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dreamescapeswriting · 4 months ago

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Through The Façade ~ MYG [MATURE WARNING]

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅WORD COUNT: 7.2K

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ GENRE: arranged marriage, TRIGGER WARNING MENTIONS OF ABUSE FROM FATHER, BEING HIT IN ONE SCENE PLEASE DONT READ IF IT’LL TRIGGER YOU, T MINORS DNI!!! yoongi being a simp for reader, forgiveness, fluffy ending, smut,

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - October 2024

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅MASTERLIST

The ceremony had been flawless, beautiful and absoutelyly flawless. Everythign had been planned out perfectly by your father and it was meticulously orchestrated and over the top. Done to display of wealth and elegance, the union of two powerful chaebol families, something you had begged your father not to do but, did he listen? No. You'd wanted something small, just you and Yoongi's family since th two of you didn't know each other but it was all pushed aside.

Your wants weren't important despite it being your wedding and you were mostly ignored and your mother and father planned the whole affiar. The guests were a sea of familiar faces, but none of them mattered, you hardly knew any of them by name and they mostly referred to you as "Yoongi's wife" or "Mr YLN's daughter" No one was there for you. Your hands had trembled through the entire ceremony, the weight of the vows, the cameras, and the expectations crushing you it felt like there were a million pairs of eyes focused on you. But now, behind the closed door of the changing room, you could finally breathe.

You exhaled, leaning against the vanity, your fingers gripping the edge tightly. The dress you were wearing was something your mother had picked, a huge puffy thing to display your wealth. If it was your choice you would have gone for something elegant and small, plain...simple. Nothing like this. The money would have gone to something much better.

The soft hum of the celebration continued outside, muffled by the heavy door, but the isolation here was a brief relief. You didn't want to go out there and plaster on the fake facade you'd mastered over the years, you just wanted time to yourself, time to breathe.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and you stiffened, no one was supposed to come back here and you panicked wondering if your father had come to hand out one of his speeches to you reminding you not to fuck everything up.

In the mirror, you saw Yoongi enter the room, his expression hardened, his sharp features set in a grim line. Swallowin the lump in your throat you stood up straight and brushed down the dress, trying to make it look as if you were just reaplying your make up.

Your father told you that Yoongi iked his women pretty and silent and that was exactly what you were trying to be. The perfect wife for the perfecg man. He closed the door behind him with a resounding click, the finality of the sound sending a chill down your spine.

He said nothing at first, just stood there with his arms crossed, eyes scanning over you as if appraising something he already disliked. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. How did he already hate you? You'd barely uttered a word except for the vows and you wanted things to be smooth between you both,

“Hey...Do you need something? I think I have emerency snakcs in my back if you're hungry,” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. It felt strange—awkward—to address him, to speak to him without your father present was even weirder. You were a little stunned that your dad was even allowing it in the first place since usually he hated you speaking out of turn. But yoongi was your husband now, sooner or later you'd be left alone but even still, he felt like a stranger. Yoongi scoffed, shaking his head as he looked you up and down.

“Do I need something?” he echoed mockingly.

“I need to understand how the hell I got roped into this. But I guess that’s obvious, isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for your answer before taking a step closer, his movements sharp with frustration.

“This whole thing—it’s a farce. A business deal. And you—" He gestured toward you with disdain.

“You’re the perfect little pawn, aren’t you? Just like everyone said you would be.” You frowned, trying to process his sudden hostility. You thought all of this had been planned between both of your families, that his side wanted this just as much as you,

“What are you talking about? Dad said-”

“Dad said what? Do you think I seriously want to be with you?” His voice was icy, his eyes narrowed in accusation. His gaze felt like tiny daggers in your chest as you stared back at him, you did your best to appear confident.

“You think I don’t know about you? Your reputation? The tabloids have painted a very clear picture. Daddy’s little princess, spoiled beyond belief, doing nothing but spending money and making headlines. Everyone knows you’re shallow and selfish.” His words cut deep, sharper than you expected. You had spent years ignoring the rumours, the gossip, and the false stories about your life, but hearing it from him—your husband, who didn’t know you—made it hurt in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You straightened up, keeping your tone as calm as you could manage. No one was supposed to listen to what the tabloids said, if they did you would have had six kids and been married years ago according to those liars in the media.

“You’re basing your opinion of me on tabloid gossip?” Your voice shook ever so slightly but you weren't going to back down from this. He gave a short, bitter laugh.

“Why wouldn’t I? Everything about you screams entitled. Look at this wedding! The dress, the flowers, the venue. You’re playing the role perfectly, aren’t you? The helpless daughter of a chaebol, marrying for convenience.” Your heart pounded in your chest, each word stoking a fire of resentment inside you. You had been pushed into this marriage just as much as he had, and you’d done everything to survive under the weight of your family’s demands. But now, being judged for it without a chance to defend yourself—it was too much.

“I didn’t ask for this either,” you shot back, your voice rising as anger began to seep through.

“Do you think I wanted to be paraded around like a prize horse? Do you think I enjoy being talked about like I’m just some shallow, spoiled girl? You think I wanted some big fuckin bullshit wedding?!” You slapped your hand over your mouth realising you'd overstepped a little but Yoongi’s expression remained cold, but you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, a little surprise.

“You don't know me,” you continued, stepping toward him, your hands trembling at your sides. You'd never stood up to anyone in your life but you were going to damned if you would let this bullshit with him continue,

“You’re judging me based on rumors. Headlines written by people who don’t know the first thing about my life.”

“Oh, I think I know enough,” he muttered, his voice low but sharp.

“People like you don’t have to try. You’ve never worked a day in your life, and you wouldn’t know what hardship looks like if it slapped you in the face.” His words were like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you felt your resolve falter. But you quickly steeled yourself, if he wanted a fight, you weren’t going to back down.

“And what about you?” you snapped, your voice louder now, almost echoing in the small room.

“You think you’re any different? You’re standing here in a tuxedo that costs more than most people make in a year, and you have the nerve to talk about hardship? You don’t know anything about my life, Yoongi.” He clenched his jaw, clearly not expecting you to defend yourself. The silence between you stretched for a long moment, filled with tension. He stared at you, his eyes hard and unreadable, as if he were trying to find some crack in your words, something to validate his preconceptions.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he finally said, his voice quieter now but still laced with bitterness.

“I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be tied down to someone who doesn’t care about anything but herself.” Your breath hitched in your throat. You knew this was an arranged marriage, but hearing him say it out loud...that he really didn’t want this. He really didn’t want you, it killed you a little inside.

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, you weren't goign to give him the satisifcation of knowing that he broke you.

“You think I wanted this either?” you whispered, refusing to look in his direction,

“You think I wanted to marry someone who hated me before even knowing me?” He didn’t respond, and for a moment, the silence between you felt unbearable. The weight of the situation pressed down on you both—two people forced into a marriage neither of you wanted, bound by family expectations and years of societal pressure.

“I don’t care what you think of me,” you said, breaking the silence. Your voice was a little stronger this time as you stared over in his direction, an iron will plastered across your face,

“But lest you suffer vertigo from your moral highground but acting like you’re any different. We’re both stuck in this, whether we like it or not.” Yoongi’s eyes flickered showing, guilt? It was impossible to tell, but he said nothing, simply standing there as if he were battling some inner turmoil.

"Photo time!" Someone called from the door and you picked up the bottom of your dress, walking past your husband and going to join the rest of the party. Falling back into the "pretty princess" routine you'd mastered over the years.

Weeks had passed since the wedding, and the tension between you and Yoongi remained thick and unresolved. The two of you shared his penthouse apartment but you made sure to avoid each other at all costs. While he was working you moved freely around the place, doing all of your hobbies and enjoying the piece but when he was home you were gone. The whole place was silently, so quiet the staff were almost scared to move around.

Yoongi wasn't stupid though, on the days he didn't work you had made a habit of disappearing from the apartment for hours, sometimes entire evenings. Every time you came back, you barely spoke to him, retreating to your own space, keeping your distance. He couldn’t tell if it was resentment or something else, but it gnawed at him. He thought he'd wanted it, the silence. The peace.

It was everything he'd known for years but it felt weird having you live there and no speaking to each other besides "goodnight" if you happened to bump into each other. Or asking if the other one had eaten yet.

One night, after you'd left without a word again, Yoongi finally had enough. His frustration had been simmering for days, and the mystery surrounding your late-night absences only fueled his suspicions. He grabbed his keys, following the trail you'd left behind.

It wasn’t difficult to follow you—he had resources, after all, and within the hour, he found himself parked outside a grand building, far from the world of nightclubs or lavish parties he'd expected. A charity auction?

His brows furrowed in confusion. He stepped out of the car, slipping inside unnoticed, staying in the shadows as he tried to make sense of what was going on.

When he saw you sneaking out he figurd you were going to meet some secret fling or friends but this wasn't what he was expecting at all...or even close to it.

The room was filled with elegantly dressed people, sipping champagne and mingling beneath chandeliers. You were at the center of it all, standing near the stage, smiling warmly as you chatted with guests. Yoongi watched, his eyes narrowing as he tried to reconcile the on the stage with the image he had of you in his mind. This wasn't anything like he'd been expecting when he saw tabloid photos of you leaving hotels.

"She's lovely, isn’t she?" A voice to his left caught him off guard. He turned to see an elderly woman, smiling fondly as she looked in your direction.

"Excuse me?" Yoongi asked, masking his confusion. The lady moved closer to him and smiled as she eaned on her zimmer frame, Yoongi offered her his arm and she gladly took it.

"The young lady running the auction,” the woman said, nodding toward you, Yoongi glanced back at you. Taking in the stunning dress you were wearing that clung to every single part of your body showing him what he was missing out on by not being friendly with you.

“She’s been organizing this event for the past six years. Always so generous with her time and donations. We’re lucky to have someone like her supporting our cause.” Yoongi’s mind went blank for a second. Siz years?

"She organized this?" he asked, disbelief lacing his voice. He glanced around the room, it looked as if it had been done by professonals and this lady was telling him you'd done all of this?

"Oh yes,” the woman replied, her eyes shining with admiration.

“She’s quite the visionary. She plans for weeks, sometimes months on end before we host an event together," She chuckled softly as she took Yoongi toward a table, the two of them sitting down together and looking over at you. You were smiling brightly and speaking into the mircropphone, you looked...at peace here.

Here, you looked like someone who enjoyed what you were doing, as if you didn't have a single care but this charity in the world.

"She does? I thought she was a party princess." He grumbles a little and the lady scoffs,

"She plays her part well but she hates that shit," Yoongi laughed at the crude language coming from such a sweet old lady,

"She's smart, too. She always has new ideas to help raise funds for the shelter.” The woman paused, looking at Yoongi with curiosity, noting the wedding band on his finger.

“Are you a friend of hers?” Yoongi didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His mind was spinning as he watched you laugh softly with a group of guests, the warmth in your eyes, the genuine kindness in your smile.

"Husband," He whispered finally. Guilt gnawing at him as he realised everything he had assumed about you—your selfishness, your shallow nature—it all began to unravel in front of him. You weren’t the person the tabloids made you out to be, and certainly not the spoiled brat he had convinced himself you were.

“Excuse me,” Yoongi muttered, barely hearing the woman’s farewell as he made his way to the other side of the room, closer to where you stood. He stayed just out of sight, observing, listening to the way people spoke about you.

“She’s always been so generous,” another guest commented, her voice dripping with admiration.

“I don't know what we'd do without her... she’s so down to earth,” another person added. The guilt only further weighing him down,

“It’s rare, you know, for someone from her background to be so...genuine.” Yoongi’s chest tightened. He watched as you gracefully moved through the room, your laughter soft but infectious as you joked with the staff, thanking them for their hard work.

Maybe he could have brushed it off as you faking it but the thing was...You weren’t pretending. This was real.

He had been so quick to judge you, to believe the worst because it was easier than trying to understand. The facade you wore around him—cold, detached—wasn’t who you truly were. You had built walls around yourself, maybe because you had already sensed how much he disliked you from the start.

He hadn’t given you a chance.

After the auction wrapped up, Yoongi lingered outside, leaning against his car as he waited for you. The night was cool, the city lights flickering around him, but his mind was far from the usual chaos of his business world. He was lost in thought, contemplating every interaction the two of you had shared since the wedding.

Finally around 2 in the morning, you emerged, bidding farewell to the remaining staff, your posture relaxed but clearly exhausted. He'd heard someone talking that you stayed behind to make sure they didn't need any extra hands and he...loved...that about you.

You didn’t see him at first, not until you were halfway to your cab, your heels in your hand ready to drop into your bed but when your eyes landed on him, your steps faltered.

"Yoongi?" you asked, surprise lacing your voice. You looked around nervously, did you have a plan and not realise?

“What are you doing here?” He straightened up, stuffing his hands in his pockets, his usual guarded expression still in place, but something in his eyes had softened.

“I got worried and I followed you.” You blinked, confusion crossing your face. Worried?

"Worried? You followed me?" He nodded, unsure how to explain the storm of emotions brewing inside him. He didn't even know where to start with anything he was thinking or feeling right now.

“You’ve been disappearing a lot,” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders and then licking his lower lip.

“I wanted to know where you were going. I thought-”

"Thought I was cheating?" You were quick to cast a judgement on him like he had you and he didn't blame you for that. He sighed a little and you pressed your lips into a thin line, the warmth you’d shown all evening fading as your walls shot back up.

“I didn’t think you’d care about me disappearing,” you said, turning your gaze away, asking your cab to wait for you to finish talking, Yoongi felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. You had every reason to think that. He’d given you nothing but disdain since the day you met.

"I didn’t know," he said quietly, taking a step toward you. You stared at him, your eyes on him the whole time as if you were waiting for him to try something.

“I didn’t know you were doing all of this.” You glanced at him, confusion still etched on your face. If you were doing this or if you weren't shouldn't have mattered to him.

“What does it matter?” He hesitated, the weight of his assumptions pressing down on him.

"Miss?" Your cab driver asked through the window, checking to see if you were okay and you glanced at him,

"I'm fine Romano, I'll be right there." You smiled sweetly at him and he went back to waiting. Yoongi looked at you,

“I was wrong about you,” he admitted, his voice low. “I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.” You didn’t respond, your eyes searching his as if trying to figure out if his words were genuine. The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken feelings.

“I thought I knew who you were,” Yoongi continued, clearing his throat and sighing a little,

“but I didn’t. I’ve been... holding on to these stupid assumptions, believing the rumours, and I never gave you a chance.” You looked down at your feet, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag.

"You never asked," you said softly, the vulnerability in your voice catching him off guard. You hated that you sounded like this right now, but all you'd ever wanted out of this thing was someone to talk to...Someone to be the real you with.

Yoongi took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his guilt sink deeper.

"You're right. I didn’t ask. I just assumed. But tonight, seeing you like this..." He paused, searching for the right words. "You’re not who I thought you were.” You looked up at him, your expression still guarded but softer now.

“Who did you think I was?” You stared at him and watched as he exhaled slowly.

“Someone selfish. Someone shallow. I thought you were only interested in... whatever this marriage could bring you.” He shook his head, his voice tinged with regret. “But I was wrong. I see that now.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The city hummed around you, but in that moment, the world seemed quiet. Yoongi’s heart raced as he waited for you to say something—anything.

“I didn’t want this either,” you whispered, the weight of your own exhaustion clear in your tone.

“I didn’t want to be judged before I even had a chance...I thought maybe I'd be able to finally be myself around someone...not the prim and proper princess I'm forced to be.” Yoongi swallowed the lump in his throat. He had a lot to make up for, and he wasn’t sure how to do it. But standing here, watching the walls between you crack just a little, he knew he had to try.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice sincere. “For everything.” You looked at him, your gaze softening, and for the first time since you’d met, you allowed a small, genuine smile to grace your lips.

"I'll make it up to you?" he suggested and you bit your lip,

"Hmm,"

"Whatever it takes." He told you once he saw you were hesitating, he would do anything to make things right with you...To get the fresh start the two of you were going to need.

"A donation to the shelter." You said, folding your arms across your chest, you weren't only going to ask for that but you wanted to see how serious he was.

"Done."

"Come to charity events...actually donate to the thigns I'm doing. Not just for show." You'd asked your father for donations many times in the past but he would only pretend to donate.

"Done." He said with a smile, stepping closer to you, your chests pressing against each other as you looked at him,

"I want a dog."

"No." He mumbled, he wasn't a dog person.

"A cat?"

"Done." He smiled again,

"A ride home?" You whispered as he nodded at you,

"Done," he smiles turning back and opening the car door for you, gesturing for you to get inside.

"Thanks for waiting Romano," You went to get some money out but Yoongi shook his head, handing Romano triple what he would have gotten for taking you home and smiling at the man.

Months had passed since Yoongi first realized he’d been wrong about you. The chilly distance that had once separated you both had melted away completely, replaced by quiet, genuine affection. You laughed more around him now, and in return, he had softened in ways he hadn’t thought possible. He found himself caring for you, watching you with admiration in ways that were foreign but undeniably real.

The two of you were always arm in arm at events, photogrpahed going to your different charities. Yoongi told you he wanted to make sure you got proper coverage for them and arranged for the two of you to be seen at events. The charities were getting more and more attention which you were as well but you hadn't minded too much.

Tonight, he had decided to come home early to surprise you, he'd been working late every single night all week and he'd finally had enough. He'd told his assistant to cancel all meetings and he was heading home for the night. It had been a long day, but the thought of seeing you, sharing a quiet dinner or even you forcing him to watch trashing shows filled him with delight.

As he entered the house, he noticed something was off. You weren't sitting on the sofa greeting him, it was silent...Back to the same silence that had filled the penthouse months ago when you first got married and his stomach sank. Moving further into the apartment he went to find you, maybe you'd crashed on the sofa asleep or in bed? But as he headed toward the living room he heard a gruff, harsh voice cut through the air. Yoongi paused, his heart sinking as he realized the voice belonged to your father.

He edged closer, keeping out of sight, and listened.

“Enough with your excuses,” your father spat, his voice low but filled with venom. You flinched back from him and tried to talk but the words refused to come out,

“You need to hurry up and produce an heir, do you understand? This marriage was supposed to save us, but all you’ve done is play the perfect little wife, and for what? We need results, not your shit charity work.” Yoongi’s stomach churned with unease as the conversation continued, your voice soft but trembling as you tried to respond.

“I’m trying,” you whispered, “but I can’t just—"

“Trying isn’t good enough!” your father barked, cutting you off. You loved Yoongi, you'd fallen in love with him and you weren't just going to force him to make you pregnant. The two of you were taking your time together.

“Do you think this is some game? We’re on the verge of losing everything. Your husband may have his own fortune, but that’s not going to save us. You need to step up!”

"I love-"

"Love is a foolish game!" He screams in your face, making you whimper at him and shake your head. You weren't going to play this anymore.

"Open your fucking legs for him, that's all he wants! Let him fuck a shitty baby into you and do your job!"

"My job is to be a good wife! To lead my charities-" There was a loud crack, the unmistakable sound of a slap, followed by a sharp intake of breath—yours. Yoongi’s blood ran cold, his hands clenching into fists as he stormed toward the room. He could hear you whimper softly, the sound of it making his heart twist with rage.

In an instant, Yoongi was at the door, throwing it open with a force that startled both you and your father. Your hand was clutching your face,

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Yoongi’s voice was ice cold, his eyes blazing with fury as he stepped between you and your father. Your father straightened, the vein in his neck popping with anger at the interruption coming in.

“This is a family matter,” he growled. “You have no right to interfere.” Yoongi ignored him, his attention focused entirely on you. He was by your side in seconds, moving your hand and scanning your face for any sign of it hurting and you wincing was enough confirmation for him. His jaw tightened, his heart pounding with the urge to protect you from any further harm.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi asked, his voice softening as he gently touched your arm. You nodded, though tears brimmed in your eyes, and Yoongi’s heart broke a little more.

“I’m fine, nothing I'm not used to,” you whispered, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you. Used to?! There was no way Yoongi was going to let this asshole anywhere near you ever agian, Yoongi turned back to your father, his expression hardening again.

“Get out,” he demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not welcome here anymore.” Your father scoffed, stepping forward as if to challenge him, but Yoongi didn’t flinch. The cold authority in his gaze was enough to make anyone hesitate.

“This isn’t over,” your father spat, glaring between you and Yoongi. “You owe me—both of you.”

“No,” Yoongi said firmly, his hand tightening protectively around your arm. He wasn't going to let the piece of shit make you feel small,

“She doesn’t owe you anything.” Your father glared at him for a long moment before turning on his heel and storming out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. The echo of it reverberated through the halls, leaving behind a heavy silence.

Once he was gone, Yoongi turned to you, his eyes softening as he gently cupped your face, inspecting the damage. His thumb brushed over the spot where your father had hit you, careful not to press too hard.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking. You'd done everything yo could to hide this side of your life from him,

“I didn’t want you to see that.” Yoongi shook his head, his expression filled with concern. The thought of you hiding this from him breaking his heart into a million pieces.

“You don’t have to apologize. None of this is your fault.” Tears slipped down your cheeks as you leaned into his touch.

“He’s been pressuring me for months,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. You knew it was all going to come out anyway and you hated the idea of Yoongi getting caught up in the middle of it all.

“He’s trying to cover up his bankruptcy, and he thinks... he thinks if I have a child, it will fix everything.” Yoongi felt a surge of protectiveness raise in him, the thought of you being used as some pawn in your father’s schemes igniting his anger all over again.

“That’s not going to happen,” he said firmly, his hand slipping down to grip yours.

“I won’t let him treat you like that. Not anymore.” You looked up at him, your eyes wide and vulnerable. You wanted to believe him but how were you supposed to get away when he was your dad?

“But... he’s my father. He’s desperate. I didn’t know what else to do.” Yoongi’s heart clenched at the sight of your pain. He could see how much this had been weighing on you, how you’d been carrying this burden alone. Guilt washed over him for not noticing sooner, for not realizing the extent of what you were dealing with.

“From now on, you don’t have to deal with this alone,” Yoongi promised, his voice low but steady. “I’ll keep you safe. No one—especially your father—will hurt you again.” You stared at him, a mix of relief and disbelief in your eyes.

“You’d do that for me?” Yoongi’s expression softened, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears.

“Of course. You’re my wife, I'd do anything for you,” he said simply before looking at you, biting his lip a little. “And I... I care about you.”

It was the first time he’d openly admitted it, and the weight of those words hung between you for a moment, settling in the space where uncertainty had once been.

You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest as you allowed yourself to finally breathe. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. And Yoongi, with his arms wrapped around you, knew that he would do whatever it took to protect you—from your father, from the world, from anything that tried to hurt you.

In that moment, it wasn’t just a promise he made out of obligation. It was a promise he made because he had fallen for you—deeply and irrevocably.

Later that night, the two of you sat on the couch in the living room, the television softly flickering in front of you. The events of the day still weighed on both of your minds, but the comfort of Yoongi’s presence soothed the tension that had lingered. You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder, his arm draped protectively around you. It felt natural now, the closeness, as if this was always where you were meant to be—with him.

The TV played in the background, but neither of you were really paying attention. Your thoughts kept drifting back to the conversation with your father, the harsh words, and Yoongi’s unwavering defense of you. It had changed something between you two, bringing you even closer than before.

After a while, Yoongi shifted, turning his gaze from the screen to look down at you. His voice, low and soft, broke the comfortable silence.

“Can I ask you something?” You nodded, sensing the seriousness in his tone.

“Always." He hesitated for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. He didn't know how this conversation was going to go,

“Earlier, when your father was... pressuring you about having a child,” he began, his eyes searching yours. “Is that something you actually want? I mean... a baby—not just for him or an heir, but for us?” The question hung in the air, and you felt your heart skip a beat. It was a vulnerable thing to ask, especially after everything that had happened, but you could see the sincerity in his eyes. Yoongi wasn’t asking because of some external obligation; he was asking because he genuinely wanted to know how you felt.

You bit your lip, glancing away for a moment as you gathered your thoughts. Having a baby was something you'd always wanted, you wanted to raise your child to feel the love you'd wished you'd felt growing up.

“I’ve always wanted a family,” you admitted quietly. “But I didn’t want it to be because of... what my father wants. I want it to be because we want it. Because we’re ready.” Yoongi’s gaze softened, and he reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, turning your face back to his.

“Do you want that with me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, laced with vulnerability. Your heart fluttered at his question, the weight of his words sinking in. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear him ask. It wasn’t just about an heir or fulfilling some family expectation. It was about the two of you—about building something real together.

“Yes,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his. “I do. I want that with you, Yoongi.” His expression shifted, a mixture of relief and lust. His thumb brushed across your cheek as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“I want that too,” he murmured, his voice deep and intimate.

The air between you grew heavier, charged with the intensity of the moment. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. It started as a soft and gentle but quickly turned into something more urgent, more passionate. Yoongi responded instantly, pulling you closer, his hands slipping around your waist as his lips moved against yours with a newfound hunger.

You let out a soft gasp as he deepened the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair as he drew you into his lap. The warmth of his body against yours, the way his hands roamed over your back—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Everything about him, the way he kissed you, the way he held you, spoke of desire, of a need that had been building between you for months.

Your hands moved to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as he trailed kisses down the side of your neck, softly whimpers left your lips.

“Yoongi,” you whispered breathlessly, your head tilting back to give him more access. He groaned softly in response, his lips trailing back up to claim yours once again, he loved that you were so responsive to him.

"We can practice baby making," He whispers before continuing the kiss but it was deeper now, more insistent, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. His hands roamed your body, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you.

Yoongi pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath heavy and ragged as he rested his forehead against yours.

“I want everything with you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “A family. A future. Everything.” Your heart swelled at his words, and without hesitation, you captured his lips again, pouring every bit of your emotion into the kiss. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to him as the intensity between you grew. You had never felt this way before—so completely consumed by someone else.

"T-Take me to our room?" You whispered as he looked at you, scanning your face to make sure you were sure about this.

"You've been through a lot tonight-"

"Yoongi, please." You begged, leaning down and kissing his soft skin, biting and sucking on his neck as he groaned, grinding you down against him as he nods at you.

It wasn't long until the two of you were naked and he had you laying beneath him on the bed, his eyes drinking in every inch of your skin as he felt his cock growing harder at the sight.

"You're so beautiful," He moans, sliding his fingers inside of you gently while rubbing your clit until you were gasping against him. Yoongi smirked, nibbling your earlobe and kissing down yout throat,

"Spread those legs for me, princess." he said. You whimper a little, spreading your legs and watching as your husbamd dropped to his knees between your legs. He lowered his head and began to tease you, kissing along the inside of your thigh and licking your folds before finally touching his tongue to your clit. You moaned loudly, your back arching from the bed as you whimpered at him.

"Y-yoongi," You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continued to eat you out. Your whole body on fire as you whimpered, grinding against his face as he smirked. He continued to push his fingers into you, curling them against that one spot that made your mind blank,

"R-Right there!" You cry out, whimpering as you chased your orgasm. It didn't take long as you called out his name as you came.

Soon he started kissing up your body, your hand moved between you as you took his cock into your hand, pumping slowly as you watched his face. His eyes rolled back and he moaned softly,

"Princess,"

"I wanna make you feel good," You pouted at him but he shook his head at you, there was no way he would last and he wanted to fuck you. Tonight.

"Later...I wanna be inside you when I cum for you the first time," He moaned not caring how needy he sounded. You nod and spread your legs once more as he pushed the head of his cock into you, your head rolling back as he pushed all the way into you,

"So fucking wet," He moaned out, sliding in and out of you as your hands clucthed onto the sheets around you. He fucked into you slowly and sweetly, your lips finding each others as you kissed him deeply.

"Y-Yoongi," You moan out as he thrusts a little harder this time,

"I'm so deep inside of you," He moaned out, his voice like sandpaper. Ripples of pleasure wavered through your boody as you whimpered,

"Feels so fucking good," you cry out, your nails digging into his skin as he continued to fuck into you. He shifted a little, his cock hitting that spot that made you scream and you whimper,

"Y-Yoongi-"

"Me too," He moaned out as he continued to fuck into you. Your heart raced and your back arched off the beg, your fingers digging into his arms as your heels dug into his ass, sinking him deeper into you. You scream out as your orgasm hits you, clenching around him tightly as you whimpered,

"S-Shit! S-Shit!" He grunted as he bucked into you, cumming into you and holding you close to him. Your foreheads rested together as you caught your breath, gigging softly at him,

"I love you." You whispered to him, stroking some of the hair out of his face,

"I love you too princess."

You smiled softly, feeling the flutter of movement beneath your hand. The little kicks were a constant reminder of the new life growing inside you, not that you could ever forget with the constant needing to pee all of the time.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and you turned just as Yoongi entered the room. His eyes immediately softened when they landed on you, and he crossed the room to stand by your side, his arms wrapping around you from behind. His hand joined yours on your belly, fingers brushing over the spot where the baby had kicked moments before.

"Hey," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "How are my two favorite people doing?" You leaned back into his embrace, sighing contentedly.

"We're doing good. He’s been pretty active today." Yoongi smiled, his hand gently rubbing small circles over your stomach, kissing it softly before looking back at you.

"Already giving you a hard time, huh? Just like his mom." You laughed softly, turning your head to meet his gaze.

“Or like his dad,” you teased, earning a playful smirk from Yoongi.

For a moment, the two of you stood in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the closeness. Yoongi’s hand never left your belly, as if he was already in tune with the life growing inside you. His protectiveness, his love—it had only grown stronger with time.

“Can you believe it?” you whispered, your voice filled with awe. “In just a few months, we’re going to be parents.” Yoongi’s smile softened, his eyes brimming with excitement, he'd been over the moon when you told him you were expecting but he had baby proofed every single inch of the penthouse.

“I’ve been thinking about it every day,” he admitted, his voice low and full of affection. “It still feels a little surreal.” You turned in his arms, facing him fully.

“Are you ready for it?” His gaze met yours and he smiled at you.

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” he said sincerely. “Especially with you by my side.” Tears pricked at your eyes, overwhelmed by how far you had both come. There was a time when you hadn’t been sure if things would ever feel this right. But now, standing here with Yoongi, your husband and soon-to-be father of your child, everything felt complete.

“I still think about my father sometimes,” you admitted softly, breaking the gentle silence. Since your fathers outburst Yoongi had made it clear he wasn't to be involved with anything the two of you were doing and he'd...back off. Something that had creeped you out and you'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop but he never showed up again.

“About how different things are without him in my life. It feels strange… but also freeing.” Yoongi’s expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening at the mention of your father. He had tabs on him at all times to make sure he wasn't going to do anything to you again,

“He lost the right to be part of your life the moment he put his hands on you. I won’t let him come anywhere near you or our family.” You nodded, comforted by his unwavering protectiveness.

“I know. And I’m glad he’s not part of this. I don’t want our baby growing up under that kind of pressure.” Yoongi’s hand slipped from your waist to cradle your face, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek.

"Our child is going to grow up surrounded by love, not expectations or obligations,” he said firmly. “That’s all that matters now.” Your heart swelled with gratitude, tears welling in your eyes.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

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ladylokianna · 2 months ago

Text

My father's daughter

Pairing: no one, basically Aemond being a dad (and a husband).

Warning: nothing serious i guess. A bit of swearing, an obviously ooc Aemond being a protective dad, Vhagar being a protective great–grand mother, fluff.

AU oneshot in which the brotherly Aegond bond is based on the book and in which Aemond killed Daemon.

Introducing some of my Ocs, of which i'm very proud: Aerenys, his wife, and four of their seven children.

(Aemond here is around 36 years old, his daughters, two ocs of mine, are 16 and 11. Aegon, Daeron and Granny V involved.)

Words count: 3,6 k

A/N: i've checked it countless times, but if there were any mistake, i'm sorry in advance.

Translation from HV:

Kirimvose : thank you

Iksā gevie, kepa: you are beautiful, dad

"Can't we do without it?"

"Shhh!!! Can you please be quiet? If he wakes up, we're in trouble!"

"We'll be in trouble anyway."

Holding tightly the satchel, the younger of the two girls nodded, watching her older sister sneak into her parents' chambers through the secret passageway, the one immediately next to their bed: leaning in a little, she barely caught a glimpse of his hair, hearing his relaxed and regular breathing, hoping he wouldn't wake up just then.

Asterya tried to focus hoping to quickly find what she was looking for even in the darkness of the room: on the low table as well as on the dresser there was nothing but maps and notes, and rummaging again through the drawers was out of question.

Damn, why hadn't she thought of that before?

A sudden rustling from the bed made her freeze on the spot, but fortunately her father had only rolled over in his sleep. And that's when she saw it on the nightstand.

Mornings like those, in which the cold breath of winter had given way to spring sunshine, were ideal for training, or for riding.

Ser Emeric walked out into the large courtyard in front of the huge gate, ready to take up duty after the night watch, just in time to see someone rushing out of the gate: it was not uncommon to see the prince going out for an early morning ride, usually preceding a long patrol over the city on his dragon, so he paid no particular attention to it.

Wandering his eyes over the sky, tinged in the vibrant hues of the dawn, he released a sigh: what a nice morning it was.

What a fucking morning it was.

Ser Emeric swallowed hard before stopping in front of the double door of the Council room, uncertain whether to knock or not. Behind the intricate carving of the wood, his worst nightmare.

"Fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck, no, i can't do it."

Of all the things that could have happened during his shift, that was definitely the worst since he began his journey as a White Cloak, and now he also had to report it to the most fearsome man in the realm, the same man he tried to avoid with all his strength.

Prince Aemond.

The former Regent, the Terror of the Trident, the man who killed the infamous Daemon Targaryen.

He knocked three times with a lump in his throat: he could be dead before the sunset, hanged at the Keep's wall by his own guts like a common thief or feeded to a dragon –or worse, feeded to his dragon– and in all of this, he was only twenty and yet to live.

What a fucking death, eaten by that damned beast...

"Come on in." answered the king.

Once inside, his eyes turned immediately to Aemond, while Aegon looked up on him, settling aside for a second the parchment in his hands.

"What is all this fuss? Oh, good morrow Ser Emeric."

His sight was darting from Aegon and Daeron, to Aemond. The first two sitting at the table, the latter standing next to a window, scanning the outsides, seemingly indifferent to his presence.

Aegon saw him swallowing in discomfort, droplets of sweat running down his forehead.

"What's the matter?"

"I... i have... i have to speak to... i have to speak to his... his highness." Ser Emeric stuttered. The poor guy cleared his throat, wincing when Aemond turned to him, inquisitive and menacing even if he was dead silent as always.

"Then speak! Did the cat got your tongue?" Aegon followed his sight, noticing the gaze Aemond had been giving him since he turned. "Uuh, i see."

His brother's gaze, already intimidating in his youth, had worsened with the age.

"The... the princesses, your highness."

Aemond arched an eyebrow, his good eye still staring at the guard.

If i survive this, i swear i'll...

"Which ones are you referring to?" asked Aegon, leaning back and crossing his hands over his stomach, amused. Aemond did not seem to share the same opinion: he finally ignored the courtyard, crossing his hands behind his back in his usual manner, clearly annoyed.

"You may have not noticed, but i'm everything than patient." his tone, cold and scoffed, made the poor guard to tremble again.

"In the name of the Seven, Aemond, let him speak. To which princess you are referring to?"

"I'm... ehm... i'm referring to princess Asterya and princess Alicent, your grace."

Although he did not have a favourite among his children, it was obvious to everyone that his daughters were his weak point, the lights of his life: Asterya, his second born but his first daughter, was the one with whom he shared the deepest bond: skilled with swords and daggers, excellent with the High Valyrian, a proficient student of history and philosophy. Basically, as his wife loved to say, his female counterpart.

Her twin sister Helaenys was the opposite: calm and poised, she loved indulging in Helaena's company and was as good at embroidery as she was at throwing daggers.

Arianne, named in honour of a maternal cousin who died in infancy, loved to dance and did so whenever she could, especially with her uncle towards whom she had, reciprocated, a sincere affection: Aegon had taught her to shoot with a bow and she had an excellent aim.

Alicent, the youngest of his seven children, was born with the same characteristics as her paternal grandmother (even if her twin brother was born with hair and eyes like a Targaryen) and named after her in her honour; she possessed a crossbow and like her siblings she was a skilled dragon-rider and above all, like Asterya, highly intolerant of rules.

His most beloved children, although Aemond would never admit it, even under torture.

"My daughters what?"

"The princesses are… are nowhere to be found..."

And here it is, that gaze: even without his left eye, Prince Aemond was intimidating as hell.

Please Gods, please give me a fast and painless death. Fast, at least.

"Ah, here's who got your eye patch, Aemond. This is a fortress, for fuck's sake, what do you mean they're nowhere to be found?" replied Aegon.

"What about the armory, or the kennel?" interjected Daeron, sensing the storm approaching.

"No, my prince. They're not at all in the castle..."

"For how long now?" was Aemond's question, interrupting Ser Emeric.

"A stable boy noticed them on your horse during the last changing of the guard..."

The last changing of the guard had taken place shortly after dawn, Aemond reasoned, hours before. Five, at least.

"You're telling me that not just one, but two of my daughters vanished from the Keep several hours ago and you are warning me only now, after all those fucking hours?"

In those hours, needless to say, he had searched for them in every wing of the castle, on every patrol path, in every niche. Ser Emeric looked away from Aemond, who began to mutter something in a language he cannot understand: something unpleasant for sure, judging by Aegon and Daeron's faces.

"I'm going to kill someone today, i can sense it...and it's not even midday, imagine that."

Aegon cleared his throat, trying to think up quickly a way to placate his brother before he could lose his temper, looking at his dominant hand already clutched on the hilt of his omnipresent sword, ready to draw it.

"Wi... with your permission, i'll... i'll leave immediately in their search."

"Yes, wise decision. I also send Ser Criston in search of the girls." Aegon nodded.

"No way." stated Aemond, fuming, feeling the headache already pounding in his skull. "You barely manage to find your cock in your trousers, let alone my daughters. You're dismissed, but i can assure you, Ser Emeric, we will talk about it later."

Ser Emeric did not make himself repeat it twice: he walked out of the council room as if he had The Stranger himself on his heels, leaving the three men alone.

"Woah, what was that?"

"Hm?"

"Who taught you to talk like that? I'm amazed, little brother!"

"Oh, shut up."

"Can i count on you for a healthy drink in my quarters after supper? Let's talk a little, come on."

"You know i'm not much of a drinker nor a talker, right?"

"Who cares? I'll drink and talk... and you'll listen."

"There will be no dinner for me if i don't get my girls home before Aerenys is back: i already know she'll kick my ass."

His wife had been away to her native castle for a fortnight due to family matters and she would return that afternoon with Helaenys and Arianne: with all the days to get into trouble, his daughters had decided to do it on the very day she returned to the keep.

"Don't worry, brother, they are smart, they have certainly avoided any danger."

"Daeron... you have spoiled my girls too much and here's the results."

"Like you haven't done the same since before they were even born."

"He's right, you know? And i wouldn't worry about your ass if i were you: Aerenys likes it too much, she won't do anything to you. And you'll see that the girls will be home in no time. You know, if it weren't for the fact that your faithful wife has always only had eyes for you and that Asterya is practically your female version –poor girl–, you'd say she's more my daughter than yours: what a temper she has. Well, indeed she's my niece."

"May the gods be merciful, that's the last thing i need." Aemond replied, taking his leave in between Aegon's laughs.

He summoned Ser Criston and a bunch of his most trusted guards.

"Ser Emeric told me they thought it was you, my prince." Ser Criston explained. "We questioned the stable boy and he says that she wore your clothes and she moved like you, she even mounted your horse like you do. Nobody asked her to remove the hood, they were sure it was you."

A frustrated groan escaped Aemond.

"It is beyond serious if they cannot tell a grown man from a sixteen year old girl." huffed upset. "My daughter is visibly shorter and thinner than me."

"As i say, no one dared to check under the cloak, my prince."

"We'll talk about this later. As for the guards, they have to pray that nothing has happened to my daughters or they will answer directly to me." warned Aemond. Once on the saddle, he noticed everyone in the courtyard were looking at him, and with a sudden gesture, he lowered the hood of his cape. "So you know who are you getting out of the keep. Now open the gate."

Aemond pulled the reins suddenly forcing the horse to stop almost abruptly: at its protests, he leaned in to give two affectionate pats as if to apologise.

"Have you seen something, my prince?" questioned Ser Criston, turning back and flanking him, peering in his own direction.

In the heat of the moment he had not thought of Vhagar: she was not in her usual place. She usually liked a certain spot near the water, surrounded by trees but wide enough to allow her to move her wings as she wished, but he noticed that she had moved at least a hundred metres, which was unusual.

"Yes and no. I think i know where they are." after dismounting the horse, Aemond handed the reins to Ser Criston, with the order to return to the Keep. "Asterya surely left my horse somewhere near. I'm hoping to return with both of them before my wife's return or may the Gods be merciful with me."

He did not wait for Ser Criston to leave: he put on his hood again and walked through the trees. His horse was grazing peacefully in the shade of a tree, the reins secured to a sufficiently strong branch, and Vhagar was resting as usual: the air expelled through his nostrils was sufficient to stir the vegetation.

Smiling a little and approaching cautiously, he was determined to surprise his daughters without irritating his dragoness. Aemond reached out a hand and touched her: Vhagar opened her eyes wide, ready to incinerate anyone who dares threaten what she was protecting.

"Shh, it's me."

Her gaze immediately changed, and he heard her grunt, happy to see him.

"Hi baby." smiled Aemond, fondly stroking her snout. "Are my girls here with you?"

Indeed they were: Asterya walked barefoot on the shoreline, with only her tunic and her trousers -his trousers- gathered up to her calves to avoid getting them wet, while Alicent sat on the sand in the shadow of Vhagar's huge wing and had her back to him, reading aloud an old tales book in High Valyrian. On the ground, on a large blanket, Aemond recognised some of his clothes -his embroidered jerkin with the dragon shaped clasps and his cloak-, a couple of his books, a small basket with some leftovers and Asterya's boots.

"...i cannot decipher this last glyph." whined Alicent.

"How is it shaped?"

"It's like... it's like a chalice..."

"Rēko, rose." answered Asterya, without esitation.

Aemond smiled with pride.

"Kirimvose, my dear friend." he whispered shortly after, thanking Vhagar.

Both the stable boy and the guards were right when they say they mistook his daughter for him: dressed like that with her hair tied up like his, Asterya had all of them fooled. Perhaps she even would fooled him too.

They were right. Gods how he hated being wrong.

The icing on the cake was his usual eye patch -surely the thing Asterya had used to trick the guards- and the dagger he had gifted her for her tenth nameday, that she recklessly leaved near a book and out of her reach.

Careful enough not to be heard, Aemond found a way to sneak up behind Asterya, catching her by surprise and grabbing her by the waist with one arm. He intercepted her fist and easily stopped it, holding her so tightly she can barely move, finally revealing himself shortly after.

"Got you!"

Asterya stopped struggling as soon as she heard his voice, giving him a little slap on his arm in protest as he put her back down.

"Papa? For Gods' sake, what's wrong with you?"

Aemond smirked a little amused, but still angry, shedding his hood.

"Nice try with that fist, good job. You have to improve though."

"You scared her!" giggled Alicent, encircling his waist and resting her head on his stomach.

He smirked again, returning Alicent's hug and lowering his voice.

"Let's say it was my aim."

"How did you sneak so silently behind my back?" protested Asterya.

"Well, i'm quite seasoned than you, i trained you and i know exactly how you move. Besides, i told you countless times to not sneak out of the Keep, and yet you still disobey me. And what's worse, this time you brought your sister with you." Aemond retorts, returning the dagger to her. "This must stay always on you: you may not know when you have to use it, your life might depend on it. This time it was me, but what if there had been someone else in my place?"

"Vhagar would have protect us."

"What if she hadn't been there?"

"Papa, please, nothing's happened." sighed Asterya.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, young lady. You always have an answer for everything, mh? Fine. You are grounded: you cannot fly with your dragon for at least two weeks."

"Two weeks?"

"One for you, one because you took your sister with you. That seems like a more than reasonable amount of time, counting that your mother would confine you to your rooms. There are rules that exist for your safety too, sweetheart."

"But... you told me not to stroll around the city alone anymore, or to the woods, or alongside the river... and i didn't do it again!"

Gods, he still remembered that time she went to King's Landing with her older brother -both disguised as commoners- to the Kingswood with her dragon or worse, to the Blackwater river.

Better not think about it again.

"Good, since i don't want you to go to the city without someone."

"You disobeyed Grandma Alicent when you were little, i know it."

She was referring, most likely, to his attempts in the dragon pit and above all, to the Driftmark incident. She knew it so well, since it was a story almost as old as him.

"Yes, that's true. And i paid a far higher price than you will." Aemond admitted. There was no need to deny something so blatantly well knowed, not to his own daughter. With an istinctive gesture, he then removed his eye patch and the sapphire underneath shone in the sunlight: few had seen his wound, and until then his children had no idea how awful it was. Asterya gasped, then looked at it in astonishment, her eyes fixed not on the gem, but on the severed eyelids, how the lower eyelid had sagged a little, making it wider than the healthy eye, how the eyelids seemed like to bent inwards and how the eyebrow, also cut in two, no longer allowed hair to grow.

"Oh, papa..." she said, raising a hand towards his face, but she did not dare touch it, only merely looking at it. "Has mama ever saw it?"

"We've been married now for eighteen years, she knows everything about me." he replied, stroking her head with a smile.

"Can i see it too, daddy? Can i touch it?"

Aemond bent down a little, allowing Alicent to look at him as well.

"Be gentle, it hurts more than usual today."

Asterya cleared her throat, feeling guilty for having brought back certain memories.

"Does it hurt a lot?" she asked.

"Sometimes yes, sometimes i don't feel any pain." he answered, still bent towards the daughter.

"Iksā gevie, kepa." asserted Alicent.

"You are certainly far more beautiful than I am, my love, but thank you. Why don't you start collecting the books in the bag, sweetheart? I need to speak a little more with your sister."

"Are we going home already? Ugh!"

"Your mother's coming back, aren't you glad to see her? I personally can't wait, I missed her."

"Yes, but at home Septa Gwyn never leaves us in peace. Can we at least take a ride on Vhagar?"

"We'll see."

Aemond waited until Alicent had gone some distance before paying attention to his eldest daughter again.

"Why are you crying?" his good eye wandered over her face, trying to comprehend the reason. Then he hummed, understanding.

"Two weeks are fine, papa."

"Two weeks my dear, not a day more, i promise. I've made so much mistakes in my life and i've payed for all of them, but if losing an eye was and it still be a fair exchange for having Vhagar at my side, losing your mother or worse, you or one of your siblings is a price i will never be willing to pay for my sins. I can understand your craving for freedom, i really do. But you're a Targaryen princess, you're my daughter: if something ever occur to you because of my past, i could never forgive myself. You can always count on me if you want to stay alone for sometime, for i would accompany you everywhere, but my point is that it's dangerous to sneak out alone. You don't want your annoying father around you? I got it, but at least alert your brother, or your guard. Someone. You scare the hell out of me every time!"

"Sorry…"

"Few things more, Asterya, i'm not done: i've showed the secret passages to you and your siblings only for safety reasons and not for sneaking in my rooms while i'm sleeping. That book belonged to Aegon the Conqueror himself, and the sand might damage it so take good care. About this…" Aemond added, showing the eye-patch she took from his nightstand "...you can use my things, but not this. Anyway, i'll order the seamstresses to sew you comfortable clothes so that you no longer have to ransack my drawers to steal mine: it's not appropriate for a girl to do such things."

"I won't do it again dad, sorry."

Aemond tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek in a loving gesture.

"...your disguise would have fooled me too."

Asterya looked at him with a wide smile and with a deep affection in her eyes, hugging him tightly.

"You are not annoying." she said, standing on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on his scarred cheek. "And i will not ask anyone but you to accompany me, you will always be my first choice, papa, i love you."

For a moment she was again the little five year old girl who used to sneak in his rooms during thunderstorms, with her wide blue eyes seeking for his reassuring hug.

Aemond kissed her forehead, returning the embrace.

"Want to join for a ride?"

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hannie-dul-set · 1 year ago

Text

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS [6].

SYNOPSIS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. WARNINGS. almost drowning, a nauseating amount of stupidity, swearing, sex jokes, bribery, the boys are shirtless for most of the chapter. WORD COUNT. 5.2k.

TAGLIST. @cerealdreamwriter @tyongff-ff @dinonuguaegi @certifiedmoa @blueberrgyuu0 @primantha @blu3bell4 @nunugget @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @captivq @tocupid @seosalad @ddazed-lhs @gyuszie @mifuyuyo @error-cant-function @twocupsofsuga @flowerbe0m @dangerousconnoisseurbanana @laviesm @keikeu @elavin @chaemmie @rikisly @satsuri3su @gyugyubin @junhuicosmo @skzenhalove @luvkpopp @yansbolobao @emer-syn @eggomi @drunkinjake @soobiverse @deobitifull @haechanspudu @yawnzzn27 @7myoi @toothfa-1-ry @imsiriuslyreal @maimoirs @whippedforbeomgyu

NOTE. this is my favorite chapter so far i think i peaked here. the ppt scene was inspired by anthpo, my professors' tendency to use the socratic method to instill trauma in their students, and hoshi from seventeen's tiger agenda. also, most of this was written before i found out odi has passed 😔 fly high little guy.

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 6 — the obligatory pool episode.

THERE’S A HEATWAVE IN TOWN. When you wake up, it feels like you got transported into Satan’s rectum. It’s sweaty and disgusting under your covers, and kicking them off does nothing to appease the hellish humidity inside your room. But when you roll over to grab the remote for the air conditioning, blindly press on the button, nothing happens.

You try again.

It’s not working.

You jolt up from your bed, hair a mess, and armpits too sweaty for comfort. A power outage. Of course, there’d be no power on the hottest day of the year.

“Fucking shit, I’m so hot,” you announce as you make your arrival downstairs. It’s only Sunghoon and Jay in the living room. They turn away from their game of jenga upon your arrival.

“Yeah, you’re super hot,” says Jay. “I mean, damn global warming sure sucks, huh?”

The wooden tower collapses. You stifle out a grunt of agreement. “Apparently some feeders in the neighborhood broke down,” Sunghoon informs you. “They’re still fixing it. The generator also wasn’t working when Heeseung hyung went down the basement to turn it on. I think we need to get that fixed too.”

Well, shit. That’s not good news. You give Sunghoon a pat on the head for speaking thirty-six words to you today before walking over to the kitchen. Last time you checked, there was a stash of popsicles in there. You’re pretty sure they haven’t been completely water-fied by the blackout yet.

For some reason, upon nearing the kitchen island, the fridge door is hanging open. You understand why when you step on something— er, someone— on the way towards your frozen delight. “Ow!” Beomgyu hisses from the floor. There’s remnants of cold wind filtering out from the refrigerator. Beomgyu has claimed it as his territory, and he’s glaring up at you from his spot. “Watch where you’re going.”

“‘Scuse me.”

You walk over him, hiking one leg across his torso before infringing upon his fridge monopoly to grab a half-melted melon bar. This isn’t exactly how Beomgyu imagined how it’d be like to be in between your legs. “I’m not sure if you’re dense or if you just don’t give a fuck,” he says, propping himself up by the elbows as you dig through a plastic bag.

“I really just don’t don’t give a fuck.” You snap a bite out of the pale green popsicle. “Want one?”

“Give.”

“Go get one yourself.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sure you’d love to.” You close the fridge door shut and make sure to kick his side with your foot when you cross over him again. He lets out a cry of pain. You turn back, satisfied with your cold exploits, but there is no wall separating the living room and the kitchen, so Sunghoon and Jay were witnesses to that entire conversation. “Do you also want a bite?” you ask. Their ears burn a couple degrees brighter before declining.

Was that an intentional insinuation? Yes. Do you enjoy destroying their composure on purpose? Also yes. It’s a new hobby you picked up since staying here, and it’s definitely one you’ll miss once your dorms get fixed and you’d have to move out. Jay and Jake are both particularly difficult to get through, but sometimes you can manage to fluster the former, just like now. Jake has been impossible so far. You’ll get him one day. He can’t be left unscathed.

This may seem terrible, and sometimes you do get a teensy bit conscientious when one of them starts crying or becomes temporarily incapacitated— until you remember they have this whole secret bet going on that definitely involves you, so you should be allowed to fuck around this much, right?

“Hey! Why don’t we have a pool party?”

The genius idea comes from Jake. You immediately run up back to your room upon hearing the suggestion to change into a bathing suit, pausing right before your door because you don’t want anyone waving the PD&J at your face for indecent attire again. So you throw on a beach kimono for the safety of your wallet. They emptied the jar out yesterday to buy some meat for a barbecue party that’s supposed to be scheduled this weekend, but looks like you’re gonna be having that sweet, sweet pork belly tonight right by the chlorine scent of the pool.

You hurry downstairs, so fucking ready to be submerged in cool, refreshing water. But when you get to the courtyard— all the boys already loitering in and around the pool— you realize something.

Something a little dangerous.

“You’re finally here!”

Oh no. They’re hot.

“We’re playing chicken fight, come jo—”

A rather scantily clad Sunghoon pushes an equally scantily clad Jake off Soobin’s unclothed shoulders and into the splash of the water. They are all bare-skinned, glistening wet, and although it’s not a bad sight to behold at all, it’s a discovery that you wish had remained undiscovered until you finally leave this damned house.

Listen. It’s not like you’ve never seen any of them shirtless or almost naked before. Jay was literally in his highlighter underwear when you first met him. But you were never put in a situation where you’re able to look at them closely because all those times have been meshed with something stupid.

It’s very easy to overlook their general attractiveness when they all act like third-graders, bitchless losers, scandalized Victorian men, or all of the above at the same time, in the same sequence. It’s really easy to forget that.

But Heeseung has his soaked tank top sticking to his skin and Beomgyu is pushing his wet hair back with a wide grin. Your housemates might actually be a tad bit more attractive than your prolonged, initial impression of them. This can cause a little internal trouble.

“Why aren’t you getting in the water?”

Soobin is the one that’s asking, having already left the water fight in the middle and is now looking up at you, chest deep near the pool’s edge. You look down. You’re not sure if he’s looking directly at you because you’re a little focused on his toned arms resting above the ledge, but if he is, then good on him for keeping up with his eye-contact practice hours.

“Hey,” you call out, crouching down and hugging your knees. “Do you work out?”

Silence. Pink scatters across Soobin’s cheeks. He coughs out an unintelligible response and disappears back under the water, quietly swimming away. Yes. This is how it should be.

Feeling a lot more at ease after confirming you still have the upper hand, you finally dip your legs into the pool and stretch out your back with a satisfied groan. Fuck, this is perfect. You’re honestly unsure how you’re supposed to transition back into life at the dorms when this house has a perfectly refreshing pool at your disposal. You don’t remember what life was like before this. You’d live here for the rest of your life if you could. But you have enough pride in your system to prevent you from extending your verbal contract with Jake. Two months. It’s a few days past the halfway point now. All you could do is enjoy this life of comfort as much as you can.

Until it gets ripped away from you in the form of Jake yanking your ankle and dragging you under the water with a horrifying splash.

Before you know it, you’re gasping for air and grabbing the nearest thing your arms could reach out for so you don’t fucking drown— but when you finally manage to rise back to the surface, a loud inhale of air into your lungs, the person you managed to hold onto just happens to be Heeseung.

Heeseung, who’s looking down at you with wide, alarmed eyes while you’re wrapped around his waist. Heeseung, who shoves you back into the water out of panic and shock and whatever the fuck his problem is.

Jake rushes to pull you back up. Heeseung is dead to you.

“I’m sorry.”

He failed to kill you so he’s now down on his knees, timid palms on his lap, and head lowered in guilt.

“I am very sorry,” Heeseung repeats. “I am deeply reflecting on my actions.”

You’re sitting on the half log shaped chairs on the courtyard, still wet, arms and legs both crossed in petulance as Sunghoon quietly dries your hair with a towel from behind (no, you didn’t scare him into doing this).

“Stand up.” He flinches at the tone of your voice. “Go get yourself dried up so we can finally start the barbecue.”

He’s awfully obedient. You watch as his slumped figure trudges back into the house. “Was that too much?” The back of your head hits Sunghoon’s bare stomach when you try to look at him. He’s holding your head in his hands with the damp towel in between.

“You’re always a little much,” he mumbles.

“Is that a bad or good thing?”

Sunghoon ponders for a moment, staring at your upside down face. “More is always better than less?”

You smile, snatching the towel from his hands and jumping off from your seat. “Good answer.” Two gentle pats of praise on his cheek set his skin on fire. Speaking of fire, you can already smell the scent of smoke and deliciously cooking meat wafting in the air, so you run over to Jay who’s on grilling duty, hoping to get an early bite.

“Can you pass me a plate?” he asks, flipping the cut up pieces of meat on the barbecue grill. “Thanks.”

“Gimme one.” You open your mouth, chasing after the slice of pork belly on his tongs until he brings it closer to your mouth for you to bite. “Holy shit,” you muffle out, hot air escaping from your lips.

“Good?” he asks.

“Very good.” You swallow the piece. “One more?”

He lets you snack on a bunch of well-done beef before they could reach the plate and at some point he mentions, as you’re tearing open a few packs of ramyeon to cook, that you look a lot like the curled up pieces of shrimp he’s currently grilling. You narrow your eyes at him, hand dangerously hovering above boiling water with a square of raw noodles. “Are you trying to say I look charred and have a terrible posture?”

“No.” Jay raises a piece of shrimp in the air, showing it off to you. “Doesn’t it look cute?”

Now that you’re looking at it a little closer, it does look kind of cute. Huh. “Would you eat me if I was a grilled shrimp?”

Jay thinks about it. He keeps thinking until you start smelling something burning. “I’d keep you safe in my pantry,” he finally answers.

“So you’ll just let me spoil over and die?”

His expression drops. “Fuck.” The shrimp is unsalvageable. “I guess I’d have to eat you.”

The rest of dinner goes on as you expect. Jay and Beomgyu take turns over the grill until Jake thought he’d be naturally gifted over the fire and ended up making charcoal with the last pack of galbi (“It’s fine!” he said. “I’ll take care of it!”) and today’s heatwave suddenly becomes a whole lot hotter with the rising flame on the fucking grill right when Soobin brings out the marshmallows for dessert. It gets quickly defused by a fire-hydrant bearing Heeseung. Now your charcoal galbi has toxic frosting on them. This is the sign to move on to the next part of the program.

The set of log-themed chairs on the courtyard has a bonfire set-up at the center. Of course this unreasonably nice house has that. It’s already getting dark, ink seeping into the orange tintent sky. Jake decides to redeem himself after watching Heeseung fail to set up the chunks of wood for the nth time. “You don’t know how to start a fire? Dude, that’s so lame.”

“You burnt all our remaining meat with those fire starting skills of yours,” Heeseung huffs, stepping aside for the self-proclaimed camping expert.

“You still ate them.” You’re pretty sure that isn’t healthy.

“Because you would’ve felt sad if I didn’t.”

“You’re both equally lame,” Beomgyu chides, plopping down beside you with a bag of chips that you unceremoniously dig your hand into. “You two haven’t even had your solo chapters yet.”

A flame erupts on the bonfire. Both of them turn to look at Beomgyu. “What?”

“What are we arguing about?” Jay joins in, looking a little too excited for the squabble.

“About the fact that I’m cooler than both Heeseung and Jake.”

Heeseung’s expression falls flat. “You dropped out to become a streamer.”

“Leave of absence! I took a leave of absence and I’m coming back next year!”

Sunghoon and Soobin are both just ignoring the mess, roasting their skewered marshmallows on the bonfire and you aspire to be that level of unbothered. “Let’s consult a professional’s opinion,” Jay suggests, and all their eyes immediately fall on you. “Who do you think is the coolest?” Apparently that professional is you.

“This is like asking which dwarf is the tallest midget,” you wrinkle your nose. “But alright. Why don’t we settle this like real men?”

“Arm wrestling?” Sunghoon jumps in.

“Cooking contest?” Heeseung pitches.

“Do you want us to beat the shit out of each other right now?” Jake’s eyes fly wide open, alarmed. “I don’t think that’s a healthy way of settling arguments.”

“The fuck? No,” you spit out. “Thirty minutes. Prepare a powerpoint presentation explaining why you’re the coolest loser. Convince me. Ten slides max. Good luck.”

Something about almost naked men scattered around your home premises, aggressively typing on their keyboards with so much concentration and determination is so funny. You’re enjoying the raw bag of marshmallows by yourself beside the fire, watching as Heeseung starts panicking when you yell out “Five minutes left!” and starts typing even more aggressively. It’s pretty entertaining. Why haven’t you done this before?

At some point Jake brings out a projector and a projector screen to the courtyard. Seems like the power is back on, and your classroom of death has been set in place.

“Okay. Who wants to go first?”

You’ve produced a clipboard while they were working very hard on the PPTs earlier, legs crossed, fire crackling in front of you, and you click the butt of your pen in intermittent seconds as you scroll your eyes from left to right across the six boys standing in front of you. Heeseung looks confident. Jay and Beomgyu, too. There’s sweat dripping down Sunghoon’s forehead and Jake is furiously flipping through his notepad like he’s cramming for a final exam. But the poor, unfortunate soul that just had to look away from your gaze is none other than—

“Choi Soobin.” He flinches, nearly letting go of the laptop he has clutched against his chest. “Give it a go. The rest of you sit down.”

He looks rattled. “I’m not— I’m not really good at presentations,” Soobin chokes out, and the rest disappear from his side.

You let your chin rest on your knuckles, leaning forward. “Are you forfeiting? Is this a forfeit I’m hearing?” He doesn’t respond. You sigh. “Choi Soobin, are you settling with a D? A tiny, miniscule, measly D?” Beomgyu lets out a snort. You shoot him a sharp stare. “The other Choi, please shut the fuck up unless you want me docking points from you. Choi number one, please start your presentation.

Beomgyu straightens in his seat and Soobin hesitantly clears his throat, turning towards the blank, white projector screen as he holds the clicker with a visibly shaky hand. “Good— good evening,” he starts. “My name is Choi Soobin, and today I was tasked to explain why I am the coolest housemate out of the six. The answer is I am not. I’m not very cool. But—”

When he clicks to the next slide, your clipboard clatters on the ground.

“But I do have a hedgehog, and that’s kinda cool?”

“Holy shit,” you exhale a breathy squeak, the picture of the rodent’s cute little snout occupying half of the large screen. Soobin cycles through a bunch of photos of his hedgehog and the various screams of delight you’re eliciting after each photo makes him smile a little bit more. “Look at that little guy! Oh my god. What’s his name? Where is he? Can I meet him? Please let me meet him, Soobin I am begging you, I will get on my knees for you.”

“His name is Odi and he’s currently living at my parents’ house,” he explains. “I’ll invite you sometime.”

“That’s cheating! This isn’t part of the guidelines!” Jake interrupts, pointing an accusatory finger at the photo of Soobin holding Odi in his hands. Your coos are unceasing.

Heeseung nods along. “Professor, I believe this is completely unrelated to our topic at hand.”

Soobin looks visibly offended. You straighten your expression and click your tongue. “Ahem,” you start. “As much as I believe that Odi is the darn cutest little shit to ever exist and I will die for him given the chance, Heeseung is right. Mr. Choi, I’m afraid I’d have to give you a C.”

He presses the clicker. The slide is back to the video of Odi running down a slide.

“Okay. B minus.”

Now it’s the one where he’s laying stomach-up on the floor.

“Fuck. God dammit. B plus and that’s it. Soobin, sit down. Heeseung, you’re up next.”

Soobin seems satisfied with the grade, dimples popping out with a smile as he takes Heeseung’s seat in the audience when the latter readies himself for his turn. He stifles out a cough-laugh, one corner of his mouth crookedly twitching upward, confidently sauntering up to the front with his iPad, and it’s mildly unsettling because he’s usually Nervous Boy #2. But it’s almost cheating how pretty his teeth are when he’s smiling.

And apparently he’s aware of that fact. Because after projecting his title slide (LEE HEESEUNG 101: the anatomy of a Cool Guy™), the next thing that appears is actually a photo of his very charming smile, coupled with Chip Skylark’s “My Shiny Teeth and Me” as the background music for his scientifically-grounded explanation. The next slide is a zoom in of his eyes next to a photo of Bambi. He has a venn diagram. This is actually pretty compelling.

Heeseung is a good speaker. He’s really good. The rest of his presentation goes smoothly, finishing it up with a list of references in APA format. Jake and Jay give him a round of applause. “If you have any questions, I’ll be more than happy to answer them,” he smiles.

“That was a fantastic presentation, Mr. Lee. I particularly liked the part when you demonstrated your ability to make very impressive, but also very alarming sounds with your fingers.” You flip through your very blank clipboard, nodding and throwing out hums at the times you deem appropriate. “I’d give you an A plus, but...I have one question for you.”

He nods. “Yes?”

“Heeseung, can you hug me?”

It evidently catches him off-guard, just as you predicted— persona of confidence crashing down like a waterfall as he stutters out, “Wh—what?”

You clear your throat. “Only cool people are able to hug me. I need to confirm that you’re cool.”

“I can hug you!” Jake declares right next to you.

You blindly reach out your arm to give him a head pat. “See. Jake says he can hug me so he must be pretty cool. Heeseung, you can do the same, can’t you?

There it is. He’s back to being nervous and you feel like your job here is done. “O–of course,” he stifles out, following it with a strained laugh of weak incredulity. “Why wouldn’t I be able to hug you?”

“Then prove it.” You stretch out your arms, ready to squeeze and be squeezed. “Give me a big ‘ol squeeze, pretty boy.”

You stay like that for ten seconds as Heeseung remains glued to his spot in front, eyes shaking and nipping at the dead skin on his lips. You let your arms fall back to your sides. “Okay. C minus. Next.” His expression quickly transforms into offense.

“I feel like this grading system is a scam.”

“No hug, no opinion. Sit your ass down,” you click your tongue, smacking him with the clipboard when he weakly trudges back and squeezes next to Beomgyu on the crowded seat to your left with the box of snacks occupying most of the fake log, even though there’s clearly enough space next to you because Jay already started walking to the front even without your instruction.

Jay does not give an introduction, only a rough clear of his throat and he opens his presentation with just a slide occupied with his face. Slide two is another picture of his face, only slightly zoomed out. The next one has the hashtag JWU. Then there’s a full body mirror selfie.

The rest of the presentation proceeds in the same manner— a wordless slideshow of what is possibly his Instagram feed and before you know it, it’s already over. “Okay,” you exhale, pressing your palms together in front of your lips. “I understand that you are indeed a very handsome individual, Mr. Park, but what does that have to do with the assigned topic?”

“The question is why I am the coolest one here,” he says. “I’m cool because I’m Jay Park.”

It falls quiet.

You finally break the silence.

“Shit, that’s a pretty compelling argument.”

“This is bullshit!” Sunghoon argues. “He didn’t even say anything! There was no discussion! He should be disqualified.”

Jay remains unfazed. He defends with irrefutable wisdom, “Sometimes pictures speak louder than words.”

“Damn.” You let your clipboard fall to your lap. “I’m giving you an A.”

“Fuck yeah.”

Your decision elicits outrage from some of your students. “How is he getting a higher grade than me?!” one of them raises.

“He’s getting a higher grade because he doesn’t think I have cooties, Heeseung.”

Heeseung throws his arms in the air in defeated frustration as Jay takes his snug seat right next to you again, a victorious smile gracing his face. You run your eyes through your scratch paper once more, pen tapping at the edge of the board. “Beomgyu, do you want to go next?” you ask, which is a mistake on your part because he starts acting just as obnoxious as Heeseung, which— if anything— just triggers your desire to make him crumble to his knees.

He even pulls out a lecture stick, testing it out by snapping it at full length on his palm. Is the fucker trying to go after your role as professor? Where the fuck did his glasses suddenly come from?

“Alright,” Beomgyu begins, the first slide displaying the words Why Choi Beomgyu is the coolest Housemate. “First thing’s first, does anyone in the audience know what my name is?”

“Oh, me!” Jake raises his hand. “Choi Beomgyu!”

“Correct!” The next slide appears when he hits the screen with the stick, revealing his name in a large, bold font with large spaces in between each syllable. “Choi. Beom. Gyu. Choi Beomgyu. Now, I’d like to direct your attention to this specific syllable right here—” he draws a circle around ‘Beom,’ “—what does Beom mean?”

“Offense,” Sunghoon answers. Beomgyu’s face scrunches up.

“What? Fuck, no. Another meaning— oh! Yes, Soobin hyung?”

“Tiger?”

His eyes brighten. “Exactly!”

The next slide is a photo of a tiger on a field of green grass, grooming its fur as Beomgyu passionately rattles on with fun facts about the animal. You have no idea where this is going. “Tigers are some of the most amazing creatures on the planet, they are the largest members of the cat family and are renowned for their power and strength. As the largest member of the cat family, Tigers are strong, powerful and one of nature's most feared predators—”

“Did you get that from a website?” Jay interrupts.

Beomgyu dismisses him. “Yes, I did, but that’s not the point. The point is—”

Next slide. A hit from his lecture stick. It’s more text. Beom = Tiger. Beom = Choi Beomgyu’s cute nickname. Tiger = Beomgyu.

“We have discussed that tigers are the coolest animals in the world. My name has tiger in it. Therefore I am the coolest person here. End of presentation. Thank you.”

He drops the stick to the ground and is about to walk away with Jake’s applause, but your penetrating stare stops him right before he reaches the crackling bonfire. You scribble on the clipboard before letting it settle face-down on your lap. You look up at him. “Beomgyu, are you a furry?”

Beomgyu freezes. He lets your question settle in his system before voicing out a very loud, very crunchy, “What the fuck?”

“Is this your way of telling us that you’re a furry?”

“No! What are you talking about?” he hisses. “I’m just saying that since tigers are cool, that means I’m also cool and—”

“So, you’re identifying with a tiger?” you cut him off.

He presses his lips together, cautious. “Yes…”

“Because you have the word tiger in your name?”

“Yes.”

“And because they’re cool?”

“Yes. We’ve established that alr—”

“Okay, so you’re a furry?”

“Ye— no!” he yells out. “I’m not a fucking furry!”

“Understood. You’re a furry in denial.” You write something down on the clipboard. Beomgyu’s shoulders slacken in defeat. “I’m giving you a B plus. Take a seat, Tigerboy.” Though he grumbles in distaste, he listens to you anyway, trudging deflatedly back to his seat next to the equally grumbly Heeseung.

There are two people left to be victimized. Jake looks excited, so you don’t want to indulge his positive emotions. “Sunghoon,” you call out with a pleasant smile. He squeezes his eyes shut and mutters something under his breath before forcing himself up the log without you having to tell him. “Good boy. Go set up your thing.”

Unlike the rest, Sunghoon doesn’t have a laptop or phone or flash drive with him when he awkwardly takes the presenter spot in front. He’s standing on the balls of his feet, arms tucked behind his back and lips tightly pressed together nervously. “Mr Park,” you pull down your clipboard. “You’re free to project your slides.”

“Well,” he coughs out. “The thing is.”

“Yes?”

He exhales loudly. “I don’t have any slides.” You raise a brow. “I don’t know how to use powerpoint.”

You look at him. “I see.”

“I don’t know how to use this projector, either.”

You pause.

“Okay. I understand.” He breathes out a sigh of relief. “Alright, next present—”

“Wait!” Sunghoon stops you. “I can still give my presentation, I don’t need any dumb slides! I’m just as cool, if not cooler than the rest of them, so you can’t just skip over me.”

“Mr. Park,” you start. “Unfortunately, one of the criteria for this presentation is the quality and organization of your slides. I do not see any slides being presented, Mr. Park. You may present next time once you’re fully prepared.”

“What about Jay?” he tries to reason. “He just showed you a preview of his camera roll!”

The man in question has his mouth hanging open, pausing in the middle of stuffing a nicely toasted marshmallow into his mouth. You let out a sigh. “He had philosophy, Mr. Park. Philosophy,” you explain. “Do you have philosophy? Are you confident that you can convince me with your words alone? Without the help of cute animals and pictures of your pretty face?”

At the mention of his face, his knitted brows of frustration quickly melt into faint pink hues dusting his cheeks. You sniffle a little, rubbing a finger under your nose as you flip through the next page of the clipboard that’s resting on your lap. “Meet me in my office after class,” you tell him. Sunghoon grunts and stomps back to his seat in defeat.

“This sucks balls.”

“You have quite a few options to pick and choose from here,” you hum. “Jake, you’re the last one up. Please tell me you have a presentation prepared.”

“I do, and it’s gonna blow your mind,” he grins.

“Looking forward to it.” You watch blankly as Jake runs up to the front to connect his laptop to the projector, an excited bounce in his every movement and you start wondering how you can shatter this one’s hopes and dreams.

He asks if he can start. You give him a nod. At the click of a button, something boomerangs into the blank screen with 2007 Windows graphics and animation. The atrocious mismatch of fonts say Jake Sim is the coolest one here and here’s why.

“Reason number one—” Jake starts his presentation, turning over to the next slide and your vision is attacked with more outdated graphics, more jarring transitions and animations. “—I’m super funny. Allow me to demonstrate.” He begins by clearing his throat. “What did the Italian chef get sent to jail for?”

“What?” you go along.

“Too much assault.”

An assault is also a very proper descriptor for his PPT aesthetic. An assault to your eyes. It’s like watching a car crash that you can’t look away from even if you try. Reason number two is that he has a great smile (he does). Reason number three is because he has a dog (he also does). Reason number four doesn’t exist because he miscounted and skipped over to Reason number five.

“And lastly, Reason number ten—”

He takes something out of his pockets. It’s a couple dozen bills being thrown into the air.

“I have a lot of money.”

The rest of the boys are quiet. Jake grows quiet too, chest rising and falling after that very enthusiastic presentation and his wide grin slowly melts into that muddled with nervousness and unease because you aren’t saying anything yet— just looking at him with stern eyes and a sharp gaze. “W-well?” he rasps. “How did I do…?”

“How much?” you ask. He cocks his head in confusion. “How much money do you have?”

“Oh.” Jake blinks, now understanding. “I don’t know but it’s a lot.”

Your eyes sparkle, posture straightening. “Will you give me some of that money?” The unease has left Jake and has now transferred to the other five boys around you. Oh boy. Oh no, their eyes all seem to be saying.

“Sure, why not.”

You clap your hands together. “Jake wins. Class dismissed. Good night.”

It doesn’t take long for chaos to break out.

Heeseung and Jay are demanding for a recount (there is nothing to count except the sweet, sweet cash you’ll be receiving) and Beomgyu accuses you of being a slave to capitalism (that should’ve been evident from how you tried to scam money out of them with nudity and a jar on your first week here). Soobin starts clearing up the projector set-up and Sunghoon is on his knees begging for another chance to do his presentation as you watch the digits on your phone screen bump up in real-time when Jake wires you a decent chunk from his bank account.

Another successful day at the residence. This heatwave is better than you thought.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

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skutter · 2 years ago

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OH SHIT LOOK AT THE TIME

Hey look at the time it's another episode of

#protected #i havent posted og in weeks and i need to post my beef/lister #emeric/rimmer montrose/cat #poppy/kryton headcannons #i thought of them as rd characters and then it fit so well its like the mcelroys are ten steps ahead of my psychically #i dont think i spelled that right #lol ive opened every day for 2 week and somehow im still not used to it lol get up at 4 am go to bed at 7 pm haha fuck you how do you do it #today i learned our market has a new vp and im unlike 75 percent of everone else #hours are geting cut everywhere but im safe #uhh #skutter speaks lmao

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farragoofnotes · 3 months ago

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ni Domitia?

(Sorry if everyone has already made these points. Tumblr’s search is fucky, if I’d seen it already, I’d have reblogged it.)

I think Emer is a Valerius bastard.

I’m not going to bore us all with evidence of her being unusually good with weapons when she’s barely touched them before. I’m not even going to compare her casual comfort with threats and violence to the Valerius line’s famous ancestral rage. She’s going to be the Iron Maid, it’s foreshadowing, we get it.

I’ve got lots of weak Doylist evidence I could bring up: Hers is most frequently the POV chosen to talk about Valerius bastards. She’s got a similar personality to Marius and has even taken his romantic role.* The wounds she gets from the manticore never get followed up on-almost like they healed on their own.**

But I understand. That can all be handwaved away. So here’s the strong Watsonian.

It Is Known that Valeriuses have super senses. I thought I remembered a couple lines about Marius having magically good night vision and, separately, a line about Emer being good at seeing in the dark, but I fully admit that I haven’t been able to find anything relevant while searching for proof.

But here's what Marius has to say about the Valerius hearing when he first comes across Rae with the Cobra:

Popenjoy leaned to whisper in the woman’s ear, his hair ornaments brushing her cheek. They glanced at Marius and tittered, obviously making a nasty joke. Not that Marius cared. A Valerius had superior senses. Marius could hear what they were saying, if he chose. He did not so choose. pgs 100-101

Compare Emer dealing with whispers during the Queen's Trial:

The Last Hope pulled [the Cobra] back into his chair. The Cobra was a tall man, but against berserker strength men were toys. He said something in the Cobra’s ear. Emer’s ears were keen from years of eavesdropping. It sounded like a name. If ‘Eric’ was a name. pg 314

Personally speaking, when I’m straining to hear something, I am absolutely awful at comprehending words (or names) I am not both familiar with and expecting. Emer got this one perfectly despite not knowing the name ‘Eric’ already. ‘Keen ears from eavesdropping' my foot

But it's not just Marius, and I don't have to just compare to my own experience. We get a few side-by-side comparisons of Emer to Key’s supernatural senses as well. These two are blatant:

“I want Key,” Lady Rahela whispered. Too soft for anyone but Marius to hear. The parlour doors burst open. Lady Rahela’s maid and guard entered as if responding to the summons they could not possibly have heard. pg 110

and

Threat radiated from Key like the waves of heat from a fire. The guard and Ziyi fell silent. Having ended all conversation, Key focused, intent on the night beyond the silvered glass. “You can’t possibly see anything,” Ziyi said, puzzled. Emer put a restraining hand on the rough leather cords tying Key’s vambraces in place. No matter what trouble nobles got into, they were safer than servants. A servant could be sent to the Room of Dread and Anticipation for any transgression. He must not venture onto the balcony. Even though both Emer and Key could see one thing clearly. Something had gone terribly wrong out there. pg 224

But pretty early on, there’s even:

Emer heard a soft patter off to one side, on the roof of the spiral staircase wrapping around the tower. It must be raining hard. A storm was coming. pg 61

Doylist disclaimer that this one was certainly mostly to set up how cool Key is for knowing that assassins are coming. And absence of evidence might not be evidence of absence-maybe the weather isn’t worth mentioning just as she’s going to sleep. But Rae doesn’t mention hearing anything. So maybe she didn’t hear that “soft” patter at all.

Last but not least, we get it straight from the horse’s mouth:

Blasts of heat sent Key’s wild black hair winding as though they were underwater. The glow of distant blood-hued fires bathed his face in infernal light. “After my father died, I had nothing, and my story meant nothing. Now I have you and the Cobra, and Emer, who sees and hears the same way I do.” pg 293

In conclusion, something’s going on with our future Iron Maid aside from simply the fact that she’s hopefully going to be an axe murderer. I think she's going to be a magical axe murderer, with a family curse-slash-blessing to back it up.

One last thing.

Emer’s mind howled like the ghouls in the abyss. pg 32

I realize SRB was doing a ton of stuff with figurative language in this particular chapter. (Like, even more than she’s constantly doing stuff with figurative language.) I just think that if I’m right and Emer's descended from the thing that's been howling in the abyss for generations, then this one is extremely fun, and I should get to point it out.

*As compared to the version of narrative the Cobra's familiar with. "When the white knight's heart strays to lost queens" etc. She's the white knight now.

**Yes, I admit that if this is supposed to be a clue then it should have been followed up on. Someone should have gone ‘oh hey wait I thought you were hurt?’ and there should have been something to handwave it away. 'It's only a flesh wound' or whatever.

However. Since her first fight scene was written as her picking up a SWORD and then later in the book she remembered the scene as if she’d had an AXE in her hand...I am suggesting that maybe there was insufficient editor and/or continuity reader attention given to Emer.

And also that perhaps there should have been a dramatic moment or at the very least Rae/narrative acknowledgement of the Iron axe-murdering Maid picking up an axe for the first time, so such a mistake could not have happened in the first place.

#Emer ni Domitia #Emer #Long Live Evil #Long Live Evil spoilers

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nekropsii · 9 months ago

Note

do you still do session analysis?

I've never really done that, so no.

I appreciate the value placed in my opinion, truly, but I guarantee you it will be way more fun and satisfying to write things like that on your own than it is to get some stranger to do it for you. I don't feel good depriving someone the joy and learning experience of figuring out Character + Classpect Dynamics on your own. It's hard, for sure, but it's completely worth it. I'll give my thoughts on Individual Classes, Aspects, and Classpects now and then, if the mood strikes me, but the way that will affect a Group Dynamic is far more dependent on the individual characters involved and the narrative they're in than a lot of people seem to give credit for. Yes, the Classpect of a character says a lot about them, but it doesn't really express their Moral Alignment, the full breadth of their Personality, any specific Traumas or Neuroses that may afflict them and affect their relationship with their life, surroundings, and the people around them, et cetera, et cetera...

Basically, a Classpect says a lot, and a Group of Classpects can also say a lot, but I find it personally difficult to make very solid statements on the Viability of a Session or the Dynamics within it without having a deep understanding of not only the characters involved but also what kind of story is being aimed for. What a Classpect can mean or entail depends a lot on the Hero in question, and the specific Meta of the Session. You can keep the Meaning of all Classes and Aspects nigh completely Canon Compliant, but still have them imply and result in totally different things within a Session, purely because the Story and Character demands something that isn't, like... Just a straight up repeat of things already tread upon in source material. You could have a Seer of Light that's evil. You could have Bard of Rage that's a pretty good guy, all things considered.

For example, Sovereignstuck has a very particular Meta with its Classpects, and it's going for a very particular narrative. The characters in it are also very much so their own beasts - though their Classpects may say a lot about them, it doesn't really tell you anything about their morality, or how willing they are to hurt people or even just ascend to godhood in the first place, which is a really big deal in what is essentially a literal Deus Ex Machina Death Game Horror/Drama RPG setting especially. To use a particular example from Sovereignstuck - Bards of Mind tend to be billed as chaotic forces and, due to being a Bard, inherently bad people, with some even suggesting the best way to write a Bard of Mind is to write a straight up Bigot. We've got a Bard of Mind in the Player Session, Emeric Sargas, and while she is a complicated person - as is the truth for everyone ever - she is, generally speaking, a very child-like ball of sunshine that basically no one has beef with because she's just very sweet. Odd, yes, definitely, she does have a litany of very strange beliefs about how the world works, but overall a nice person. We have two Maids of Space, even, and they're extremely, extremely different people.

It's not as simple as saying "Princes of Void and Witches of Heart are guaranteed to not get along!", or "This Session will fail because it has an insufficient Player count!". Hell, it's difficult for me to even say a Session is doomed to fail if they have no Time and/or Space Players. Maybe the Meta of your Session simply doesn't abide by typical SBURB rules. I know my Fanventure sure doesn't, it's running on a fucking spinoff game with no Universe Building aspects to it - it's just a God-Making Machine. Maybe you don't need a Time or Space Player. Maybe you don't need a Knight, or an Heir. Maybe you can have five Pages. I literally don't know. Write whatever you want. Get creative. You truly do not have to abide by the rules set by SBURB if you don't want to write a Creation Myth. My only recommendation is that if you're breaking the mold, make that clear - explain what the purpose of your game is. Hell, explain the purpose even if it's just SBURB 2. The Characters are gonna have to learn what it is, even if the reader is aware of it already.

I could talk more, but this is already a long enough response to a pretty simple one sentence yes or no question.

TL;DR: No, I don't, sorry.

#homestuck #sovereignstuck #homestuck meta #homestuck analysis #classpecting #homestuck classpect #mspfa #homestuck fanventure #homestuck.pdf #nekro.pdf #nekro.sms

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professionallydeadinside · 2 months ago

Text

The masters!! They're in the same order as their apprentices :]

More on them under the cut! (+ some relationship stuff because I think about the curators sooo much more then I do the apprentices asdgfd)

(Also if you want to humor me and hear me talk about design details then just ask because I have some THOUGHTS asdfghgf)

Giles Finchetti: Many like to characterize Giles as cold or antisocial, mostly because it's usually Cain telling them these things. But Giles at his core is caring and fatherly. Although, Cain isn't entirely wrong, as Giles is indeed also selfish, vain, and strict. But close friends and colleagues find it easy to look over these traits seeing how much of a hard worker he is and how willing to help others he proves to be. He holds high standards for his apprentice and adoptive son Luka, sometimes not realizing how crushing his expectations can be.

Cain Conroy: Being the oldest of the curators (by only a few years), Cain has taken this to mean that he's the one in charge. Cocky and stuck up and always open to a good fight of either swords or words, Cain thinks very highly of himself and takes his title of healing curator incredibly seriously. He's not above sneaky tricks and straight up murder to get what he thinks he rightly deserves. When he's not bragging or doing actual work, his favorite pastime is bothering Giles.

Olive Emers Lovestein: Some question how a lady like Olive Emers could ever become the textile curator, but her strange and eccentric tastes always seem to be incredibly popular. She values people feeling good in the clothes they wear and believes that clothing is a huge part of self expression. She's often nicknamed the Aunty of the curators seeing how she treats everyone as if they were a long lost friend. When she was younger, she was quite popular for her beauty, but nowadays she doesn't have too much care about beauty.

Bubba Cherdae: If any of the youngsters of the city wondered why it seemed like the Cooking Guild was so ubiquitous, they quickly understood after meeting Curator Cherdae. Bubba is very social and loves sharing the teachings of his guild to anyone who will listen. He thrives off of community and loves socializing. He takes it upon himself to look out for the other curators (cough cough Giles and Ishmael cough cough) but sometimes he feels a bit awkward around them considering that he, like his apprentice Bedelia, is largely just a normal guy. Regardless, he's a highly respected and skilled curator (no matter how much he may deny it).

Ishmael Newbon: The master seen as more animal then man. No one knows what exactly turned Ishmael to live so ferally, but all they know is that they can't stop him now. He rarely speaks actual words and instead communicates with growling or other gestures. There are also a good amount of people who claim to have been bitten by the curator. Ishmael lives deep in the surrounding woods of the city, surviving off of whatever he can use. The only time he's ever indoors is when Giles drags him inside for the winter Offing. Although he lives an extreme lifestyle, he actually doesn't require his apprentice to do so as well (instead letting her live with Anthea and Apollo). He admittedly has a soft spot for her.

Derse La Delphinium: A terrifyingly cold blooded and mysterious person. They're one of the only head curators that people actively try not to apprentice under based off an old rumor that they killed their apprentices. The only thing they show any care for are their plants (and some select people). Not much is known about Derse other then the fact an injury caused complete blindness in both of their eyes and that they always seem to be smiling.

Claudia Goswell: If you're not talking to her about work, then you're likely to not get an answer at all. Claudia is aloof and (according to some people) completely emotionless. In reality, she just doesn't really see the need to fake a personality in order to interact with people. She's hard working and independent, no load is too heavy for her to carry. Her sense of duty is usually interpreted as old fashioned, with her having a thing for dainty ladies, but everyone in the city knows that if they have a problem, they can always depend on Curator Goswell.

Anthea Bellerophon: The golden child of the curators and the youngest person to ever become a curator. Her father was her master and he was able to get her to become head curator quicker than she should've. Anthea is heroic and protective of her community to a fault. She was raised to believe that whatever the Bellerophon family believed in was correct and anyone who disagreed would need to be kindly enlightened to the correct way. Some of the curators find her a bit annoying and some are upset with the fact she barely had to work for her curator stance. But Anthea is none the wiser, continuing to stay her irritatingly optimistic self.

[ADDITIONAL RELATIONSHIP STUFF]

The main reason Giles forces Ishmael indoors for the winter is because he's seen countless instances of Frost Rot and he knows he would have to deal with Ishmael's corpse if he died (which, he really does not want to deal with) Giles survives keeping Ishmael inside by taking his coyote pelt as Ishmael feels significantly less comfortable/more exposed without it so he tends to be more reserved. Ishmael actually considers Giles a close friend even if Giles is a little scared of him

Olive-Emers and Giles are super close! Mostly because their curators were married when they were apprentices. So more often then not they can be found gossiping with each other or spending their breaks together

Cain has been in love with Olive-Emers since practically the day they met. Unfortunately, Olive-Emers knows exactly how much of a bastard he is towards Giles so she refuses to ever even consider his courtship offers

Derse and Bubba are courting each other! But the only reason they aren't married yet is because both of them are (secretly) deeply insecure about themselves. Derse thinks of themself as "imperfect" or not as good of a curator as Bubba (who is a highly revered curator) because they got injured while doing their job and Bubba has a lot of anxiety over the fact that Derse has never seen him. (Bubba is sure that if Derse saw him then they would leave because in Bubba's mind, Derse is a beautiful young person who shouldn't be wasting their time with him) (Dw, once they open up to each other and talk this out, they get married because they do indeed love each other)

Also here are their ages!

#giles finchetti #cain conroy #olive emers lovestein #bubba cherdae #ishmael newbon #derse la delphinium #claudia goswell #anthea bellerophon #teeth #my art #my ocs

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readyforthegarden · 4 months ago

Text

When the Nightingale Sings - Part Six

Pairing: Danny Wagner x F!Reader

Synopsis: Medieval AU! In a world where noble alliances dictate futures, you have been betrothed to Prince Emers, a man you barely know and certainly don't love. As you travel towards the royal palace for your impending wedding, your journey is upended, causing you to run straight into a kind, lonesome hunter. With no choice but to trust him, you embark on a journey together towards the nearest village, navigating through the forest and it's perils. As the solace you find in his companionship builds will you choose to honor your duty, or will you abandon everything you've ever know to follow your heart?

WC: 5370

Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, talk about sex, drinking

A/N: SURPRISE! Posting a day early since tomorrow is Halloween and because @kakejiszkas was going to drive to my house and yell at me if I pushed it to Friday. Happy Halloween and enjoy!

The letter had been sent out with the post, and now the name of the game at hand was waiting. Fiora had helped you wash your clothes, lending you another set of clothes while they dried. In return, you offered to help around the tavern, following her and learning the up-keep. You were wiping down a table, gathering the emptied dishes. Your name being called caught your attention, and you found Danny entering the tavern.

“I want to take you somewhere, to meet another friend.” he bounded over to you.

“Oh, okay. Let me finish with this and we can go,” you nodded. You took the dishes back to the small kitchen, and let Fiora know you were leaving before taking off your apron and heading back to the dining room.

Danny guided you on a short walk through the village, and you found yourself in front of a small cottage, a sign overhead.

“A tailor?” you glanced up at Danny. He smiled and nodded.

“I think we may have some time to get you at least one new dress before you leave.” his smile fell slightly at the last word. He opened the door and pushed you gently across the threshold. The store was quiet, the wooden floorboards creaking under your feet. Reams of fabric were stacked up in almost every available space, creating patchworks of art.

“Hello, how can I help-“ a man came around the corner, curly hair bouncing as he walked, stopped as he saw your tall companion. “Danny! How are you? Have you brought more fur?”

“Sorry Josh, I’m not here on business.” Danny shook his head. “Well, not my own. My friend here needs a gown.” Josh’s eyes slid over to you, a glimmer in them as he studied you.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Josh stepped closer, reaching out and taking your hand, bowing as he placed a chaste kiss to the back of it. “What are you in need of a gown for?”

“I-I’m betrothed,” you glanced at Danny, who nodded to let you know you could trust Josh, yet the words refused to leave your tongue. Danny placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“She needs a dress fit for a princess.” Danny stared at Josh, and the two seemed to have a silent conversation. Josh’s familiar chocolate eyes swirling with curiosity as he turned back to you.

“I have never sewn for royalty, my lady, but I will do my best to make you a crown jewel.” Josh placed his other hand over yours, squeezing your now encompassed hand gently. “Come with me,” Josh now placed your hand in the crook of his elbow and guided you further into the shop. Your eyes tried to take in everything as you passed, catching colorful fabrics and envisioning gowns flowing in the resplendent colors. “Now, what are you envisioning?”

“Oh, I’m not sure.” you sighed as Josh took a seat at a small desk, picking up a thin piece of charcoal and holding it above parchment. “Just a normal gown, I suppose.” Josh looked you up and down, then back to Danny before speaking again.

“My dear, I do not claim to know you, yet I know that nothing normal will suit you.” Josh gave you a look that made your cheeks redden. He studied your form for a few moments, and began sketching. With just a few small movements of his hand, there you were on the paper, and he was building a gown over you. “Perhaps we should keep to the royal theme and have you in purple?”

“Purple is not really my color.” Whether a truth or a lie, you didn’t know, you’d never had a purple garment before. But the twist in your stomach at the finality of what the color meant told you to stay away from it. “Is there a soft blue material we could use?” he stared at you, the vision in his head shifting while he studied his new living mannequin.

“Yes, yes of course.” Josh’s head bent back down and he began sketching away again. Danny, now curious, came over to glance at the drawing, but Josh covered the paper. “Sorry, Daniel, but this is for our eyes only.” Danny’s eyes shot to you and you just shrugged. “Could you step outside for a moment? I will need to gather her measurements.”

“Aye,” Danny walked back through the store, and once you heard the door open and close, you finally dragged your eyes back to Josh. He grabbed a length of string and stood up.

“Hold your arms out please,” Josh began shuffling around you, cutting and knotting string to your measurements. There was a stiff, awkward silence as he tied a loop around your waist, another around your hips. “I have to say, when Jake told me Danny had come to the tavern with a woman I thought he was telling me a fairytale.”

“I beg your pardon?” Josh came around to your front and smiled.

“Danny has been on his own for a long time. Especially being as far as he is from Ashlight. After his folks passed, he told us he didn’t feel like getting caught up in love just to watch them go too.” Josh’s face became solemn as the memory of the ale soaked night played in his mind.

“It must have been hard for him,” you replied. “To lose almost everything.”

“I imagine so. Luckily my brother kept him well stocked with ale and bread to help drown his sorrows.”

“I didn’t take Danny for a drunkard.” Josh shook his head at your worried expression.

“He isn’t, but grief makes you do things you normally wouldn’t do, doesn’t it?” you nodded quietly. “Any matter, it nearly bowled me over to hear a lady was with him. I was thinking about heading to the tavern tonight to try and see for myself.”

“And instead we came to you,” you smiled at Josh, making him grin. You felt a part of your heart melt at his smile, and instantly knew a little piece of you would feel a deep fondness towards this man eternally.

“A soon-to-be princess right on my doorstep.” he watched your smile fall. “Is this not a happy occasion?”

“It should be,” you answered quietly, “but I think I’m frightened…I don’t think I want this. Though it’s not like I have much of a choice.” Josh stepped back from you, assessing your forlorn expression and posture.

“Do you believe in fate?” Josh asked as if he were asking your name.

“I do, most of the time,” you replied sheepishly.

“I do too,” Josh knelt down, pulling a length of string from your hip to your ankle. “And I believe that fate guides us where we’re supposed to be.” Great, you thought. Yet another person telling you that your marriage was what was right. “The fact that you drop into my shop the very week I received a bolt of luscious light blue silk?” His brown eyes swirled with glimmers of joy. “Fated, my dear.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So Josh and Jake are brothers?” you asked Danny as you strolled the village a few minutes later. He was taking you around, showing you all the shops and places around.

“Aye, twins at that.” he confirmed. “They’ve got another yet, too.”

“Another twin?!” Danny laughed at your shock.

“No, another brother. Younger than both of them, but smart as a whip.” Danny paused, looking over a market stand with some last of the fall harvest. Apples and plums were plenty, and Danny plucked a few of the latter, handing the vendor some coin he had gotten in trade for the brooch you’d given him. He handed you one and kept walking, biting into his own.

“Will I be meeting him as well?” Danny nodded.

“He’s a little outside the village, not far, not like me.” the tall man beside you squinted out towards the edge of the village. “He needs the room for his work.”

“What does he do?” you took a bite of the plum, savoring the sweet juice. It felt so long since you’d had a fruit, at least since before you left your home in Indigwall. You almost forgot to listen to Danny’s answer.

“Sam is a blacksmith.” Danny reached down and patted one of the knives he kept on his belt. “And a damn good one at that. He’s made most of my knives.” You remembered the weight of the dagger you’d held only a few days earlier. It was well balanced, not that you were versed in swords and knives. But it sliced through the air with such ease you knew it was made well. “He has his home and a forge on his property, and brings in his wares every so often to the village.”

“Kind of like a hunter and his pelts?” Danny shrugged with a nod.

“I usually stay with him, free up a room at the tavern, see my friend, get a free knife sharpening,” he bit into his plum again. “It’s not a bad way to live.”

“Your friends have been incredibly kind so far,” your eyes stayed cast down at your feet. “I feel in great debt to them, and to you for everything.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t turn away a few coins once you’ve got the royal ledgers in your hands.” Danny chuckled. “But they’re incredibly generous, and I promise you, there is not a drop of red in their books regarding you.”

“Still, I shall make it right with them.” you took another bite of your plum, chewing slowly as you thought. Perhaps being the princess could have its perks. You could donate money to the less fortunate, you could start a charity…perhaps you could spend some coins requesting furs from a specific hunter, and outfits by a local tailor. Yes, you could spend the money however you pleased, and hopefully for the best.

You followed in step with Danny out of the village, down a dirt path. It was only about a mile out, until you came upon a stone cottage, a large structure built off the side. The clanking of metal being struck in a rhythmic fashion met your ears.

“Ah, you’ll get to see the master at work.” Danny grinned as he approached the wooden fence that kept animals and people out of the forge. He leaned against the wood, and you followed suit, your eyes coming upon the sight.

Sam’s broad shoulders and back were to you, glistening with sweat as he held the metal blade of a longsword in the fire. His long brown hair was tied back with a dirty piece of cloth, though pieces around his face had fallen free during his work and clung to his damp face. When he turned, your breath caught in your throat. How fitting the man striking steel was striking in his appearance. Brows furrowed in concentration as he put the blade back on the anvil, taking up his hammer and beginning to strike again, shooting sparks into the air.. Marks of ash and soot speckled his chest and face, and you blushed as you watched his arm raise, the muscles tensing before bringing the hammer down. It wasn’t until he turned, facing you and Danny and dipped the sword into a barrel of water that he glanced up.

The steam from the screeching hot metal dissipated and Sam jumped slightly, not expecting anyone to visit. He took the sword back from the water and set it on the anvil before grabbing a cloth from his bench, wiping his face with it as he walked over.

“Thought I saw a ghost,” Sam laughed as he approached. “What are you doing here, Daniel?”

“I’m in the village for a bit, thought I’d stop by and catch up.” Danny grinned. Sam’s eyes trailed to you, his smile turning curious. “Before you echo your brothers, no I did not take a wife.” he introduced you to the blacksmith, who simply bowed his head, his hands covered in soot. “I’ve escorted her to your brother's tavern to wait for word from her fiance.”

“Mm, well it’s good he has Fiora, otherwise I’d say sorry you’re staying in such a shithole.” Sam laughed, then glanced over to you again. “Pardon my language, I’m not used to a lady being in my forge.”

“No pardon necessary,” you ignored your mothers voice in your head, telling you to scold him and make him feel bad for cursing in front of you. “After the journey we’ve had, it’s the least of my worries.” Sam glanced between you and Danny before clearing his throat.

“Daniel, why don’t you go inside, start a kettle for us, yeah? I’ll wash up and be in shortly.” Danny pushed himself away from the fence, gesturing you to the door of Sam’s home.

The cottage was much like Danny’s sparse and simple. A fireplace, a table, a work bench and a bed. There were more weapons, projects Sam worked on into the night when he couldn’t sleep but didn’t want to risk the sound of his hammer and anvil echoing and drawing attention. A large bed draped with blankets and a large fur; you wondered briefly if it was a gift from the hunter filling a kettle to hang over the fire.

As Danny finished his task, you wandered, looking over the projects Sam had left laying around. Your eyes landed on a long dagger, the hilt embedded with large glittering black stones. Your fingers reached out, smoothing over the facets and wrapping around the handle. It fit perfectly in your fist, and felt like nothing as you raised it. The blade was unfinished, but you imagined it sliced through the air like a knife through butter.

“She’s a beaut,” Sam’s voice startled you, making you drop the sword to the table and jump back.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just touched your work without asking.” Your apology was met with the wave of a hand and a charming smile.

“Please, I’m happy she’s being admired by someone other than myself.” Sam nodded to the weapon. “I made her a little backward. I shouldn’t have set the stones before I was finished with the blades, but I couldn’t wait to see what it would look like. Now I’m too afraid of cracking a stone with the rest of the work.”

“I can imagine they weren’t easy to procure,” you nodded in agreement. “But you seem very skilled in your trade, I believe you could finish it without an issue.”

“You give a lot of faith to someone you just met,” Sam eyed you curiously. You gave him a soft smile.

“I have faith in Daniel,” your eyes stayed unwavering on Sam. “And he trusts you. You’ve made most all of his blades, from what he’s told me, they’ve protected me this far. I trust your craft.” Sam appraised you with a good natured smirk.

“I like you,” he stated. “Shame you’re betrothed, I could use a lady to pluck up my ego.”

“Your ego can barely fit in your forge, Sam.” Danny chuckled. “I fear if it gets any bigger you'd be bed ridden.”

“Yes and what about my ego?” You piped up, hoping your tone held the levity theirs did. “You talk of needing a lady to lift yours, but a proper man should do the same to his lady, should he not?” Sam stammered, caught off guard by your forward comment before laughing.

“Now I really like her,” he gestured towards the table. “Where is this fiancé of yours that has you traveling to Ashlight?”

“Ferryden.” you answered. Sam nodded as he grabbed a cloth and picked up the kettle, pouring hot water over the small strainer of tea leaves resting atop your cup.

“That’s not horribly far from here,” he surmised, pouring into Danny’s cup next. “What does he do?”

“He’s the prince.” Sam paused, staring at you. The water was still flowing from the kettle, almost overflowing Danny’s cup until the taller man snapped his fingers in front of Sam’s face.

“Betrothed to a prince, ay?” Sam poured his own cup before resting the kettle in the middle of the table and taking his own seat.

“Her carriage was robbed on the way to the city. She got away from the thieves and came across my cottage.” Danny supplied the story for you as you sipped your tea. “So I escorted her here to send him word.”

“And you’re staying?” Sam raised an eyebrow at Danny. There was an impeccable talent of the Kiszka brothers to have silent conversations with Danny. You wanted to ask Sam if the room was entirely silent when he and his family were together, all speaking in their minds. Danny’s cheeks tinged pink and he cleared his throat.

“Aye, I want to make sure she gets on her way.” Danny fiddled with a dried tea leaf that was on the table.

“Always a noble man.” Sam smirked. “Well, while you’re in Ashlight, my lady, I am at your service.”

“Your chivalry is greatly appreciated, Sam.” you nodded. Your response may have been missed, as Sam’s eyes were trained on Danny again, yet another dialogue you were excluded from. “Please excuse me, it’s a little warm in here. I think I’ll step outside.” Standing up from the table, you headed for the door, feeling both of their eyes on you.

It wasn’t until Sam watched you pass the window that he spoke.

“I’ve seldom known you to be an imbecile, but falling in love with a woman promised to Prince Emers makes up for all of your missed opportunities.”

“I’m not-“ Danny stared at Sam, shocked at the assumption. “I’m not in love with her.” Sam threw a skeptical look at his curly headed friend.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Danny sighed, sitting back in his chair.

“I will not deny that our time together has made me fond of her.” Danny admitted, feeling a small weight lift from his chest.

“I am your best friend, Daniel. Tell me the truth or I shall force you to do so with a spar.” Sam threatened. “And I don’t think you would want her to see you lose.” Danny glared at Sam, his eyes darkening.

“I am telling you the truth to the extent I can, Samuel.” Danny flicked the tea leaf at his friend. “I have grown fond of the girl, as a friend, nothing more.” Sam narrowed his eyes but let the conversation go. The weight that had lifted in Danny’s chest settled back into place. Leave it to Sam to finally make Danny reconcile with his feelings.

The sun was beginning its descent as you and Danny left Sam’s, forging the short path back to the village. Your companion was again quiet, nearly brooding. Whatever Sam had said when you went for a walk around the cottage, it had bothered Danny. A part of you wanted to ask what the conversation turned to, but instead decided to keep the silence, instead admiring the bold orange sun peeking through the last of the autumn leaves hanging on to their branches.

Once at the tavern, you headed up to your room first, Danny saying he had some catching up to do with Jake at the bar. Getting settled in and unpacking your rucksack, there was a knock on the door. When you opened it, Fiora stood, smiling.

“Hello love,” she greeted. “I thought you may need some new nightclothes, so I brought you a spare of mine.”

“Thank you Fiora, I do,” you let her in and she set the white nightdress on the bed. “I appreciate yours and Jake’s kindness.”

“It’s what friends are for,” Fiora placed her hands on her hips with a smile. “I’ll have Danny bring up some hot water and washcloths so you can wash up before bed. Do you need anything else?”

“I don’t believe so,” you smiled at her. “Again, thank you,”

“Of course,” Fiora left the room and you changed into the nightdress she left you. It was soft and long, and you were beginning to turn down the covers of the bed when another knock echoed. Moving to the door, you cracked it open. Danny stood there, giving you a small, almost bashful smile.

“Can I come in?” you nodded, opening the door and Danny stepped inside carrying a bucket of steaming water and washcloths tucked under his arm. “I didn’t want to just come in in case you were changing.”

“It’s alright,” you showed an appreciative smile. He set down the pail and winced. “Are you okay?” He nodded, shrugging off his coat. “You’re not!” Your hand lifted, pointing to his tunic. The small blood stain from the day before had grown bigger.

Before you could stop yourself, you rushed over, pushing his tunic up and grimacing at the sight of your makeshift bandages soaked.

“Don’t-“ it was too late, your fingers were already untying the scraps of cloth, blood staining your delicate fingers.

“Take your tunic off.” You commanded, the authority in your voice catching Danny off guard. “I cannot properly attend to your wound if you do not.” Danny winced again as he raised his tunic over his head, tossing it to the ground as you grabbed one of the cloths Fiora sent up. The water in the bucket was scalding, but you grit your teeth until the rag was soaked and brought it to Danny’s wound. He hissed as the hot water came in contact with his cool skin. You knelt down, cleaning the cut and inspecting it.

Glancing up at Danny, you gave him a sorry look.

“I think we may need to sew it shut,” Danny’s skin visibly paled.

“You’ll not be taking a needle and thread to me, surely”.

“If you want this to heal, yes I will.” You stood up, taking Danny’s hand and making him hold the damp cloth against his cut. “I’ll go ask Fiora if she has anything we can use.” You moved to the door, too distracted to care that you were in just a nightdress.

“You best be bringing whiskey back with you too.” Your head snapped around, looking incredulously at Danny. “I’m not facing this without a nip of liquid courage.”

You flew down the stairs, behind the bar and towards the kitchen, making Jake jump and follow you.

“What’s going on that has you running like a spector through my bar?”

“Danny’s hurt,” you barely glanced over your shoulder as you pushed through the doors to the kitchen. Fiora looked up from stirring a large pot, seeing your distress and dropping the handle of the large wooden spoon.

“What happened?” Jake and Fiora echoed one another.

“Yesterday, he got hurt saving our lives,” you waved a hand as if the explanation wasn’t important. “I need a needle and thread to patch the wound.” you turned to Jake. “And the strongest whiskey you have.”

Fiora grabbed your hand, pulling you back up the stairs and to her room as Jake went to the cellars. You fidgeted as you stood in Fiora’s room, glancing around the new surroundings as she rifled through her trunk to find what you needed. In the short, frantic time you only noted she had dried flowers over her window, the delicate blossoms faded in color but still gave the room a peaceful feel.

“Here,” Fiora handed you a roll of thick suture thread and a needle. You bolted back down the hallway as soon as they were in your hands, and came back to your room to find Jake already there, pouring glasses of whiskey. Danny stood by the fire, his hand where you left it, bracing the cloth over his cut. Carefully you threaded the needle, pulling a chair from the small table in your room over to him.

“I can’t promise comfort,” you warned Danny, glancing up at him as you sat, now eye-level with the cut. “But I will be as gentle as possible.”

“Just get on with it.” Danny grimaced, short breaths puffing up his chest quickly as the anticipation grew. Jake came over and handed him a glass, and Danny shot back the alcohol, swallowing it in one gulp. “Another, quickly.” Jake took the cup back and you moved Danny’s hand from his cut. The bleeding had waned, but it needed to be closed to heal properly.

“Okay, I’m going to start,” you took a deep breath in unison with Danny and grit your teeth as you pierced his skin with the needle.

“Fucking christ!” Danny cried out, pain lacing his voice. “Jake, bring the whole fucking bottle.” Jake thrust the bottle of whiskey into Danny’s hand quickly, watching nearly chug a portion of it. You fought the sick, shaking feeling as you continued stitching Danny’s wound together, sealing the skin.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you murmured as Danny continued to curse.”

“I’m not yelling at you!” Danny assured you, though his tone was still angry and annoyed. “Just keep going and get this over with!” keeping your head down, you continued your work until the cut was fully sealed. Once you’d secured the sutures, you cut the thread with one of Danny’s knives before tossing it to the ground. Danny went to take another drink from the bottle of whisky, until your shaky hands ripped it from his grasp and brought it to your own lips, pulling a large swig. The liquor burned and your face contorted from the harshness, but you swallowed it down before thrusting it back to Danny.

Jake and Fiora brought you a few more washcloths and you tidied up around Danny’s cut, before placing a thin layer of honey to keep out infection. When the two of you were alone again, neither you or Danny could sit still. The adrenaline from the pain and shouting was coursing through your body and you found yourself arranging things in the room. Danny paced around and then checked the wound then paced again. After a little while, he spoke.

“Thank you,” your name on his lips felt laden with guilt. “I truly didn’t mean to shout at you, or curse in front of you like that.” turning, you gave him a soft smile.

“I imagine if I had a needle and thread pulling through my skin I would have some very choice words as well.” a small shared laugh had the two of you inching closer. “I’m afraid I feel too restless to try and sleep.”

“Aye, I feel the same,” Danny nodded. “Usually sitting by the fire can calm my nerves.” Danny thought for a moment, then pulled another fur from the bed, adding it to the pile he had slept on the night before.

“What are you doing?” you watched as he lowered himself gingerly to the blankets, grimacing.

“I’m laying by the fire, having another drink, and relaxing.” Danny faced the fire and pulled a drink from the bottle of whiskey. You joined him, kneeling in front of him and snatching the bottle from his lips mid-pull.

“I think you’ve had quite enough of that.” You instead brought the bottle to your lips, tilting your head back and taking a smaller sip than before, but winced at the burning just the same. Danny’s eyes watched you as you wrenched the bottle away, coughing slightly. You set the bottle between the two of you, but Danny didn’t touch it again, instead he stared between the fire and you, watching the shadows of the flames dance across your face and arms. He’d seen you in firelight so often, and he wasn’t quite sure but it was becoming one of his favorites visions. Your eyes met his, and a blush crept to your cheeks as your brows furrowed slightly..

“What is it?”

“You’re beautiful,” the words escaped Danny before he could stop them, the whiskey in his bloodstream lowering his guard. Your blush deepened and you bit your lip to keep from smiling.

“Yes, I do believe you’ve had enough to drink tonight.” you murmured, moving the bottle farther from Danny. His arm shot out, hand covering yours on the neck of the bottle.

“It’s not the drink,” he assured you. “Your beauty puts the wildflowers to shame.”

“You’re quite the charmer, Danny.” The attempt to hide your appreciation for the comments beginning to fail. “If only Prince Emers was half as endearing.” Danny raised an eyebrow.

“Does the prince not charm you?” Danny asked, the firelight dancing across his tanned skin. You bristled slightly, your memory pouring through the letters you had exchanged with the monarch.

“He,” you paused, finding the right words. “He is not as verbose when it comes to the written word as I would like.” Danny smirked, knowing the rumors the prince was a dud were proving themselves true. You pulled the bottle and your hand out of his grasp.

“What would you want him to write?” Taking a sip from the bottle, you almost snorted it back out.

“Anything other than the acres of land I lived on or how the castle in Farrynden is one of the best in the world.” you made a face, rolling your eyes. “I once wrote him a letter, telling him that thinking of our upcoming nuptials had my bosoms heaving.”

“And what was his response?” Danny asked softly.

“His response was to ask if my father had any cattle.” Danny’s smirk fell, his eyes darting over you.

“If you had written me a letter about your heaving bosoms I would write you one back telling you all the ways I would touch them, tease them.” your cheeks reddened as your breath caught in your throat, watching as Danny leaned closer to you, the tip of his nose nearly bumping yours. Feeling a ghost of his breath upon your lips, your eyes fluttered shut, heart pounding calling to him to move just a few more inches so his lips would touch yours.

“With not only my hands, my with my lips and tongue,” a soft, indiscernible whimper floated from you as your eyes fluttered shut. “Tell you all about how I could please you, how nothing more would make me happy than to give you everything you need.” you should stop this, you thought, you should stop it before it goes too far. “Have you ever been touched?” swallowing roughly you nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Yes, once” you whispered. A jealous flare surged through Danny’s body, but he kept himself grounded. “He was a stable boy, back in Indigwall. During my parents negotiations with the court, I was rebellious and stupid. I let him take my maidenhead.” Danny’s eyes flicked up to yours, seeing shame in them. He cupped your face, his thumb dragging across the apple of your cheek. “It…I didn’t feel like what the handmaids said. It was rough, and quick, it didn’t feel good at all.”

“You need someone to show you how it can really feel,” Danny murmured. ‘Yes!’ Your body and mind cried out. ‘Yes! Show me, touch me, feel me!’ as Danny’s lips came closer to yours, your heart pounded, you wanted it so badly, wanted him so badly. Yet, before his lips could make contact, you turned your head. Danny’s eyes blinked open, and he stared at you.

“Perhaps we’ve both had too much to drink tonight.” you cleared your throat, an ache settling in your chest and between your legs. “You were right, sitting close to the fire has indeed made my restlessness settle.”

“Of course,” you tried to ignore the pang of guilt at the despondent tone in Danny’s voice. As you stood up, your heart told you to stop, to throw yourself at him and let him show you everything he could. But you couldn’t. Instead you crawled into the bed, leaving him on his pile of furs by the fire. Turning your back to Danny, you tried to steady your breathing. You couldn’t get wrapped up in him only to be ripped from his arms and to a life where you would know how devastating it was to lose him.

Taglist: (feel free to add yourself!)

@joshsindigostreak @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine @sammysprincess @sammykiszkamyass @belovedsamuel @sunfl0wer-power @indigo-starcatcher @sammyscherub @earthlysorrows @losfacedevil @xserenax-13 @myownparadise96 @watchingovergvff @gretavanfleetposts @josiee-gvf @joshkiszkatoothgap @madneedshelp @myownparadise96 @demonrat444 @dannyandthekiszkas @tearsofbri @paleshadow-ofadragon @happy-harpy-stuff @like-a-woman-in-a-dream @starshine-wagner @objectsinspvce @josh-iamyour-mama @mountain-in-springtime @cal-a-bungaa @capturethechaos @holdingup-fallingsky @gvfpal

@allybjt @hippievanfleet @weightofbrokenbells @joshkiszkasbadussy @malany-gvf @ruby0antlers @samofthedawn @sacredjake @aim4thedoublee @diditallforyouu @gvfmarge @highladyofasgard @sammysvanfeet @gold-mines-melting @earthgrlsreasy @mountain-in-springtime @forcebond301 @stardust-and-shadows @llightmyllovee @gretavangroupie @comesofarsomehow @infinisonicosm @indigofallingsky @hellowgoodbye @hearts-hunger @fwzco @dharma-divine33 @lightsofthe-living-gvf @ascendingtothestarsasone @klarxtr

@musicspeaks @mindastreamofcolours @imleavingyoufornewyork @dammm1256 @jordie-gvf @misshunnybee @valleydollgvf @brookes-so-done @age0fwagner @starcatcherxstevie @amethystars @jakesguitarsolo @lolidontknowwhat @lyndz2names @godly-sinsx @dannythedog @anthemheatwave @samomf @spark-my-nature @scorpiosunsammy @theindigostre4k @jjwasneverhere @couldbefalling @peaceloveunitygvf @wrldabomination @gretavfreaky @kakejiszkas @brujamagik @miradoralbumwhen

@mar-rein12 @laurynnnn125 @maddie-rae @eraofstardustchords @musicislove3389 @starsinmyeyes00

#danny wagner #danny gvf #greta van fleet #danny wagner x reader #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny gvf x reader #danny wagner fanfiction #danny wagner fic #greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf #gvf fanfiction #gvf fic #greta van fleet fic

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caliblorn · 1 year ago

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Both Ayrenn and Emeric can get it but I can't stand the 'on the verge of tears' way Jorunn speaks in

#sorry. Random thots #eso

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frasermints · 3 months ago

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tagged by my beloved @seedlessmuffins thank you k <3

tagging @iamidentical @anaphylactic-dread @lukevangelista @onmytape and anyone else that feels like it <3

if you had a spotify wrapped but for which hockey players you talked about the most, who would be your top five?

as the hockey panels say, i think i have to go off-board with this and break it down by pwhl - nhl - juniors because... i actually couldn't narrow it down to just five if i tried

juniors:

5: Landon DuPont, Everett Silvertips (WHL)

this kid was granted exceptional status to enter the whl a season early, and iirc at one point was tied for second most points in the league. he's "dropped down" a tad (tied for sixth of all defensemen in goals, tied for ninth in points) but like i need y'all to understand the only other whl player to be granted exceptional status is connor bedard i will never shut up about him okokok

4: Quinn Beauchesne, Guelph Storm (OHL)

drinks moon water before every game now at the suggestion of his crystal girlie billet mom who replies to everyone in the instagram comments of every video about him posted by the guelph/ohl/chl accounts. i think that speaks for itself.

3: Carter Savage, Tri City Americans (WHL)

wears number 21. i think that also speaks for itself.

2: Morgan Stickney, Shattuck St-Mary's (USHS)

she's the first female american player to be drafted into the whl, & the second female ever. she's a goalie and she's fucking insane, 23-4-3 with a .928 and 1.52 GAA. tri city had a female goalie in net in september 2002 (shannon szabados) and vancouver drafted a defenseman 286th overall in the 2022 draft (chloe primerano) so like. if she leaves shattuck it'd be historic for her to do both. i talk about this a LOT irl when discussing the pwhl and the future of juniors drafting, and the potential for women to not have to take the ncaa route and enter the pwhl before their early 20s.

1: Lukas Matecha, Tri CIty Americans (WHL)

second ever goalie i imprinted on. we traded his #2 after the very first whl game i watched in person and it was awful for me personally so he was the obvious next choice. got his first shutout last year, he and his new tandem went on a twelve game win streak and after losing in prince albert have continued it. i watched the entire 2024 nhl draft just to see where he'd go (he was projected as the third best goalie in all of north america, i expected him to go SOMEWHERE) and he WASN'T DRAFTED... biggest betrayal i've ever experienced tbh. he went to the cats development camp though and he took lots of photos with luongo so that eased some of my outrage.

pwhl:

5: Lexie Adzija, Boston Fleet

at the start of the season last year, this girl's mom surprised her by asking lexie adzija to show up at her birthday party and she fucking did. she showed up with like a signed stick i think?? if i remember correctly?? literally walked into this eleven year old girl's house and said happy birthday and brought her a fucking birthday present and ate cake with her and her friends. if that isn't the best way to grow the game i don't know what is and i'll never shut the fuck up about how important that is To Me

4: Emerance Maschmeyer, Ottawa Charge

my introduction to emerance maschmeyer was her replying to a comment on this video of a little girl the nhl (?) instagram account reposted of her making quite possibly the most insane save a seven year old is capable of, someone was like "can't wait for her to replace maschmeyer in ottawa in a few years" and she liked it and said "me either" and when i tell you that got me this 🤏🏽 close to switching sides and becoming an ottawa fan

3: Marie-Philip Poulin, Montreal Victoire

completely disregarding her talent as a hockey player because that alone is something i could talk about for a very long time (i still stand by my statement that if the nhl went coed she'd fucking smoke the men and i'm not sorry about it there's nothing you can tell me or show me that'll get me to change my mind) montreal is my pwhl team and the narratives of mpp and laura stacey being linemates got me GOOD. i take every opportunity to talk about this when i try to get people into hockey bc most people's frame of reference for women's sports is either tennis or the wnba and there was that meme going around of "oh all wnba players are lesbians, oh this wnba player had to play her ex and defended her against her own team" a while ago and it's like... if you're into women's sports just for the narratives there's so much better than that i PROMISE bro.

tied for first: Natalie Spooner and Blayre Turnbull, Toronto Sceptres

k knows why. that is all.

nhl:

workplace honorable mentions: Jeremy Swayman, Boston Bruins. Connor McDavid, Edmonton Oilers. Connor Bedard, Chicago Blackhawks. Macklin Celebrini, San Jose Sharks.

coworker kyle asks me about these guys all the time. i don't know why. i think he thinks that i'm a fan of them. he only knows the connors by name and even then he thinks they + mack are all the same person.

5: Joseph Woll, Toronto Maple Leafs

he's just a funky little guy i enjoy projecting onto

4: Seth Jarvis, Carolina Hurricanes

i need to bite him. i also believe wholeheartedly with my entire chest that we WOULD get along in real life.

3: Jake McCabe, Toronto Maple Leafs

i have his card in the back of my phone case and experience extreme cute aggression when i see his face i can't explain it

2: Fraser Minten, Toronto Maple Leafs

the only one i actually have any legitimate reasons for. watched him play up close and in person once when he was with kamloops and it was life changing i'm so serious. there's something insane about watching Your Rookie play hockey five feet from your face, close enough that you can reach out and touch them through a hole in the glass and knowing that one day they'll be Doing The Damn Thing. also knowing that he's the reason connor bedard pushed himself so hard he became what he is, and that mints took the ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ approach and is still That good... i will literally throw up and die if i think too hard about this kid

1: Matthew Knies, Toronto Maple Leafs

my best friend that i took to the kraken/canucks game last szn and i call him "boyfriend" because she can never remember his name

#jayposting #nhl #tag game #seedlessmuffins #k #love you this was fun

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sulky-valkyrie · 8 months ago

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Happy Friday!! For DADWC, maybe "I thought you said we had something worth fighting for- was that just another lie too?" for Anders/Nathaniel? 🥺

haiiiiiiii Gin, have a sequel to this for @dadrunkwriting

screenshot yoinked from this video, which is a delightful animated banter compilation

Trusting you was a mistake.

Anders’ parting shot and rage in his voice would've broken Nate's resolve if Loghain hadn't grabbed his elbow. This contingency plan had been his wretched idea, brought up last night while they'd listened to his frantic pacing one room over. Anders had said getting Karl out was the goal, that he'd burn the city down to see him free, so Nate had agreed to it as a last resort.

A last resort. Not a bargaining chip to be tossed out at the merest hint of disagreement. He barely heard, barely cared about Loghain and the Knight Captain's conversation as they walked through the same gate Anders had been dragged through moments before.

“There's a list of the recently Harrowed in the Knight Commander’s –”

“Not necessary,” Loghain interrupted. “I want someone seasoned. A known quantity. Already trained, not some barely housebroken robe barely able to tie his boots.”

Anders was more than that, you bastard. He is more.

The Knight Captain cleared his throat. “Traditionally, Wardens recruit from the Circle those who haven't yet proven themselves assets due to the risks of losing such valuable skills.”

Nate opened his mouth to snarl that they aren't assets, they're people, but Loghain stepped on his foot, grinding his mailed boot against the bone with an insincere apology, before sighing at the Knight Captain. “A spirit healer should more than make up for any loss of revenue. I want a list: men who've been Harrowed for at least five years with no disciplinary history.”

“Men only?” The Knight Captain's eyebrow arched up curiously. “Are they better Wardens than women?”

Nate briefly entertained a fantasy of watching Velanna melt his eyeballs from his sockets as Loghain made up some drivel about recruitment quotas. In truth, men made less dangerous Wardens, not better ones, but darkspawn breeding habits simply weren't a thing to discuss with the uninitiated.

The Knight Captain sighed and changed course. “Elsa would know best.”

“A moment.” Loghain paused to fish a sealed letter out of his pouch. “Give that to our former companion.” He glanced at the Knight Captain. “I assume he's been taken to your holding cells?”

The wax seal was imprinted with Brosca’ own signet (a stylized middle finger) and it wasn't addressed to Anders, but Nate. He took the letter and he hid a frown. This hadn't been in the plan. In fact, they'd barely had a plan at all: trade Anders for Karl if they had to, then break Anders back out. Details hadn't been important when they'd discussed hypotheticals last night, but now, the hypotheticals had become practicals, and only Loghain seemed to have any idea what was going on. “Yes, ser.” He glanced at the Knight Captain, then quickly away. The expression on his face when he'd cast that smite on Anders had been nothing short of cruel glee, more sickening to see than the way Anders had gone gray and stumbled into his captors’ grip. “Where are the cells?”

“Up the right, down the hall, and on the left.”

Nate beat a hasty retreat. An older Templar with steely gray hair was guarding the cell, though guarding it was a generous description. He sat on a chair with his back to the opposite wall, arms folded, and head tilted to rest against the stone. “Ready?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“For what?” Nate asked.

The Templar sat up in shock. “Then you’re not…” he trailed off as his eyes traveled over Nate’s Warden armor. “My mistake. Knight Templar Emeric, at your service.”

What the void is going on? “I’d like to speak to An – the prisoner. In private.”

Emeric didn’t argue with him, just stood up and nodded crisply. “Take your time.” With that, he walked out. What the void is going on?

Nate unfolded the letter as soon as the jingle of Emeric’s armor faded down the hall. Another paper was inside, unaddressed and sealed. Nate tucked it behind the message as he read Brosca’s blocky handwriting. And read it again.

Carta smuggles lyrium in through Templar barracks. Been paying out my own pocket so they smuggle some other things out too. Find the one who knows about Harrith. Give the other letter to Anders.

Did Brosca plan this? Or just plan for it? Did Loghain know? Is that why he insisted on coming along? The Commander hadn’t even been at Vigil’s Keep when they’d left, so he must’ve had the letters already.

With more confidence than he felt, Nate approached the bars. “Anders, I’m getting you out.”

The cell didn’t even have a bed. Just two stools and manacles embedded in the walls. Anders sat on one of the stools and stared at the ground. His left arm hung limply at his side, shoulder still dislocated, and, even in the flickering torchlight, Nate could see a bruise darkening his cheek. Maker, he's been in custody barely twenty minutes. “Fuck off, Howe. Just take Karl and go.”

“Loghain's taking care of that.” I hope. “And I'm taking care of you.” I hope.

“Taken care of me enough, I think,” he snarled. “Don't worry, they'll finish the job.” He hiccuped and covered his mouth as he shuddered. “They must lace their magebane with something; even if I had mana, it'd be hard to cast when I feel like I might throw up any minute now. Good thing for the both of us, I guess. Asshole.”

Nate held up the smaller letter. The movement caught Anders’ attention, and he glanced up before flicking his eyes away with a scowl. “Brosca sent this. For you. Loghain had it.” He tossed it into the cell.

Anders watched it flutter to the ground but made no move to pick it up. “Don't want it. Don't want anything from you. Or them.” He turned away, wincing when his arm brushed the edge of the stool. “You didn't have to come. Neither of you. Could’ve just let me go, and probably got the same result: me, gone. But no, you had to tag along, and for what? Just make sure they did it properly? You going to stay and watch the branding? Report back that the infamous apostate and troublemaker is done for?”

“It wasn't –”

“You said you cared, Nate,” Anders interrupted softly. “That we – that Karl and I had something worth fighting for, and, Maker damn me, I believed you. When did it change? Or was it always a lie? Would you rather see me dead than with anyone else? Was that it?”

Nate rubbed his face. “I'm trying to get you out, Anders.”

“You fucking put me here.”

The clank of Templar boots startled them both. “Just read the fucking letter,” Nate hissed before turning around.

It was Emeric again. He was sweating and his cheeks were red, as if he was unused to running. “I said take your time, but the Knight Commander is not happy about your choice of conscriptee.”

Nate glanced down at the message again. “I’m looking for someone who knows Harrith?”

“Thank the Maker,” Emeric sighed. He pulled out his keys and unlocked Anders’ cell. “Nothing to be done about the magebane, I’m afraid. Or your arm.” He frowned as Anders stood up. “Or your face. Wilmod and Mettin are… overzealous. It wasn’t like this when I joined.”

As he stepped out, Anders muttered something that sounded like, “heard that before.” The letter was in his hand and open. He didn't look pleased about its contents, but Nate couldn't care less what he thought as long as it got him out.

That said, he couldn’t simply ignore his injuries. He pulled a small healing potion from his pouch and held it out. Anders stared at it for a few moments then rolled his eyes. “The void am I going to do with that when I can't use my fucking arm?”

Asshole. “Generally, you drink it.”

Emeric shooed them down the hall. “Keep going, lads; the tunnel is behind my wardrobe and it gets harder to move myself every year. You know, I haven't done this since Maddox's – nevermind. Used to be one or two a month before Commander Stannard and her roll calls and mandatory counts twice a day, and when Maurevar was doing it, we could slip out one a week to the Collective.” He paused at the door. “Harrith visited when he was dying. Lyrium, you know. It kills us all eventually, either from too much or not enough. They told me everything. The Carta, the Collective, the deals. It's never been enough, but it was the best we could manage. I took it over… oh, about six years ago. Easy money, I thought. But it wasn't. Instead I just see all the mages I can't help. The ones the Collective doesn't know about. The ones who can't pay the Carta for protection.”

He shook his head as he walked to the edge of the wardrobe and pushed. It barely shifted an inch, and he sighed as he glanced at Nate. “That Warden strength might come in useful right about now.”

Nate stuffed Brosca’s letter in his pocket, then moved next to Emeric. “Where's it going?”

“Just away from the wall.” Emeric stepped back and grabbed a lantern.

It scraped on the floor as Nate shoved it across the room to reveal a stone archway. It looked like the opening had been plastered over years ago, and he ran his fingers over it skeptically. “Your entrance is lacking.”

Anders snorted. “That's what she said.”

“You think a smuggler tunnel would survive if we just hid it with furniture?” Emeric chuckled. He turned to hand the lantern to Anders, frowned at his limp arm, and set it down on the desk. “It's a rune. Designed by one of the first mages Maurevar helped. Said he learned it from the Wardens.” He pulled a knife off his belt and slashed his hand. “Responds to lyrium infused blood, so only a Templar can open it. And no Templar would be foolish enough to wound himself in the presence of an apostate, of course.” He cut the back of his wrist, then smeared it on his fingers before touching them to seven spots on the wall. It glowed green, then vanished into mist as he gestured toward Anders. “The tunnel leads down to a small harbor. Take the skiff and follow the shore away from Kirkwall until you reach a cave marked with dwarven carvings. The Carta know the boat, and will take you wherever you need to go.”

Nate grabbed the lantern. “Let's go, then.”

Anders shook his head. “Get Karl out. I'll meet you at the inn, Andraste willing.”

“You're just – what if it's a trap?” Nate spluttered, then glanced at Emeric. “No offense intended, of course, just – Anders, are you certain?”

“Get. Karl. Out.” He pressed the note into Nate's palm. “We'll figure the rest out later. Or not. I don't care.”

He looked down. More blocky script.

If he doesn’t bring you back, he dies. My word as a thief.

“Well,” Nate mumbled. “And here I was thinking death threats were behind us.”

Anders grinned sadly. “Welcome to the Wardens.” With that, he ducked under the archway and disappeared into the dark.

#da drunk writing circle #prompt fills #dragon age #anders #nathaniel howe #loghain mac tir #nanders #nathaniel x anders #too many wardens #the gallows #breakouts #rescues

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