaking out moment than something that would be recurring, most likely. How disheveled he got is a testament to how much he would forego propriety and rules for people of his status for the person he cares about most. Maizuru says the first personal request he’s (ever?) made was for them to help him rescue Falin.

Which ahh yes, his crush on Falin. I do think idealization plays into it, he doesn’t know Falin that well for sure, but it’s more complex than that too. Falin is pretty and can have an ethereal energy to her, she’s caring and gentle kinda motherly which Toshiro would find soothing I imagine, BUT MOST OF ALL. She’s weird!! She’s just weird enough to allow and be charmed by!! Shuro was fully shaped by his upbringing and environment of nobility, social etiquette and whatnot. Yeah she’s weird and quirky, but still quiet and sweet-mannered enough that he’s like "Yes, she wouldn’t bring shame on my family name". And why would he be charmed by her weirdness? Because all he’s ever known is rules!! Conformity, fitting in!! Unlike the others he knows, she is weird without being overbearing as well. "Woah she’s so different… She’s kind and soft and doesn’t care about fitting in… She is out of this world, she’s free, she shows me a world where tenderness and authenticity is possible…" She’s like his comfort character. MOREOVERRR I had totally forgotten about it, but Toshiro was shown watching a snail behind a bush and losing sight of everything else (like Maizuru calling him) as a kid in the Hag monster tidbit, the moment he fell in love with Falin it was when she looked enthralled at a caterpillar and he mentions how "most girls would have screamed or recoiled in disgust", and in the beach chibis page he’s crouching and collecting shells thinking about Falin… He likes bugs and crawly critters guys, he wishes he could be cottagecore too… It’s a genuine shared interest… . Someone pointed out that Toshiro & Falin’s relationship probaboy references this japanese folk tale, and I think that’s very interesting to note.

And Maizuru is like his mom but it’s a Thistle situation where they can’t just be a normal family and normal affectionate either- and when he learns about his father having a thing with her he feels weirded out. And like. Who knows how much he even got out of the mansion. He got homeschooled. He’s distant with his brothers. The family is in shambles

Shuro’s issue is that he was taught to be perfect and have the upmost respectable behavior, so if something annoys him he has to be righteous about it and that it’s the annoying thing’s fault or moral failing. Bro just let yourself be petty sometimes it’s healthier. With the feud with his father it’s explicitly stated that the pressure and expectations of the family name weigh on him a lot.

But then, that makes his beef with Laios so understandable doesn’t it. Not justified, but explained certainly.

Laios & Shuro and the whole mess coming to a head

I’ve made an analysis of the Laios-Shuro fight from Laios’ pov before, here. This is the Shuro pov analysis. Yes yes in The Fight, Shuro is dehydrated sleep-deprived and underate, he’s majorly off his rocker, BUT his frustration and the underlying issues are still things he felt on any day and it’s interesting to note.

Toshiro has been raised from his birth with the priority of propriety, nobility, etiquette, rules, conforming elegantly, appareances and reputation are everything. He’s modest, humble, quiet, stays in his lane and bottles all his feelings up. Wait who is this loud guy coming up to me being inconsiderate and loud af?? Does he not see me blinking in morse code that I’m not enjoying this and want him to leave?? Was he raised in a barn?? He’s overbearing and rude and way too friendly- He’s weird wtf! Not conforming to basic etiquette is illegal??! And people just… Let him do whateve he wants?? He lives well, no one stops him or kills him?? What the fuck, I’ve followed rules and etiquette thoroughly all my life, and it’s thankless work I get no recognition for, meanwhile he gets to be oblivious af and do whatever he wants without getting clapped?? Resentment, frustration, dislike, anger anger anger, jealousy.

Laios might even remind Toshuro of his dad in a way, because he SEEMS impulsive and like he does whatever he wants without a care to people around him, without thinking of how it might affect them. Doing things without thinking through the Implications. And interestingly this is a bit paralleled to to how Shuro is serious, strict, and big on the duties that come with having a leader role and the family dynamic it brings, like Laios’ own father, who Laios also dislikes… Dealing with his anger towards Laios, especially knowing that Laios doesn’t mean anything bad by it like Toshiro admits, is probably very healing to him. He stops repressing and thinks through his issues a bit, realizes what parts of his life he’s unhappy with and where all the negative feelings come from. I do think he bottles up his dislike for his father a bit, he has to at least for appearances. His beef with Laios is repackaged internalized anger for his father, but it’s ALSO repackaged frustration from his etiquette-bound lifestyle. He says it himself, when Laios is like "You never told Falin how you feel…? Alright, when I can I’ll tell her for you buddy!!", "that’s the part of you that I envy". Laios’ ability to just come out and say what he wants to, what he means. He wishes he could be free of all the rules more, that he had te courage to speak out, like with Inutade, or talking things out with Maizuru, or nit having to act like he’s not angry with his father. This narrative point of Toshiro envying Laios’ ability to say things freely and being frustrated by not being able to himself is ESPECIALLY examplified by their first interactions, the basis of their relationship: Laios enthusiastically befriending him, giving him a bad nickname and roping him into joining his party, with Toshiro never turning it all down despite wanting to, too hesitant to act possibly rude.

And now is time for the laishuro addendum… Because of personal experiences it’s a bit of a sensitive spot to me so while I see timelines in which I enjoy it I’m very picky… This is all further theorizing from me btw I’m not pushing my view here onto ppl as facts, but I think there’s more interesting bits and scenarios to bite into here. Laishuro has very cute and sweet potential. I personally don’t see the "Oh wait Laios is just girl Falin… 😳" angle because to me if anything that’d just make Shuro disillusioned with Falin lol, but like yes make Shuro learn that it’s ok to be weird with Laios 🥺 They DO have differences first of all, important ones, especially from Toshiro’s perspective. Laios is overwhelming, whereas Falin is soothing. Laios is loud and asks things of him where Falin is a calm, quiet presence. Laios pushes himself onto Toshiro, whereas Falin is content on just doing her own thing in her corner alone.

Hot take but the ultimate laishuro timeline is the one where he DOESN’T bring Laios back home, because he knows he’ll be seen as an oddity and clown by his father, and he doesn’t want Laios to be treated like the tapdancing monkey there to please and entertain his father the way he himself has always kind of been. Wouldn’t inflict that onto someone he loves. He can recognize when people are taken advantage of (mostly) like Inutade, and it doesn’t settle right with him. He might be especially sensitive to it in Inutade’s case because it’s about seeing his dad in a better light than he deserves, though. His father is his weak spot, THE weak spot.

It gets me so emotional thinking about it actually because seeing Laios played like a fiddle by his father, Laios so happy to find someone who’s enthusiastically listening to him ramble and engaging, would destroy Shuro emotionally I think. Like. On one hand being like "Oh of course my dad would find Laios fun, unlike me his boring son", super angry as coping mechanism for his intense sadness of not having positive parental attention, and then on the other he’d see Laios being treated as a clown and identify with it and that would remind him of how he gets treated similarly which he’s in denial about (more or less, but since he puts up with the family rules and follows along he hasn’t given up on getting recognition. He wants his father’s approval, and he couldn’t blame Laios for being happy with it despite how hurtful that attention truly is without Laios’ knowledge), which would be such an overwhelming conflicted mess of emotions and his worldview would shatter a bit because he has to repress it all even now, and he’d have a breakdown.

And similar deal but if he brought Falin home… Bc ok yes he idealizes her and doesn’t even know her all that well, but like I said imo what he sees in her is that "Woah she’s so different… She’s kind and soft and doesn’t care about fitting in… She is out of this world, she’s free, she shows me a world where tenderness and authenticity is possible…" So meanwhile with Laios he’d have mixed feelings on him getting treated like a clown and identify with it, bringing Falin home and having her be demeaned would be like having his perfect comfort character dunked on and he gets reminded that the world can’t have anything good actually. With both Toudens it’d make his resentment towards his father even worse, he might snap. I’m not the biggest on gendered analysis tbh but Kui evidently does like to do it to some degree, with the genderbending changing their life considerably and different fantasy cultures having different gender roles and all, but Shuro idealizing the Touden sister as something perfect he cannot attain while being jealous and frustrated at Laios for being something he cannot attain is like. So compelling actually. With Maizuru’s hannya of female rage weaponized there could be a theme of pushing the blame and responsibilities of things onto women too, the responsibility to raise and to manage and to dish out the work and to clean after mens’ reckless decisions. Anyways just a tangent.

Shuro on a bad family angst day is everything I love in a blorbo… He can be a lil shitty as a treat to make his healing arc more fulfilling. Toshiro snapping after he sees how they treat Laios/Falin and he gives up the family headship to LEAVE. Maizuru arc where she has to choose between loyalty to the clan and loyalty to Toshiro, will she stay with the boy she raised or go home… To me Maizuru is much less sympathetic than Shuro, but she is pretty tragic and her selfless love for Shuro is her one redeeming quality. Babygirl take no shit no more, but also better yourself and turn your life around please and thank you… She is so evidently taken advantage of but like. What else does she have? So she just takes care of and loves the boy she raised like her own kid and goes about her daily life in servitude and doesn’t think too much about it all.

Shuro is awful a nickname but also, I think Shiro would be a good nickname for Toshiro, because it gets rid of that ‘Toshi’ first part of his name that all the male members of his family share. It severes the link to his father and the tied pressure from his family.

Laishuro brotp turning slow burn romance would be so lovely. I think college au for laishuro would be peak actually… Shuro so is the repressed "I am so normal" guy who has a furry liberation identity crisis arc… I also quite like the potential he’d have with Namari, as both work-oriented misfit foreigners cast out of their homes, and she’s also bolder so it’d be good for him, and he could bring her stability… That’s a topic for another day tho. Even he and falin are sweet tbh, they could have traveled around together even if just as friends… Bc yeah she does value him as a friend at least somewhat, she says she’ll visit him~! Mostly I want Izutsumi-Toshiro brotp fancontent.

Conclusion

The household is very hierarchy oriented, and honestly the system doesn’t seem to make anyone happy, or at least not healthily so. Sighh feudalism.

Obviously their situation are very different, but still Toshiro and Izutsumi react to the same conflict in opposite ways: when a hierarchy and lifestyle of rules and duty is thrust upon them, Toshiro obeys and believes that it’s how things simply are, always having it been drilled into him since being a baby and being privileged enough to live ok with things as they are, meanwhile Izutsumi rages and eventually breaks free and never wants to submit herself to rules or hierarchy ever again, even if that perceived hierarchy is a mutually beneficial professional party dynamic or having a role inside a well-meaning team, like Laios’ party. WHICH IS WHY THEY SHOULD HANG OUT AND HAVE AN ARC TOGETHER. LET HER INFLUENCE HIM TO GET WILDER AND THINK OF HIMSELF MORE. FUCK INHERITING THE HEADSHIP. THE SIBLINGS NARRATIVE.

As always if I find more stuff to add i’ll edit it in. Rn I’m thinking that I’ll look into ninja & samurai feudal history and try to find specific terms that might fit their roles and situations more. I should reread the first chapter with them to try and notice the hierarchy at play more, sigh, and Izutsumi’s end of the Toshiro-Izu dynamic as well.

Ah yes yes, I forgot to talk about it but we don’t know what Toshiro’s retainers have been doing with their time on The Island, especially while he was dungeon diving with Laios and co. Ah although in the anime’s ed in this shot we see them "stealthily" follow him around, so presumably when he’s not in dungeons they’re tailing his moves.

Afterword here, it has summary charts about the power structure & relationships and complementary pages and artworks, couldn’t put them in here because SIGH 30 pictures per post limit.

517 notes · View notes

elvensorceress · 21 days

Text

In all the excitement about bi!Buck, (which— yay! Amazing! Very exciting! No notes!) I think there’s a part of this story we’re missing. I haven’t seen anyone talk about it, so have some rambling.

It wasn’t just Buck who looked at this experienced, older, queer man and wanted to know him. It was also Eddie.

We have never seen Eddie go so hard, so immediately for anyone. To the point his best friend of years felt like he was being ignored by him. Yes, Buck wanted Tommy’s attention for obvious reasons. But he was also slighted by the perceived lack of attention from Eddie.

Suddenly, Eddie is spending multiple times a week going out with this man. Going to Vegas with this man. Working out with him, working on his car with him, doing karaoke and trivia night with him? Asking his alleged girlfriend to babysit more than once so that he can go out with Tommy? Obviously, it was from jealous!Buck’s point of view, but seriously. If Buck felt ignored, what is Marisol even thinking? Did Eddie bother to make time for his new girlfriend? What spare time would he even have if they work several 24 hour shifts and he’s also gone out with Tommy at least three times in one week? And is probably planning more?

Not that I think Eddie’s feelings for Tommy are necessarily in the same vein as Buck’s feelings for Tommy. But my gosh, Eddie giggly and kicking his feet and twirling his hair while on the phone with Tommy was so very loud. And actually a pretty neat contrast to being distracted and trying to text Marisol “hey mari it me eddie” to ask her out. Eddie’s sudden infatuation with Tommy was a thousand times more than anything we’ve seen from him for anyone. Considering that what he stated he wanted was the magical chemistry he’d found when he and Shannon got together, like… is that not what he just found with Tommy?

Again, it doesn’t necessarily mean Eddie has any explicit romantic or sexual attraction toward Tommy. I suppose he could? But the point is more that wow, there is some kind of intense draw pulling Eddie to him even if we interpret it as platonic.

Buck says at the end of the ep that they met this guy and he was so cool and Buck wanted to get to know him. Which makes sense given that Buck is canonically crushing on him and going to be dating him. But Eddie was actually the one who got there first. Eddie also had a reaction somewhere along those lines of “he’s really cool, I need to know him” to the point where he’s all of a sudden spending most if not all of his free time with him.

And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this person Eddie wants to spend time with is an experienced, out queer man who is comfortable in his own sexuality and his own masculinity. (He has so much in common with Eddie! They have so many similar interests! They have a magical click together that makes Eddie want to be around him all the time! There’s so much they can do together!)

Eddie might not have even known it, maybe in the same way Buck also didn’t know it, but Eddie definitely latched onto that, too. Which is very interesting, no? Very— queers finding each other and bonding over shared experiences even before they know that’s what they’re doing.

It can easily be someone who is likely confused about their own feelings but knows they are having certain feelings just not the names to put to those feelings, and consequently seeking guidance and reassurance that there are other people who are just like them who have these feelings as well. It’s realizing how they can be themselves, that they can be queer in a way that fits who they are instead of what they might conceptualize as queer because of stereotypes and preconceived notions. It’s learning you can be you and also be queer. That there are people like you out there.

Eddie found something with Tommy that he hasn’t been shown to have found anywhere else. It’s a new and different thing for him, too. And if it were just about excitement over a new friend, why is it so much so quickly all at once? Eddie’s a social person. He’s a friendly, charming, charismatic person. He has friends. But it feels like this is a very different sort of friendship for him.

And the fact that this is the same man who just gave Buck his bisexual awakening is verrrry inch resting.

Also regardless of what kind of feelings Eddie and Tommy might have been having for each other, they were so going on dates. Flying someone to Vegas because you have tickets that have been sold out for weeks to something they enjoy? Like damn Eddie. You pulled a sugar daddy.

Anyway. Eddie is queer, too. Double sexuality awakenings, ready go!

That is all! 💕

#911 #Eddie Diaz #911 on abc #911 abc #911 meta #yes I'm an Eddie girlie(gn) through and through

432 notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 3 months

Text

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

So consider this part 4.5? idk it's late.

Usual CW for this series with dubcon, mean Soap, post-trauma coping.

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #asset soap #asset john soap mactavish #dub con #non con #rape

646 notes · View notes

wineauntie · 3 months

Text

FIVE MINUTES — Luke Hughes x Hischier!reader

summary: in which you and Luke are under a serious time crunch.

note: this was just purely fun to write. This wasn't going to be a Hischier!sister fic but I couldn’t resist!

warnings: make out session, use of y/n and the nickname ‘baby’, fem!reader, reader is Nico’s sister, swearing, forbidden relationship (kind of), reader is a photography and journalism major (do i know how the American collegiate system works? No! But go with it, it’s fineeee)

word count: 1.5k

You gasped as your back slammed against the door behind you, your heart racing as the blood pumped through your body. You felt feverish as if each of your veins had been ignited with a pure, searing fire. Your back pressed against the wood, the frame of the door digging into your spine. Adrenaline fuelled your brain as you lunged forward again, your hands reached out to grasp and clutch whatever you could to draw closer.

"God, we’ve got to stop this or I won't be able to control myself."

Luke's deep groan against your lips caused you to slightly withdraw from the kiss. Your lips curled in amusement as your hands threaded through his hair.

"Then start listing presidents or something," you grinned, crashing your lips to his once more. The grasp he had on your waist tightened even further, his hands spanning against the skin where your top had ridden up. "We only have five minutes…maybe less at this rate."

"You are trouble," he moaned in defeat, pressing you further against the wall as his warm hands gripped you as if in fear you may be taken from him.

Let's get one thing straight, you and Luke were complicated. He liked you, you liked him but if your brother ever caught wind of that? Oh, there would be hell to pay.

Nico Hischier had a stick up his ass— at least you thought so. He had warned you countlessly throughout your childhood that you were to stay away from his hockey friends and that they had received the warning to stay away from you. He said they were "never going to treat you like you deserve to be treated", you agreed, of course.

Hockey men were the semblance of all evil, they only cared about three things; hockey, their roster and blonde hair (you never understood their obsession with that one honestly?). You convinced yourself that they were the evil that walked the Earth, the only exception being your immediate family members.

...that is until you met Luke Hughes.

You'd moved to New Jersey over the course of lockdown and moved in with your brother. You wanted a change of pace from life back home, and you'd enrolled in various colleges in New York for photography and journalism.

When life had returned to normality, you’d been recruited to work as a social media girl on a part time basis for the Devils. It was a good gig, not too demanding but they paid you well enough. You attended away games and did little fun interviews for TikTok and their Instagram.

You'd met Luke in early 2023, briefly interviewing him with stupid questions like "if you got swept up in a tornado, what wouldn’t want to hit you as you spin?" or "if you could only skate on one leg, which leg would you choose?". You were aware of how cheesy and awful the questions were but the Devil's TikTok loved it– they devoured content like such.

It was only after a winning home game did you truly get to know Luke Hughes.

The two of you had sat next to each other in the bar the majority of the team had chosen to celebrate at. You remembered your brother sitting with Jack at the other table, celebrating their victory, your eyes warily glancing to Nico every few minutes.

You and Luke had talked awkwardly at first until the awkwardness was swept away and the storm of laughter and easy chatter arrived. You'd known from that moment on, that Luke Hughes was different. He wasn't like anyone else you'd ever met. He'd caused your stomach to flip and your gaze to soften.

You'd ended that night with Nico offering Luke and Jack to stay over at your shared apartment.

Nico and Jack had walked ahead to try catch a taxi, both, paying no attention to you and Luke who were completely and utterly enraptured by each other.

And the rest was history.

Luke's body pressed against yours as his hand moved to cup your jaw, his thumb smoothing over the skin there. There was no other feeling quite like this one, he figured. You desperately reaching up to hold him as he devoured you like a man starved. It was the little moments like these where the two of you broke away from reality and allowed yourselves to indulge in the greatness of this feeling.

Luke had known he liked you from the very moment he spotted you laughing with the other photographers on his very first day with the Devils. He saw the way you tipped your head and scrunched your nose as you let out a melodic sound, so sweet he wanted to pocket it and take it wherever he went. He wasn't even sure you'd seen him that day, but he'd seen you and it was hard to ever forget it.

The night at the bar was the moment that he knew he was a goner. He'd seen the lingering stares from men and women alike in the bar the moment you had walked in. He'd seen the way you parted the crowd like an angel in the darkness, eyes only set on him, your slight and shy smile suddenly overshadowing the night's victory. And you'd chosen to sit beside him...HIM!

Over the weeks following that night the two of you had texted back and forth, hanging out whenever you can and when you'd kissed him in the rain after an unofficial, but kind of official, date, he knew you felt the same way about him.

That had officially been the beginning your sneaking around. The two of you hid in the shadows of bars, clubs and each other's apartments when your respective brothers weren't around.

Which is what led you to this very moment. Nico had invited Jack and Luke over to watch a match of some kind. He hadn't even told you until the two brothers had knocked on your apartment door just after lunch. You'd had to hide your wide smile at the sight of the tall, bashful boy who stood scratching his head behind Jack.

They'd both been here since then, with you and Luke exchanging secret glances every few minutes. It was later in the evening when Nico had suggested that the four of you order dinner in and when Jack had offered to accompany him downstairs to the lobby to help collect it, it guaranteed you and Luke approximately five minutes of just you and him.

You head found itself flush against the wood of your bedroom door, just down the hall from the living room, as Luke pressed desperate kisses down your neck, his hand still cradling your cheek, moving your head to give him more access to the supple, exposed skin. Your breath caught in your throat as he gently sucked the flesh over your pulse point, your hands playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

"Luke," you whimpered whilst he softly bit over the spot and ran his tongue over the bruising skin.

"I know, baby," he murmured, his breath fanning across your skin as he moved back up to look you face to face. Your blown pupils met his, the heat in your cheeks spreading around your body like wildfire. "Been missing you."

Your nose brushed against his with a whine. You hadn't seen each other in almost a week and a half, between your exams and Luke's games, you two just hadn't been able to find the time. You craved his touch, his comfort and his warmth.

"Been missing you too, Lu," you muttered, pulling him in for another kiss. Your neck craning as he enveloped you in a tight grip once more, his lips meeting yours frantically.

The two of you were so wrapped up in yourself that you hadn't heard the front door opening. You'd only heard one box of food hit the floor causing you and Luke to jump apart and snap your heads towards the noise.

Nico stood with a dropped jaw in front of Jack who smirked knowingly. Your wide eyes looked between Luke and Nico, your mouth agape in horror. Luke's hand was still around your waist as your brain ran in circles trying to decipher where to begin.

"What the fuck!” Nico eventually groaned breaking the silence.

"It's not what it looks like!" You rushed out, not making any attempt to move away from Luke.

You watched nervously as Nico furiously dug around his pocket until he yanked out twenty dollars and shoved it into Jack's awaiting open hand.

"Thank you," Jack grinned, winking at the two of you as he pocketed the money. You and Luke scrunched your eyebrows and shared a look of pure confusion.

"You couldn't wait until next month, no?" Nico huffed, picking up the fallen box of food before moving towards the kitchen with Jack, leaving both you and Luke standing in your stupor, before Luke let out a small laugh, burying his head in your neck as you stifled a groan.

"What the...YOU GUYS BET ON US?!"

#wineauntie #hughes brothers x reader #luke hughes x reader #nhl x reader #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfiction #nico hischier #Nico hischier sister

982 notes · View notes

asongofmarvelanddc · 1 year

Text

Someone. Anyone.

PAIRING: Aegon II X Reader

WORD COUNT: 4688

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: Aegon has waited his entire life for someone to care.

A/N: This simply refused to leave my brain until it was written down. I can't wait to see more of Aegon II in season 2! As always, please reblog, like, comment, send an ask, a raven – anything! I wanna talk to you guys! ❤️

The days seem to blur together recently. Aegon can’t tell the difference between them anymore, bar something particularly extraordinary happening. No such thing has happened of late and so the days continue to blur.

When Aegon wakes that morning, he half-expects it to be the evening. It’s an odd thing the way he sleeps. Erratic. Some days he rises before the birds, and other days it’s just as supper is being cleared from the dinner table. No one thinks to wake him anymore – probably glad to be rid of his presence.

With a sigh, he shuffles out of bed, groaning when his head pounds in response to being on his feet. The thought of washing before he leaves the room crosses his mind. Briefly. There’s no one around to draw him a bath, and frankly, he’s in no mood to wait. He is hungry, tired…and lonely. But he can only do something about those first two things.

He exits the room looking quite haphazard, but rests easy knowing that no one would dare comment on his ghastly appearance. Most of the servants and guards avoid eye contact as he passes. Aegon takes that to mean that no one has requested his presence somewhere. No one wants to see him.

Even when he sits to eat, he’s left utterly alone. He stares into space as he downs his breakfast. A drink. That’s what he needs. It doesn’t distract from the loneliness anymore – it hasn’t in years – but it dulls the pain at least. He finishes eating, and though he has had his fill, the pit in his stomach remains empty.

Sunfyre.

Perhaps that is who he needs. She always manages to plug the hole in his heart, however temporary it may be. He rises and immediately heads for the dragon pit.

On the way down there he walks past Helaena’s room. The door is ajar, and the laughter of children filters out into the hall. Aegon’s lip twitches as he edges closer to the door. It has been a few days – two, maybe three – since he’s seen the kids. He wants to sit with them, play with them. They’re growing so fast.

He pushes the door open further and slides halfway through, but his smile falters when he realises that his wife and children are not alone.

His brother, Aemond, is sitting on the floor with the children. They’re tugging at his hair, completely unaware of the discomfort they might be causing, while Aemond sits there trying his best to appear annoyed with them. Alicent and Helaena are watching from the lounger, entirely amused by the scene before them.

They seem happy. Happier than they could ever be in his presence at least.

Instead of dampening the mood with his entrance, he quietly slides back out of the room, making sure he isn’t seen or heard. It’s selfish to be hurt by the fact that they are happy without him, but he can’t help it.

He can’t remember a time when his family were happy to see him. His father ignores him, his mother berates him, his brother is disgusted by him, and his wife can’t stand the sight of him….And he’s not entirely sure he can blame them.

He has never been the best version of himself that he could be…but what is the point in being great when all that is expected of him is failure? They all look at him and see nothing of worth. Why prove them otherwise? Worthless he shall continue to be.

Aegon is content to wallow in self-pity for the remainder of the day until he runs into a familiar face upon turning a corner. Although you barely collide, it's enough to startle you and make you jump back.

"Aegon!" you yelp, but quickly recover and bow your head in a more composed manner, "My Prince."

His mood is instantly improved at the sight of you, and he can't say exactly why. He’s paid attention to you, in a way he never has to other young maidens in the castle. At first, it was purely due to the allure of your striking beauty, but soon it became…more.

Your father joined the Small Council only a few months ago, and you've been strolling the halls of the Red Keep since. Not long after your arrival, you joined Aegon for a drink just outside the servants’ quarters and he questioned you about why you accompanied your father to the capital rather than remain at home with your mother and sisters. You clammed up and offered a rather vague explanation that indicated a turbulent relationship with her. Aegon let you be, but since then, he made sure to stop and speak to you whenever you crossed paths.

He wouldn’t call you a friend. No, not at all. However, you are one of the few able to keep up with him when it comes to drink. You don't sigh when he enters a room, nor do you look at him with derision or contempt in your eyes. You laugh at his jokes, so he tells even more for your sake. Because he wants you to enjoy his company as much as he does yours.

He's starting to care, and though it terrifies him, it's better than anything he's felt for years.

"My Lady." Taking your hand, he turns it over so the palm is facing upwards. He raises a brow and looks up at you, "I see you have been drawing again."

It's the charcoal dust on your fingers that gives it away. He's aware of your hobby – drawing various flowers and documenting their differences and similarities. You swear it'll be useful to the maesters one day. Aegon is not so sure, but he doesn't share those thoughts because he sees how happy it makes you.

"Someone ought to do it," you shrug and wipe your hands on the small purse slung across your body, "If I don't, who will?"

"Is that where you are off to in such a hurry?"

"No," you sigh heavily and roll your eyes as you seem to recall something of particular annoyance, "Do you know that there are weeds growing in the godswood?"

"Weeds?"

"Weeds!" you repeat, even more concerned, "I have asked the gardener to prune them but it doesn’t seem to have been done properly. So, I have decided to do it myself."

Your passion is infectious, it breathes life into him. He cares not about the art of gardening, but he cares about you, your interests. It pains him to admit that he craves the idea of being a part of your life, in any and all ways.

"I shall join you," he says after a moment of thought, "If you will have me."

It's a silly question to ask, one to which you don't bother responding for he knows the answer is always 'yes'. Aegon walks alongside you, occasionally glancing at each other, but not knowing what to say. He’s always like this when he hasn’t had a drink.

"I called on you earlier. I was told you were still asleep."

Most are rarely happy to see Aegon, much less purposely seeking him out. This is unusual for him.

“I was, I only woke a short while ago,” he says, “Were you after something?”

You look up at him with a cheery smile, "No, I just wanted to spend time with you."

He frowns in confusion, "Why?"

You come to a sudden stop and look up at him properly, a soft pout forming on your lips, "You and I are friends, are we not?"

Friends. He cannot say that he has ever had one. Every person he has ever spent a reasonably enjoyable time with was either paid to be accommodating, or did so out of mere obligation. Everyone but you.

"Besides, who's to say you and I will even have the chance to speak at the feast later?" you say with a chuckle.

"We are to have a feast tonight?"

Your brows crease as you search his eyes for any sign that he may be teasing, “Today is your Name Day. Have you forgotten?”

You state it as if it is the most obvious thing to remember.

“No, I–,” he stutters as he tries to recall the date, “No one told me...”

Aegon retreats into his own mind. Until this very moment, he had completely forgotten that this is meant to be a day of celebration. Normally his mother would be dragging him out of bed first thing in the morning, and there would be some attempt from his family to spend time together. But today has been like all the rest, and they have chosen to exclude him.

That is expected. Forgetting his own Name Day is not. It's a painful thing when no one seems to care, but it's terrifying to know that he is starting to care less about himself.

"I'm sure your mother is preparing a banquet that shall be the talk of the Kingdoms," you gently touch his arm, a level of tenderness he can’t remember when last he received.

Aegon looks into your eyes, a ray of light in this haze of misery he calls a life. And just like that, he doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.

***

As the honoured guest, Aegon is seated at the head of the High Table, his mother and grandsire on either side of him along with his siblings and children. But somehow, as the night goes on, Aegon climbs down from the raised platform and joins you at one of the tables meant for the Small Council members and their families.

Although you are flattered, people are staring because it is not in fact common for the Heir to ignore most of the guests at his own Name Day feast in order to spend time with the Master of Coin's daughter.

No matter. You do your best to ignore them just as Aegon seems to do.

Slouched in his chair, right leg up on the table and his left hand holding a goblet of wine, you can’t help noticing that he isn't drunk – yet – and you hope it stays that way for the evening. He engages you in a heated discussion about whether or not the dance being performed by the guests is worth watching. You are of the strong opinion that it is entertaining to watch and romantic when participating.

Aegon shoots you a look of incredulity, "They are not even touching!"

"Yes, because this dance is about the simple intimacy of the near-touch," you hover your palms close together to imitate one of the dance moves.

Aegon scoffs and sips his drink, "There is nothing intimate about not touching your dance partner."

"True intimacy is about when you–" he stops himself and laughs, shaking his head, "I suppose it would be improper of me to divulge such salacious secrets to a virtuous maiden such as yourself, my Lady."

You roll your eyes at his condescending tone and shove him playfully in the shoulder which makes him laugh.

“Lady Y/N!” ha gasps in faux horror, “You just touched me! How will we ever know the meaning of true intimacy now?”

You laugh and shove him again, earning even more looks from the people around. Quickly you quiet down and focus on Aegon again. He's watching the dancers but you're looking at him.

Even half-drunk, with tousled hair from constantly running his hand through the cropped locks and red-rimmed eyes, you still find him beautiful. You feel the urge to reach out and touch his cheek or his hair, but stop yourself from doing something so inappropriate in public.

Besides, who knows how Aegon would react to such a thing?

“You truly don’t believe two people can share an intimate moment without touching?”

He chuckles at first, ready to brush off the question with a silly joke, but when he turns to you and senses how serious you are, his eyes soften.

There is many a moment you've shared with Aegon that you would consider intimate, and not once have you touched him during them. You want to know that he feels the same way about those moments. You need to know.

He holds your gaze for some time, and you can't be sure what he is thinking about, then he answers in a low voice, "Perhaps..."

He glances down at your lips, it is only for a second, but you catch it anyway. Aegon knows this, but it does not make him lean back into his chair, nor pretend to be embarrassed.

"There are people looking at us," you whisper, glancing around the room at the obvious stares, "Could we go somewhere?"

He frowns, "Why?"

"I want to give you your gift."

***

Aegon follows you to a less visible corner of the room. He doesn't truly care about what this gift may be, he is only happy to be alone with you away from prying eyes.

He watches as you reach into a hidden zip in the front of your dress, a clever design, and pull out an oval shaped case. It rattles when you pull it out so there is clearly something hidden inside. You step closer to him and press the case into the palm of his hand, practically shaking with excitement.

Whatever it is, it's small, which is quite an unusual kind of gift for Aegon. He often receives famous first edition books, expensive fabrics and custom-made swords for his Name Day. The gifts are piled high on the other end of the room at this very moment.

"Will you open it?"

Aegon, amused by your visible excitement and anticipation, snaps the case open. Inside is a golden insignia ring displaying the three heads of the dragon, perfectly etched into metal.

“It was supposed to be black and red, like the sigil of your House, but I think I like it better in gold,” you say, a look of pride in your eyes as you look down at your gift, “When it catches the light, it shimmers like the scales on Sunfyre.”

You smile as you tilt the ring towards the candle above you, “You see?”

Aegon can’t say for sure if your assertion is true because he doesn’t look to inspect the ring. Instead his gaze stays fixed on you, confused and in awe. He has been showered with gifts since before he had memories of his Name Day, but none as thoughtful as this.

When he glances down at the ring, he notices an inscription on the inside of the band. "To my dearest Prince, Aegon," it reads in High Valyrian.

"You added this?"

"There wasn't much space to have any more inscribed," you say, "But I had Aemond translate it to High Valyrian for me because I wanted it to mean something to you."

He doesn't know what to say. The gift is so small, yet sentimental. No one has ever offered him such kindness, and Aegon doesn't believe he deserves it. His entire life he has longed for someone, anyone, to care about him. Not Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Heir to the Iron Throne – just him. He is not used to receiving such compassion and doesn’t know how to respond to it.

He ignores the stinging of tears behind his eyes and clears his throat.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says as he slips the ring onto his pinky finger, "I shall wear it always."

Your heart swells as he kisses the ring.

"I know it is improper for a Lady to ask," you begin, already feeling the burn of embarrassment on your cheeks, "But would you care to dance, my Prince?"

Aegon is beyond flattered and kicks himself for not asking first. He does not want you to think that he is not eager, when it is in fact the opposite.

"I would–" he cuts himself off at the sight of his mother approaching from behind you.

A frown carves itself into his lips, "I would love to, but it seems my mother wants to have a word."

You look behind you and nod in understanding when you see Alicent walking up, "Of course. Perhaps later then?"

He nods with a smile, "Don't tire yourself out."

You bow to the Queen Mother as you excuse yourself, glancing back at Aegon when you walk away.

Alicent sidles up to Aegon’s side, a goblet of wine in her hands. “I see you’ve grown quite close to Lady Y/N as of late,” she says, “You’re fond of her?”

Aegon’s brows furrow as he looks down at his mother. He’s not sure where she is going with this and thinks to lie, but even he knows he can’t deceive her.

“I am,” he answers, looking away from her and searching for you with his eyes.

Alicent nods slowly and sips from her cup, “She’s beautiful, is she not?”

Aegon finally spots you among the dancers, floating across the floor with Tyland Lannister as your partner. His heart warms as you laugh at something the man says, your smile tugging at something that has long been buried within him. As if you can feel his eyes on you, you turn your head to look at him, throwing him a wink.

“I suppose she is,” he responds absent-mindedly to Alicent's question as the corner of his lips begin to turn up.

Alicent looks at him again, growing more and more irritated as the seconds go by.

"I hear her father intends to propose a marriage for her to Tyland Lannister."

Aegon's head snaps towards his mother.

"Tyland Lannister?" he gasps violently, "He is an old man!"

In truth, Tyland Lannister is a mere six and thirty – not considered old by the country’s standards.

"He is the Master of Ships and brother to the Warden of the West," she says, ignoring the outburst, "A Lannister is a good match for her."

Over my dead body, he thinks. There is not a reality Aegon is willing to accept in which you belong to somebody else. If he must claim you as his wife, then he will. Just as Aegon the Conqueror had two wives, so it shall be for Aegon II. The thought of you being wed to another man not only makes him angry, it is sickening.

“Aegon.” He is torn away from his thoughts of you by his mother’s stern voice.

This conversation is annoying and agitating. He does not want to hear it. He wants to go to you, to tear you away from that Lannister Lord and take you somewhere you can be alone together.

"Whether it is to Tyland Lannister or some other nobleman, she will be wed," Alicent says, her firm tone taking on a desperate edge, "Her father sits on the Small Council. She will be married to a decent man someday who will make her a good husband."

His scowl deepens. "Why are you telling me all this, Mother?"

"Because she is not like one of your whores, Aegon,” she turns to face him fully, though he avoids her eyes, “You cannot sully her skirts with your debauchery. You must leave her alone.”

Aegon has never believed that he is good enough for you, nor that he even deserves your friendship. It is why he has kept you at a distance as much as he can. Too selfish to completely let you go, but also afraid that one day, you will see him as he is and abandon him. His mother has just taken that fear, and in a few words, beaten him over the head with it.

Does she not see that he is trying? He has not stepped foot in a pleasure house in some weeks now. And though he still drinks, he does not do it until he loses his senses anymore. The days no longer blur, and he wakes eager to start them. That emptiness that tormented him so, it has faded.

Does she really not see?

Devastated does not convey the intensity of the pain that descends upon Aegon in that moment. His efforts to do better, to be better, have gone completely unnoticed by the one who chastises him the most for his self-indulgence and lechery.

“Aegon,” she says again, pulling on his arm, “Promise me that you will leave that girl alone.”

Aegon glances in your direction. You’re still dancing, but with a different partner now. Blissfully unaware that his heart has just been shattered into pieces.

“I promise,” he grunts.

As soon as he says the words, Alicent leaves his side, no longer needing to be in his presence.

Aegon stumbles, a bit overwhelmed in the moment as he looks around the room for something, anything, to distract him from the shame and embarrassment he feels. He spots a pitcher of wine on the corner of a table by him and swipes it, heading down to the cellars of the Keep.

***

Aegon promised you a dance, but after searching for him for close to an hour, you find him in the cellars with Balerion, sitting against the stone wall, legs spread out in front of him as he stares at the dragon’s skull. A wine chalice lies discarded by his side, spilling out what was left of its contents.

Aegon does not react as you walk towards him. Even when you stand right in front of him he doesn’t look up at you. He is completely out of it, and the sight makes you let out a deep sigh.

You move beside him and slide down the wall, choosing to sit quietly with him. Aegon drinks wine like it is water, but to get like this, something must have upset him. You don’t ask him about it. He always wants someone to listen, because of that you never have to press him to share his thoughts.

“What is worse than hate?”

Those are the first words that leave his lips after almost an hour of silence. He’s still staring up at Balerion as he speaks, but his arms are now resting on his knees which are pulled up to his chest. Though he is right beside you, he feels a million miles away.

You ponder the question some, but can’t quite offer a response, “I can’t imagine there is anything worse than hate.”

“Indifference,” he answers, nodding to himself, “It is empty. Hollow. Lonely.”

Finally, he looks at you with tear-filled, bloodshot eyes, “That is all I see when my family looks at me.”

Your heart breaks for him, and a lump forms in your throat as you try not to cry.

“Aegon,” you whisper, voice shaking, “Your family do not hate you. Nor are they indifferent.”

He laughs bitterly as his head rolls back to rest against the wall. “You do not have to lie to make me feel better,” he says, “That is what the whores are for.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, preferring the sting of physical pain than the one caused by his words.

“It’s the drink making you feel this way.”

His head rolls to the side so he’s looking at you again, though at an angle. At first, he doesn’t speak and it sends your mind racing as you try to guess what he might be thinking in that clouded head of his.

“Without the drink, I sink into a hole of despair,” his eyes soften, “A hole…I fear I may never climb out of.”

You hate seeing him like this. So broken and worn down by what he sees as a burdensome life.

Aegon’s eyes shift from you to the ground when he feels you trying to lace your fingers through his. He shakes his head and draws back, burying his face in his hands. This is the first time he’s rejected the comfort you offer. He is in a worse state than you imagined and you don’t know what brought him to this.

“Aegon,” his name falls from your lips like a desperate plea. You reach out to pull his hands away from his face, but even that won’t make him look at you.

You look down at your hand as tears begin to well in your eyes. “I’m not indifferent,” you mumble, but in the quiet, the words come out clear as day, “And I don’t hate you, Aegon.”

That seems to stir something in him. He looks at you with narrowed eyes, as though he is suspicious. But the longer he looks, the suspicion fades. And without a second thought, he reaches over and grabs your head in his hands, roughly capturing your lips in a kiss.

His lips taste of wine and salt from the tears now freely spilling down his cheeks. Everywhere his hands find, they grip you tight, afraid to let you go. And you melt into him, promising him with every kiss and every tug that you won’t leave.

You don’t care that his kiss is not the sweet and tender one you imagined. It’s rough, needy and desperate, noses bumping into each other and hands fumbling against your bodies as he pulls you into his lap – a motion only made possible because you want it to be.

All you can think about is how you can’t get enough of this. Of him. Day and night he has consumed your thoughts, dreaming of being held and kissed and touched by him. His sad eyes plagued your mind from the first night you spoke with him. You knew he had burrowed himself deep in your heart the first time you got down on your knees in the Sept and prayed for his healing.

But even now, as his lips merge themselves to yours, his hands sliding up your thighs, you can’t enjoy the moment fully. Because he’s drowning. His heart is broken, and you’re not sure you can fix it.

Just as the thought crosses your mind, he pulls away from you – though, even that seems hard for him to do.

“Aegon…?”

He opens those beautiful sad eyes again and upon meeting yours, shakes his head. He’s fighting with himself, with what he ought to do and what he wants to do. What he needs from you.

He looks up at you again and gently strokes your cheek.

“I don’t want to debase you,” he chokes out, looking like he is in physical pain.

“How could you debase me?”

“I can’t–” He grips your face tightly and pulls you closer, searching your eyes in desperation.

More tears spill over and roll down his cheeks. “You are far too precious to me.”

The pain in his eyes is so raw you can practically see him twisting the knife in his own heart. He’s clinging to you for life while begging you to let him go. He doesn’t know that if you let him succumb, the darkness will consume you too.

“And what do you think you are to me?” you whisper, hands cupping his face, “A rarity. The person I love.”

His grip softens and his eyes widen.

“You love me?”

“More than anything,” you say without any hesitation.

He stares at you in awe, fingers tracing your cheeks and jaw and lips. You cannot say if he is in the room with you in this moment, or if his mind is somewhere else. As if snapped back to his senses, he sucks in a stuttered breath and his gaze refocuses.

“You love me?” he asks again, voice breaking as he speaks.

The last of his resolve breaks when you nod again. Burying his head into your chest, he begins to sob uncontrollably, arms squeezing around your waist as he holds onto you.

With trembling lips, you place a kiss to the top of his head, your tears soaking through his silver hair.

#aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon fanfic #tom glynn carney #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fic #hotd imagine #house of the dragon fic

5K notes · View notes

lena-in-a-red-dress · 20 days

Text

Alt Assistant AU - Game Night

“Hey.”

Kara lets herself into Lena’s office, her greeting pulling her girlfriend’s attention to her.

“Hey,” Lena returns. At this hour, she should be tired, but there’s not a trace of exhaustion in the focused gaze that meets hers with a smile. “How’d it go?”

Kara grins. “I signed my contract with CatCo forty-three minutes ago.”

Lena’s smile widens to beaming. “I knew you’d wow them.” She rises from her seat and leans in to press a kiss to Kara’s lips. “Congratulations, love.”

Lifting the bag of Big Belly in her hand, Kara shrugs her eyebrows invitingly. “Dinner to celebrate?”

Without a further word, Lena moves with her to the couch. Though she brings a stack of contracts with her, she holds off on reviewing them until after their burgers are devoured and the leftover fries long cold. Kara doesn’t mind Lena’s preoccupation– it gives her an opportunity to study Lena in profile, from the line of her jaw to the curve of her nose.

“Hey,” Kara murmurs.

“Hmmm?” Lena hums back, not quite looking away from the pages in her lap. Kara smiles.

“I’m hosting game night tomorrow.” Her declaration is met with a nod and another hum. “Wanna join?”

“Not really.”

That’s another difference of this reality– this Lena declines invitations just as often as the old Lena used to, but not out of self-preservation. She simply feels no need to commit herself to something she’s not interested in. Most times, Kara admires her forthright, but tonight she can’t help the disappointment that courses through her.

Lena senses the change in her mood, and sets the contract down to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I want you to come,” Kara returns plainly.

Lena’s brow furrows. “Why?”

It’s not an unreasonable question– Kara’s been hosting game not regularly since the reality reset, eager to reclaim one of the few things that helped her feel like nothing had changed. Lena has never expressed interest in attending, and Kara hasn’t extended the invite until now. But something has changed.

“My friends will be there,” Kara says. She lets her fingers trace the seam of the back couch cushion. She keeps her eyes on Lena’s. “I want you to meet them.”

Lena’s chin tilts to one side. “I see.”

“All of you are important to me,” Kara continues. “I want you all to know each other.”

She’s lived separate lives before– she has no interest in suffering similarly in this reality.

Lena’s pink lips twist into a smile. Her gaze teasingly turns askance, even as she gracefully scoots herself closer to Kara. “Well,” she purrs. “In that case…”

She leans in, and Kara closes the distance, capturing her lips– still tasting faintly of grease– in another kiss.

“I suppose I can make the time.”

—

Game night is better than Kara could have imagined. In the previous reality, Lena’s first three game nights had seen her stiff and reticent, coiled tightly as though expecting a physical blow. But current Lena… Lena is on full display. All of her magnetism that draws investors in like moths to flame now brings Kara’s friends into easy conversation, her features bright and open.

She absolutely dominates at Monopoly, of course. And Trivial Pursuit. Kara cherishes every cheer of excitement when Lena succeeds, be it collecting rent or a correct, obscure answer. Lena’s clearly enjoying herself, which was Kara’s secondary goal for the night. Joining the two halves of her life will only work if both sides have fun.

The night ends when Lena heads out first. “Early meeting,” she explains, but Kara suspects she’s bowing out– at least in part– to give them time to report in and render judgement.

When the door closes behind Lena, Kara takes a moment to deliver a load of dishes to the kitchen. She can’t help the grin that spreads her features– she can’t wait to hear her friends’ approval. But when she turns back to the line of solemn features lined up before her, her stomach drops.

“What? That– things went great! I thought—” She scans their faces. Alex, she can kind of understand. As her sister, she’s predisposed to being protective. Brainy, less so, but to Kara he seemed to be demurring to his own girlfriend, on whom Kara locks her gaze.

“Nia?”

Nia at least, she expected to be receptive to Lena. They’d been friends in the previous reality, to Kara’s recollection, and her easy-going nature surely would have left her primed to adore Lena.

Except Nia’s grimace is widest of them all.

“I dunno…” She draws out the word, stretching it into an audible apology. “She’s nice, I guess, but… she’s also a little… intense?”

Kara blinks in surprise. “Intense? How do you mean?”

Lena can be intense. Kara knows this. She wouldn’t be a good executive if she wasn’t. Nor would she be able to go head-to-head in a male-dominated industry. But Kara hadn’t seen that intensity tonight. She’s genuinely confused, and waits for Nia to elaborate.

“Well…” Nia seems at a loss for words, and she shoots a glance at the others for support. “She’s, uhh…”

“Obsessed with winning, for one,” Alex delivers bluntly.

Kara stares at her sister. “You’re mad because she… won?”

“It’s more than that,” Nia follows up quickly. “I don’t know how to really explain it, but she just doesn’t seem to… fit.”

“She has nothing in common,” Alex continues. “And I don’t like how she treats you.”

“Like what?”

“You waited on her hand and foot the entire night! Like you were her assistant!”

“It just felt like there wasn’t space for anyone else when you’re talking to her,” Nia says softly. “It might just be me, but…”

“It’s not.” Alex all but scowls. “All of us felt it, and the fact neither of you picked up on how uncomfortable we were says more than it doesn’t.”

Anger starts to build in Kara’s belly, but the hurt in her chest tamps it down. A lump lifts to her throat when she looks to the one person who hasn’t weighed in yet.

“Brainy?”

His expression is pensive. “I too noticed the magnitude of Miss Luthor’s presence, which perhaps may not be well suited to such intimate evenings between friends.”

Kara presses her lips together. She takes a deep breath, then a second. Once she’s sure she can speak without her voice breaking, she swallows thickly.

“I see.”

“Kara…” Nia trails off when Kara lifts her hand.

“I know you all must be tired. I’ll clean up,” she says. Nia opens her mouth to protest, but Alex places a hand on her shoulder. The younger woman slumps minutely as she quietly sighs.

“Okay.” Nia rises from her seat, tugging Brainy towards the door. “I’m sorry, Kara. I just worry–”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Kara clips out. It effectively silences Nia, who glances sadly at her before she and Brainy slip out of the apartment. It leaves Kara alone with her sister, whose gaze she studiously avoids.

“I’m not going to apologize,” Alex states. “She wasn’t the only one in the room tonight, and she was too full of herself to see that the rest of us weren’t gelling. And you deserve better than someone who treats you like the help.”

Kara doesn’t respond or look up from the knot of wood in her butcher block table.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear–”

“I need to get up early tomorrow,” Kara grinds out. She’s heard enough. “Please leave.”

Alex doesn’t push any further. She nods, reaching for her jacket.

“Call if you need anything.”

Kara doesn’t breathe again until the door clicks shut. Only then does she release the pressure in her chest with a gasp, as the tears splash onto her cheeks.

—

Kara had lied about the early morning, but she finds herself sleepless regardless. She waits until the sun rises before she finally texts Lena.

What’re you up to? She sends, doing her best to sound casual and unaffected. She thinks she might have succeeded when Lena’s pending response immediately appears in the form of three pulsing dots.

Work, comes the quick reply. Seoul needs some cajoling.

Kara sends a sympathetic emoji back.

Should have everything handled in a few hours. Meet me at the office at 10? We can go to brunch.

Despite the gloom hanging heavy in her thoughts, Kara finds herself smiling.

Absolutely.

She’s in front of LuthorCorp twenty minutes to ten, and sends a querying question mark to see if Lena’s already on her way down. Unsurprisingly, she gets a ‘ten more minutes’ in response. Kara decides to spend the wait inside, and makes her way up to Lena’s office. As the elevator lifts higher, Kara’s stomach sinks lower.

She won’t be able to hide this from Lena. Lena knows her too well, and besides that it wouldn’t be fair to let Lena believe something that wasn’t true. Still, Kara plasters on a smile before pushing the final door open.

Lena looks up, and her eyes spark with joy at the sight of her. She rises from her seat, meeting Kara halfway to the desk to greet her with a brief, sweet kiss.

“Hey,” Lena says. “I just wrapped up the call. I just need to document what was discussed and then we can leave. They were ornery, but I’m persistent, so they eventually came around.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Kara returns. She watches Lena return to her seat and soon the soft clicking of rapid typing filled the air.

“Last night was fun,” Lena says, glancing briefly up to catch Kara’s gaze. Her eyes are bright, betraying the honesty of her words. “And your friends are nice. I like them.”

“Yeah,” Kara breathes. Her fingers reflexively reach up to adjust her glasses. Lena’s typing pauses. She looks up at Kara for a poignant moment, and Kara can see the moment her walls shutter into place behind her eyes.

“Ah.”

Lena’s gaze returns to the computer screen, and her long fingers resume their typing. Her tone is even, but the neutrality in it is clue enough that she’s more affected than she wants Kara to know.

“It… It’s not that they didn’t like you–”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lena says coolly. “I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“What I mean is–”

“It’s fine, Kara,” Lena cuts her off, irritation leaking through her facade. “It doesn’t matter–”

“It does to me!” Kara blurts. Her vision wobbles through angry tears. Her throat aches, but with the truth hanging between them the dam has broken. “It matters to me.”

Lena’s fingers fall still. Her gaze softens as her eyes find Kara’s. After a moment, she pushes her chair back and rises. Crossing around her desk, she leans back against it, arms folding over her chest. Lena studies the ground at her feet for a long moment before lifting her chin.

“Is it something I can fix?”

The question is plain yet loaded with thinly veiled hurt, and it breaks Kara’s heart to hear it. Then in the next heartbeat, anger flares in Kara’s chest. The one thing she admired most about Lena in this reality, the one thing she was never forced to do here, was to remake herself into something she wasn’t. To change herself to be more palatable to others.

And here she is, offering to do just that.

For Kara.

“No,” Kara croaks. Then, stronger, “no.”

Lena takes a deep breath. “Kara, I can see how much it means to you, to live your life as a singular whole. And I get it– I do. But I’ve seen this before. I know if it comes down to a choice between them and me… I know I won’t be the one to keep you.”

Her voice cracks, and Kara’s heart stutters to see the sudden tears in Lena’s eyes. Her own cheeks are already damp, and her breath hitches in her chest. Lena pushes towards her at the sound of it. Her palms frame Kara’s cheeks so gently Kara only sobs again.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispers, lips quivering. “Kara...”

“You’re not.” Kara swallows, her hands coming to rest on Lena’s waist. The contact grounds her, lending her the strength that drained out of her the night before. It bolsters her, drying her tears even as Lena’s thumbs brush them from her cheeks. “You won’t.”

Kara leans in and kisses Lena firmly on the mouth. Then she wraps her arms around her, hugging her close enough to whisper low in Lena’s ear.

“I love you, Lena.”

Lena’s arms tighten around her waist, burrowing her face against Kara’s neck.

“You will never lose me,” Kara vows. Her jaw tightens. “Never again.”

She pulls away with another fierce kiss. Lena lets her go, but her touch lingers as they disengage. Kara backs up, keeping her gaze on Lena for a long moment.

“I have to go. But I’ll be back.” She smiles. “And brunch’ll be on me.”

Lena does her best to smirk, and it almost reaches her eyes. “Promise?”

Kara knows it’s meant to be a suggestive tease, but the nod she gives in return is as solemn as a vow.

“I promise.”

—

Kara issues only a short text to the group.

My place. Now.

If any of them had other plans, her tone plainly supercedes them, as fifteen minutes later her friends are all sitting on her couch watching her glare at them.

“I am angry,” she states, unnecessarily. “With all of you.”

Nia is the only one to quail at her tone. “Kara…”

“You are so indescribably selfish, each and every one of you. And you have the gall to say Lena is full of herself?”

Alex’s mouth opens in defiance, but Kara doesn’t give her the chance to speak.

“But you’re right about one thing– last night was a test. Lena might have failed yours… but you failed mine.”

Nia and Brainy look at each other, but Alex’s features don’t soften a bit. It only rankles Kara further.

“So what if she wins at all the games? None of you can pretend you wouldn’t do the same in her place.”

Brainy’s head tilts in concession, but her focus is caught once more by Alex once more drawing breath to protest.

“And the fact that I wait on her, as you so aptly put it?” she barks. “That I refilled her glass and kept her snacks topped up? What you conveniently failed to notice is that she didn’t ask me to do any of that!”

“No, she just expected it–!”

“I did it because I wanted to! Because I wanted her to be comfortable around my friends! Because I love her!”

Her voice rings out sharply in the sudden quiet. Kara hadn’t meant to admit it to them, not here, not now, but she refuses to take it back. She lets her scowl deepen.

“I love her,” she repeats, this time calmer. She looks at each of them. “I introduced you to the woman I love, and all you could think of were yourselves.”

Nia’s guilt visibly deepens, her shoulders bowing in on themselves. Brainy’s chin lifts, suffering the accusation stoically without denial. Only Alex remains unrepentant.

“Lena is kind and confident, and wonderful. She’s also stubborn, strong, and ruthless when she needs to be. I will not let her compromise any part of who she is just because you can’t handle who and what she is.”

A beat of silence follows, before Alex sighs.

“She was your boss, Kara,” she points out. Her tone, at least, has softened. “A boss you hated. And now she’s got you wrapped around her little finger? I don’t buy it. I don’t buy whatever she’s told you about how she’s changed, just to get you into bed–”

“Enough!” Kara shouts. Her hand slices through the air, silencing her sister, if only for a moment. She trembles with rage. “Don’t you dare say anything about something you know nothing about–”

“I’m your sister,” Alex fires back, “I know plenty–”

“She’s not the one who changed!” Kara cries, finally shocking Alex to a standstill. “You say you know me, but I’m the one who changed. For months, I’ve been different, and none of you have noticed.” She glares at her sister. “Not even you.”

None of them seem to know what to say. Even Brainy, astute and perceptive as he is, seems perplexed. She continues to glare at them, but ultimately reaches for her purse to leave. She’s done with this conversation.

“Lock up after yourselves,” she snaps. “I’ve got brunch to get to.”

She leaves them all where they sit, gaping after her until she slams the door shut behind her.

#supercorp #alt Assistant au #game night #read em and weep #got at least one more snippet on the brain #should have it up this week

298 notes · View notes

queerfables · 6 months

Text

Why all the crowd scenes look the same, aka: Something is WRONG in Soho

I'm not even gonna tease and draw this out because it's so cool it doesn't need the fanfare. Ready?

Season 2 takes place over the course of 5 days. During that time, most of the passersby in Soho - maybe even all of them - stay exactly the same. It's the same people every day, wearing the exact same clothes, and they wander through the neighbourhood in paths that don't make any sense. You won't be able to unsee it. I can't believe it's taken us this long to realise.

Don't believe me? Rewatch the scene from 2x03, I Know Where I'm Going where Shax confronts Crowley outside the bookshop, appearing in a series of different guises. Pay attention to the people going past.

I've marked out five people you see on screen when Crowley first exits the bookshop at 39:37:

Numbers 1, 2 and 3 are following the path right. Number 4 follows the path left. Number 5 crosses the road.

Here the five people are again, at 40:19, when Crowley goes to return to the bookshop:

Number 5 is still visible in the distance, in the direction she walked in. This makes sense! But numbers 1, 2, 3 and 4 are rounding the same corner they just passed. It's as though 1, 2 and 3 all decided to turn and head back the way they came just 40 seconds ago, and number 4 has circled the block to join them.

This on its own would be super weird, but they're not the only people to do that in this scene. The man in the purple sweater from the first picture crosses the road, then appears back next to the bookshop, then starts walking back the way he came again.

Here's the part that made me absolutely certain, though. At 40:05, a man wearing an orange hoodie with blue sleeves walks past Crowley, who is heading towards the bookshop entrance.

The camera cuts to a view from behind Crowley, and a moment later, at 40:08...

He reappears in front of Crowley and walks past him again.

It's such a distinctive outfit, there's no mistaking it. They are absolutely fucking with the background characters and they are absolutely doing it on purpose.

Your turn. There are at least three other characters in this scene who pass by multiple times. Watch it again and try to spot them.

This scene is really chaotic and obvious, but the phenomena I'm talking about is much bigger than just one scene. Let's go back to the first thing I said: the background characters don't change. All our leads do. Maggie and Nina wear distinctive outfits, clearly demarcating each new day. Even Crowley and Aziraphale, who in season 1 were like cartoon characters with wardrobes full of identical clothing, vary their looks. Crowley changes his (very subtly) each day; Aziraphale is less rigid on timing, but he has a few different coats that he switches between. The background characters, on the other hand, wear the same outfits every single day. They walk by on the street but they never actually seem to have a destination. They sit in the coffee shop or pub and don't eat or drink anything, and nearly everyone leaves together exactly on closing time. It's eerie.

For reference's sake, here's a rough timeline of season 2, with pictures of Maggie and Nina's outfits to show the passing of time. I had to outsource this section because my post was too image heavy, lol. The main point I wanted to make is that five days go by.

Five days, and all the same faces keep showing up in the background, and almost none of them change their clothes. I'm not entirely sure what it means, but there's no way it's an accident. It might, in fact, be a game changer. To me this is proof positive that something is not as it seems. I've been a massive Clue skeptic, adamant that I'd only be convinced by the most unambiguous evidence, and honestly? This is enough to move the dials. It's too big for me to ignore. Whatever grand explanation of Good Omens we come up with has to account for this. I don't have it yet, but my current working theories are that Crowley and Aziraphale are under some seriously heavy surveillance, that time warping is involved, or that reality itself is not what it seems.

It would take a really long time for me to go through all of the background characters who turn up over and over but I do want to show you what I'm talking about. To wrap up, then, I'm going to pick out some memorable characters and walk you through a few of their appearances through the week. I highly recommend looking out for this yourself on your next rewatch and seeing how many other characters you can recognise.

Yellow Skirt

The first person I kept coming back to as being not quite right. You probably remember her from the first episode - she's the one who waves and walks past Maggie and Nina the night they're locked in together. Incidentally, she's also Person Number 3 in the scene with Shax.

Day 1 (2x01 - 36:20):

Day 2 (2x02 - 42:03)

Day 3 (2x03 - 06:36)

Day 5 (2x06 - 30:00)

Coolest Leather Jacket In The World

It's not so easy to recognise people wearing lots of nondescript dark colours, but I love his hair and his jacket, so he stood out to me. I think there might be a lot more people who are wearing fairly nondescript clothes who I just can't recognise from episode to episode.

Day 2 (2x02 - 16:44)

Day 4 (2x04 - 41:20)

Day 5 (2x06 - 29:20)

Dressed In Mustard

Ms Mustard shows up everywhere. If you want to see what I mean about their paths not making sense, pay attention when she comes on screen, because she'll often show up a few times in succession and walk very purposefully to nowhere in particular. The thing that she is doing, essentially, is behaving like an extra in a tv show. Which of course she is, but you're supposed to make that invisible by not having the same person go back and forth in the same scene, or changing up their outfit each in-universe day to give the sense time is passing. Not doing that is a really deliberate choice.

Day 1 (2x01 - 22:37)

Day 2 (2x02 - 42:03)

Day 3 (2x03 - 01:49)

Day 3 (2x03 - 37:07)

Day 5 (2x06 - 29:59)

Swishy Dress

This character shows up a lot in the first episode. I've struggled to find her in later episodes, though. None of the characters seem to follow the same patterns or show up to equal extents each day, which makes me think this isn't a straightforward time loop. I haven't actually cross referenced character appearances to in world times, though. Possibly this is a project for someone who's more across the time-related shenanigans than me.

Day 1 (2x01 - 22:43)

Day 3 (2x03 - 07:01)

Yellow Vest

I've only seen this guy a handful of times, always around the French restaurant. I wonder if there's significance to that.

Day 2 (2x02 - 41:06)

Day 4 (2x05 - 12:49)

Fuzzy Blue Coat

Another background character who shows up frequently. The blue doesn't stand out quite as much as the yellows and reds some characters wear, but it's very distinctive.

While we're getting a lot of shots of the street, it's worth noting that I'm pretty sure the vehicles we see are also just the same few cars repeating each day. A lot of them are in neutral silvers and monochrome, but there's a couple of blue cars, one red, and one black and white that I'm fairly sure I've seen over and over through the season.

Day 1 (2x01 - 22:45)

Day 2 (2x02 - 42:04)

Day 3 (2x03 - 02:00)

Day 5 (2x06 - 40:10)

Day 5 (2x06 - 48:56)

Day 5 (2x06 - 50:06)

One final note: Whatever this is, Nina's employee who you see in the background at the coffeeshop sometimes isn't affected by it. He's wearing different outfits each day. On the other hand, some of the other shopkeepers do seem affected. I'm fairly sure Mr Brown and Mrs Sandwich wear the same outfits a few different days, only changing because of Aziraphale at the ball.

And that's it! Thanks for reading and I hope your mind is blown as much as mine is.

EDIT:

Hey I don't mind anyone pointing out production reasons that this might be the case or disagreeing with my analysis (over-analysis, some might say 😉). Please be kind about it, though. I'm not ignorant of the practical limitations involved in film making, but some of these costumes were really distinctive in a way I thought might be intended to draw attention.

For those of you who do find this theory convincing, I feel I should mention that I was working under the assumption that this stuff would have taken a few days to film, even filming it all together. That would strongly suggest that the actors were deliberately costumed the exact same way over multiple days of shooting, which made me think it had to be purposeful. @coranax was kind enough to point out, though, that behind the scenes videos said the extras were filmed separately to the main actors because of Covid protocols. In that case, they could have done it in just one day and that weakens my confidence in its intentionality.

Finally, all of my points about the scene with Shax in 2x03 stand. That was not a case of accidental continuity errors, it was really elegantly choreographed to enhance the tension in the scene. I say that with confidence because the extras are doing exactly what Shax is doing: circling Crowley, appearing where he doesn't expect them, creating a whirlwind sense of being off balance and out of control. I think it's really cool and effective, whether there's a deeper meaning to it or not.

#good omens #good omens meta #fable talks good omens

732 notes · View notes

azsazz · 4 months

Text

Midnight Muse (Part 5)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 4,069

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Masterlist]

_________________________________________

“All I’m saying is that I think he’s pretty cute,” Feyre scoffs, defensively.

Since you’d moved in, it seems as though your entire life revolves around the boys living next door.

While you’d finally gotten the sleep you deserved last night, something had felt…off. The other side of the wall was almost too quiet as you lay in the darkness, still awaiting sleep to take you in its hold, even though your body had been aching for sleep for so long. All night, there wasn’t a peep from the asshole sharing the wall. You knew it had to be Az living on the other side, there was no way in fucking hell that it wasn’t, but the lack of music blaring through the walls felt like a dream, almost.

You shoved the thoughts from your mind in the early hours of the morning, hastily getting ready for your day. Your first day of classes, and you wouldn’t let him ruin even that. Now, the sun shines brightly on you and Feyre as you walk to your first class of the day, Drawing 201.

You had made your schedules match up as much as they could. With Feyre being an art student as well, she had declared her major in oil painting, whereas you aren’t sure what medium you’d like to get into. All you know is that there’s something drawing you towards the arts, and thankfully, you still have time to take electives and try new classes to see if anything sticks.

The only classes you hadn’t been able to take together were your non-art related ones. Feyre seems to know exactly what her path is in life, minoring in business because she wants to open a gallery one day and figured having an understanding of what goes into owning her own business would be helpful.

You, on the other hand, had opted for a creative writing class to fulfill that requirement for your college degree. It is a semester filled with imagination and artistry, searching for that missing piece of your soul, trying to find it along the way.

Feyre has her drawing pad tucked under an arm as she walks. Yours is held in a similar fashion, the obnoxiously large pad of paper bigger than your torso. Her golden-brown hair is tied back into a loose bun that she makes look effortless. If you were to try and recreate the same hairstyle, you’d look like a rat. She’s clad in a plain t-shirt and jeans, simple for the balmy weather, not wanting to wear something nicer only to have charcoal and paints splashed over it by the end of the day.

The two of you had been talking about your neighbors, having seen one of them driving off in his vintage car that somehow always seemed to be parked outside of the building. Its paint was red and rusted, metal rotting through. You weren’t even sure that the car was in running condition, but it gave a splutter of black smoke as he rolled away and you wondered if it would make it the few blocks down to campus.

It was the last roommate, the one you don’t know the name of. He’s large and bulky, muscles seeming to nearly split the seams of any shirt he covered his torso with. The one who had seemed to be the least volatile, that is, until he shut the door in your face for the final time that dreadful night.

The building is old, but the classroom is spacious and drab. Concrete floors adorned with paint that hadn’t come off, dried clay chipping into dust, the room shared with many different classes working with many different mediums. The white walls brighten the room, the sun casting through the windows bouncing off of it and creating intriguing lighting to work with. Art horses are lined up in a circle, surrounding a mattress with a navy blue sheet spread across its lumpy surface. It smells of both paint and graphite, the scent comforting as a part of you settles, shoulders relaxing as you revel in it.

Accustomed to the setup, you realize that you’re going to be jumping right into the class and will be drawing today. Last year, the most memorable moment in your first life drawing class ever was the oldest man you’ve ever seen being the nude model. Of course, that was the day that your professor had each student drawing a close-up of a specific part of the model’s body, and you’d so luckily gotten to draw his low-hanging, wrinkly balls. Lovely.

You shudder as the memory resurfaces, following Feyre to a seat. You drop your bag to the floor, setting up your own sketchpad, before pulling out the necessary materials you’ll be needing for class.

You roll your eyes in response to her statement. “I didn’t say they weren’t cute, I said that they’re assholes.” Despite your quiet night, you can’t help but wonder about Az, thinking about his brooding nature and stupidly charming face as you drifted off to sleep in the loud quiet of your room.

Students trickle in one by one. A group of girls stride in, laughing about something that happened at a bar over their weekend. Another girl follows, but it’s clear that she isn’t in their group. She’s pretty, with chic, ice blue glasses perched on her button nose, her striking white hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

Your attention shifts to the boy that follows her in, and your jaw almost drops.

He’s handsome—no, he’s much more than that, you just can’t formulate the words twisting your thoughts and tongue into knots. Maybe after your creative writing class you’d be able to describe his sheer beauty. He has the most luxurious copper hair you’ve ever seen. It cascades across his broad shoulders, a braid on either side, caressing his face. He’s tall, too, an entire head—maybe even more—taller than the white-haired girl he’s bounding behind. His straight nose is flecked with freckles and his fox-shaped face is utterly devastating.

When his gaze finds yours, you feel as though you’re pinned to the art horse beneath you. He has one russet eye, and the other is golden. You want to commit it to memory, curse yourself for not bringing your colored pencils, stare right into those very eyes until you’ve gotten each stroke of his iris’ perfect. He’s mesmerizing, and the closer he moves, you start to make out the fine scar that slashes through that gold eye and his eyebrow above. It’s his only flaw, but only adds to his intimidating aura.

“Hi,” he greets, sliding into the empty seat next to you. You have to look up at him, even sitting, and something in your stomach stirs. “I’m Lucien.”

“(Y/N),” you respond numbly, thrown by his beauty. He’s wearing a loose button-up in the color moss, dark trousers, and even nicer shoes. He doesn’t look anything like an art student. Law, maybe. “Nice to meet you.”

You fumble with your art case as he holds out his hand for you to shake. Cheeks heating, you give him a bashful smile, sliding your hand into his. It’s warm, encapsulating the entirety of your own, and the longer your hand sits in his, the wider his pleasant smile becomes. “You as well,” he responds, then leans over to introduce himself to Feyre. With your back to him, you give her an ‘oh my gods, look how gorgeous he is’ look, and she responds with an elbow to your side, acknowledging that she sees just how gorgeous he is.

This year is determined to kill you, with all of the handsome men you’ve seen so far. Lucien maybe even more so, with how delightful he already is.

You can hardly even remember what you were conversing with Feyre about now that Lucien has entered the room. You couldn’t even remember if one of your neighbors waltzed right into the roo—

Fuck.

Of fucking course.

It’s the one roommate you don’t know the name of. The one who’d been driving away when you and your roommate left for campus this morning, waltzing into the room as if he owns the place.

His frame takes up the entire doorway, and you find yourself wondering if that’s his thing. Precious Azzy’s is being loud, Rhys’ is that forked tongue of his, and this one’s is filling any space with his massive body.

He enters the room with a swagger that has all of the girls swooning, carefree and confident. He oozes masculinity, barrel chested and tall. You didn’t know that he was in this class, though. When Rhys has said that they were juniors, you thought they’d be in the 300 classes, not 200s.

Now might be as good a time as ever to ask, though, because his hazel gaze sparks in recognition when he glances your way, and he beelines over to you.

“Well, hello there ladies,” he greets with a seemingly genuine smile. He had been the nicest of the three when you and Feyre had almost knocked their door clean from its hinges, but he had also shut the door on you. Plus, with your not-so-great experiences with his roommates, your body is tense, prepared for the worst. “You’re taking this class?”

Feyre takes the bait on this one, and you’re well aware that Lucien is listening in, despite the fact that he’s pulled his satchel into his lap and is unloading his own supplies. “Yeah, it’s required for sophomores. Are you in it as well?”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a sinful smile. Wolfish, almost. “You could say that.” You open your mouth to speak but he’s turning towards Lucien, smile broadening into something practically wicked, sticking his hand out to introduce himself. “I’m Cassian, man. Nice to meet you.”

“Lucien,” he replies politely, though you don’t miss the slight grimace on his face when Cassian clenches his fingers in his own. You smother a laugh because Cassian looks like he could break all of the bones in Lucien’s hand with just a little more pressure if he wanted to.

The trifecta is complete. You finally have all three names, though you only know Az through his nicknames alone. Or maybe his name is Azzy. Maybe that’s why he’s so grumpy all of the time.

Whatever. You don’t care.

After introducing yourself and Feyre to Cassian, he leans in closer. He smells earthy, like freshly turned dirt and smoked wood. It reaches out to you like roots in the ground, and it’s refreshing, to say the least.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” he starts, and you nearly recoil. You were expecting him to come in here with the arrogance his roommates seem to share, not this sincere politeness dripping from his words. His hazel eyes are earnest as you inspect him, his soft smile a touch guilty, if anything. “It’s just that I’ve got to side with my roommates. You can understand that, right?”

“You don’t even know what he did,” you answer, trying not to grumble. Your brows are pinched and you watch Cassian take note of that. Az had been a complete prick for no reason, and that’s just not cool in your books.

Cassian winces, dropping back an inch or two. His voice is low, more of a whisper than you thought someone of his size would be able to make. “It’s not really my place to say, but Azriel had had a rough day. And no, that doesn’t excuse his actions, but you did threaten to tow his bike, and he doesn’t take that lightly. But hey, it had nothing really to do with me, so I’m willing to look past it if you are.”

Azriel. Aa full name to a face and well, it kind of suits him. The angel of death. A shiver wracks your spine.

With that permanent scowl, he certainly looks the part.

And, this isn’t the apology you expected, but it’s a truce, a peace offering between neighbors. Maybe, if you accept, Cassian will be able to pass along the message of ‘shut the fuck up after midnight’ to Azriel.

You share a look with Feyre, contemplating. It seems as though she’s thinking similarly to you because she smiles up at Cassian, agreeing. “We’d love that.”

Cassian beams, straightening to his full height. Fuck, he’s huge.

He looks as if he may say something more, but the professor enters the room and calls his name. He shoots you and Feyre a cheeky grin. “That’s me,” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll come get your numbers after class. Try not to enjoy it too much, ladies.” With a wink, he turns, gliding across the room with an ease someone built like a brick wall should have.

Your eyes follow him as he stalks towards the teacher, all grins and positivity. Maybe he isn’t like his broody, rude roommates. The teacher asks him something and he’s nodding along as if he’s done this before and is being reminded of what’s expected of him for this class. He roots around in the bag slung over his shoulder and pulls something out as he makes his way towards the door. Maybe he’s not enrolled in your class and only needed to speak to the professor?

“Welcome to Drawing 201,” the professor greets, clapping her hands together to gain the attention of the room. The murmurs soften as she speaks, students ready to have their talents molded by her intelligence. “My name is Ms. Woods, but you can call me Alis.”

You don’t miss Cassain slipping back into the room as Alis walks you through warm up exercises and best practices for the class. Your fingers are already coated with charcoal from where you’d roughly outlined shapes of Feyre’s body for warm ups. The curves on your paper become more and more fluid as you get into the familiar motions of drawing.

“What do you think he’s doing here?” you murmur to Feyre, still watching where Cassian is crouched low as if he wouldn’t be able to hear the professor from his full height. While you’re turned this way, you catch Lucien peeking at you over his shoulder for a fleeting moment, and before your gaze can snag his, he’s turning back to his own work.

Feyre shrugs, studying the lines of your face. “You don’t think he’s the—”

“This is Cassian,” Alis interrupts, stealing your attention from your roommate and your drawing. It’s nothing more than a mess of rough shapes, looking nothing like her at all, but you’re trusting the process. Only a minute's time isn’t long enough for more than that.

Cassian is no longer wearing his loose jeans and tight t-shirt. Instead, he dons a thick, gray robe. The fabric doesn’t nearly drape far enough down, his gloriously tanned and muscular legs on full display, showing off an intricate tattoo from his knees, creeping up underneath the fabric. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, following the lines of muscle all the way up as Alis continues, “He’s going to be our model for the day.”

You’re not the only one who chokes at the news. Girls and guys alike are blushing in their seats, and Cassian can hardly contain the smug smirk threatening to split his face in two. He winks over at you and Feyre who share a wide-eyed look. Lucien scoffs lightly, and your jaw snaps shut, pink heating your cheeks as well.

You busy yourself by flipping to a new page in your pad. It’s crisp and white, not at all as interesting as you’re trying to make it seem as you avoid Cassian’s mirth-filled stare. You smooth the paper with your hand, and it’s shaking slightly with anticipation. Your new neighbor who’s just offered a truce, and you’re already going to be seeing him naked.

Would it have been weirder to be mad at him and stare at his naked form, or now, when a ceasefire has been declared and you’re somewhat on the road to becoming friends?

You don’t have the chance to think further on it because Cassian moves into the circle towards the lone mattress on the floor as Alis explains how the time spent in class is going to be divided. There will be a few three minute sketching sessions where you are to get down as much of his form as you can, while Cassian continuously changes poses. Following that, there will be two fifteen minute sessions, a break, and a final longer session where you’ll focus more on detail than form.

He slides out of his shoes, and you swallow roughly as he undoes the ties to his robe. Thankfully, he’s not looking at you, watching your intent gaze pinned to his tanned skin. The fabric slides from his broad shoulders, down, exposing the muscles of his back. The less fabric that shows, the more tattoos you see, covering both arms and licking across his chest. His waist pulls in tight and you have to bite your lip to hold back a noise in the completely silent room. Rippling muscles line his body, corded and thick in all of the right places. You can’t help it, staring unabashed because he’s turned away from you, your eyes falling from the inky whorls of tattoos across his shoulders, down through the cavern of the muscle lining his spine, all the way down to his tight ass.

All of the students are entrapped by his beauty, as if he’s aphrodite reincarnated. Two dimples poke in the base of his spine that you want to lean forward and dip your tongue into, but then he’s shifting a little and his cock is on full display.

The stick of charcoal in your fingers snaps in half.

You hope you get that facing you for the few hours you’ll be here.

Next to you, Lucien tuts under his breath, but even he can’t seem to look away from the Greek God standing before you.

Alis instructs Cassian into his first pose and then addresses the class. “Alright, your time begins now.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

You don’t know how you’re able to focus on anything other than the cock draped so prettily across his abdomen.

Cassian looks as relaxed as ever, splayed out across the blue sheet on the mattress, one arm tucked beneath his head, eyes shut, and breathing even as if he might have actually fallen asleep.

With the late nights you know he and his roommates tend to have, you wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest.

You lose yourself in the quiet of the classroom, nothing but the sounds of long strokes or chalk against paper, the scratch of quick sharp lines being drawn. There’s the occasional murmur of advice or comments from Alis as she makes her rounds, weaving through students spread throughout the room.

Drawing the contours of his muscle is no easy feat. Packed layer upon layer from years or hard work spent in the gym, you rub the dark soot into your drawing pad. It’s calming, sweeping the charcoal over the white space to create shadows the lighting paints across his body.

His tattoos take some effort, even though Alis had said not to worry about those, that getting his form down was more important, but you can’t help yourself. You’ve always been interested in people’s tattoos and the stories behind them, the significance or lack thereof for some, despite having none of your own. You draw them with an extra care, trying your best not to make up reasons as to why he might have them. Now that you’re going to be on friendly terms, maybe you can ask him the meaning behind them yourself.

Eventually, Alis’ timer goes off, the ringtone the same as your phone, and for a fleeting moment your body reacts as if it’s your own alarm going off, a slight twist in your stomach as your body locks for a moment. You put down your chunk of charcoal as Cassian sits up, dusting your fingers off and admiring your drawing, comparing it to the model once more before he tugs on his robe.

Feyre stands to stretch, her back popping as she twists around. You wipe the soot from your hands on a cloth and grab your water bottle, the crisp water wetting your parched throat.

Lucien leans over, copper hair cascading over his shoulder and almost brushing your arm in the process. You wouldn’t mind, it looks silky smooth and the smell of his hair oil makes you want to lean in a little closer. He studies your work as you drink and eventually, with a smirk, says, “You have quite an eye for detail.”

You splutter and he bites his pink lip, trying to smother his smile. He gives you the most innocent look he can muster, but he doesn’t know that you have a retort on the tip of your tongue, just as soon as you stop choking.

“You sound a little bit jealous there, Lucien.”

Feyre laughs and he gapes dramatically, “Maybe, a little.”

You can’t help but to chuckle at his antics, the rest of your classmates packing up around you. Cassian’s disappeared from the room already, probably in the restroom changing, and you wonder if he’ll be back for your number like he promised.

In the meantime, you pack your things away, stuffing your extra chalks of charcoal back into your case, along with your cloth and kneaded eraser. You feel confident in the work you’ve done today, so with a last glance at your drawing, you flip your pad shut, taking Feyre’s for her and walking with Lucien to stash them in the assigned drawer you and Feyre share.

“So, are you an art major?” you ask, waiting for the crowd around the shelves to dissipate a little.

He cuts you a suspicious look, but it’s playful. “You didn’t get a glimpse of my drawing, did you? I suppose I can’t blame you with a model looking like that, but it’s entirely awful,” he states, and you stare up at him in disbelief.

“Surely it can’t be that bad,” you argue, and his lips thin a little as he flips open his drawing pad just enough for only you to see. It’s difficult to hold in the laugh trying to burst from your throat.

Lucien winces but a puff of laughter follows that makes your shoulders ease. “I told you it was shit, your face only confirmed it!”

There’s no coming back from this one, so you decide to play into it.

“Okay, it’s not great, but I’ve definitely seen worse. You should’ve seen my stuff from last year.”

Lucien rolls his eyes, stepping forward in line. “Oh, I’m sure it was nothing like the gorgeous drawing you’ve managed to pull out of your ass in two hours today,” he scoffs, and you elbow him in the arm gently. “Your drawing literally looks like a photograph!”

It doesn’t, but your cheeks heat at his compliment anyway.

“I might’ve been doing this a little longer than you have,” you defend. Since you could hold a crayon, to be exact.

He huffs, stuffing his pad into a drawer and offering to help you with yours and Feyres. He pulls your drawer open and you slide the pads inside, stepping out of the way so others can crowd him as he closes up and follows you back to your seats. “Well, then you might have to help me out, because I thought that taking a few drawing classes would help me with my renderings for architecture, but those are all straight lines and circles and this is all curved lines and cock.”

You can’t help but laugh this time, leaning over your horse to pack away the rest of your supplies. Feyre’s all ready to go, face buried in her phone as she texts someone, fingers tapping quickly on the screen.

“You know, if you remove yourself from what you’re looking at, this is all just lines and circles too.”

Lucien slings his satchel over his shoulder, staring down at you with those mesmerizing eyes that shine when he speaks. “Would you want to explain that further sometime, over coffee perhaps?”

You’re a little shocked by his bluntness, but you grin and nod nonetheless. “I’d like that.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Midnight Muse Taglist: @going-through-shit @honeycriess @natashachelsea @thisisew @kennedy-brooke @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @magical-mischief-makers @reiincarnatiion @ccucumbers @secret-ly-here @throneofsmut @cami26cami @torchbearerkyle @a-frog-with-a-laptop @sevikas-whore @endless-worldss @vellichor01 @bangtans-jagiya @kalulakunundrum @pinksmellslikelove @sakurafrost3-blog @imxnotxhere @bookishbroadwaybish @justdreamstars @i-am-infinite @whichwitchisthebitch @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @sia-r @acourtofbatboydreams @hannzoaks @judig92 @ilikefictionalmen @harrystylesfan2686 @dr4g0ngirl @vellichor01 @hirah-yummar @girl-who-writes-stuff @lees-chaotic-brain @konaanaria13 @emiler-love @yourdorkiness @azrielsstarlight

#azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #midnight muse #art school au #azriel au #tattoo arstist!azriel

681 notes · View notes