#while rose and ali are married on paper | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asumofwords · 9 months

Text

Modern!Dark!Aemond - Divorce AU - Oneshot

Til Death Do Us Part

SUMMARY: You and Aemond had been married for years, but he was not the man you thought he was. Discovering his affair with his secretary Alys Rivers, you had decided that enough was enough. You packed up your things in secret and left, leaving divorce papers on the table, and booked a one way ticket out of the country.

What will happen when Aemond goes to the ends of the earth to find you and make you his again?

WARNINGS: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. She/her pronouns, stalking, abuse, toxic relationships, infidelity, divorce, NONCON, manipulation, gaslighting, marriage, rough sex, choking, hitting, punching, yandere, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, forced orgasm, violence, daddy kink, dacryphilia, head injury.

PAIRINGS: Modern!Dark!Aemond x reader

Word count: 10.2k

NOTES: Well, well, well.... Here we are. You have all been so feral waiting for this to drop and I am honestly so excited to see you all crawling about in my walls after. Probably shouldn't have to say this by now but will for new folks, READ THE TAGS, this is a DARK!FIC. There is no fluff or happiness lmao. This has been so fucking fun to write hehehe.... Anyway.... Without further adieu... Enjoy ;) <3

The soft hissing of the kettle took you away from the book you had been reading, nestled against one of the many windows in the small cottage you now owned.

Taking the kettle from the stove, you poured the boiled water over your tea leaves, watching the herbal mix swirl in the strainer.

The soft aroma of chamomile and peppermint wafted from the cup and you inhaled deeply, leaning against the kitchen bench as you waited for it to steep, no use going back to your book nook until the tea was ready to take with you.

The leaves from the pine trees in the forest outside had turned a deep green, the cold chill of winter having rolled through the valley of the quaint village you lived in early this year. Condensation rose from earth as the sun heated the mildew on the grass, the smokey illusion seeping from the forest floor.

It was different to the city. No more were the days of craning your head up to look at the crawling skyline of buildings, the sound of traffic, or yelling of people on the street. No more did you hear cars blare their horns or music, or the melodic sounds of people chattering in the late hours of the night or fights between lovers from apartments surrounding.

Now, the most noise you heard was the occasional storm that rolled through the valley, or the deer that wondered the pasture at the back of your property.

You could remember the first night you heard them, such a different and unfamiliar screeching that had set your hair on edge, eyes darting about to each window and front door as you raced around the house to make sure they were locked.

They always were.

You were meticulous that way. Always vigilant, always ready.

But in reality, you shouldn’t still be on edge.

It had been months since you left.

Almost an entire year since you packed your things and left the papers and your ring on the table for him to find. And what’s more, there would be no way for him to find you out here.

Not that he would even try.

You hoped.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t love him, or loved him; the lines were still blurred there. But Aemond had broken you in ways you never knew he could.

The lies, the secrecy, and then, her.

You remembered when you had first met Alys; a work event Aemond brought you along to. The pretty wife and happy family image did wonders for his company and the press, so he often brought you along on his arm, smiles and grins for the cameras, whispers of starting a family or trying for one, until you were out of view.

But that time had been different.

That time, something had changed.

You had known about Alys Rivers for a while, a new hire going months back. A woman from no notable name, nor background, a start up of her own, worked hard to get where she was, or at least, that’s what you had first thought when Aemond had described her to you; his new secretary hire.

An older woman, not one a wife would usually find as a threat.

It’s almost always the younger ones. Older men seeking out their youth between the thighs of a barely twenty-something, whilst their wives are none the wiser, or perhaps knowing and too resigned to care, birthing them children at home as their marriage dissolves into nothing but a loveless legal contract.

But this was different.

She hadn’t come to introduce herself at first, not at all, and that’s what you found the strangest.

Alys Rivers, a few inches taller than you, with pale skin and bright green eyes, had stood in the far end of the hired venue, sipping a glass of red wine, perfectly manicured maroon nails tapping on the glass, whilst she tucked an ebony strand of hair behind her ear.

You had felt the heat of her gaze immediately, your eyes meeting hers, and yet, she didn’t look away, didn’t smile softly, walk over and introduce herself as any other woman would have. She just stared. Right into your very soul. It had sent shivers down your spine, and you knew, in that moment, that something was wrong.

Off.

Aemond had done his rounds with his private investors, higher employees, friends, if you could call them that, and press alike, all whilst you stuck by his side, smiling pretty and responding with shallow answers that didn’t give too much or too little for them to talk about later.

You hated those stuffy events, men and women alike always trying to get closer to you in order to get to Aemond, who was a fortress to begin with. Some people often commented or made joking remarks at how surprised they were that you had married him. That you had managed to thaw the Ice Man himself, that he was even capable of such things, and you would always laugh and make jokes back in good nature, smile never reaching your eyes.

But really, he was amazing when you were first married. Doting, loving, loyal, and always there, though that was sometimes overbearing. There was of course the little things, the teeny red flags that you ignored more often than not, rose tinted glasses and all that, but you had been young and in love and crazy about him, and he had been the same about you.

But as the years rolled by, and the two of you grew, you also both changed. The business expanded rapidly with the death of his father Viserys, and Aemond became more preoccupied with that legacy, most of the empire being passed along to him, and not his older brother Aegon, who had no desire to work and would rather live off his inherited wealth with drugs and weekend benders surrounded by lusty women. Occasionally men too.

And then when Alys came into the picture, it was like a switch had been flicked.

As though the Aemond you had thought you knew, never existed at all.

Alys had sauntered her way over half way through the event to introduce herself, all saccharine smile with razor sharp teeth that looked ready to sink into your flesh. She was polite, pleasant, overly pleasant, too sweet, too complimentary, and it felt off. Like an overripe peach, or wine that had been left open for a week too long.

Your husband had been stiff at your side, hand flexing around the tumbler of whiskey the entire time she stood beside him, too close to be friendly, and most certainly far too close for a boss and his secretary. And really, you should have listened to your instincts then and there, for they screamed that something was amiss.

But Aemond had a way of getting into your head, making you believe every word he said, push away your own instincts, and question yourself over, and over.

And that’s what you had done.

Questioned yourself, over and over.

Yet one day, something in the back of your head nagged at you too loudly. Aemond had not answering his personal number, calls you could understand, but usually he responded to his texts. But that day he hadn't. And so you called the office, where he spent most of his time these days, which had become a frustrating new normal, as was the depletion of your small weekends away, romantic dinners, spontaneous days out together.

The marriage felt stagnant, stale, and you knew in your gut the true reason for it. His desk had rang for too many rings too long. And when Alys had finally answered, she sounded rushed, caught unawares, awkward.

That was all it had took.

You had asked if he had his lunch yet, that you were nearby in the city and wondering if you should drop by, knowing that he had been spending later evenings in the office ‘working’, or weekend trips away to Harrenhal for business there, his secretary tagging along.

Alys informed you that he had just ate, but the way she said it was with that same overly sweetness that set your brain afire.

It was almost smug.

And so, without even hesitating, like you had for months on end, you picked up your keys and left, heading straight to his office.

Your heart had raced the entire time you drove there, weaving through traffic, just knowing, knowing, something, deep in your gut was not right.

And you were right.

Because there they were, caught like two deers in the headlights as you had swung the door open, Alys, seated on his desk, skirt pushed up to her hips, one shoe lost to the floor as Aemond thrusted into her parted legs.

They hadn’t even heard you at first.

But she saw you.

And she had smiled.

You will always remember his face.

He had turned and looked at you with shock at first, but then it turned to anger, as though you were at fault for this, as though you had ruined his fun, as though you should have known better, scar on his cheek crinkling with the sneer he threw your way.

You left in a flurry of hot tears, immediately calling your lawyer.

You drove straight to your best friend Sara’s house, and crashed at hers for the week, ignoring the constant buzz of calls and texts, and yes, even emails from your husband. Aemond in his desperation to reach out to you, even drove to Sara’s house, demanding if you were there. You had hid in the bathroom, holding your breath in the tub, shaking with anger and heartbreak and fighting the urge to go out there, to yell at him, scream at him, or more dangerous still, forgive him.

Then you were gone, speaking to your solicitor to get everything set into motion, friends loyally supporting your decision. You left the divorce papers on the dining room table, packed your bags and left whilst he was at the office, giving him no chance to manipulate you into staying, no chance for argument, and no chance for your heart to win over, taking your essentials and sentimental possessions with you.

You stood in your home, looking at everything inside, at all the memories that you shared in there. From when you had first looked at the house, to buying it, to Aemond's insistence on christening every single surface in the house to make it yours, all giggles and smiles, pleasure and joy.

But gone were those days, gone was the joy and the giggles, the pleasure and the smiles, and so with shaky fingers, you ripped off your wedding ring, finger feeling bare in its absence as you left it atop the pages.

At first you were just hoping to get some space to clear your head and not be manipulated by your husbands lies and very convincing words again. You knew that if you gave him a chance, you would be stuck. You knew that if he pleaded, if he begged, if he smiled with his signature smirk, it would be your downfall. He knew you far too intimately now. He knew how to get you to bend to his will. So you booked the nearest ticket you could and raced to the airport, not once looking back.

You had just landed in Paris when you turned your phone back on, watching the screen as it lit up, where you were immediately bombarded with multiple missed calls from him and a barrage of texts that became more, and more aggressive as time went on.

It was your fault really, to poke the dragon the way you had.

And yet you still did it, answering one of his frantic calls to hear the cool and icy tone of Aemond, barely keeping it together on the other end.

“Where are you?” He had asked, voice deep and quiet, small growl on the end; a tell tale sign that he was furious.

The airport was loud around you, people moving to their next gates, or stopping to move to the small cafes to eat, others continuing onwards towards the baggage claim to collect their luggage.

“It's none of your business.” You had responded, tone clipped, irritation and anger surging through you at his audacity to even be mad.

“I think it’s plenty my business. You’re my wife.”

“Not anymore. Have your solicitor talk to mine. Sign the papers, Aemond.”

You heard him breathe heavily into the speaker, “If you think for one fucking second that I’m going to-“

You pressed the red button on your phone and hung up on him, shoving your phone into your back pocket as you moved lazily through the queue to get through customs.

By the time you had gotten out the other end, you checked your phone again.

There was only one text on the screen that had sent panic blaring through your mind.

‘See you soon.’

You hadn’t planned to run, you hadn’t even planned to leave the country indefinitely, you just needed an out, but Aemond’s aggression had extended it, triggering your flight instincts. You didn’t believe that he would hurt you, but this new anger had frightened you. This new Aemond frightened you.

But Aemond Targaryen’s anger was not new to you either, his possessiveness was not new, and at one point you had even found it endearing. But after years of being married to what you thought was the man of your dreams, the other shoe dropped, and the true man was revealed.

So you made quick work of it, going to an international bank, taking every single cent out of your combined account.

You knew he wouldn’t struggle financially from such a loss, having another seperate offshore account, or two, or five if you were really counting. Not to mention his inheritance which sat in a vault in Budapest.

Comes with being descended from royalty.

But in the end, you knew you needed every dollar if you were going to get away from him and make it stick.

So you got a new passport, ID, and hitchhiked your way across several countries until you finally settled, finding a cottage, nestled in the woods, a solid thirty minute drive from town, buying it from the local farmer in cash. No contract. No deed. Just cash and his silence.

And that’s where you had been ever since.

You took your tea to the window, settling against the nook, pillows and blankets strewn all over as you curled inside. You looked out at the trees, the sun slowly setting for the day.

It was cold in your cottage, not too cold, but cold enough. Winter had come early that year, and you had used more logs of wood for the fire than you had thought you would have needed.

It was strange, to be so far away from the life you used to live. To be so removed from the world. But in some ways it was good. You had no social media, having deactivated every single one you had, and you also had barely any use of your phone unless you turned on the broadband, which was shaky at best and if it was windy, the reception would cut out.

The only people you really spoke to anymore was the people who lived in the town just a ways away, and Sara, who called every Sunday like clockwork, well actually like clockwork, you needed to turn the broadband on for Skype to work on the laptop you had taken with you.

In the almost year you had been gone, you had taught yourself how to make your own clothes, pickle and preserve foods, and even became quite handy at baking the odd loaf of bread here and there. The farmers whose cottage it was previously had left his belongings behind, taking only his clothes and things of memory with him.

There were books almost everywhere, the old man having been an avid reader, and amongst the books had been one on horticulture, and so slowly but surely, you had grown your own self sustaining vegetable patch. It wasn’t perfect, but it prevented you from going into town too often, and also allowed you to not seek employment just yet.

That would come later when Sara would tell you that Aemond would sign the papers.

But every Sunday was the same.

“Any news?” You asked her that morning, Sara had frowned, pixelated to hell, but the frown still evident on your screen.

“Nope. Nothing. The asshole won’t sign them still. Solicitor can’t even find him to talk.”

You sighed, wiping hands down your face angrily.

Why was he doing this?

Why wouldn’t he just let you go?

Something about it made your skin crawl.

Those messages, those calls.

The ‘See you soon’ text.

Something had snapped in Aemond, and you didn’t like it one bit.

Your only consolation was that you were far away with a new name, new life, hidden amongst rolling green hills and large forests.

“How’s Cregan?” You changed the subject, and Sara had given you an update on everyones lives, her brothers first, and his new girlfriend. Then to all your other friends who you longed to see again.

But not yet, you just needed a little more time and for your husband to agree to the divorce.

When the sun had lowered in the sky, you moved to turn the lights in the house on, throwing some logs into the fire and lighting them with a match. You made sure to thank the Gods for solar panels.

The warmth of the fire heated up the small cottage quickly, and you made quick work of reheating a lamb soup you made a few days earlier, crisp homemade bread on the side with butter from a nearby dairy farmer.

It was hearty and warm, and filled you up, having a soporific affect on you. You had a glass of red wine as a treat afterwards, bought from the local markets and found yourself sinking deeper into fatigue.

It was a routine of sort, wake, eat, read, work on the garden or house, eat, drink, sleep. It was comfortable, and it eased much of your worries, always keeping busy. You didn’t realise how stressed and anxious the life you used to live made you.

The week went by, much the same.

The same routine.

The same walls, and floors, and rooms.

Same window nook, and cups of tea, and warming your hands by the fire.

By the time Saturday rolled by, you had been elated, excited even, to get out and look at the homemade wares and farm grown produce. To see the people you had grown to care about and make as your quiet friends. Still at arms length of course with your fake new life, but you let them in more than you had intended to.

It was never a large market, merely the other people who lived in or around the tiny town. But it was cozy, sweet, and some faces were more familiar than others. You looked forward to seeing them all and catching up on their weeks, especially an older lady named Lucy, who crocheted and knitted some of the most wonderful things. She had kind grey eyes, and would always insist on you taking something from her for free.

Today was no different.

“You make this most difficult, hen.” The grey haired woman frowned, coming round the side of her small stall to shove a large, grey knitted jumper into your arms, the same colour as her eyes.

You shook your head, “Lucy, please, at least let me give you some money for it.” Grabbing the soft wool that was pressed against your chest.

The older lady smirked, hands up in the air in submission, “It’s too late,” Her voice was thick with a Scottish accent, “You best be taking that, girly. It’ll be a cold winter that comes round this year, I feel it in my bones already.”

You sighed, “Then let me give you some money for it, and you can buy some more wool to make yourself some warm socks.” Fishing around in your bag to find some cash to give her.

Lucy crossed her arms across her chest, “Gonny no dae that. If you give me any money I’ll be right offended by you, I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug. It’s a gift, you dafty.”

You shook your head and chuckled, there was no point in fighting.

You would never win anyway.

“Fine.” You acquiesced, “But I’m coming to drop you some muffins and scones when I make them next week.”

The older lady sat down heavily in her chair behind the stall, “I expect nothing less. Will you bring some strawberries from yer plot? Dang caterpillars got into mine and tore them to shreds.”

“I’ll bring you a mix of goodies from my wonderful garden that has no caterpillars.” You teased, rubbing the woollen jumper between your fingers, “Thanks again, Lucy, but you’re a menace.”

“Got to be when yer married to my husband.” Lucy joked, but it made your heart race instead.

You swallowed thickly and smiled shakily at the woman, nodding before bidding her a goodbye.

You walked through the rest of the market for a while, getting some fresh honey from a local farmer, some potatoes for a stew later on, and even buying yourself a new handmade mug.

It was a bustling affair, small children giggling with their parents, and older members of town who had been born and raised there walking about and stopping to talk with their life long companions.

Bright bunches of flowers caught your attention, and you moved over to look at them all.

Native flowers of all kinds were bunched together; roses, petunias, anything that could survive the chillier climate. And as you looked at a peculiar shaped purple flower, hooded like a bell, the hair on the back of your neck stood up.

A shiver rolled down your spine, and instinctually you turned, eyes darting around the rest of the market, looking at the sea of people, young and old, walking with their wares, chatting amongst each other or smiling.

Not one had that familiar head of silver hair.

You breathed out a sigh, shaking your head.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

You’re safe.

It’s just your anxiety. It was probably just Lucy’s comment that set you on edge.

Not even Sara truly knew where you were.

You looked back at the flowers again, eyes on the purple ones that were nestled amongst pea flowers and other pinks and yellows.

“Devils Helmut.” The man told you, noting your interest in its peculiar shape, “Monkshood to others, or Wolfsbane to those witchy ones.” His eyes looked at you intently, “You ok? Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally.”

He was tall, older, but not by much, with deep brown eyes and wavy brunette hair that came to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. His jaw was sharp, a nice shadow across the skin from his stubble, with lips that were full and pulled upwards slightly. He had broad shoulders and large hands, tiny freckles dusting the pale skin as he watched you.

He was relatively new to town like you, but not really. Duncan, you remembered, had moved back to the little town after his father had passed away, inheriting the plot of land that was next to yours. Lucy had spilled the tea, over a cup of tea, about him with you a few months before, telling you that he was an eligible bachelor with a wink, trying to set the two of you up.

And although he was undeniably attractive, you worried for the implications of getting to know him, and eventually having to tell him about your marriage, and why you were truly where you were. You doubted the man would want anything to do with your baggage.

“I’m okay, just a bit cold. How have you been?” You asked him, the feeling of being watched prickling at the back of your head.

“Fairly good.” Duncan rolled his r deeply, same low Scottish timbre as Lucy, distracting you from the rancid feeling that curled in your gut, “The winter’s come early this year.”

Duncan leant a hand against the table, and you noted that there was no ring on his finger.

Stop that.

“That’s what Lucy said too. Can definitely feel it.”

Duncan looked pointedly at the jumper still in your hands, “And what’s she given you this time?”

Unfolding the jumper in your arms you held it up, holding it against yourself to show him, “A new jumper. Will be perfect when it gets colder. Wish she’d stop throwing things at me and not letting me pay though.”

Duncan laughed, a deep chortle that rumbled his chest and warmed your cheeks, “That’s Lucy for you. She does the same to me too, the auld blether.”

You laughed heartily, “We should go in doubles to the markets when you’re not selling. There’s strength in numbers, you know.”

Oh gods. Why did you say that?

A soft smile pulled on his lips, “You don’t know Lucy well enough if you think we’d stand a chance against her. She’d bowl us over without even blinking.”

Another laugh, and a shrug, "Worth the try.”

Duncan’s eyes scanned your face softly before he stepped forward, grabbing the bunch of flowers you had been looking at from their little vase, holding them out towards you, “Here.”

You looked at the flowers in his hands and frowned, “What?”

“Take them.” He insisted, “You looked right keen on the Monkshood, mean bloody flower that one. Be careful you don’t touch it too much.”

You shook your head, tucking your jumper into your bag, “I can’t possibly-“

“-Please. I insist.”

You reached forward to take the flowers from him hesitantly, feeling guilt bubble inside of you. What was with all these people and their generosity? It was going to give you an aneurism.

Your fingers brushed against his, and the warmth carried up your arm and straight into your chest. Duncan must have felt it too, because a soft blush creeped across his freckled cheeks.

Holding the bunch of flowers to your chest you smiled.

“You don’t have any pets at home? Any cats that might try and make a snack of the flowers?” Duncan pointed to the Monkshood.

You shook your head, “No it’s just me.”

His eyes danced as he nodded, and you felt as if you had answered his second question without him even having to ask.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

A large hand waved the thanks away, “Dinnae worry about it. Though, I have heard good things about yer baking.”

“Have you now? Has Lucy spilt all my secrets?”

A smirk, “Not yer secrets no. But yer baking, yes.”

Feeling bold, you smirked back, “I could make you something, if you’d like." You held up the flowers in show, "As a thanks, of course.”

“What can you make?”

“Anything you want.” You said quieter, swallowing the anticipation that rose in your throat.

“Can you make a good scone?”

You scoffed, “Easiest of things to bake.”

Duncan mirrored your stance, pursing his lips, “Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that then. Do you have enough wood for yer fire? Snow will be falling soon, and we dinnae want you chittering in the cold.”

“I’ve got some left, but I know I’ll probably have to go over to Douglas and Lucy’s to get some more.”

The brown haired man paused in thought, tongue in cheek before he spun around, crouching down to rifle through a bag beneath his table, pulling out a pen and paper.

Duncan placed the small notebook in front of you.

“How about this, you give me yer number, and I’ll come round and bring you some more wood, maybe chop some for the fire as well, and you can thank me by making some scones. I can bring some of Elsie’s jam with me.” Duncan looked up at you, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

And although he had spoken with confidence, it was clear that he was just as nervous as you.

It was hard to fight the heat that creeped up your neck. Excitement and anticipation coursing through you, the feeling of being desired making you giddy.

It had been so long.

You bit your bottom lip softly nodding, leaning down to write your home phone number, making a note to plug the old thing in, praying that it still works, as well as your address into the notebook.

Duncan smiled softly, taking it back and looked at the note, “You didn’t have to write down yer address, I know you bought Macnair’s property a while back, we're practically neighbours. Not accounting for the acres between us.”

“Oh.” You laughed softly, “Sorry, I didn’t know you knew him.”

“Hard to not know everyone here, especially when you grew up around them all. Plus, hard to not notice the bonnie lass who moved here. Quite the stir you created.”

You shook your head and blushed again, Gods damn him, “Not my intention.”

You both stood shyly for a moment, staring at each other, a warm pleasant tension building around the two of you.

Duncan cleared his throat, and clapped his hands together softly, “Right. Well, It’s a dreich day, so you best be off before the rain comes again.” He held the notebook up in his hand and shook it lightly, “You’ll be seeing me soon then. I’ll be coming to collect some of those scones.”

You grinned, and held the flowers gently in show again, “I hope they’re up to your standards. Thanks again for the flowers. I’ll see you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

The blaring ring of the Skype call filled your cottage. You raced from the kitchen to the desk, answering Sara’s call with a bright smile.

“Sar!” You smiled, pulling out your chair to sit in it, looking at your best friends face. But her excitement did not match yours, and instead, her face filled you with dread.

“Sar, what’s wrong?”

You watched as Sara visibly swallowed, leaning towards her computer, “Aemond’s left the country.”

Chills ran over your body.

“Oh, he must have a conference in Rome or Budapest. He always used to-“

“-No.” Sara interrupted you, and her voice instilled a rising sense of fear that you had been battling with for months, “Y/n, I don’t think that’s it. He’s already been gone over a week. That’s why the solicitor couldn’t talk to him him.”

Your heart raced in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.

Sara continued as you felt the walls around you move closer, “That’s why the solicitor couldn’t get in contact with him. They went to his office. Apparently he’s on leave, not even Alys was there.”

You licked your lips, swallowing dryly, “What do I do? Fuck, Sara, what do I do?”

“Don’t panic. He doesn’t know where you are! Hell, I don’t even know where you are.”

“I know, I know. But still…” You paused, breathing shallowly, “Sara, I went to the markets yesterday, and it was… Off. Something was off… And I just couldn’t shake this feeling that I was being watched.” You felt like you were going to be sick.

Sara’s face fell, head turning to talk to someone else quietly in the room.

“Who’s that?”

“Just Cregan. He’s talking to Helaena.”

You scoffed sadly, “Helaena won’t know anything. She didn’t even know about Alys.”

Sara shrugged, image becoming pixelated, “I-…-ow…-bu-….-o….-harm…-“

“Sar, you’re cutting up.”

You swore, swatting the computer lightly as her image froze.

Fucking broadband. Gods, maybe you should invest in getting a satellite dish here. At least you could get some cable tv if you did.

“-come to you.” Sara unfroze, the pixels evening out to an almost smooth image.

You groaned, “I didn’t catch any of that. Fucking internet cut out.”

“Can you get a satellite or something like a normal person and not be such a hermit? I said, why don’t I come to you.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you, Sar. Besides, he wouldn’t hurt me, not that he’d ever find me. He’s just an asshole. Probably curse me out and tell me I’m making it all up.”

Sara’s face dropped again, and you wished she was pixelated so you couldn’t see it, the image making your skin crawl, “Y/n. Theres something you don’t know.”

You straightened in your chair, “Is Alys pregnant?”

“No. She’s too old for that. Something else. Something Jacaerys told Cregan one night years ago. I didn’t want to tell you then, you guys were so in love, and I had never seen you so happy. I just,” She sighed, “I didn’t even really believe it until recently.”

“Sar, you’re scaring me.”

She shook her head, “I know, I know. But as you said, he doesn’t know where you are, and he won’t find you. But Y/n, Aemond isn’t who we think he is.”

“Are you about to tell me he’s some sort of international spy, or politician in hiding?” You tried to joke, but the joke fell flat.

Sara’s head looked to the side before back at the screen, “When Aemond was young, he had a temper. A real bad one. Never got along with his nephews.” She took a steadying breath, “When Lucerys was thirteen and Aemond was nineteen, he attacked him. It was probably years of pent up anger after the accident, a fight had been brewing, but he didn’t stop. No-one could stop him, Y/n. It was bad. Really bad.”

Your stomach roiled.

“Y/n, Lucerys nearly died.”

Your mouth gaped open as you could scarcely get air into your lungs.

Oh gods.

“Breathe.” Sara cooed through the computer, “Girl, you need to breathe.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, hand rubbing your chest, “What the fuck?”

“I know. I know. But they were young, I mean, Aemond was a lot older, but still. They were boys. And Aemond would never do anything like that to you. Not that he will ever find you.”

You counted your breaths as Sara spoke to you, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

“Y/n, y-….I-…t wi-…ll be fine-…. I-… ca-…n…-“

You growled at your screen, standing up in anger and frustration, anxiety pulling cruelly at your gut. You paced in front of the desk as you waited for your friend to come back into view.

When she de-pixelated and came back, you leant heavily against the table.

“You got your phone with you?” You asked, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Yea.” Sara lifted her phone to the screen.

“Okay, I’m going to give you my address. When do you think you can come?”

A cry flew from your lips.

The cottage was bathed in complete darkness, generator slowing to halt outside, the soft hum of electricity disappearing. Your heart lurched into your throat as you stood in the darkness. Skype screen blaring a ‘Lost Connection’ notification at you.

You took shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself.

This wasn’t unusual.

Just last month a squirrel had been trying to burrow into the electrical box for warmth and chewed through a cable. Luckily for you, Douglas had come over to fix up the wiring and helped you on your way. But with all that had been happening, it gave you a right scare.

Your heart did not slow in your chest, nor did you calm with the way your ears pricked at any noise inside or out. You stumbled through the darkness of the cottage to the kitchen, searching beneath the sink for your emergency torch.

Grasping it in your hand, you clicked it on, lone beam of light shining a path for you through the house to the front door. You crept slowly forward, the sound of your loud breathing in your ear as you got to the door.

You would have to go out and flip the switches manually, and make sure the damned squirrel wasn’t back.

Throwing on your wellies, you unlocked the four deadlocks you had installed on your door one by one until you opened it wide, the valley blanketed in the darkness of the night, clouds shrouding the moon and stars. The shadows of the forest around your house made you more on edge, every trunk or branch causing your eyes to linger that moment longer to decipher what it was.

But they were just that.

Trees.

You trudged around the side of the cottage, shoes crunching on the ground below as you made your way to the back. The icy air nipped at your skin, and you tugged the jumper that Lucy had knitted tightly around you.

They were right, winter had come early this year.

You would have to thank her later.

When you reached the electrical box, you tugged it open, shining the torch on all the different switches inside.

The main switch was flicked off.

For fucks sake.

The broadband must have blown it out.

The cottage was old, and the electricals likely older. But the solar panel were new, and you had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps the different generations of technology were clashing. You briefly wondered how costly it would be to have someone come to rewire the house for you.

As you looked at all the other switches, making sure they all looked in order, and the wires coming from out the back were all in tact, you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

You never liked coming out here in the dark.

It was scary, and although there was nothing out here to hurt you, unless there was a miracle lone pack of wolves that came strolling by, which you knew could never happen, since Lucy had told you wolves were hunted to extinction there. So it was just you, the trees and the moon.

The sound of a twig snapping in the woods made you spin on your heel, shining the torch out at the trees in vain. The light didn’t reach very far, illuminating just the front row of trunks, leaving the rest to be bathed in its dense darkness. Your heart thumped in your chest as your eyes scanned the woods.

It’s fine.

It’s nothing.

I’ve just worked myself up.

Gods.

It was probably just a deer or something.

You remembered the day you woke up to a whole herd of deer outside your cottage one morning, quietly munching on the grass outside. You had nearly screamed with joy, but kept the excitement inside, tiptoeing to sit in your window nook and watch them graze.

Holding the box open with one hand, you popped the small torch in your mouth with the other, holding it in your teeth as you flicked all the switches off, and then back on again.

You looked to the house.

Still dark.

You groaned, and did it again.

Again, nothing.

No hum of the motor kicking back on.

“Third times a charm.” You mumbled with the torch in your teeth, flicking the power back on.

The steady buzz of electricity came back, and the lights from the house illuminated a path for you back inside. You all but slammed the box shut and sped back inside to the safety of your cottage, spinning quickly to shut the door behind you, rapidly locking it tight with the deadlocks.

One, two, three, four.

You sighed a breath of relief.

See? Nothing. Just country electricals and wild deer.

You toed off your gumboots, hanging your keys on the hook beside the door.

You needed a glass of wine.

That would do it, a glass of wine and maybe some baking.

“Took me a while to find you.”

Ice ran down your back. Your heart leapt out of your throat as you spun on your feet, fear crashing over you.

You blinked.

And there he was.

Standing in your lounge room.

He had found you.

Aemond’s jaw ticked.

You were so in shock, so terrified that you couldn’t move, entirely rooted to the floor in place as your breath was caught in your throat. Your mouth opened as you tried to suck in air, head feeling light, but you couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t even let the scream out that clawed at the back of your throat.

He had found you.

Aemond took a step towards you, dressed in all black, his long silver hair pulled away from his face in a braid, “I told you, I would see you soon.”

Instincts kicked in, and like a startled deer, you ran. Tearing down the short hallway to get to your room, where you knew the old shot gun Macnair had left behind was hiding beneath the bed. But Aemond was quicker, and you heard his loud steps before you felt him, grabbing you from behind as you kicked your legs back and screamed, trying to get out of his grip.

“Did you really fucking think you could get away from me?” He grunted, holding you impossibly tight, “That I’d ever let you go? It was just by chance that I saw you today, I didn’t even think to go to the markets.” He explained, and tears prickled in your eyes.

You were right, you were being watched.

“But there you were. The Gods brought us back together again, Y/n. I was about to give up. But it was fate that our paths crossed again. It was meant to be.”

You thrashed against him, his arm locking around your chest and neck tightly. You turned your head and bit down on his arm, hard, tasting blood fill your mouth. Aemond hissed, tearing himself from your teeth as he dropped you to the ground, knees collapsing beneath you as you scrambled along the floor to get away.

“Fucking bitch.”

Pain rippled up your scalp as Aemond gripped you by your hair, throwing you back against the floor. Your head hit the wooden boards, eyes sluggishly blinking as the room spun and nausea curled in your stomach.

Your husband stood over you, sneering.

“You’ve been hiding out here for months whilst I’ve been looking for you. Having an affair with that other man who gave you the flowers.” Duncan, “Almost paid him a visit, but that can be done later. Spent all this time searching for my ungrateful cunt of a wife, but you didn’t hide well enough.”

His lone eye narrowed as he looked down at you, lips pulled back in a sneer. Strands of his silver hair had fallen from his braid and puffed with each breath as he stared down at you, chest rising and falling roughly.

You scrambled backwards, nails digging into the wood as he stalked forward, hunting you like prey.

“Money talks. And I have a lot of money. Which you would know, since you cleared out our joined account. Very naughty, Y/n.”

“Fuck you. Get out!” You screamed, kicking a leg at him.

Aemond laughed, dodging your kick, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re my wife.”

“I’m not your fucking wife, you psycho.”

“No?” Aemond paused, cocking his head, “Then why are we still on the marriage register? Hm?”

Your back hit the side of the bed, hands swiping underneath desperately in search as you kicked at him again. Aemond swatted your legs away with ease, smirking down at you meanly. But he couldn’t block your kicks forever, and your foot hit him squarely in his groin.

Aemond grunted, doubling over in pain.

You took your chance, desperate to escape as you crawled forward, away from the bed, dizzy and horrified, all instincts telling you to run, not fight.

Besides, you didn’t even know how to use the gun, let alone if it was even loaded.

You stood, side stepping him as you moved to run out the bedroom door.

Your head hit the wooden frame with a crack, smashed into it by Aemond’s large hand. Stars bloomed behind your eyes, pain shooting through your skull. You tried to catch yourself on the door, your nails digging painfully into the wood as you cried, the hand gripping your hair, pulling you back into the room.

Aemond threw you onto the bed, looming over you, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? To see you again? How hard it was to find you? And you’re acting like such an ungrateful little bitch.”

You grunted and cried, trying to get away, desperate to get yourself off the bed as he pushed you back on it.

“Get off me!”

“But a husband needs his wife,” He leered down at you, pupil wide, “I’ve been dying without you, Y/n. I’ve been bereft ever since you left me. Abandoning me like a coward.” Aemond shook his head, “You could never really leave me. You’re mine.”

“I hate you!” You screamed at him.

Aemond smiled down at you softly, stilling for a moment. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked at him, “No you don’t.”

His smile dropped from his face in an instant, shadow cast over his scarred cheek as he looked at you blankly, “And if you do, I’ll make you love me again.”

His hands slid down your body, and began to tear at your pants, busting the button from your jeans, sending it flying across the room, then ripping the zipper apart.

Sobs flew from your lips as you pushed up at him, desperate to make him stop, fear escalating within you, “Stop! Aemond. Stop!”

Your fingers tangled in the bed sheets as you kicked at him, knuckles going white as you tried to drag yourself up and away from him on the bed, nails pulling sharply as you used every ounce of strength you had left. The room still spun as your head throbbed with every movement or jolt of your body.

Long fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans and tugged them and your underwear down your legs as you struggled and cried and clawed at him.

“Been a while since you played this game with me.” Aemond chuckled darkly, “Do you remember when you used to pretend you didn’t want it? When you’d say ‘Stop! Please, no!’ and cum around my cock all coy?”

You blinked, memories erupting inside your brain. But those days were consensual, that was fun, something he had even introduced you to. But now? This? This was different. This was not a game. This was not play.

You kicked at his chest, heel clipping his shoulder sharply, a grunt falling from his lips. Aemond slapped a leg away, other hand gripping your thigh tightly. You cried out in pain as his fingers dug into your skin meanly, pain rippling up it.

Your hands tried to pry his fingers away, but the glinting of his wedding ring caught your attention.

He was still wearing it.

He ripped open his belt, and terror struck inside of you.

“Aemond, no. Please. Stop! Aemond stop, please!”

But all the man did was smile down at you crudely, “Gods, I’ve missed your begging. So sweet and small when you’d get on your knees and beg for my cock.” He pulled his length from his slacks, hard and angry, a drop of arousal smeared across his tip, “You’re so fucking beautiful. And you’re mine. My wife.”

You felt like you were going to throw up, thrashing beneath him as he crawled atop of you.

You dug your nails into his arms, trying to swipe at his face and neck, your teeth bared, ready to bite down onto whatever limb came into their collision course.

“Stop.” He growled, slotting himself between your thighs, overpowering you completely.

You sobbed beneath him, begging him to stop, screaming at him to get off, grunting as you twisted beneath the sheets, your head still spinning with small stars that continued to multiply in front of your eyes, the corners of your vision shrouded in black.

In one final attempt, you went for what you knew would hurt him, what you knew would stop him, slow him down.

Give you time.

And so with the heel of your hand, you thrust it upwards into his face, connecting with his prosthetic eye, clipping the painful scar tissue that would sometimes wake him in the middle of the night in tears.

Aemond’s head withdrew with a sharp and pained cry, one palm pushing into his eye socket as he tried to calm the agony. You pushed against his shoulders, trying to move out from underneath, but Aemond was quicker, and his enraged gaze landed on you. The hand that had been pushing into his face, curled into a tight fist.

Your head whipped to the side, and a cool blanket of darkness washed over you.

You laid in it for a while, with no thoughts, no terror, no fear, just that darkness that curled around you quietly.

It was nice for a moment, almost comforting.

Just the feeling of not being there.

But then the blanket faded away, and pain bloomed in your face, iron on your tongue as you blinked in confusion.

There was movement and a weight atop you. Something sliding against your core.

And then, pain.

You whined, hands shoving against the chest above you as Aemond speared you on his length, thrusting sharply and dryly into you as he reached his hilt, the tip of his cock pushing painfully against your cervix.

You gagged quietly, head throbbing as the room spun, your arms weakly pushing at him, feeling as though they were made out of lead. Each movement of your body sent pain rippling through your skull, and bile into your mouth.

“Take it like a good wife.” Aemond growled, pulling his length out of you before thrusting it back in sharply.

You cried loudly, pain spreading through your core as you felt him tear at your walls.

He was always larger, much larger than anyone you had had before, and when you were together, he would have to spend ample time to prepare you, but you would always be wet to help.

The only wetness you felt now, was from your own blood.

Aemond began a harsh and rough pace, with long sharp thrusts that jolted you up the bed on his length, cries of pain bleeding from your lips as you cried, turning your head away from him.

You still tried to push at his chest weakly, nails scratching at him through the dark shirt he wore, but it was no use.

He grunted above you, picking up his pace, wrapping his hands around your neck for leverage. He squeezed, not tightly, but as a warning, and your eyes shot open to look up at him, hands clawing at his to try and get him to release you. The more you dug your nails into his skin, the more he tightened his hands until you were wheezing beneath him.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult, you just need to give in, baby. Come on. Be a good girl for me. Be a good girl for daddy.” He groaned, one hand leaving your neck to pull up the soft woollen jumper to reveal your breasts to the room.

Your nipples stiffened in the chill of the air, fireplace not having been lit yet and the cool of the early winter air seeping into the cabin.

“Fuck.” He hissed, hand coming to squeeze your breast roughly, pinching a stiffened peak between his fingers, rolling it through forefinger and thumb.

You whined in protest, hand trying to move his away.

Aemond lightly slapped your face, “Behave.” He accentuated with a hard thrust, another warning, sending pain shooting through your gut, “I’ll even let you cum. Be a good girl for me and I’ll let you cum, hm? Is that what my pretty wife wants?”

You shook your head weakly, tears overspilling from your eyes and down your cheeks, a sob working its way through your lips.

Aemond bent down and licked the trail of tears from your cheek, “Fuck.” He moaned, thrusting into you faster, “Forgot how fucking tight you were. Gods. Gonna have to make up for time lost aren’t we? You’ve been such” Thrust, “A naughty” Thrust “Girl.” Thrust.

Your core clenched around him instinctually, Aemond adjusting his hips upwards so that his length would brush against the soft spongey spot within. His pace faltered, and a smirk pulled at his lips. Warmth spread through your gut.

“There she is.”

“No. Please, stop. Aemond, please. I’m begging you.” You wailed, hands gripping his arms as your nails clawed into him.

Your husband smirked down at you, “Not so cocky now that you’re mine again, huh? Where’s that bratty attitude from on the phone?”

Aemond continued to fuck at you from the new angle, one hand on your neck in a promise, the other pulling a limp leg up his hip, revulsion barreling through you as you found yourself growing wet from the angle, your body betraying you.

The sound of your slick was loud in the room, adding to your shame.

Aemond only tutted at you, “See? Only I can make you feel like this. Duncan would never be able to make you cum the way I do. No-one can. You’re mine. This pussy, is mine. And what I do with it is for me alone.”

The light in the room was too bright above you, making your head spin even more, the clapping of his hips against yours loud in your ears as his thrusts rocked your head and body backwards, a familiar coil beginning to wind in your stomach.

It was all too much.

Even the smell of him overwhelmed you.

“Can feel you squeezing my cock. You gonna cum for me, baby?” He cooed, mocking you.

“P-Please st-op, Aemond. It h-hurts.” You sobbed.

“Oh it hurts does it?” The sneer was back, Aemond’s head leant down beside your ear as he pushed to his limit, your walls gripping him tightly, and whispered, “Now you know how it felt when you left me.”

You weeped.

“I hope it fucking hurts.” Aemond leant back, fucking into you with new found vigour, sitting back on his haunches as he pulled your hips onto him, the coil getting tighter and tighter.

It was horrifying, to find your body finding pleasure from his assault, but you couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. He knew you too well. Knew your body too intimately. Knew everything that made you tick, twitch, or moan. He had spent hours, years, learning how to expertly map out your body, and he knew your body better than you did.

A slick thumb pressed down on your bud.

“Come on, baby, cum for me. Wanna feel you cum on me. If you cum for me, I’ll forgive you, okay? You cum for me and I’ll know you love me back. Come on, be a good girl, cum for me.”

His thumb swirled roughly against your bud, your hands tightening around him, unsure if you were pulling him toward you or pushing him away. Your mind hazy and confused, the world having been turned upside down.

You came with a cry, back arching off the bed as Aemond praised you through it, fucking into you harder and faster. Warmth spread through your limbs, your eyes scrunched tightly shut, bright lights behind them as your skull throbbed.

Aemond fucked your limp body, thumb leaving your clit as he held your hips with both hands, drilling into your wetness with a painful force, pulling agonising pleasure from you.

You weeped below him, keeping your eyes shut as you just wished for it to be over. For him to just finish.

“Gonna fill you up. Gonna fill my pretty wife up so we can have a baby. Hm, doesn’t that sound nice? Start a family.”

You sobbed loudly, hiding your face in your hands as you turned your head away from him, the taste of blood still thick on your tongue from where he had struck you.

His pace became sloppy, thrusts uneven as he began to lose himself to pleasure.

“Fuck!” He hissed, thrusting into you sharply as he came, hot ropes of cum coating your walls as he thrusted weakly through his climax.

You chest stuttered with sobs, head spinning, but exhaustion taking over.

You were so tired.

So tired.

You just wanted to sleep.

Wanted to fade away back to that darkness again. Back to nothing.

“Shh,” Aemond hushed you from above, dipping his head to press a gentle kiss against your wet cheek and forehead, “It’s okay now. I’m here. It’s okay.”

You sobbed even harder.

Aemond pulled out of you with a hiss, a small whimper falling from your own lips as you felt pain strum through your brutalised walls. He flopped back onto the bed, dragging your body up beside him as though you weighed nothing, black blooming before your eyes as you knocked your head against the pillow, a wave of sickness rising inside.

But you didn't fight it.

There was no point.

No escape.

Nowhere to go.

Nowhere to hide.

You couldn’t run, even if you wanted to.

And so you laid in his arms as he held you whilst you cried, curling into him as the tears kept coming. He cooed at you softly, rubbing a gentle hand up and down your arm in a way he always used to.

It was so stomach turning, the different sides of Aemond, and if it wasn’t for the concussion that you certainly had, his actions alone would send your head spinning.

Because this Aemond, the soft Aemond, was the one you had known. The one who used to hold you to him, and whisper words of praise. But that was a long time ago, and the Aemond who held you now was a different man.

Someone you didn’t even know.

This Aemond was not the man you married.

Aemond pressed another kiss to the top of your head again, “It’s okay, cry it out. I know you’re sorry. And it’s okay. I'll forgive you. Alys was a mistake, but she’s gone now. She won’t be a problem anymore, okay? It’s just you and me.”

You sobbed louder, and he pulled you closer to him, tangling his legs with yours.

“I know, baby." He cooed sweetly, but it was insincere, hollow, cold, "I’ve missed you too. I love you so much, Y/n." Aemond exhaled hotly at the top. ofyour head before his voice fell to barely a whisper, "So much, you don’t know what I’m willing to do to keep you with me.”

A chill rolled down your spine.

You knew now what he was willing to do.

And with the added news of what he did to Lucerys, you wouldn’t put it past him to harm anyone that came between you again.

A wave of mourning crashed over you.

Mourning your past.

Mourning your future.

And mourning the person that you would become with him. There was no escaping this.

Him.

You inhaled his scent deeply.

He still smelt as he always did, but there was a lingering smell of pine in his clothes. The pines from the woods surrounding your home.

How long had he been out there?

How long had he been waiting?

“You’ll love me again, I know it. I’ll never leave you again. We will be happy together. Here.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes wide against his chest.

“You’ve chosen the best spot, baby. You always were clever, we can start our family here. Somewhere quiet, no-one around. Just you and me, and eventually the children. Like it was meant to be.”

A shiver rolled through you.

“Marrying you was the best decision I made in my life.” He kissed the top of your head again, smoothing your hair down with his hand lovingly, “I’ll make you see.”

You laid there as you cried, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say. Having no real power over the situation, having no real way to escape or get out. If not for Aemond's sheer will, the four dead locks on the door assured it as well. He hummed softly as he let you cry, pain crashing through you in waves.

Aemond paused in thought, his thumb coming beneath your chin as he tilted your head to look up at him.

Your vision was fuzzy from the tears, and the edges were seeped in black, but you could see it. The crazed look in his eye as he gazed down at you with a hungry possessiveness.

“Do you remember our vows?” He asked, watching as you blinked at him, your lip wobbling as you tried to stop the endless stream of sobs that worked their way up your throat.

His thumb brushed gently over your bottom lip, a sharp sting sparking in it as his finger brushed over the split.

And then he smiled at you, in the same way that he had the day of your wedding, lips pulled wide, teeth revealed.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked at him.

The man you had loved, the man you had married and planned a future with.

The man you had been on the run from.

His mouth parted again, smile becoming softer.

“Til death do us part.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know on the general taglist post here :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Taglist:

@aemondsfavouritebastard @dc-marvel-girl96 @elizarbell @kaelatargaryen @fan-goddess @ahristata @marihoneywk @kckt88 @namelesslosers @atargaryensmadness @clairacassidy @evye47 @bruher @axillaisabella @mac95650 @englishlight@toodlesxcuddles @mandiiblanche @zillahvathek @youraverageaemondsimp @tinykryptonitewerewolf @cryingforlife @daemyra-targaryen-enthusiast @queteimporta39 @moteandlight-blog @bel-bottoms @happycolorcheesecake@addiessblack@thekinslayersswordhand @persephonerinyes @itsapurrfectstorm @misguidedasgardian @aemondsbabygirl @thatsgayyouknow @immyowndefender @dlwlrmas-world @iamavailablesstuff @glame @a7mouraa @hc-geralt-23 @wintrr13 @rebelliuna @pauuuus @notnormalthings-blog

Bold is who I cannot tag:

@justyomama107 @marytargaryen @magnificentdelusionr @xxvelvetxxxx @katyathecruel @scarlettathena27 @yousunshineyoutemptressblog @likeanecho344 @hogwarts1207 @usteuwns @ho-e-lland @naffeesaa @coolsiaisqueenstuff @diannnnsss @sidni3003 @lovel-blog @that-v03 @boxedpandas @speedyballoonpainter @marvelescvpe @skylarjinxsob @eve5155 @askarmytz

2K notes · View notes

vulpes-fennec · 9 months

Text

Don't Say Yes, Run Away Now

Summary: What if things took a different turn when Rhys shows up at Feyre and Tamlin's wedding? Warning: SMUT

Read on AO3

For @officialfeysandweek2023 Day 7 (Free Day)

***Rhys***

She liked to think about his mouth on her, especially on the smooth skin of her inner thighs. She tried to imagine what his broad hands would explore, how he would feel inside of her. Sometimes she pictured him moving slowly, other times her mind drifted towards something more fast-paced—urgent. Once, she considered taking charge, tracing her hand reverently across the skin of his wings and leaving him groaning with her tongue.

He didn’t seek her out specifically, didn’t feel right about this invasion of privacy, even though every inch of him was screaming, yearning to learn more. He wanted to be fully present with his mate, instead of peeking through the windows of her mind and watching her life from the sidelines.

But whenever she pleasured herself, her desires were so strong that they blew through his mental wards. He knew when she came, and was all too familiar with the knowledge that the following shame and guilt was when she realized it was, again, because of him.

***Feyre***

“Is it not a lady’s dream come true, to marry her true love?” Elain had sighed wistfully three years ago. Hunched over on the rickety stool, with a threadbare dress, shivering from the chill, Feyre had looked up from the rabbit she was skinning.

Her sister was prone to such romantic daydreams. Still, Feyre had conceded with a “perhaps,” her mind drifting to Isaac Hale’s brown-eyed gaze. The only boy in her life had not stirred such feelings from her heart, though she did feel jealousy from time to time. No, he could not be her true love.

I did not dream of marriage back then, because I did not love Isaac. Today I am marrying Tamlin…so why do I still feel the same way?

She was unrecognizable in the mirror. Her golden-blonde hair, curled into an elaborate pile of ringlets. Her lips, painted a dusty rose pink. The gauzy veil that would not hide her hesitations as she walked down the aisle. The Spring Court was known for its extravagance, but even this was too much. Her wedding gown was a mountain of puffed satin and tulle, with loops of ribbon and embroidered white flowers assaulting her eyes.

It’s because I don’t love Tamlin.

The conclusion came crashing down at the eleventh hour, despite weeks of attempting to fend it off. Roiling nausea threatened to send her to the bathroom. Feyre clenched her jaw and swallowed the pooling saliva, forcing herself to breathe. Wrong, wrong, everything was so wrong. In her distress, the edge of her glove had slipped down slightly, revealing the swirling black ink of her bargain tattoo with Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. Feyre’s mouth twitched in a barely suppressed growl as she tugged it back up. Bearing the mark of another male on her wedding day to another was…it was…

Rhysand’s violet eyes shining in the dim light of the dungeons. His feline grin driving her mad. The heat of his tongue along her cheek—

The door knocked, scattering Feyre’s memories.

“It’s time, Feyre.” Alis peeked into the room, regarding her with a carefully neutral expression. Feyre turned and nodded, forcing the corners of her mouth to turn upwards.

The opulently wall-papered halls of the manor seemed to close in on them as Feyre walked towards the lawn. Alis, thankfully, kept silent, as if she knew Feyre was trying to sort through her emotions before the ceremony.

We were never the same after Amarantha, she reflected. Feyre’s slippered feet grew heavier with each step, as if urging her to stall the wedding for as long as possible. Tamlin…his anger had grown deeper. His simple jealousy had twisted into suffocating overprotectiveness…he had become afraid to live. To let me live.

Night after night, waves of nausea and guilt colliding in the marble bathroom, tears streaking down her cheeks…all while the High Lord of Spring continued to sleep silently, in her bed.

Don’t be silly Feyre, he wasn’t sleeping, she told herself. He could hear everything. He couldn’t comfort me during my worst, because he couldn’t help himself, Feyre suddenly realized. Is this what eternity will be like? Spending forever with a husband who simultaneously cares too much and too little? Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The spring sunlight, once warm and gentle, was now piercingly bright. As if its rays proclaimed, “look! Look at this once-human wretch, happily ever after handed to her on a golden platter, and she doesn’t want it!” to the entire audience.

When Feyre finally stopped squinting her eyes, it became clear that Ianthe had done her worst. The lords and ladies of Spring, dressed in finery and beaming at her expectantly. A whole quartet, playing a lilting wedding song. A sky-high tiered cake, more than enough for all the party attendants and piled with candied flowers, was bordering on tasteless. Crimson rose petals were scattered down the white carpet, like droplets of blood. That bitch, Feyre seethed internally. She knows how much I hate the color red, yet out of all the colors of spring, she picks red. The blonde priestess was smiling at the dais, soft white hands clasped demurely in front of her robe. But Ianthe’s blue eyes were victoriously smug, as if she was waiting for Feyre to break down in front of all of Spring Court’s nobility.

Don’t give her what she wants, Feyre resolved to herself. She took a deep breath, clutched her bouquet of sickeningly sweet flowers a little tighter, and stepped forward. And again. And again. She mechanically flicked her eyes towards Tamlin every few seconds. Tall, strong, confident…for the first time in a while, the High Lord looked the part. But Feyre knew he was anything but that.

She’d seen too many dark circles, instances of frazzled hair, and tense workings of his jaw. The sighs at the dinner table, the haunted expressions during their garden strolls. Feyre couldn’t fathom calling the male standing before her her “husband”. The title left a bitter taste on Feyre’s tongue, the very sound of it making her cringe. A hollow feeling was deepening in her gut, a dizzying nausea pounding her head.

What if I don’t marry Tamlin? Up ahead, Tamlin offered her a small smile of encouragement. Her own smile felt more like a grimace.

If I don’t marry him, Ianthe would probably go after him, Feyre suspected. The cunning, power-grabbing priestess had been poisoning Tamlin’s mind with her whispers the last few months, and would probably send Spring Court into a downward spiral soon.

Is it too late? The expectant faces of wedding attendants said so. The crescendoing music, each step closer to the Tamlin, said so. The engagement ring, in all its symbolism of commitment, said so.

I haven’t said my vows yet, though. Feyre squeezed her bouquet even harder, her heart thudding faster than ever in her chest. The ring is just a rock. This event…no one will die if I don’t follow through. Not like what happened Under the Mountain, with the fae I had to kill.

Crimson droplets of blood, all over her knife, all over her hands.

I can’t marry him. I won’t marry him.

Feyre stopped in her tracks.

She didn’t think this moment through. Suddenly, everybody’s smiles seemed frozen, if not a little forced, like they were confused about what had just happened, but still trying to pretend everything was still alright.

Feyre was trembling now, a mixture of fear and heady adrenaline bubbling in her veins. Shit, shit, shit. Help! Feyre’s mind scrambled for something, anything to excuse herself. What do I do, what do I do? I need help—

A clap of thunder boomed, rattling her teeth and sending nobles screaming. A massive slash of darkness appeared out of thin air, as if a piece of the void was tearing the picturesque scene of Spring apart.

The beautiful male who stepped out of the rip was impeccably dressed in black, his hands tucked into his pants pockets. Night incarnate, with narrowed violet eyes, full lips curved in a smug smirk, brown skin that was rich and powerful. Rhysand.

***Rhys***

The clap of thunder to accompany the otherwise silent winnowing would be a nice effect, Rhys had decided, seconds before he heard Feyre’s panic down their mental bond. The mating bond, actually, he corrected himself.

He still couldn’t believe his mate was Feyre Archeron. And had spent the last few months fruitlessly trying to block her thoughts from his mind. He’d allowed himself a cheat day because she was getting married today—to Tamlin, of all males—and look at what happened. His mate needed him, even if she didn’t necessarily want him. So here he was.

Still, it felt good to rattle the Spring Court’s nobility whenever he could.

“Oh, is this bad timing?” he blinked nonchalantly as he strolled onto the sprawling lawn. Fae scrambled away from the darkness spreading after him, staining the verdant grass black.

There she was, his beautiful mate. Even if she wore a hideously puffy gown, her lovely face half-hidden by the veil, Feyre was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. She was trembling, not from fear, but from surprise. He forced his eyes away from her, glancing over at Tamlin with a blank stare.

“What are you doing here?” The High Lord of Spring snarled. “You do realize you are trespassing on another court, do you not?”

Rhys shrugged. “You do realize Feyre Archeron and I share a bargain, that stipulates her presence at my court for one week every month, do you not? I’ve come to collect her now…didn’t realize it was your wedding day.”

Tamlin’s lips pulled back, revealing gleaming white teeth, when he realized he was bound by fae law to allow Feyre to honor her bargain with his sworn enemy. “If you don’t bring her back, unharmed, in seven days—” Tamlin let the threat hang in the air.

“Oh, I promise to take very good care of her.” Rhys turned towards his mate, a secretive gleam of starlight twinkling in his violet eyes. Feyre was still staring at him, open-mouthed. “Perhaps I can even teach her a few things.”

His suggestive remark didn’t even land; Tamlin and the rest of the wedding party were too shocked to register it. Feyre’s blue-gray eyes turned towards Tamlin apprehensively. Rhys smugly noted that she didn’t object to the arrangement, for any bride in love with her fiance should have pitched a fit at wedding delays. He crossed the distance between them and wordlessly gripped her elbow, pulling her closer with a bored expression on his handsome face. His mate was stiff as a board, her heart galloping like a horse.

“Hold on,” Rhys murmured into Feyre’s ear, voice edged with amusement. She flinched again when he winnowed away, channeling the depths of his power to make the tremendous leap across Prythian, from Spring Court to Night Court.

Feyre wrenched herself away from his grip, gasping with shock as she took in the pale stone columns, the vaulted ceilings, the ornate furniture of the Moonstone Palace above the Hewn City. For a moment, she looked like she was about to vomit.

“What was that?” she gasped, her bridal veil askew.

“Never winnowed before?” Rhys teased, tucking his hands back into his pockets. He angled his head slightly, unabashedly checking out his mate. “Apologies, but you’ll get used to it.”

“Where am I?” Gods, she was so stunning, with those sharp blue eyes and flushed cheeks, that he almost forgot how to speak. She kept a good distance from him, her gloved hands balled into fists. A pity both their walls were still up, when all Rhys wanted was to let them down.

“My home. My court is ruled from the mountain below, but…you will find privacy from them here.”

“Like Under the Mountain?” Feyre’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying not to remember those harrowing three months. Rhys suppressed a shudder; those 50 years had wrought significant damage on him. But he was Fae. Feyre had been human, and endured it all. He was proud of her, though if he somehow found a way to tell her that, she would probably laugh at him.

“I’d say Amarantha’s version was a pathetic attempt to mimic my court,” Rhys picked a speck of lint from his lapel. “But enough about that female.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“My, my. So many questions, Feyre darling.” Rhys chuckled. He walked around her, circling her slowly. Feyre’s eyes followed him with suspicion. “You needed help, and I obliged. I’m sure you were dying to know when I’d stop by to honor our bargain…Spring can get awfully frilly sometimes.”

She wrinkled her nose in the most adorable manner. “I don’t think about you at all, actually.”

“Is that so?” Rhys stepped closer, backing Feyre up against a lounge chair. His smile is infuriatingly beautiful, she was thinking. He’s so tall, too. And his lips…they’re close enough for me to kiss. Oh gods…

Rhys tipped her chin up delicately, noting the slight shiver that passed through her body at his touch. At the dusting of pink that bloomed over her cheekbones. “I can hear your thoughts, darling. And I think we both know just how often you’ve thought of me the last few months.”

The shock that filled her wide blue eyes was delicious. Rhys laughed, finally sauntering towards the other end of the hall, which ended in a veranda open to the stars. “I’m willing to accept your thanks at any time, you know,” he called to Feyre without looking back.

Did the wind-swept peaks of the Illyrian mountains appear inhospitable to her? Unwelcoming? Did she find the indigo night sky, with its faint tinge of pink on the horizon, just as beautiful as he did? Was the moonstone palace to her liking, despite her affronted expression?

His instincts sensed something hurtling towards him.

A slim half second later, a sharp, clunky object slammed into the back of his head. Pain erupted from the point of impact, leaving Rhys clutching his head with disbelief.

Feyre Archeron had thrown a shoe at him, and was wielding her remaining shoe like a javelin. Her expression was fierce, wild, and nearly had Rhys falling to his knees at how formidable she was.

“Taking off your shoes? I see you’re making yourself right at home,” Rhys purred.

“Fuck you,” Feyre snapped. She was more embarrassed than angry, for the crimson flush of her cheeks and averted gaze indicated shame rather than challenge.

“I didn’t pry that much darling. A High Lord has far more important things to do.” Rhys shrugged with a half-apology, for it was true. He only felt what she sent down the bond. “Be a good girl for me here, and I’ll keep your…fantasies a secret from Tamlin.” Feyre’s eyes flashed again, and she raised her other shoe higher. Rhys felt his lips pull back from his teeth. “I dare you.”

Feyre flung the shoe at him, but this time, Rhys was prepared. It dissolved into a fistful of glittering black dust.

“Fine.” Feyre gritted out. “I think you are attractive, so what?” She crossed her arms, half-glaring at him.

There are other things we can keep secret from Tamlin. Rhys cursed internally as he felt blood rushing to his cock. Did she really just say that? If that meant she wasn’t in love with Tamlin…Rhys shoved the delusions away, refusing to get his hopes up.

“So what?” Rhys echoed, feeling a little faint.

“All Fae are attractive. You’re not special, Rhysand.”

“Really,” he drawled lazily.

“You crashed my wedding, destroyed one of my shoes,” Feyre continued. “So I don’t feel like thanking you today.”

“While your appreciation is greatly desired, I am committed to ensuring my guests have a comfortable stay regardless.” Rhys gave her a sarcastic smile.

“I’d like to see you try,” she shot back, challenge flaring in her eyes. “I suppose I could use a bed after such an eventful day.”

“Oh? Is a bed all you need?” Rhys fought the urge to fidget with his jacket cuffs.

Feyre shrugged. “Some company in it would also be nice.” She gave him a coy smile.

He didn’t need to hear anything else. Rhys picked up the slipper Feyre had thrown at him, and crossed the span of the gilded room in several long strides. Threw his mate over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes without missing a beat. She stiffened at first, but then relaxed when his fingers stroked her lower back. The heat of Feyre’s skin through her dress, her scent of pear and lilac…Rhys felt dizzy at their proximity.

Her puffy wedding gown nearly obscured his view as he walked up the stairs. Rhys swore he’d destroy this damn thing, turn this ugly dress into dust the moment they had a bit of privacy.

***Feyre***

Like all things related to Rhysand, Feyre didn’t think she’d get this far. She was a little dazed as he carried her up the winding stairs, wondering how it was possible that she was getting ready for her wedding day in Spring Court just this morning. Rhysand laid her onto a massive bed with surprising gentleness, her body sinking into the puff of her gown.

“Bed. Now.”

Rhysand laughed softly, his chuckle deep as the night. “So demanding, Feyre darling.” But he obliged, shrugging off his black jacket and joining her on the bed. Before he could settle down, Feyre lurched upwards, bringing her mouth to his.

The searing heat of desire that burned down her body was a stark contrast to how soft and full his lips were. They were very nice lips to look at, Feyre thought, and even better lips to kiss. His initial freeze of surprise was quickly remedied when he deepened the kiss, his tongue running along the seam of her lips, desperate to taste her.

Rhys straddled her somehow, careful to keep the majority of his weight off her body, as he kissed her again, and again, and again. As if he couldn’t get enough of her. Feyre breathed in his scent of sea salt and citrus, marveling at how one kiss led to another without any effort. Each kiss was a little different, some were more delicate pecks at the corner of her mouth, others were more feral with the bite of his teeth against her lip.

“What are you going to do about the dress?” Feyre asked teasingly when they broke apart for air. “The female in your bed is wearing a wedding dress meant for another man.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes darkened with a murderous glint. But his voice was a casual drawl. “Destroy it, of course. Burn it, or turn it to dust, I don’t care.” His gaze traveled down her body. “I hope you didn’t choose this dress, darling, because it’s gods awful.”

“Of course not.” Feyre was disgruntled. “It’s Ianthe’s work, can’t you tell?”

“That explains it,” Rhysand grimaced. His hands worked against the pins in her hair, undoing them so he could pull off the veil. It was flung into some corner of the room. As he pulled the gloves off, he peppered her arm with kisses, giving special attention to the swirling tattoo on her left arm. Already, the white fabric was disintegrating under his touch.

“Don’t…mist me,” Feyre warned, a tinge of concern rising in her. Rhysand was the most powerful High Lord in Prythian; one careless flick and she’d be dead.

“I would never,” Rhysand crooned as he dissolved the entirety of her gown and underthings, leaving her utterly naked save for her necklace and earrings.

For a 500-year old High Lord, Rhysand was surprisingly lost for words as he stared down at her. Feyre supposed he hadn’t been with a female of his own free will in a long time, but still. There was something wondrous in the way he looked at her, as if she was simultaneously precious and awe-inspiring at the same time.

“Your clothes need to come off,” Feyre growled, realizing he was still dressed. She yanked him back down by his shirt. Buttons popped and scattered as she tore the front panels off, running her hands across the broad chest she’d been fantasizing about for months.

Rhysand shifted his hips against hers as he tugged his pants off, the hardness of his erection pressing against Feyre’s inner thigh. The air around them was heavy with mingled arousal, the soft light casting shadows across Rhysand’s muscled body. He looked like an ancient sculpture of a long-ago hero come to life.

“What do you want today, Feyre darling?” Rhysand rasped against her ear as he kissed the corner of her jaw.

“I thought you would know, Rhysand.” Her voice was breathy, high, as she tried not to moan from the get-go.

Rhysand chuckled against her neck. “It never hurts to ask, Feyre. And call me Rhys.” Rhys. It seemed so casual for her to refer to the High Lord of the Night Court as just Rhys. The sound of his name on her tongue felt just right, so delicious and so perfect.

Feyre gasped when his finger traced the curve of her breast, before cupping and squeezing it gently with his entire hand. Normally, she would close her eyes to imagine such a touch, but this was real life. This is real life, she thought with amazement.

And Rhysand—Rhys—was too beautiful to not look at.

Still straddling her lightly, his other hand experimentally slipping his fingers along her folds before rubbing her clit. She whimpered. A hot flush was surely materializing along her neck, and Feyre turned away with embarrassment.

“Eyes on me,” Rhys said, a hint of a plea in his voice. He brought his hand up to his mouth, tasting her slick with the expression of a cat who had caught the mouse.

“Rhys,” Feyre whispered, arcing her body upwards to press along his abdomen. “I need you.”

“Shhh, patience, pet,” Rhys gave her a casual grin before he kissed her again, more harshly this time around. His hips undulated slightly, bringing the tip of his cock against her with each push forward. He was teasing her, Feyre realized, dipping the head into her entrance without fully entering. If he was this big already—

“We’ll make it fit,” Rhys murmured in between kisses, his breath a little ragged now.

They groaned in unison when Rhys thrust for the first time. Feyre was trembling—every nerve in her body was lighting up—her mind scrambled up except for one thing: Rhys, Rhys, Rhys. Rhys himself had bowed his head against the crook of Feyre’s neck, his ebony black locks silky soft against her skin.

When he lifted his head up, there was starlight in his eyes.

“Feyre,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t believe this was happening right now.

“Rhys,” she responded, pushing her hips slightly against him to indicate she was ready. He nodded wordlessly, throat bobbing, and slowly pulled out.

Rhys was gentle as he slid back in, but Feyre still let out a shaky breath at the fullness between her legs. He returned his attention back to her breasts, gently fondling them as she liked and lavishing kisses on the sides. The tickle of his breath, hot glide of his tongue, and pressure of his fingers were a symphony that lifted her higher and higher with each touch. The rhythmic thrusts and slight grind of his hips against her clit only added to the coiling tension in her gut.

“Rhys—” Feyre moaned. “Oh gods, Rhys, please.”

“I love it when you say my name,” he purred, the vibrations of his voice smooth as silk. “You are exquisite.”

“Rhys!” Feyre cried, shaking as release seized control of her voice, her limbs, her mind. He had reduced her to a trembling, whimpering mess in the matter of minutes. Gods knew what else he had up his sleeve.

“You felt so good cumming on my cock,” Rhys groaned. She could feel her pussy still flexing involuntarily as he continued to thrust into her, more roughly and urgently before. The plat, plat, plat sound of skin-on-skin and the lubricated slap of his cock made Feyre’s fae instincts go wild. He nearly stilled when she moaned. “Too sensitive?” Rhys asked, stroking the curve of her waist.

“No, keep going,” Feyre bit out. She would ride it out, would let the male before her find his release too. “Fuck me harder, Rhys. Fuck me until I forget everything else. Please.”

Once a month, for a week. He was probably laughing at her in his head, at how easy she was. But she could escape her troubles with Spring and with Tamlin here.

Rhys’s answering thrust put all those musings out of her mind. This was perfection…she didn’t care what he thought of her anymore. Feyre canted her hips upwards, craving more of him. Rhys pounded into her with increasing intensity, hard, swift thrusts that had her gripping the sheets and rolling her eyes with pleasure.

“Shit, Feyre,” Rhys gasped. He said her name like a prayer. “You’re doing so well.”

She had fantasized him fucking her into the mattress several times, but none of those scenarios could have compared to the real life event. His chiseled, muscular form moving above her. The broad, callused hands gripping her waist for leverage. Those riveting violet eyes staring straight into her soul.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Feyre chanted, the words falling from her lips with each jolt backwards. There were stars on Rhys’s ceiling, she realized. A web of constellations crafted from fine diamonds, positioned against an indigo blue backdrop. It’s beautiful, she thought, feeling like she’d transcended her physical form.

His rhythm was becoming uneven, indicating he was close. With a loud groan that sounded like her name, Rhys pulled out, hot cum spurting onto the plane of her bare stomach. Feyre shivered at the sight, feeling a twinge of remorse that Rhys didn’t finish inside of her. She understood why he didn’t, but…still.

Feyre wrapped a hand around the nape of Rhys’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss, savoring the feel of his mouth. She wasn’t sure if he would oblige her again.

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” he murmured as he broke away. Feyre lay, spread-eagled on the soft bed, feeling the reverberations of their actions deep in her bones. Rhys returned with a warm towel, and he wiped away his release with exceeding tenderness.

The night sky, or perhaps Rhys himself, must have made Feyre emotional, for she found herself overcome with a contentment that made tears well up in her eyes. Somehow, she felt safe and secure, even though the Night Court was the farthest from home—home in the human lands—she had ever been. There was something raw about the way Rhys moved, from the way he looked at her, that made her feel as if he was an intimate friend.

“Would my darling guest like to do something else?” Rhys asked softly.

Feyre shook her head. “I would like to sleep,” she murmured. Indeed, the excitement of the day’s events were catching up to her, making the swaddle of Rhys’s silken sheets very appealing.

“Very well, then. I’ll let you be.” Rhys draped a soft blanket over her form, fingers brushing hair from her forehead. Stay, Feyre wanted to say. But the words would not come out.

She grabbed his wrist just as he was turning away. He was still naked, regarding her with solemn authority. “Thank you,” was all she could utter. Rhys nodded curtly, a small, genuine smile curving at his lips, before exiting the room.

#feysand #feysandweek2023 #feyre x rhysand #smut #acotar #acotar fanfic

57 notes · View notes

madamewriterofwrongs · 4 years

Note

ooh for the july prompt list can you do 28 + buddie

For you, darling, anything!

July Prompt List

28. “Just by existing and by letting me speak to you, you give me an immense amount.”

Without Question

“No, no, I’m serious, Eddie.” Buck let his beer slosh over the coffee table as he emphatically pointed at his best friend. He could clean up later; there were more important things happening at the moment. “You, need to get laid.”

On the carpet across from him, Eddie threw his head back in a groan of frustration. “Not this again, Buck, I told you.” He had, in fact, told Buck three times since arriving and subsequently leaving the bar with their friends, but it bared repeating. “I am not interested in hook-ups. I need a relationship – with someone Christopher would approve of.” At least, Eddie hoped that’s what he said (words were a bit fuzzy in his head at the moment). “I don’t need to get laid; I need to get married.”

That seemed to sober Buck just a little, his mouth drooping downwards. “You’re ready to get married again?”

Eddie found himself doing his best impression of that singing bass (weren’t brains funny at 3am?), thinking of the right answer. “No. Yes? Maybe. I hadn’t really thought about it but yeah” he eventually decided. “If I’m going to put myself out there again, it’s going to be with someone I can see a future with.”

“How are you supposed to know that on a first date?” Very good question, Buck. Eddie’s face scrunched in on itself as he sought the answer.

“I don’t know that I know what it would look like to meet that person.” Buck’s eyes were really blue when his face was red from too much alcohol. They were like an ocean in a storm. What?

“Okay.” Buck slammed his bottle onto the coffee table with so much force, it shattered their eardrums but he was already crawling to his feet.

He was halfway into the kitchen when Eddie finally realized that Buck was gone and called out “where did you go?”

Suddenly Buck was back where he started (had he even left?) throwing himself to the ground, now with a pen and a piece of what looked like old mail. “That looks important.”

“This is important-er” Buck insisted, leaning his weight against the edge of the table, giving his full attention to the paper stuffed under his forearm. “We’re going to figure this out.”

“Figure what out?”

Buck rolled his eyes and nearly hit his head on the table in the process. Should they really be doing this now? Well, if not now, then when?

“We’re going to figure out the perfect person for you” he declared with the confidence of a man who would have a splitting headache and a few bruises in the morning.

“You have a rolodex of every person on the planet that we can go through?” Eddie scoffed, taking another ill-advised drink.

Buck stared at Eddie too long for either of them to properly see straight, eyes forced wide before he inevitably fell asleep. “A rolodex? What are you, fifty?” Before he could process Buck’s words, they were moving on. “No, we’re going to write down exactly what you’re looking for in a partner, so that when you do meet someone, you’ll know they’re the one.”

Seemed reasonable enough. Buck was so smart sometimes, but sometimes he was an idiot (like that time he tried to pet a dog after they found it covered in – what they thought at the time was – blood. It turned out to be ketchup from where his owner had collapsed from a heart attack in the middle of making lunch). Buck was probably the dumbest smart person he knew. But in a really smart way.

“Okay.” Eddie leaned forward to match his friend’s position across the coffee table. “What’s first?”

Buck squinted at the paper, waiting for it to reveal its secrets. Just as quickly, he perked up and began to scribble.

“Number one: good looking.”

Eddie scoffed, wiping his spit from the table with his sleeve. “Why is that the first thing on the list?”

“Because” Buck drew out emphatically. “The whole goal is to get you laid. If you don’t find them attractive, then this whole experiment is for not.”

It was Eddie’s turn to roll his eyes so hard he felt dizzy. “Now who’s fifty?”

In lieu of a response, Buck went back to his scribbling. “Number two: they have to love Christopher.”

“That is an absolute must.” Anyone he was with had to love Christopher the way Buck did – with his whole heart. He really was a great person.

“Three: someone who understands your schedule. Being a firefighter is not a 9-5 thing; they have to be prepared for late nights and crazy danger.” Buck’s face twisted as he wrote, into something Eddie recognized as hurt. It took him a little longer to realize why that sadness was marring that pretty face. He slowly reached out a hand to touch his wrist. Buck shouldn’t feel like he was alone, or that Ali leaving was his fault. He deserved to know that there was someone who wanted to be with him – despite the schedules and the dangers. His eyes really were so perfectly blue; even when they were starring at him hopefully. Especially then.

Eddie opened his mouth but nothing came out so he closed it again, hoping the lack of oxygen would help him remember. He didn’t remove his hand right away.

Buck spent the next forty minutes emphatically telling Eddie exactly what his ideal person would be, with Eddie adding commentary here and there to make sure Buck got the wording right (maybe, things were still a bit hazy).

At the end of everything, there were ten items on the list. Ten items for the perfect partner for Eddie. Now all he had to do was find that person. He stared at Buck, proudly handing Eddie the paper for him to tuck into his back pocket, and something of a smile rose to his lips. Finding that person would be the easy part, thought Drunk Eddie. All he had to do was remember the list and even his sober counter-part (as obtuse as he was – excellent word choice, Drunk Eddie) would able to figure it out.

Just to be sure, Eddie waited until Buck stumbled towards the bathroom for the third time, before he retrieved the list from his back pocket and added an eleventh item.

There. Easy as pie.

Thoughts of delicious, sugar-filled pastries, had Eddie stumbling up the stairs to the master bathroom. Why did he think getting drunk at Hen’s birthday party was a good idea? He was not in his twenties anymore. This shit had consequences.

Of course, he expected those consequences to be a massive hangover and some second-hand embarrassment (which he did have). What he wasn’t expecting, was to wake up with his arm around the waist of a half-naked Buck.

Well that was new.

The soft smile on his face as he watched Buck’s even breathing, so calm and safe, was also…not that new. Certainly not one he’d ever experienced while sleeping shirtless in his best friend’s bed, obviously; but being happy that Buck was peaceful and all right was something Eddie experienced on a daily basis.

He carefully pulled his arm away from that – surprisingly soft – abdomen, and rolled onto his back as naturally as he could without waking the other man. If Buck woke up to them cuddling like that, there might need to be a discussion about why he felt so comfortable like that; and morning afters were not the time for existential wanderings.

Not that this was a ‘morning after’. It was the morning after a night of heavy drinking and clearly neither of them were fit to drive, let alone sleep on the couch without hurting themselves. Buck’s bed was big enough for two grown men to rest comfortably (not that they seemed to be using half of the space) so it made sense that they would share.

Yup, perfectly reasonable. Anything else – like his heart beating out of his chest with longing – was just an aftershock of the abhorrent amount of alcohol they’d consumed.

Who thought any of that was a good idea?

Oh right. Christopher was away at camp and Buck had dragged him to Hen’s birthday party; where she’d loudly declared that for one damn night, she wanted to celebrate everything she’d accomplished with her closest friends, consequences be damned. Which, of course, meant that several rounds of tequila shots were ordered in honor of the birthday girl. He vaguely recalled Karen getting exasperatedly drunk beside her wife, which encouraged Eddie to drink his loneliness away. Which seemed to have led back to Buck’s apartment.

There were definitely some dots missing there.

Namely, why he’d let himself sleep in his jeans but not his shirt (in Buck’s bed!).

Before he could even attempt to make connections, the body beside him began to stir, and the peaceful rest on Buck’s face soured into disgruntled pain.

“What died in my mouth?” He chewed on the words as they left his lips, leaving Eddie to dodge a few flailing limbs as Buck returned to the living. A few more scrapes of his tongue against his teeth seemingly had Buck satisfied that he wouldn’t get the taste out of his mouth without help, so he rolled over to check the time on his phone, only to find a body in the way.

“Eddie?” he groaned against the morning light through his window. “What are you doing here?”

The firefighter tried to shake his head but found it only made his stomach protest harder than it had been already. “We are too old to be drinking this much” he hoarsely declared.

Buck’s reply was swallowed by his retreating form as he stumbled towards the bathroom to empty the contents of his bad decision. Eddie let his head fall back against the pillow, the only sounds in the apartment becoming Buck’s retching, and Eddie’s painful decision to forget everything about last night.

Stumbling through the door of his bedroom a few hours later (Buck had insisted on taking him out for a greasy breakfast before dropping him off at home), Eddie had just enough mental energy to toss his clothes vaguely near the hamper before jumping in the shower and then straight to bed. He had never been so grateful for a day off in his life.

Much like the night before, Eddie remembered very little of the day he slept away; those 24 hours became a blip in the string of time that carried no real significance in his life and was happily forgotten.

When doing laundry a few days later, he did find a piece of Buck’s mail folded into the back pocket of his jeans. So, he tossed it onto the ever-growing pile of things on his dining room table colloquially called ‘things that need to be returned to Buck’s eventually’, and thought nothing of it.

It would be another month before Eddie thought about the letter or the night that time forgot.

Hosting random get-togethers for the firefighters and paramedics of the 118 (along with their families, of course) was practically a bi-weekly tradition at this point. Whoever was available would offer their space, and everyone was welcomed in, bringing food and drinks and games. It was one of Eddie’s favourite things about being a part of the 118: the inherent companionship. He had never been a part of anything where it was just assumed that he would have a babysitter, or someone to barbeque for two dozen people in his backyard, or drive him to the hospital when his grandmother broke her hip. No matter what was going on, they could always rely on each other.

He loved the family he’d built at the 118.

So what if he was a little lonely sometimes; he was never alone and that was just as good. Still, maybe it was time for him to put himself out there again. The idea of dating – of random hookups and dead-end dinners – felt exhausting (and not at all what he needed). What else could he do, though?

Luckily, it was his turn to host, so no matter how he was feeling, it would soon be replaced with joy and contentment and laughter. But first, he needed to clean up.

As was tradition, Eddie grabbed the pile of things on his table lovingly titled ‘things that should get back to Buck’s but likely never will’ and shoved them onto his bed until their guests had left for the evening. One of these days, he would remember to tell Buck about all the things of his that had accumulated at the Diaz house over the years (a spare charger, a hat, a few bits of mail he would bring over when he was helping Eddie with tax season – or Eddie was helping him, they weren’t really sure). Small things that might not be missed, but also a spare tooth brush, a pair of sweatpants, and a book he’d only ever seen Buck read at his dining room table while Christopher did his homework.

Maybe he should just get Buck a drawer for his things and then he wouldn’t have to lug it around every time he had company over.

The doorbell rang, sending Eddie sprinting to throw everything onto his bed so he could answer the door in a timely manner.

He loved having a full house. It made everything feel lived in. Sure, he strived to ensure that Christopher’s room (and any room his son spent a lot of time in) was warm and inviting. But there was something about 20 people crammed into the small sections of his house, filling the air with love, that made his house feel like home.

It also meant that there was a mess everywhere. He really didn’t mind it – part of having a big family was accepting that there would be a mess sometimes. With so many little ones running around, however (especially one who wasn’t so steady on his feet), it was best to keep the floors and corners tidy as much as possible.

That was when Eddie noticed a folded-up piece of paper on the floor of the hallway leading to his bedroom. It must have been a some of Buck’s mail that fell when he ran to get the door. An easy enough fix. Curiously, he unfolded the paper for the first time, just to see if it was something important.

Just a flier for some new gym Buck was on the mailing list for. Nothing special.

He turned it over to see the writing on the back, expecting contact info for a trainer or something equally relevant.

1. Someone good looking (you have to want to bone them or it’s all for not don’t make fun of me for using that phrase it’s rude)

He recognized Buck’s messy handwriting straight away. What he couldn’t remember was why he’d written some sort of list on the back.

2. Someone who loves Christopher (obviously that kid is your whole world so he has to be theirs too)

Okay, so this had something to do with Christopher, it probably had something to do with Eddie, too.

3. Someone who understands your schedule/lifestyle (your job is important to you and you need someone who gets that)

Eddie stared at the page, memories of too much tequila and not enough inhibitions flooded back to him.

4. Someone who will make you a priority (you need to make you a priority too you know)

Buck had written him a list of things he should be looking for in a partner, that much he remembered now. The commentary scrawled beside the list, however, was new.

5. Someone kind (you’re so kind you need someone whose just as kind and appreciates your kindness because you’re so kind)

Eddie found himself dragging his feet towards the sounds of people, eyes still glued to the page.

6. Someone smart (not like a doctor or anything but you have to be able to hold a conversation obviously)

He’d laid it out so simply that night; told Eddie exactly the type of person who would make him happy. How could Buck know that?

7. Someone loyal (you deserve someone as loyal as you Eddie you stick by people even when they’re awful jerks who almost screwed up the best thing they ever had)

Eddie couldn’t breathe, head buzzing with the sincerity in Buck’s words, even sloppily written on the back of a flier.

8. Someone who makes you laugh (I wish you could laugh more I like your laugh)

Someone called out to him – maybe the real Buck – but he was trapped in the memories of this world of possibilities.

9. Someone who can read you (not read to you idiot you need someone who knows what your face means because you don’t always say things out loud but you do say a lot)

The new voice was in front of him now, reaching out to him, trying to pull him to the present, but he refused to leave.

10. Someone who makes you feel safe (you make me feel safe)

And there it was; the list of qualities for Eddie’s perfect partner. The person who he could marry – because he remembered telling Buck that he wanted someone he could marry (that’s where the list had originated). It seemed an impossible task to find someone who fit all ten items on the list.

And yet.

Underneath it all, Eddie recognized his own handwriting, as messy as it was. The note he’d written himself so Sober Eddie would remember who it was that fit every criterion.

11. Someone who’ll stay

When he finally found the strength to raise his eyes to meet the real Buck’s, he was breathless all over again. The concern, the absolute care on his face, tipped Eddie over the edge.

“It’s you.”

Buck ducked his head but didn’t physically retreat; he was still so close, all-encompassing – the same way he’d ingratiated himself into the Diaz family long ago.

“What’s me?”

Wordless, Eddie presented the list for Buck to read. He watched the journey of emotions play through like a slideshow from confusion, to embarrassment, to realization, to confusion once again, mixed with painfully unending hope.

“I didn’t mean me when I wrote this.”

How had he not seen it before? How could Eddie have been so blind?

“But I do.” His eyes really were like the ocean, weren’t they. Even sober, he could stare into them forever.

“Marry me?”

Buck’s chest expanded with the weight of Eddie’s question, eyes wide in a disbelief that made him feel giddy; knowing Buck was just as stunned by these turn of events as he was. The fact that neither of them had run away screaming in horror, had to be a good sign.

“What the hell is going on?”

In hindsight, Eddie should have known better than to have his earth-shattering realization in front of their friends and family. Everyone was too nosey for their own good. Just because he’d suddenly proposed to Buck despite the fact that they were not dating.

He’d just proposed to Buck despite the fact that they weren’t dating.

Athena called out to the boys again when neither answered. “Does someone want to clue me in?”

Buck turned back to Eddie, a calm smile on his face – the same peace that he’d had when they were lying in bed together (visions of memorizing his sleeping face filled his hope to the brim).

“Eddie and I are getting married.” Buck spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear, but his announcement was just for Eddie. The only word he had left to describe his beating heart was ‘disbelief’.

He’d just proposed to Buck despite the fact that they weren’t dating. And he’d said yes.

He should be more panicked. He should run away screaming. Ask to take it all back. What the hell was he thinking? Asking his best friend to marry him because of a list that seemed too good to be true. Just because Buck ticked every box that said they were perfect for each other. Just because Buck wanted him back, just as deliriously.

How could he not embrace it all?

The noises that erupted from their family was drowned out by the thrumming of his heart when Buck pulled him in for a kiss punctuated by the infectious laughter bubbling in his chest.

The list floated to the floor as Eddie wrapped both arms around his fiancé (holy shit, he had a fiancé), to be retrieved after everyone had gone home. Buck and Eddie would talk about everything – sit Christopher down with them to make sure he was as happy as he seemed as well – and the list would eventually make its way to their bedside table.

On their first anniversary, Eddie would present it to Buck in a frame, and they would hang it in their bedroom as a reminder of the night their drunken selves figured out what it took them years to discover.

Their perfect partner.

#cj writes things #cj answers things #prompt fill #buddie #buddie fic #911 fox #911 fic #love allie #getting together #love confession #maysgrant

164 notes · View notes

jacklyn-flynn · 3 years

Photo

“Beautiful.” Alistair watched his very pregnant wife, his queen, the love of his life, wrap the delicate shawl he’d gotten her around her shoulders and give him that loving smile he so adored. They were in front of the Satinalia tree in their suite amid a nest of pillows and blankets.

“It is, thank you, Ali. I love it.” Helena fingered the delicate fringe.

“Yeah, I totally meant the shawl,” he said quietly, feigning a cough. Her soft laugh made his heart clench. Maker, he loved that woman.

“Okay, now you can open that one I said you had to save for last.” With a wide grin, Helena handed him the gold box that had been hidden behind the tree and out of his reach. He was a notorious present-shaker.

Like the child he was inside, he tore off the paper, tossing it over his shoulder. Setting the box on his lap, he opened the lid carefully and set it aside. Pulling off the tissue paper on the top, his brows furrowed slightly. He picked up the first thing in the box, a tiny, rose gold tiara, no bigger than a teacup saucer. One brow raised as he held it up questioningly.

Helena gave him a knowing smile and gestured toward the box again. “Keep going.”

Setting aside the next layer of paper, he just stared dumbly into the box. He looked up at her, blinking several times before looking back down. “Hel. Are you joking?”

“No,” she laughed, “not in the slightest.”

She saw his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard and picked up the heavy cardstock nestled against a tiny, royal purple dress. His hand was shaking as he read it, lips moving slightly. He read it three times before he looked up at her again. She was caressing her stomach lovingly.

Helena bit her lower lip, smiling with giddy excitement. “Read it out loud!” she encouraged.

“King Alistair and Warden-Commander Helena Theirin are pleased to announce the birth of their-” he had to stop for a moment, choking up. Alistair cleared his throat and tried again. “The birth of their daughter, Rose Eleanor Theirin.” He dropped the birth announcement back in the box and looked over at her with glistening eyes. “We’re having a girl?”

She nodded quickly, tearing up herself at his show of emotion. And the hormones.

“How do you know?” he whispered.

“Wynne,” Helena said simply, her own voice breaking. “I asked her to be my midwife. She arrived last week and told me. It’s been killing us both to keep it from you.”

In an instant, his face shifted to concern. He scooted closer. “She’s here this early? There are still six weeks, is something wrong?”

Helena reached out to take his hand, squeezing. “No, love. She wanted to be close, just in case. I would tell you if something was wrong.”

“Thank the Maker,” he breathed, surging up onto his knees to kiss her, his hand slipping around her neck. With a sigh, he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers and nuzzling her nose. “When you told me you loved me, I didn’t think I would ever be happier. Then you said you would marry me. Then, against all odds, you got pregnant. Helena, you are the best thing to ever happen to me.” His whisper was reverent and cracking with emotion. She could feel tears streaming down her cheeks. “I want you to know that I will love our baby-our daughter- with all of my heart but that doesn’t mean I’ll love you any less.”

Helena let out a sound that was part laugh and part sob, sitting back to look at his face. “Oh, sweet man, I never doubted.” She kissed him again. Then again. The third kiss she didn’t break away from. She laid back slowly and he followed her down, holding himself over her with his hands planted on either side of her shoulders. Her hands slid over his shoulders and down his chest. She started to draw up his tunic and he broke the kiss, panting.

“Is it still safe?” he murmured against her lips.

“Yes,” she laughed, “I want you. A craving, if you will. You should know better than to get between me and a craving.”

He gave her a crooked grin that made her stomach flip in the best way.

“What I will get between is your lovely thighs.” He raised and lowered his brows several times suggestively. He lowered his head to kiss down her neck and lick along her collarbone. “You taste so good carrying my child. I intend to enjoy it while I can.” The low timbre of his voice made her shiver, anticipation making her ache.

Alistair parted the fluffy robe to reveal the swell of her stomach. He kissed gently, and she could feel his breath against her skin, warm and comforting. “I’m sorry, Princess. Cover your ears. Your mama is loud.”

“You’re one to talk!” Helena exclaimed, glaring down at him from her comfortable position reclined against a mountain of pillows as he rested his chin on her bump, grinning up at her.

“As insatiable as you’ve been, she knows, my sweet.” He kissed her stomach again, whispering, “She’s been riding me absolutely ragged.”

“Alistair!” Helena chastised with a laugh. “Put that dirty mouth to better use.”

“As my Queen demands.”

#headcanon du jour #hdj #lemony at the end #no trigger warnings #i don't think but let me know if i need to add a tag!#pregnancy kink #gender reveal #alistair theirin #alistair #king alistair #queen cousland #helena cousland #alistair x helena #dragon age #dragon age origins #dao

39 notes · View notes

gamergirl929 · 4 years

Text

A Christmas Proposal (Tobin Heath x Reader)

Anonymous Request: Hey I love your writing! If you don’t mind would you write one where R proposes to Tobin for Christmas at a Christmas party with the team?

To say you were nervous would be an understatement.

Christen had did everything she could to pump you up all morning, giving you a pep talks and swatting at your hands when she saw you biting your nails.

The box in your pocket was heavy, almost like you had a 50-pound weight in your pocket.

What was inside would change everything, and with all your heart, you hope she would safe yes.

“Where’d you go?” You feel arms wrap around you from behind and you smile, leaning back against the woman behind you.

Tobin rests her chin on your shoulder, turning her head to press a kiss to your jawline.

“Just needed some fresh air.” You shrug, giggling when Tobin nuzzles against the curve of your jaw.

“Well, I missed you, get back inside.” She whispers in your ear as she gives your ear lobe a playfully nip, squeezing your ticklish sides at the same time.

You flip around in her arms, your fingers digging into her sides.

Before you can really begin your assault, Tobin pulls a Christen Press and runs away, leaving you in the dust.

“Get back here!” You shout as you run into the house after her, only to be stopped when you nearly crash in to Megan.

The woman shakes her head as she points over her shoulder.

“That way.”

You give her a grin and a nod before darting off, but only seconds later you feel someone jump on your back.

“Traitor!” You yell at Megan who snickers as Tobin wraps her arms around your neck, your hands supporting her legs as they rest in the crook of your elbows.

You shake your head, but carry her towards your teammates nonetheless.

“Why shouldn’t I drop you?” You mumble only for Tobin to nuzzle into the nape of your neck.

“Because you love me.”

You smile, your cheeks flushing as the woman presses a kiss to the nape of your neck before snuggling into your back.

“I do. I love you so much.”

***

Christen swats your hand the second she sees you put your fingers near your mouth.

“No.” She chides and you throw your head back with a sigh, smiling at the way Tobin laughs at something Kelley said.

Christen’s brown orbs dart between the two of you as she slips an arm around your middle.

Tobin’s brown orbs flick up, locking with your bright Y/E/C orbs before she gives you that beaming smile you know and love.

“The way she looks at you...” Christen whispers as she leans towards you, noting that though Tobin is listening to Kelley’s story, her eyes keep flicking to you.

You smile as Christen laughs, giving you a nudge.

“You two can’t even pay attention to anything other than each other when you’re in a room together.” Christen giggles and you turn to her with a blush.

“I’m totally paying attention.” You grin, though you can’t help but find your eyes locking with a familiar pair of brown orbs.

“Sure you are.” Christen rolls her eyes playfully.

“What I was saying, was that she looks at you like you’re her whole world.” Christen smiles and your cheeks flush darker, your eyes glazing over as you watch Tobin throw her head back and let out a laugh you’ve loved ever since you first heard it.

“And she’s mine.” You turn to her with a smile and Christen grins.

“I know. Hell anyone who’s seen you two together knows.”

“Knows what?” You hear a familiar voice ask, quickly realizing it’s Alex.

“That Tobin and Y/N look at each other like they’re the center of each other’s universe? Right?” Sonnett says as she walks past and you groan.

“Well it’s true.” Lindsey shrugs as she trails behind Sonnett.

“Yeah. It’s so adorable though.” Mallory adds on her way by, giving you a bright smile.

“Yeah it is.” Rose adds smiling as she follows after the others.

“See. There’s no way she’d ever say no.” Christen turns to you with a smirk and you take a deep breath, your chest tight.

“I hope you’re right.”

***

It was time for the presents to be passed out, meaning that you were mere moments away from popping the question to the woman who’d taken up residence in your lap.

Tobin leans back, turning to press a kiss to your cheek. She places her hand on your cheek, turning you to face her so she can place a kiss to your lips.

You grin, leaning in to steal another kiss.

Suddenly, a wad of wrapping paper smacks you in the back of the head and you turn around, eyes narrowing at Kelley who was sitting on the floor by the Christmas tree.

“Some of us are trying to open presents here.” She sticks her tongue out and you roll your eyes, turning to press one more kiss to Tobin’s lips before turning your attention back to present opening.

It was hard to pay attention though, considering the ring in your pocket felt as if it doubled in size since present opening began.

You vaguely heard the women cheering or ecstatically talking about the presents everyone got one another.

“Hey, lovebirds.” Megan says as she passes you and Tobin a present apiece.

“Those are from me.” Christen exclaims excitedly as you and Tobin tear the wrapping paper off.

You and Tobin share a glance holding up two snap backs, each with your jersey number on it, though your jersey numbered hat is in Tobin’s hand, while the #17 hat is in your own.

You turn pressing a kiss to Tobin’s lips before the two of you open your arms, Christen happy to embrace the two of you.

“I love it Chris.” Tobin grins as she puts the hat on, adjusting until it fits just like she likes.

“Me too. Thank you.” You smile as you press a kiss to Christen’s cheek.

“You’re welcome.” The forward winks and you blush.

Presents get passed out, but to you, it’s all a blur as all you can think about is the ring in your pocket.

“Hey, Earth to Y/N!” Ashlyn says as she passes you a wrapped box, the label written in Tobin’s hand writing.

“That’s just one of them.” Tobin smiles as you tear the paper off, grinning when you hold the custom jersey up, your own number on the back, along with Tobin’s.

Tobin blushes as you press a lengthy kiss to her lips.

“I love it.” You whisper as you press another kiss to her lips.

“And I love you.” You whisper against her lips.

A number of your teammates make noises of disgust while others throw loose bits of wrapping paper your way.

“You’re just jealous.” You say as you throw the wrapping paper back at them.

“You two are so gross.” Kelley sticks her tongue out and you roll your eyes.

“Seriously, are you two married yet?” Sonnett snorts and your eyes widen.

“Yeah, like you’ve been together forever.” Lindsey adds.

“I’m surprised one of you hasn’t popped the question yet.” Ali winks and you swallow hard.

You clear your throat, your face bright red as your eyes lock with Christen’s.

The forward nods and you take a deep breath, tapping Tobin so you can move to your feet.

“Actually...” You start, your teammates eyes widening as you retrieve the small velvet box from your pocket.

Tobin’s eyes go as wide as saucers as you stroke the box, your teammates all freaking out as you move down to one knee.

“She’s right you know, I don’t know why it took me so long to ask you this question, but here we are, in front of our friends, our family and I couldn’t think of a more perfect place to ask you to be my wife.”

You bite your bottom lip as Tobin’s brown orbs swim with tears.

Around you, your teammates are all watching with batted breath, tears in their eyes while some excitedly flail.

“You mean everything to me, I knew you were the one for me when you tripped the first time I saw you.” You laugh, Tobin snorting as your teammates around you laugh.

“Kelley tripped me.” Tobin sniffs and the defender snorts.

“I did not.”

Alex puts her hand over Kelley’s mouth, silencing her and giving you a thumbs up.

“I knew you were the one for me and I just was so lucky when you asked me out on that date, I guess one of us had to make the first move.” You smirk and Tobin grins.

“Of course, it was you, because there was no way I could ask THE Tobin Heath on a date, but you were crazy enough to ask me and from then on, we were inseparable, well I guess even more so than we already were.” You shrug.

“And now here we are, years later and I’m down on one knee hoping that you, Tobin Powell Heath, will do me the honor of becoming my wife?” You open the box to reveal a brightly sparkling diamond ring.

The room is pin drop silent as your teammates wait for your girlfriend’s answer, but instead of an answer passing through her lips, she football tackles you down onto the ground, her arms tightly around you.

She kisses you fiercely as your teammates cheer, whoop and clap excitedly, the loudest of them, of course, being Christen.

“Is that a yes?” You ask with a whisper and Tobin grins, tears running down her cheeks as she pulls you to your feet.

“Yes, yes I’ll marry you.” She sniffs as you take the ring from its box and slip it onto her finger.

You lean in, pressing a firm kiss to her lips as your friends, family and teammates cheer you on.

There’s no one else you’d rather share this moment with, and there’s no one else you’d rather be asking this question than Tobin Powell Heath.

#uswnt #uswnt x reader #tobin heath x reader #tobin heath imagine #tobin heath

243 notes · View notes

aegor-bamfsteel · 4 years

Note

As Daeron, how u would have dealt with Daemon ?

You opened up a floodgate, anon.

The chances to neutralize Daemon (as opposed to other rebels/groups of rebels like Aegor, Fireball, Gormon Peake, Eustace Osgrey, the best knights of the realm, the marcher lords including House Yronwood, believers in Da3ron Falseborn theory, those who supported Daena as Queen, basically everyone else) as a threat to Da3ron’s rule are so numerous they’ve been a source of snark between me and @godihatethisfreakingcat for years now. The amount of missed opportunities Da3ron II had to make a friend/ally out of Daemon for me undermine textual claims of his kindness and intelligence. I’m going to try to prove in a 2000-word meta of counterfactual history that Da3ron never attempted to treat Daemon and Rohanne like part of his family or with the respect they deserved, but like inconvenient cast-offs he wanted out of his sight, but still not in a place where they’d gain any high position.

Starting scenario: The year is 184 AC and I am Da3ron Targaryen. Aegon IV has died, but I, loathing my slowly rotting father, refused to come to the capital until 2 weeks after his death, which meant I could not contest his decree legitimizing his natural children. One of those children is the son of Princess Daena, newly legitimized like the rest, but still a Waters and landless. My father promised the Archon of Tyrosh a dowry for the hand of Rohanne, probably a relative of his. What do I do?

Pay the dowry, but wed Rohanne to one of my sons instead. Breaking a betrothal is serious, but keeping the betrothal and switching the groom (after the other died or was disinherited) isn’t unheard of: Rhaelle Targaryen wed Ormund Baratheon when her brother Duncan was to marry his sister, Catelyn Tully wed Eddard Stark when she was betrothed to his brother Brandon, Sansa Stark married Tyrion Lannister (though Lancel was a possible spouse) after she was betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon. Aegon may have wanted Daemon to wed Rohanne, but if Fire and Blood is any indication, a close female relative of the Archon is a match worthy of the heir to the Iron Throne—Rogar Baratheon wanted Jaehaerys I to wed the Archon’s daughter, and the Archon sent his sister to the 134 Maiden’s Day Ball in hopes of her marrying Aegon III. A landless natural son is far below Rohanne in terms of status, and the dowry the Archon was asking for probably reflected that. Perhaps Baelor was too important to wed to anyone but a Stormlander, but Aerys or even Rhaegel certainly would have been a better match for her on paper than Daemon. We don’t know how old Rohanne was (although I’m certain she was a few years older than Daemon), and Aerys was born between 172-76 and Rhaegel between 173-77, but bride-groom age gaps have certainly been larger, especially in this series. If my sons are already betrothed or this betrothal is too disruptive for my policy, I might be desperate enough to consider betrothing Rohanne to Brynden (Aegor gets no royal match as he’s a traitor’s son. I may be nice!Da3ron, but I’m still Da3ron), who I implausibly trust not to rebel. Super desperate would be trying to broker another betrothal between Shiera (or Mya or Gwenys, if they didn’t die in infancy) and the Archon/his ally, as was sort of floated around when Baela Targaryen might have been betrothed to Tyroshi admiral Racallio Ryndoon. If I can’t or won’t renegotiate the betrothal, I can:

Pay the dowry or part of the dowry in order to keep peace with the Archon, but have the High Septon annul the betrothal: I’m sure Rohanne as a Tyroshi didn’t keep the Seven, so the High Septon would be inclined to protest the marriage anyway. I would still need to pay a bit of that dowry or risk the wrath of Tyrosh, since in real life border wars have started due to dowries from stalled betrothals (Richard the Lionheart raided the county of Vexin though it was the dowry of his betrothed, Alys of France, because his parents refused to let them wed. He never got the Vexin, as Alys married Count William of Ponthieu). However, the Tyroshi-Targaryen alliance was originally thought up for Aegon IV’s future war with Dorne, and giving it up would signify to the Dornish that neither I nor my relatives had any intention of making war on them. So a bit of money (of which I have plenty of, see the “Rohanne and Daemon stay in the Crownlands” section) spent on the Archon’s goodwill seems like a wise investment.

With Daemon unmarried and now with no standing betrothal, the best place for him is the Kingsguard. He’s the youngest knight of the realm and the wielder of Blackfyre, so he’s definitely skilled enough to join. We know he takes his knightly oaths very seriously, and the Kingsguard oath to protect the king is about as serious as it gets (Olyver Bracken and Raymun Mallery betrayed Maegor I by rebelling in favor of Jaehaerys I, but Jaehaerys still sent them to the Wall for violating their oath). Better yet, the Kingsguard is a celibate organization, so Daemon will not be able to pass on his claim or the Targaryen’s ancestral sword to his children.

If appointing Daemon to the Kingsguard doesn’t fit in with my policy, then I might send him to Sunspear, possibly with a betrothal to Roxana Sand (Born 162, so of marrying age with Daemon) who is Maron’s uncle Rhodry’s illegitimate daughter according to the MUSH RPG (which becomes more canon with each supplementary tie-in GRRM publishes). It took two years of negotiations for the Maron/Daenerys match to take place, and having Daemon there possibly betrothed could be used to gauge the popularity of a Targaryen/Martell match on Dornish soil. Prince Rhodry was an infamous separatist who killed King Da3ron I at the peace conference, so wedding his natural daughter to Daemon also helps quiet the ‘Keep Dorne Independent’ movement that is still ongoing, of which the Yronwoods were some of the biggest supporters. Amidst Da3ron’s strongest allies and wed to them by blood, Daemon would doubtlessly be loyal.

If I think Roxana is too old, I use the Daemon/Daenerys relationship and make him her sworn shield, then send him south to prepare for her marriage: Not an especially good idea as he’s still unbetrothed, and it might cause the Martells to raise some eyebrows, but it gives those two a chance to be around each other and be happy (not being so was likely the source of the semi-canon clashes Daemon and Da3ron had), and no doubt Daemon would be a faithful protector. The illegitimate children of nobles have guarded Targaryen royalty before, with Jonquil Darke being Queen Alysanne’s sworn shield. The same idea of the Martells keeping Daemon loyal still applies, although I’d watch out for any Yronwoods asking about his betrothal status.

If the Daemon/Rohanne marriage must go on:

While Daemon is still young and newly-married, I’d send him and his wife on a diplomatic mission to Tyrosh (it worked for getting Aegon IV out of the way) where he can hone his politicking skills away from any rebels, or fight for the Archon in the Disputed Lands. If he makes friends with the Tyroshi and seems to have integrated into their culture as Orryn Baratheon did, he can stay there with his family.

If he expresses vocal discontent after 4-5 years—considering Da3ron in the OTL named Brynden to the Small Council when he was around 20–I’m calling him back to Westeros and giving him some court position depending on how well he performed his duties. If he didn’t do so well, he can take Quentyn Ball’s old job as master-of-arms where I can watch him at all times. If he rose to the occasion (given Daemon’s penchant for making friends I’m sure he would be a fine diplomat), he gets either a position on the Small Council—perhaps Master of Ships as he’s been in the naval power Tyrosh for some years?—he becomes leader of the City Watch—he was raised in an urban environment, his mother had connections with the smallfolk, he’s an amazing fighter and decent leader, if Prince Daemon is any indication it’s a position for somewhat wayward family members—or he substitutes as a Warden if the Stark, Arryn, or Lannister heirs are too young to lead armies (not Tyrell given the Reach’s general support for Daemon in the OTL, although Leo Longthorn was obviously of age so there’s no need for a substitute Warden), which is a prestigious but largely ceremonial position in Da3ron’s time of uneasy peace. If I’m super-desperate to give him something to do that won’t cause much trouble, I’ll revive the position of Warden of the King’s Mint, since I know from OTL that he minted his own gold coinage and so displays some interest. I’m sure that his Aunt Elaena would be delighted to work with him as she’s de-facto Master of Coin.

If for some reason I don’t want Daemon at court but don’t want him in Tyrosh, it’s going to cost me dearly to give him and Rohanne suitable lodgings in the Crownlands: but I must be improbably loaded despite my father’s wastefulness if I’m building Summerhall and completing the Sept of Baelor, so I can pay! None of that “give Daemon and Rohanne a piece of paper saying they can build a Keep in the Crownlands” that we see in canon; Rohanne is a bride worthy of a legitimate Targaryen prince and some lazy document with no funds or castle attached to it is just insulting her family. Either give them an abandoned and renovated Keep (there could be some after the Dance/Da3ron’s War), or construct a new one like with Summerhall. Illegitimate sons of kings in England and France were either Dukes or Earls, so that Keep is going to be a lordly seat (people call Brynden “Lord Rivers”, they can do it for Daemon even if it’s just a ceremonial title).

But at least one Daemon’s children are getting sent to court once they’re old enough, as cupbearers or pages or eventually squires for boys. I’d consider betrothing Calla to Matarys for more permanent loyalty since he’s not expected to inherit and they’re roughly the same age, which would certainly appease Rohanne’s family some.

If I want to keep the Blackfyre family like they are in canon—in the ephemeral keep they built themselves in the Crownlands, with no royal positions or betrothals—and not change any of the other character motivations like Aegor Rivers’ or Quentyn Ball’s (since it’s not stipulated in the question), it’s going to be difficult to prevent a war with Daemon at the helm. We know so little about the circumstances of Daemon’s crowning and arrest on potentially trumped-up charges that it’s hard to tell who started what. But if I had to do anything, it’s:

Stop trusting Bl00draven so much. Start questioning his motivations and methods. How does he know Daemon crowned himself? From whom? Did he torture that person? I seem to know that torture isn’t reliable since I ended the office of Lord Confessor! What does he have to gain from Daemon being arrested? What does Daemon have to gain from being crowned? What do I think will happen to his family if he is arrested successfully (there’s a chance Bl00draven will have them killed and then torture the confessions out of a fall guy)? If I think Bl00draven is a danger to Daemon’s family, doesn’t that give Daemon the “rebel or have my children die” non-choice if I order his arrest? What the hell is going on? I don’t want rumors; I need proof!

For much needed proof, I’d use Princess Elaena’s connection with both of us to find out what’s happening. Daemon would never hurt a lady, especially not close kin. Have her meet him or a nonviolent representative (Rohanne?) and see if he’s crowned himself. Have an escort (all traveling great ladies seem to have them) wait for her in a location a few hours away with orders to sound the alarm if she doesn’t return by the next day. If he hasn’t crowned himself, she’ll report back to Daeron that the rumors were false, and make it look like a friendly family visit. If he was thinking about it, she could talk him off the ledge as his aunt. If he did crown himself, she can report back and have Da3ron call the banners. If he crowned himself and somehow Elaena was prevented from delivering her report (Daemon wouldn’t hurt her since kidnapping a woman is the height of dishonor, but it’s clear some of his supporters had fewer scruples), take that as the act of war and have her escort call the banners. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s better than letting civil war break out on the say-so of the Shadiest Man in History.

But there is one difference between me and Da3ron that makes all of these alternate scenarios impossible in canon: I actually like Daemon Blackfyre. I like his mother, the courageous Princess who gave up her chance to be queen to raise him in her home. I like how hard he worked to be the best knight ever when he was just a young boy. I like how, despite marrying an older foreign woman at age 14, he enjoyed one of the happiest and most fertile marriages in Westerosi history. I like how he gathered a great coalition of men and women who had every reason to hate each other behind him, including the neglected and traumatized Aegor Rivers (I even like his potential friendship with Brynden Rivers). I like how he demanded his opponent get medical attention after dueling him for over an hour. I like how his last act was running into a field of arrows trying to save his oldest son. I like Daemon Blackfyre and his family. I want him and Rohanne to grow old together, to have their sons and daughters mature into strong men and women without the fear of death hanging over their heads, to have a chance at happiness in the home Daemon knew or even where Rohanne lived. Da3ron II had so many opportunities to give Daemon and Rohanne long, peaceful lives...and he wasted them all on incoherent policies, irrational grudges, and hypocritical distrust. For that, he will always have my disappointment.

#ask #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #asoiaf headcanon #anti daeron ii #daemon blackfyre #Rohanne of Tyrosh #daemon x rohanne #angry

29 notes · View notes

imaginesforyourfandom · 5 years

Text

No One Remembered - Alex Morgan Imagine

A/N: HAPPY BIRHTDAY ANON! I hope this brightens your day a little! Also, I chose the gif for you because I figured you would appreciate it!

(Y/N) POV:

I groaned slightly when I felt kisses being placed all over my face.

“Wake up…” Alex mumbled placing multiple kisses on my cheek. I laughed slightly as I turned to face her. “Happy Birthday my love.”

“Thank you, baby.” I mumbled as my fiancé gave me another kiss. I ran my fingers through her hair as I smiled at her softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She said as she moved to stand up. I watched her move around the room as she got ready for her day. Today we were supposed to have the day off. Alex wasn’t lucky like the rest of us. She had to do all sorts of press and media today so getting to spend my Birthday with my Fiancé was completely off the table. It was kind of depressing to be honest.

“I wish you didn’t have to go today.” I said as she was finishing up doing her hair. I had yet to stand up as she turned towards me with a sad smile. She came over and sat on the edge of the bed. I pouted at her as she intertwined our fingers.

“I know. I had such a day planned for us.” She said with a mischievous smile.

“Oh yeah?” I asked as she grinned at me. She leaned down where she was just hovering above me.

“Oh yeah…” she said seductively giving me a chaste kiss. “Too bad. We’ll just have to try again another day.”

She stood up grabbing her things before turning to head for the door.

“See you later baby.” She said as I groaned.

“You are a fucking tease.” I said as she winked at me.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I smiled as I stood and got ready for the day. We were currently in the middle of the victory tour and my birthday was today. As I said, I was hoping for a day with Alex, but she was pulled away. Therefore, I was spending the day with my teammates. I doubt they had anything planned for me because they would have no reason too, but it would have to do until Alex got back.

I made sure I looked good before I turned and walked out of the room. I headed down to try to find some of my teammates. I found Christen and them outside trying to decide what they were going to do for the day.

“Hey guys” I said as everyone smiled at me.

“Hey! Where’s Alex?” Sonnett asked as I smiled slightly.

“She had to do media all day.”

“Oh, to be Alex Morgan” Lindsay joked as I smiled.

“Yeah so what are we doing today?” I asked with a bright smile as they all looked at each other.

“Well, Christen and I are going on a date.” Tobin said as Christen sent her a bright smile.

“We are going to the beach so I can teach them to surf.” Kelley said looking at Sonnet, Mal, Rose, Lindsay, and Sam.

“This is a nightmare for me.” Sam said as Kelley grinned

“It’s going to be fun. You want to come?”

“I don’t want to go to the beach.” I said with a frown. I wasn’t typically fond of the beach unless Alex was with me.

“Oh, well then we will see you later.” Kelley said as they all turned to walk away. Christen and Tobin gave me a smile as they turned to walk away. I was left standing there by myself as I looked around.

“I think they forgot…” I mumbled to myself as I sighed trying to figure out what I was going to do for the day. I didn’t want to bother Alex because she was working so I just went up back to my room as I sat down trying to figure out what they do.

As the day went on, I just watched Netflix and waited for when Alex was going to be back. This day was a complete bust. I heard a knock on the door as I stood and headed over to answer. I opened to reveal Kelley and Christen standing their with smiles.

“Hey.” I said warily.

“Hey! I had a question for you.” Kelley said coming in with Christen.

“Yes?” I asked trying to hide my hopefulness that it would be something related to my birthday.

“We’re going to dinner and I need a good blazer and I know Alex and you have some really good ones. I was wondering if I could take a peek for one that will go with my outfit.”

“Oh…yeah I guess.” I said as Kelley grinned at me. She then went through Alex’s clothes as I stood their awkwardly. Christen gave me a soft smile.

“Are you missing Alex?”

“Yeah…I wish she was here.” I said as she nodded.

“Perfect!” Kelley said after a moment holding up one of my blazer’s “Thank you.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” I said as she then turned to walk out with Christen. They stopped for a moment and looked at me.

“Hey, do you want to come?” Christen asked as I nodded my head. “You know since Alex won’t be back for a little while…”

“Yeah for sure…” I said as I quickly got changed and met up with them.

If I thought they were going to surprise me with dinner, I was sorely mistaken. I was probably the least talked to person and all I wanted to do was go back to my room and cry. I wanted nothing more than for Alex to come back so that I could just be given love from her.

Once I was back in my room, I laid on my bed thinking about what a garbage day it was. Of course, I would have loved for my teammates to have done something, but they couldn’t even be bothered to remember and tell me happy birthday. Let alone actually do something for me.

I started crying softly as I buried my face into my pillow. It was a stupid reason to be upset, but I wanted to feel a little appreciated. Was that too much to ask for? I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t heard the door open and close as my fiancé entered the room.

“Hey baby…” Alex said though she stopped as she noticed my tears. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I am fine.” I said trying to wipe them away. She took her shoes off and climbed into the bed with me giving me a soft yet concerned look.

“What happened?” she asked me as I looked at her feeling my eyes well up again.

“No one remembered.” I mumbled as she frowned at me. She moved a little before pulling me into her arms.

“It’s okay.” She said as she pulled back and gave me a kiss. “It’s alright. I am going to make it better okay?”

I nodded as she gave me another kiss. She stood up and quickly changed before walking over to her bag. She pulled something out before coming back over. She sat down as I gave her a curious look.

“I wanted to wait to give this to you because I wanted to be the last person to give you your gift, but…here I hope you like it.”

I took the small package from her as I took the paper off of it. I opened it to reveal a locket. It was gold and had the engraving AM on it as she reached into her shirt pulling out a matching one that had my initials on it. I opened up the locket to reveal a picture of Alex on one side and our anniversary date on the other.

“Obviously, once we get married. I am going to get updated ones, but for now…”

I turned towards her and pulled her into me. I placed a passionate kiss on her lips as she smiled.

“I love you.” I said as she chuckled slightly.

“I love you too.” She said as I pulled her on top of me. We continued kissing as things got extremely heated. Clothes were being shed and the air was getting thicker. Let’s just say. I had a happy ending to my birthday.

Alex POV Switch

When I woke up, I noticed (Y/N) still asleep. I smiled at her softly as I gave her a kiss on her forehead. I stood up and left her a note letting her know that she should take her time this morning and I would see her at breakfast. I got dressed quickly before exiting our room.

I knew a majority of the team would already be at breakfast and I had a real bone to pick with all of them. I got downstairs and entered where everyone was. I walked over to my table with everyone and sat down. I slammed my hands down on the table as I sat gaining everyone’s attention.

“Who pissed you off today?” Kelley joked as I glared at her.

“Actually, I wanted to congratulate you all for collectively pissing me off. It’s never been done before so you should pat yourself on the back.” I said sarcastically as everyone immediately got defensive looks.

“What the hell did we do?” Ash asked with a frown.

“Do any of you know what yesterday was?” I asked as everyone looked around with frowns.

“Tuesday?” I rolled my eyes as I huffed.

“Try (Y/N)’s birthday.” I said as most of them looked at me with wide eyes.

“No…that’s not possible. Her birthday is next month.” Christen said with a confused expression on her face.

“No…her birthday was yesterday.” I said as they all frowned as Ali was the first to react.

“Oh my god…it was…” she said as everyone then switched to having panicked looks.

“It was…” I said glaring at them. “I came back form doing media to her crying because you asshole’s didn’t even say happy birthday let alone do or get something for her. Like, what the fuck? She’s the first person to do and plan stuff for you guys and none of you could be bothered to remember her day.”

“You weren’t here either!” Kelley said as I gave her death glare which immediately shut her up.

“I was working! Don’t you think I wanted to be here?” I said raising my voice slightly. “This is what’s going to happen. When she gets here, you’re going to apologize and tell her happy birthday. I don’t care that it’s a day late and then for the day…you’re all going to do whatever the fuck she wants…” Ash went to open her mouth but one look from me got her to be quiet.

“Okay.” She mumbled with a frown as I nodded my head.

“Glad we are all on the same page.” I said as they all gave me nervous looks.

A few minutes later (Y/N) walked in with a small smile. She was playing with her necklace as she sat down next to me. I gave her a small smile as she kissed my cheek.

“Hey…” Kelley said giving a small smile. “We just wanted to say that we are really sorry. We totally forgot it was your birthday yesterday and we all feel terrible.”

“It’s fine.” She said with a small yet sad smile on her face.

“It’s not. You do so much for the rest of us. To make up for it, whatever you want today is what we will do. Doesn’t matter what it is…” Christen said giving (Y/N) an apologetic smile.

“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.” She said as I gave her a small smile.

“That’s a nice locket.” Tobin said as she grinned down at it.

“Thanks! Alex got it for me for my birthday” she said as everyone looked to me as I gave a smug smile.

“Anything for you.” I said giving her a kiss on the cheek before glaring at everyone who visibly shrunk away.

“That’s sweet.” She said as she went to stand. “I’m going to get some food.”

“I can get it.” Ash said as she stood and gave me a nervous look before smiling at (Y/N). “What do you want?”

“I can get it. It’s not problem.”

“No, it’s fine.” Ash said as she motioned towards the food. “What would you like?”

I watched (Y/N) sit back down as she told Ash what she wanted. The rest of breakfast continued like that with all of them offering to do stuff for her. After breakfast was over, everyone was heading out as (Y/N) tugged on my arm a little. I turned towards her as she gave me a look.

“Did you have anything to do with this?” she asked which told me she already knew I did.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. They seem super apologetic though.” I said though she shook her head with a smile.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I’d do anything for you. Even threaten some of my best friends.”

“I know but…” I cut her off with a kiss as she smiled.

“It’s not a big deal…at least this way they won’t forget next time.” I said as she smiled. I pulled her towards the exit as she laughed. Yeah, they’ll never forget her birthday after this…or next time I will have to mess them up.

The End.

#alex morgan imagine #alex morgan imagines #alex morgan #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt

304 notes · View notes

the-rebel-archivist · 4 years

Text

What Might Have Been

Another prompt featuring Lyna Mahariel in which she learns the cost of her choice to have Alistair marry Anora.

Prompt: The Black Emporium has a new item: the Aspersorium of Zinovia, named after the famed mage who had visions of the future, and was the consort of Archon Valerius.

Codex Entry: It is a large font, made out of white stone, and the water is about a foot deep. The water feels cool to the touch, and is enchanted to activate when three ounces of lyrium are carefully dripped into it, clockwise. The lyrium activates a spell that has been officially lost to history- we do not have a name for it now, we simply know this spell gives you insights and visions of alternate futures, pasts, and presents- where you see someone else in your place, making different decisions, choices- where you see different consequences. Be very careful when using this. Visitors who have used this for long periods of time, have been known to go insane or simply die from the fumes that the lyrium gives off when it is being dripped into the basin.

So here’s the challenge: Your Warden, Your Hawke, or your Inquisitor has come to the Black Emporium and sees this item. Curiosity takes over and they take a look. You are to write out what they see: Your Warden sees a different Warden instead of themselves, your Inquisitor sees a different Inquisitor, Hawke sees a different Hawke, etc. They see a different path play out. For Non Protagonists or for those who do not have alternate versions of Hawkes, Wardens and Inquisitors: Have them witness a crucial part of their past or future from the story you made for them and see what changes it brings in a different life, if they chose to make a different choice.

Lyna had heard of the Black Emporium before; whispers of it had stretched all the way even to Ferelden, but she had never been here herself - that is, until an invitation in spidery handwriting had mysteriously appeared under her door. Curiosity had overcome wariness and now here she stood before a basin filled with completely still water that didn’t move even when her steps toward it shook the white stone base.

There was something strange and otherworldly about it, exceptionally so given how many other oddities were strewn about this odd shop. She felt unusually drawn to the glassy water, her face reflecting up at her in its mirror-like surface. Tight platinum bun, a long scar that wove through her green vallaslin, more around her lips and forehead. She looked old. Weathered. Angry. Did she always look that angry? That would be ghastly.

A small vial of lyrium was next to the font and she picked it up with determination. If nothing else, dropping it in the way she had been told was the way to activate it would dismiss the unpleasant image of herself. The smell of ozone, metallic and sharp, filled her nose as she removed the stopper from the bottle and dripped it cautiously into the basin.

The room around her seemed to disappear. A moving painting of herself glimmered back at her from the water and she felt herself pulled in, the vision of what she recognized as Arl Eamon’s estate in Denerim some twelve years before becoming her only reality.

“Why would you do that? What about us?” she heard Alistair say. Her heart dropped with the realization of what she was about to watch. She had run exactly this conversation through her mind over and over again.

He looked so boyish, his cheeks still rounded by youth and his posture not nearly as confident as it was the last time she had seen him at the palace. She hadn’t realized just how young he was.

Across from him was someone she recognized as herself. Why had everyone thrust so much responsibility on her? She was just a baby at nineteen, even if she hadn’t felt that way at the time.

“I don’t want anyone else, even for pretend.” Alistair’s voice cracked with hurt and betrayal as he asked her why she would conspire to make him king alongside Anora. She longed to scoop the boy up into a hug and tell him that it was all going to be alright, even if it wasn’t, but all she was able to do was watch, an invisible third party to the moment she regretted most in her life.

“I’ll tell her no, then,” the figure that looked like her but wasn’t said.

This wasn’t how she had remembered it going.

As the vision faded away she saw Alistair put his hands on either side of her face and smack an enthusiastic kiss on her forehead in a way that made her smile.

The water in the basin rippled and transitioned into a small house, the bottom of a stack of three in the middle of a city - she recognized it as one she had seen in Amaranthine. She had always admired it, its whitewashed exterior clean and prim with rose bushes by the door. Inside it was cozy, a roaring fire burning warmly in the hearth. A shield she knew to be Duncan’s hung above the fireplace.

Alistair was on his hands and knees on the floor, two small children riding atop him as though he were a horse. They squealed in delight as he feigned bucking and rearing, then gently lowered himself to the floor to let them tumble down in a giggling heap. She herself was feeding a bottle to a positively cherubic blonde baby while sitting at a rough wooden table across the room. None of the children looked like either her or Alistair: the girl, who seemed to be the eldest, had skin like burnished bronze and tight black ringlets, her deep set dark eyes highlighted by her high cheekbones, while a younger boy, an elf, had freckles and tawny brown hair that constantly fell in his eyes.

She couldn’t remember ever having smiled as much as she was smiling in this vision. Even when she wasn’t actively grinning her mouth seemed to be turned upwards, ready to break out into something wider in an instant.

Alistair got up from the floor and walked toward her, brushing his hands on his breeches. Holding her shoulders, he leaned down behind her and kissed her cheek tenderly, then licked along the base of her ear. She reached out to swat at him but he jumped away just in time in a move that seemed well-practiced.

“Why do you do this? You’re worse than the dog.” she heard herself say with mock annoyance. Putting the bottle down on the table, she wiped the wetness away and glared, her severe expression softened by the smile twisting at the corner of her mouth.

“Cleaner though.”

“That’s debatable.” Her hand was outstretched toward the cheekily grinning man, who took it in his and drew closer. “You’re an idiot, Ali,” she said, affection plain in her voice, her eyes soft as she looked up at him.

“But I’m your idiot, that’s the important bit.”

“Always.”

He leaned back down to her level and kissed her once more as a chorus of high-pitched ‘Ewws’ arose in the background.

The surface of the font rippled again and the figured were wiped away, though the inside of the homey cottage remained in view. When it became clear again the children were still present but were much older.

The two elder siblings were near the fire, the boy setting up a row of small pewter soldiers in orderly rows on the floor and the girl sitting cross legged reading a book.

The person who looked like Lyna was still at the table in the kitchen. Beside her the formerly chubby-cheeked baby, who had grown into a similarly round faced blonde child, was repeatedly attempting to balance on one foot, wobbling around until she threatened to fall and slapped a sticky hand on Lyna’s knee for support.

There was a letter in Lyna’s hands.

“Is that from Father?” the older girl asked her when she heard the paper crinkle as Lyna removed it from its official-looking envelope.

“It’s from the Inquisitor, but it might have news of him. Odd that it didn’t come with something from him as well, though. Perhaps it’s still making its way here.”

As Lyna watched herself read the letter she saw her face go pale. Lyna-that-was-not-Lyna froze in place, staring unblinkingly at the page. Taking a deep breath that heaved her shoulders, she closed her eyes tightly and bit at her lip until a small bead of red appeared. She licked the blood away and dropped the letter as though it had begun to burn her, then held her head in her hands and leaned against the surface of the table.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” the small girl by her side asked as she tried to pull her mother’s hand away from her face.

She took a moment before lifting her head, then turned towards the other children. Her hollow eyes sent a chill down Lyna’s spine.

“Come here, you two, I need to tell you something.” The words were slow, her tone carefully measured in some attempt to keep from alarming the children, but her voice was shaking. Something in it convinced them not to argue the urgency of her command.

As the children gathered around her a film appeared over the figures in the scene and they began to disappear. The letter grew larger and more readable.

Warden-Commander Mahariel,

Please forgive my formality; I have no words that adequately explain my depth of feeling.

After a long and brutal assault on Adamant fortress, myself, some of my companions, and Warden Alistair were sent bodily into the Fade. He did not return with us, sacrificing himself that we might live. I failed you and failed him. Falon’Din guide him and bring him peace.

I hope that you can come to forgive me.

Inquisitor Raynda Lavellan

The images faded, turning back to still water. Lyna realized that she had been gripping the smooth rounded edges of the basin until her knuckles had turned white and was finding it difficult to catch her breath. She forced herself to let go and reached inside her collar pulling out an old silver locket. Holding it tight like a talisman against evil seemed to calm her, the knowledge of the dried rose petals within it comforting her.

Would it have been worth it? Would a few years of happiness have been enough? Was it truly better that they live, but only half-alive? She wasn’t sure if she wanted the answers to any of those questions.

For now, it was enough that he had not died.

#alistair theirin #dad!alistair #alistair x mahariel #lyna mahariel #dragon age origins #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #THERE WERE KIDS AND IT WAS BEAUTIFUL #I am a cruel mistress to my poor Lyna #'you're an idiot' is how Lyna says 'I love you'

23 notes · View notes

papermoonloveslucy · 6 years

Text

LUCY AND HER PRINCE CHARMING

S5;E12 ~ November 27, 1972

Directed by Coby Ruskin ~ Written by Fred S. Fox and Seaman Jacobs

Synopsis

Lucy is dating a handsome man (Ricardo Montalban) who turns out to be royalty. When Harry finds out that the Prince is in love with Lucy, he'll stop at nothing to get the two married!

Regular Cast

Lucille Ball (Lucy Carter), Lucie Arnaz (Kim Carter), Gale Gordon (Harrison Otis Carter)

Guest Cast

Ricardo Montalban (Prince Phillip Gregory Hennepin of Montalbania) was born in Mexico City in 1920. He appeared in hundreds of TV shows and films but is probably best remembered for the mystical Mr. Roarke on “Fantasy Island” (1977-84). He won an Emmy Award in 1977 for an episode of “How the West Was Won.” Although he appeared with Lucille Ball on talk and variety shows, this is his only acting appearance with Lucille Ball. Montalban passed away on 2009.

The Prince is from the Principality of Montalbania, a fictional country the writers named in honor of their guest star.

Iggie Wolfington (Mr. Winstead, a Minister) first won acclaim in the 1952 Broadway production of Mrs. McThing starring Helen Hayes. In 1958, he created the role of Marcellus Washburn in original production of The Music Man for which he was nominated for a Tony Award. In a 1980 revival he played the role of Mayor Shinn opposite Dick Van Dyke as the Music Man. In 1984 he was awarded the Screen Actors Guild Life Award. This is his only appearance with Lucille Ball.

Sid Gould (Waiter) made more than 45 appearances on “The Lucy Show” and nearly as many on “Here’s Lucy.” Gould (born Sydney Greenfader) was Lucille Ball’s cousin by marriage to Gary Morton.

Gould wears a beard and mustache and adopts an accent for this waiter character.

Gloria Wood (Dowager Soprano) makes her fourth appearance on the series. She played Doris, a member of Lucy’s Canary Club in “A Home is Not an Office” (S5;E4) and was one of Petula Clark’s back-up singers in “Lucy and Petula Clark” (S5;E8).

Wood is credited as a ‘Dowager’ although there is no indication that she is a widow living on inheritance (the definition of the title).

Bob Harks (Decorator, uncredited) Extra, stand-in, and double Bob Harks was born on September 20, 1927. Harks appeared in his first film in 1968 and was seen in the background of Mame (1974). In 1970 he popped up on his first television show and was seen in more than a dozen episodes of “Here's Lucy.” He died at age 83 in 2010.

Robert Hitchcock (Decorator, uncredited) appeared on many TV series’ including on “Bewitched” and ”That Girl.” He was seen in “Lucy and Phil Harris” (TLS S6;E20) at the piano bar. This is one of his many episodes of “Here’s Lucy.”

The string quartet at the 'mock' wedding, a young boy ring-bearer, a young flower girl are all played by uncredited background performers.

The “Lucy” character has been seen with every big Latin star of her generation;

Desi Arnaz,

Cesar Romero,

Fenando Lamas, and now Ricardo Montalban. If Lucille Ball and Ricardo Montalban had been a real-life couple, they might have been known as Lucy & Ricardo, two names that sound good together!

In 1978, Lucie Arnaz again acted opposite Montalban as a guest star on his long-running series “Fantasy Island.” She co-starred with Ronny Cox and frequent “Lucy” character actor Robert Alda.

In exchange for convincing Lucy to marry the Prince, he will give Harry 50 thousand grivnies (Montalbanian currency), which is equal to a quarter of a million US dollars. Harry says the Prince is worth $200 million US dollars.

Harry tells Prince Phillip: “I only regret that I have but one sister-in-law to give to your country!” This is a paraphrase of words attributed to patriotic Revolutionary war spy Nathan Hale (1755-1776): “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.”

When Harry dons an ornate crown to give Lucy a clue about the Prince's occupation, Lucy at first guesses that he is a margarine salesman. This is a reference to a popular series of commercials for Imperial Margarine in which a person who ate something with Imperial on it would instantly have a crown appear on their head (accompanied by a short fanfare). The commercials were spoofed on “The Carol Burnett Show” and “Green Acres,” among others.

When the Prince rings the doorbell, Kim, in a quavering soprano voice, warbles “Someday My Prince Will Come” a song from Walt Disney's 1937 animated movie Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. It was written by Larry Morey and Frank Churchill and originally performed by Adriana Caselotti, whom Lucie Arnaz is doubtless attempting to mimic.

While Lucy is elegantly dining at home with the Prince, Kim says she'll be splitting a veggie burger down at Grubby Bob's Health Food Center.

When Harry enters disguised as a Gypsy violinist, he plays Brahms' “Hungarian Dance No. 5.” Naturally Gale Gordon is miming to a pre-recorded track. It is odd that he doesn't play the more romantic “Dark Eyes” which is usually associated with strolling violinists in romantic restaurants.

Lucille Ball is out of her cast from her skiing injury and wearing shoes again. The pillows on the floor in front of the restaurant table are there for Lucy to rest her foot on.

Harry (disguised as a female palm reader) tells Lucy she faces the Curse of Ali Baba:

Wild camels will trample your crab grass.

Crocodiles will consume your credit cards.

Locusts will invade your pantyhose.

When Lucy realizes that it is Harry in the harem costume, she dumps a pitcher of water on his head, fulfilling one of “Here's Lucy's” major goals – to get Harry wet!

In this episode, Lucille Ball wears the yellow dress she had made for Lucie Arnaz's 1971 wedding to Phil Vandervort.

Lucy Ricardo made up an entirely fictional royal family of a fictional country called Franistan in “The Publicity Agent” (ILL S1;E31).

The Carter Family impersonated the Royal Family of mythical Capazonia in “Lucy's Impossible Mission” (S1;E6).

Lucy Ricardo had an (off-screen) encounter with another Prince Phillip (Mountbatten) in “Lucy Meets the Queen” (ILL S5;E15).

After the 'mock' ceremony is abandoned, a soprano (Gloria Wood) enters from upstairs singing “Oh, Promise Me,” an 1887 art song by Reginald de Koven and Clement Scott. Viv Bagley (Vivian Vance) sang it when Lucy Carmichael's sister got married in “Lucy's Sister Pays a Visit” (TLS S1;E15) in 1963.

Petal Pushers! A few petals fall off the white roses while Harry and the Prince are doing their mock wedding in the office. Luckily, the scene fades out shortly afterwards.

Where the Floor Ends! When Harry enters playing the violin, the camera pulls back to a wide shot revealing where the living room carpet meets the concrete stage floor. Also, next to the desk, one of the white flowers from the many displays has fallen on the floor.

“Lucy and Her Prince Charming” rates 4 Paper Hearts out of 5

This is an excellent episode showcasing the comic talents of Gale Gordon. While Lucy is basically sedentary due to her healing broken leg, Gordon takes center stage with a variety of comic disguises. It’s a refreshing welcome back for Gordon, who was absent for the past two episodes.

4 notes · View notes

dawnlstott · 7 years

Text

Reading List for a 15-year-old Girl

This weekend, a friend asked me for book recommendations for her niece who is about to turn 15. I don’t consider myself a reader, and thought I was not up to the task. Four hours later, I had this:

Bibliography for your niece. I put this in the order I would read it, or assign it as a syllubus to my high school Literary Overview course.

0. If she has not read Norton Juster’s, The Phantom Tollbooth - this is a must! Start here.

1. Lewis Carroll - Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

2. P. L Travers - Begin the Mary Poppins series (excellent!!)

3. L. Frank Baum - The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

4. Ursula K. Le Guin - The ‘young adult novels’, The Earthsea Trilogy: The Wizard of Earthsea, The Tombs of Atuan, and The Farthest Shore. (If she likes them, she can continue on her own with the next 3 in the series. Or move-up to, The Compass Rose: A collection of short stories, and novels with a bit more science fiction/existential/anthropoligical themes: The Lathe of Heaven, and The Word for World is Forest.)

5. C. S. Lewis - The Chronicles of Narnia (For ‘extra credit’, begin *The Bible: Old Testament - Genesis, Adam and Eve, and, New Testament: The Gospel. These are all you ‘need’ as a literary reference.)

6. Mark Twain - The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. (Extra credit: His short stories, Extracts From Adam’s Diary and The Private Life of Adam and Eve, are good accompaniments with, The Bible’s Book of Genesis. Then, his posthumously published essays, Letters from the Earth, is an excellent expression of his disdain for Christianity).

7. Carson McCullers - The Member of the Wedding, and/or The Ballad of the Sad Cafe (short story).

8. Maya Angelou - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (Extra credit: Alice Walker, The Color Purple.)

9. Amy Tan - The Hundred Secret Senses, and/or Joy Luck Club, The Kitchen God’s Wife.

10. Marion Zimmer Bradley - The Mists of Avalon. Or anything of the King Arthur Legend (a necessary literary reference for just about everything that is written) of Merlin the Magician, Sir Lancelet, Excaliber, and the Quest for the Holy Grail. (If she likes this, there is also a science fiction/fantasy series by M. Z. Bradley about a planet called, Darkover, which is great summer reading.)

11. A. S. Byatt - Possession: A Romance (well-written literary mystery revolving around a series of romantic letters).

12. Begin One Thousand and One Nights (also known as, Arabian Nights). An excellent lifelong Persian adventure tome that cannot be begun early enough. A mad Shah who fears infidelity, keeps executing new wives before they can betray him. When he runs out of prospects, Scheherazade (shara-zawd) agrees to marry him. For 1,001 nights she weaves stories that are ‘to be continued’. At the end, he pardons her. Some of the stories she tells are familiar adventures about Alladin and the Magic Lamp, Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, and Sinbad the Sailor. The book can be read from beginning to end, picked up in the middle, just a few parts here and there, it jumps around, some tales never resolve, some refer back to others, it twists and turns, and can always be re-read many times with new understanding. Better than the Bible and the Iliad, put together!!

13. Homer - Odyssey, (if they only give her Greek Tragedies in school or just the Iliad).

If she is not assigned these for writing essays and papers, make sure she knows about them:

Strunk & White’s - Elements of Style, free online here, https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Elements_of_Style (ESSENTIAL for writing Engllish).

Peter Farb - Wordplay: What Happens When People Talk

Natalie Goldberg - Writing Down the Bones

*The Bible as literature, especially Genesis and the Gospel. The Old Testament first poem, The Book of Job - teaches us to always question ‘the guru’, especially the one who claims to be ‘God’. The Sibylline Oracles - the roots of almost all modern ‘fairy tales’. Then the stories of Enoch, within which is housed much wisdom of the ‘ancients’ who did not write their stuff down before they were ethnically cleansed. So many literary references throughout the Old Testament make it an essential reference guide, as well a ridiculously hilarious romp throgh speculative human histories.

The New Testament is mostly about Jesus, and can be enjoyed purely for its many poetic interpretations of what he was about, which is love. While Jesus was possibly a real person, or group of real persons, the one in the Bible is a concept: Love yourself as you would have others love you, others as you would love you, those from whom you must walk away, and those you want to keep around. But love you and take care of you most of all, because then you have more to give to others. Love is Jesus, Jesus is love, don’t listen to what anyone else has to say about that. The new testament is, overall, a romantic poem dedicated to our humanity: Basically advisng that we hit the reset button every day by turning the OS off and then on again. One can easily replace the word ‘God’ with ‘water’ or ‘oxygen’ and still get the same value from this prose.

Each thing above is a great launch-pad into all sorts of places she might like to ride her rocket.

Summer reading during high school:

Age 15

Rudyard Kipling - Everything.

Roald Dahl - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and everything else.

Shakespeare - A Midsumer Night’s Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, and A Merchant of Venice

J. D. Salinger - Nine Stories, (better than, Catcher in Rye, which they cram in us at U.S. schools).

Begin, Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Ages 16-17

Jonathan Samuel Carroll - The Land of Laughs, Outside the Dog Museum, his Weblog is also quite compelling https://jonathancarroll.com/tagged/short-story.

Kurt Vonnegut - Slapstick, Welcome to the Monkey House, and Breakfast of Champions <— which might be assigned at school—{{{.

Begin, Geoffrey Chaucer - The Canterbury Tales

Toni Morrison - Beloved

Age 18 and up

George Sand

Colette

Sappho - Though much of her work was destroyed, what little that remains is a good introduction to greek poetry and philosophy. She was assigned the homo-erotic labelling, but she was more ‘platonic’ in reality, loving educating the minds of young women and men. She is also the first documented female writer in ‘modern’ history. Maybe good to introduce her when your niece begins learning about Greek tragedy and Shakespeare.

Douglas Adams - The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Jack Karouac - Anything/Everything

Suggestions: If and/or when she wants to take-on Proust, it can be completed in precisely one year of 10 pages per day. (Another great literary reference which is way better than James Joyce.)

If she wants to read comic books, start her on X-Men. (Excellent characters, great for coping with ’teen angst’ and that ‘misfit’ phase. Also wonderful female characters that promote a healthy sense of self and personal empowerment.)

If she absolutely must get on-board the vampire craze, begin with Anne Rice’s, Interview with the Vampire, which takes place in an apartment on Divisadero in SF.!!

DO NOT LET HER READ ANYTHING BY STEPHEN KING UNTIL SHE IS 25, IF EVER. And, I don’t care what anyone says about Neil Gaiman, he’s a Scientologist hack full of crap. !!

3 notes · View notes

simplyadorkable-blog1 · 7 years

Text

Season 6, Episode 16 - “Operation: Bobcat”

On Valentine's Day, Jess tries to convince everyone she's happy being single; Schmidt competes for a promotion; Winston's plans to propose to Aly are expedited.

Happy Valentine’s Day, roomfriends! And what a Valentine’s Day we get! Nick, Schmidt, and Winston are sitting at the dining room table when Cece runs in playing The Cupid Shuffle. Schmidt and Winston get up to join her in the dance and even Nick bobs a bit in his chair. They instantly stop when Jess gets back to the loft with the mail. Jess assures them that they don’t need to feel bad for her because she’s single, she has a fun day planned. She’s finally going to use the celebrity chef dinner she won and clean out her purse. Nick asks if there’s any mail from Raisin since she’s in Minnesota and they’re going to exchange gifts. Jess asks if he’s going to do what he did for her—a nudie card with a $20 bill stapled to it—but he says he’s actually going to put in effort. Wow, Nick, low blow. But he’s so proud of himself and humbled by love that he feels five feet tall. I’m five feet tall, Nick, and I do not feel humbled by love. Jess continues to search the mail and it’s clear that she sent herself a Valentine, so sad. But she tries her best to convince them she isn’t sad by singing and dancing to The Cupid Shuffle by herself.

Despite that enthusiastic display, Cece and Schmidt are unable to spend Valentine’s Day together. Schmidt has been killing himself to impress his boss, Kim, so they don’t have time to celebrate the first time they made love. Or as Schmidt calls it, their “bone-iversary.” In the living room, Winston plops down next to Jess while she’s cleaning out her purse. He’s really overdoing his interest so Jess tells him to go do something with Aly. Winston says she’s not big on V-Day. He also fills us in that he’s only on phase six of his 21-phase plan. He’s still months away from proposing and not under budget, by thousands of dollars. What the hell is he doing that costs that much? Jess tells him to go do something for Aly anyways and she is left alone to sort through her frozen yogurt cards. She has to start going to the same place, or else she’ll never get a free one!

At the bar, Nick reveals his romantic Valentine’s plan to Cece. It’s actually really sweet and involves copious amounts of roses being sent to Raisin. Cece is proud of Nick and names him “Big Boy Cupid.” When Nick asks what she’s doing for the day she admits that Schmidt didn’t have time to plan anything for their bone-iversary. Nick encourages her to just take the situation into her own hands and plan something herself. But he does tell her her top is terrible and that she needs to add sparkles. Sparkles are in!

Meanwhile Winston and Aly are having a cute meal at her house. Winston presents her with a koala, “I thought it would be nice to spend some koala-ty time together. G’day mate. What’s a fit Sheila like you doing with this sticky joey?” Thank goodness for closed captioning. They continue to be super cute together and we all grin widely at our screens at home. They are so cute that even they can’t handle it and Aly spontaneously proposes. Since Winston is in the beginning phases of his own proposal plan, he panics and answers, “Nah…”

Back at the loft, he fills in Jess, informing her he’s going to compromise on his dream and accept her proposal. She tells him he deserves an amazing engagement, he’s America’s sweetheart for goodness sake! She encourages him to expedite his proposal plan and pop the question right away since Aly is probably worried about their relationship. “Tell your son of a bitch cat of yours that he’s gonna get a new mommy, cause we’re going to propose tonight!” It’s amazing how quickly Winston’s proposal has turned into Winston and Jess’ proposal.

The pair sit down with Winston’s binder of phases, and Jess starts tearing out unnecessary phases including erotic skywriting, a special performance by the LA Children’s Choir, purchasing the ring in Atlanta—though it is America’s more affordable big city—and Operation: Bobcat. Before Jess can tear out that last page, Winston interjects to convince Jess to keep it, “When Aly and I were first partners we got called to break up a drug deal in a bus station bathroom. When we got there, wasn’t nobody in there. Just a bobcat. Like, a bobcat running around. I shrieked. Of course, I was afraid for my life. But Aly—she just laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed. And, you know, it was that moment that made me realize I wanted to make her laugh for the rest of her life. And so, the plan was to recreate that moment.” Jess acquiesces, knowing that Winston already bought a bobcat costume before he got a ring because he really toes the line between sweetness and insanity. Winston must have purchased the costume last episode when he was at the costume shop. He is really married to this idea!

Schmidt heads to his office at Associated Strategies to grab hard copies for Kim. When he opens his door he sees Cece laying on his desk. He panics and slips in, trying his best to hide that his wife is in his office. Cece explains that she brought their bone-iversary to him and he tells her that he doesn’t have much time so he’s going to stay dressed and poke out like a cuckoo clock. Have fun trying to erase that image from your eyeballs. Cece turns down that sexy offer, informing him that she has it all planned on the roof. On the roof, Cece has lights strung up and a large blanket set down for them. Before they can make any moves a sudden gust of wind blows their clothes off the roof. What is it with these two getting stuck naked places?

At the loft, Jess and Winston are talking to her ring guy, while she trims his hair and he tries to negotiate a price. It’s hard to pay attention to anything that Trevlo says other than, “Stay blessed.” Stay blessed. Jess briefly explains to Winston that she knows Trevlo from when she rear-ended him in parking lot and he gave her his card. Stay blessed. Winston, growing frustrated, lashes out at Jess for messing up his fade, “I look like if Lebron James turned around!” He’s clearly stressing out about the proposal. Nick interrupts his breakdown by entering the room and greeting Trevlo—he was in the car when Jess hit him. Stay blessed. Nick tells the pair he has to go help Schmidt and Cece because he’s now “Big Boy Cupid” and he’s in love. Winston catches a look of sadness wash over Jess’ face. After Nick exits, Winston tells Jess that the proposal is off. He thinks he’s being a bad friend because he saw her face when Nick said he was in love. He tells her she’s sad and to “stay blessed.”

Nick quickly hauls over to rescue Schmidt and Cece, but not before jumping around behind a reporter to get on the news. Unfortunately, he brought Schmidt’s giant suit from college graduation and Cece’s wedding dress. Classic Nick, he didn’t even notice it was her wedding dress, but at least knew it looked familiar, he just didn’t realize that was because he was at their wedding. Before the couple can further chastise Nick, Kim comes out onto the roof and begins crying. Thankfully she can’t see them over one of the vents. “This is the start of a very long cry. As a bartender, you really get to know the human cry… So what else is going on with you guys?” Queue Schmidt/Cece synchronized eyeroll.

Since Winston bailed on the proposal, Jess decides to use her celebrity chef dinner alone. She sits at the table while Gordon Ramsay prepares scallops and tells her she’s sad. Upon further questioning, she admits that she’s just mad that Nick decided to finally be a great boyfriend and she never got to experience that side of Nick. I beg to differ. She also feels bad that Winston cancelled his proposal because of her. Ramsay tells her to do something about it so she calls Winston to tell him that she’s going to help him.

Schmidt and Cece somehow manage to get dressed without Kim noticing, but are unable to escape. Nick offers to handle it, but Schmidt points out that he wouldn’t be able to explain his sudden presence without giving them away. “I work here and I’m a window washer and I finally got to the top floor,” and “I’m a traffic guy and I fell out of the news chopper,” just won’t do. Cece takes responsibility for their situation, apologizing to Schmidt. But he tells her that she means more to him than any job ever will, shouting “I love Cece!” loud enough for Kim to hear. Cece follows up with an “I love Schmidt!” before Kim storms over to confront them. Nick, unprompted, pretends he’s a chimney sweep, gives up, and asks Kim if she’s crying. We gloss over her saying she just met her birth mother because she asks Schmidt why he’s dressed like a Little Rascal and that description is too spot-on to ignore. Schmidt explains what’s going on and he would understand if he got fired, but Kim appreciates the honesty and tells him she’s noticed him working his ass off.

Now it’s time for the sweetest scene in the entire episode. Jess shows Winston the public bathroom where she strung up lights and negotiated the ring price down for him. She also called the station and they are sending Aly down on a public disturbance call. Winston thanks Jess for her help in the most Winston way possible, “If I didn’t propose in a public bathroom wearing a bobcat costume I would have regretted it for the rest of my life.” They hear Aly coming so Jess hides, turning off the lights, and Winston puts his bobcat head on. Aly enters the bathroom and calls out, searching for the reason for the call. Winston suddenly jumps out of a stall and ends up getting kicked into a wall.

Jess and Aly rush to Winston’s aid, but he definitely has a concussion. Aly asks what’s going on and Jess turns on the lights. She’s very confused and Winston pulls out a paper to begin reading his speech, but has to have Jess take over because his vision is blurry. Jess begins, prompts the police choir, Protect & Swerve, to enter and begin singing Alison. They’re actually pretty damn good. Jess reads, “Aly, I’m in love with you. I love your face, your mind, and your butt. As a young black man, I never thought I’d feel safe with a police officer. When I met you, I threw away all my shoes cause they made me feel like I was walking on air. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met and I have something to ask you. But first, I’m gonna describe in vivid detail our first sexual encounter.” She cuts herself off and skips ahead. “I have a complicated relationship with God. No.” She skips again. “I don’t think anyone on Earth gets to feel as proud as I do just to call you my partner. And now I want to ask you to be my partner for the rest of my life.” She can barely get out that last part between her tears. Aly can’t understand what she’s saying so Winston takes it from there. “I want you to be my partner for the rest of my life. Officer Nelson, will you marry me?” “Of course I will, Officer Bishop.” She answers and they kiss and we all pause our televisions to wipe our tears.

Back at Associated Strategies, Schmidt shows Cece his new office complete with tickets to something called the Clippers and an automatic door close button, a la Parks and Rec. Schmidt tells Cece he got the promotion and the two can finally celebrate their anniversary in peace. At least I assume that’s what they do because we are shifted back to the loft where Jess finds Nick in his room. Nick tells Jess that his gift from Raisin finally got there and it was a necklace. He clearly didn’t want a necklace and is disappointed. The episode wraps up with a small Jess and Nick moment—“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jess.” “Happy Valentine’s Day, Miller.” Sorry, I have to wipe my tears again—and then they all gather in the living room to toast Winston and Aly.

Originally Aired 2/14/2017

#New Girl #Season 6 Episode 16 #Operation Bobcat #Recap #Breakdown #Spoilers #Zooey Deschanel #Jake Johnson #Hannah Simone #Max Greenfield #Lamorne Morris #Nasim Pedrad #Episodes #simplyadorkable

2 notes · View notes