#and never explicitly said it was a proposal‚ it was just a “promise to marry” but... Cmon y'all) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ichorai · 2 years ago

Text

airbag ; steve rogers.

track one of OK COMPUTER.

pairing ; steve rogers x reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; five time steve tries to propose to you, and one time he actually does.

words ; 4.3k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, kind of avengers tower au?

warnings / includes ; mentions/descriptions of injury, alcohol, lots of lovesick fluff, rest of avengers are mentioned, natasha and tony Meddling, reference to spider-man & sandman :)

main masterlist.

Steve considered himself a romantic of sorts. Call him old-fashioned, but he liked bringing you flowers, he liked taking you to the theater, and he liked walking you home—all the way up to your door and listening for the lock, so he knew you’d be safe in there.

It was only fitting how cliché it felt when he realized he was in love with you. Firework-igniting kisses and butterfly-filled tummies and face-splitting grins. Everything described in those movies you enjoyed watching—but so much more.

Steve Rogers wasn’t a man to waste time. After all—enough of that had been done while he was frozen in the ice. If he was going to start something, then he was most definitely going to go all the way and finish it, too.

Almost immediately after your first anniversary, he bought a ring. It was simple and classic, maybe a bit out of style but hey, you seemed to be into that. You were dating a century-year-old.

It was December then, soft snow lining the streets and piling upon naked tree branches. During the drive to the fancy restaurant he’d found (courtesy of Tony), there were children building snowmen and sledding down shallow hills. You smiled watching them, eyes rife with fond warmth, and Steve knew then that he had to do it. He had to propose to you tonight.

Inside, you wouldn’t stop telling him how underdressed you felt, but Steve reassured you by saying a simple, “You look perfect, I promise.”

And he wasn’t lying. You did look perfect to him.

Dinner consisted of several decadent courses, with the waiters serving platters the two of you could barely even pronounce. It was delicious, nonetheless, and the chef had even come by to shake the hand of the Captain America.

During the last course—a silken slice of chocolate cake for dessert—Steve slipped his hand into his suit’s pocket, the velvet box smooth beneath his fingers. He replayed the question over and over again in his head, rehearsed a million times prior to the dinner.

Will you marry me?

And just as he was about to pull the ring box out, another diner pushed his chair back just far enough to accidentally knock into a waiter passing by, holding a plate of spaghetti. Completely sauced, to top.

To Steve’s horror, the plate tipped, almost in slow motion, and fell with a wet, splattering noise all over your outfit. You’d let out a small yelp of surprise, the spaghetti was hot, but not enough to burn. Steve stood up a second too late, hand falling away from his pocket as he rounded the table and placed it on your shoulder, asking if you were okay.

“I’m okay,” you told him gently, reaching over to grab a few napkins at the center of your table.

You didn’t get mad, of course you didn’t—it was part of the reason Steve loved you so much—instead, you were kind and patient, reassuring the flustered waiter that it was alright. “Mistakes happen,” you said. Another waiter came by a few minutes later with a few damp cloths so you could wipe the rest of the spaghetti sauce off.

Needless to say, the chef insisted that the meal was on the house that night, much to Steve’s chagrin.

The drive back home smelled of marinara sauce and oregano, but the heavy weight in his chest at the failed proposal seemed to lighten when you joked about how the five course meal ended up being six.

Natasha knew about the ring. Steve wasn’t quite sure how—he’d never explicitly told her—but then again, he wasn’t surprised. Nat seemed to always just know things from the smallest of details. It was why she made such a brilliant spy.

“So,” she’d said once she stumbled across from Steve in the Avenger Tower’s lavish gym, a sly grin stretching over her lips, “when are you popping the question?”

There was a pause to his movements—the dumbbell he’d been curling hovered in the air, his muscles tensing. He thought about it for a little longer, considering asking her how she knew but—he seemed to sense that Natasha would wave it away with a laugh and a light, “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

Instead, he told the red-head, “I’m working on it.”

Natasha leaned against a treadmill, arms crossing over her chest. The smile on her face seemed to grow even wider. “Uh-huh. How long have you had the ring?”

Steve resumed doing his reps. The burn felt nice, even if it was only barely there. “Long enough.”

There was a soft tenderness to Natasha’s eyes, and she bumped a fist into his bicep. “Take Y/N hiking. Far away from the city, where it’s quiet.”

Again, Steve paused his exercise. Slow, he put the weights down, thinking over her words.

“That’s actually—that’s a good idea, Nat.”

“Of course it is.” There was a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Thanks, really. I just want things to be perfect.”

She dipped her head once, before climbing onto the treadmill. “Send pictures. I’ve got a bet going on—Clint would want proof.”

Steve spared her an amused roll of his eyes. With a wave and a hurried goodbye, Steve rushed out of the gym to take a quick shower. The weather app on his phone (that he took an embarrassingly long time to find) told him the skies were going to be clear that afternoon—perfect for hiking.

Maybe, hopefully, perfect for proposals.

Half an hour later, you were ready to go, too, bouncing on the balls of your feet excitedly.

“I packed us sandwiches.”

“Did you? Oh, great—thanks, honey. We could have them as an early dinner.” He rubbed your shoulder and nudged you into the car.

“I packed a bunch of snacks, too.”

Steve arched a brow. “Like?”

“Gummy worms, popcorn, chips, cookies. Oh, and Wanda actually made something for us, I’m not really sure what it is, but it smelled nice—”

Your words died away when Steve laughed, loud and chesty. Of course you’d pack just about the entire pantry. How you managed to stuff all of that into your travel backpack with room to spare was beyond him. You couldn’t help but break out into an infectious smile when he leaned forward to kiss you on the forehead.

The drive out of the city to the hiking trail was long, and you nearly dozed off if not for the road getting progressively bumpier the closer you got.

The sun was high in the sky by the time you arrived. You slipped out of the car with a pleased hum and stretched out your limbs, ready to get the hike over and done with. You might’ve been dating a superhuman, but you had no powers of your own. The pressure to keep up was something always in the back of your mind.

And that’s how the hike went—you were determined to stay on par with Steve, no matter how grueling the terrain became. Even when he suggested a break to have some of the many snacks you’d packed, you tossed him your bag and kept trekking on—you were worried that if you stopped, you would never get back up again.

Really, you shouldn’t have overexerted yourself this quickly—the two of you were barely halfway done with the trail. Your feet were starting to drag, and your pace grew staggered. Just as you turned around to face your boyfriend and ask for a breather, your foot caught on a tree root that poked up above the trail’s surface, and you stumbled forward.

Thankfully, Steve’s quick reflexes came in handy, and he darted forward to grab you before you could go rolling down the steep hills.

He tugged you close into his chest, not yet registering your wince of pain. “Are you okay? That was a close one!”

When you pulled away, you gingerly tried to test your wait on the foot, but quickly lifted it back up with a grimace. “Oh, God. I think I’ve rolled my ankle.”

Steve stiffened, glancing further up the trail. It was maybe another two hours, but that was only with two fully-functioning pairs of legs.

The proposal would have to wait another day, then.

He cupped your face, soft and gentle. “Wrap your arms around my neck from behind. I’ll carry you down to the car.”

“You sure, Stevie? I can try hopping down on one foot.” You tried to demonstrate, but nearly lost your balance again. All the jostling sent bolts of pain down your foot, which surely wasn’t a good sign, either.

He snorted, huff-laughing, other hand slipping over your waist to keep you still. “I’m sure. Come on.” He leaned down expectantly.

Relenting, you wrapped your arms over his shoulders and hooked the inside of your thighs over his waist, careful to keep your injured foot extended so it wouldn’t bump into him. It was beginning to throb.

“‘M sorry,” you mumbled, resting your cheek over his shoulder, one of your hands lifting to toy with his short, blonde hair. He began to walk down, and you tried your best to ignore the pain in your ankle. “Ruined our hiking trip. I was so excited.”

“It’s okay, honey. It was an accident! We can always go another time. Maybe a different trail, though.”

You apologized again, the whole way down, in fact, despite his assurances that he wasn’t at all tired. He really wasn’t—barely broke a sweat during the descent. Besides, he quite liked the feeling of your holding so tight onto him, your nose pressed into the side of his neck, your soft laughter brushing over his skin in one moment, your slight winces in the next.

“I love you,” you whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He felt a shiver traverse down his back, and briefly wondered if you felt it, too.

“I love you, too. That tickles, though.”

Your laugh was abrupt and ever so heart-warming. “Sorry.”

The movie, you’d told him, was a cult classic from the seventies. Steve couldn’t really remember what it was called. Callie? Cassie? It was an awful lot of blood. The arm he had wound over your shoulder squeezed you every time someone screamed in the film—which was… startlingly often.

Proposing in the middle of a gorey movie wasn’t exactly the romantic vision Steve had in mind, but since the previous attempts really didn’t work in his favor, he wondered if keeping it casual was the best way to go. So when you asked if he could come over for an abrupt movie night, he readily agreed—and brought the small, velvet ring box with him.

It was tucked safely in the pocket of his slacks, on the side you weren’t pressed up against. The weight was a constant reminder of what he wanted to ask you—occupying his mind away from the movie he should’ve been paying attention to.

He’d propose once the credits started rolling. Yes, that’d be best, right? Wouldn’t want a horrified scream interrupting his profession of undying love to you.

And so he watched. He watched and watched, absentmindedly wondering what on earth the movie was even about. He dragged his knuckles up and down your arm. When a particularly gruesome scene unfolded, Steve glanced over at you.

To his surprise, your features were softened with sleep, only barely illuminated by the crimson glow from the television, your lips slightly parted and eyes shut.

With gentle movements, Steve reached over to guide your head onto his shoulder. Your hair tickled his cheek, and he let out a soft puff of a sigh before smiling. He kissed your temple, nose resting over your forehead.

The proposal would have to wait another day.

Tony’s parties were always an affair that Steve looked forward to. He wasn’t a party-goer by any means, but he found that the grand events were a great way for him to catch up with all his colleagues, acquaintances, and work associates he otherwise wouldn’t have spoken to for months to come.

And, of course, your excitement always seemed to rub off on him. You were buzzing about the room with what looked like twenty different outfits hanging off of your arms, holding them between you and the mirror with a scrutinizing look.

“Tucked or untucked?” you asked, more to yourself than him. He wasn’t given the chance to respond, anyway, since you chucked the shirt somewhere behind you and promptly started looking for another.

When you’d finally settled for appropriately formal attire, and Steve slipped into a button-up dress shirt (which was his one and only option, much to your envy), the two of you set off for Tony’s.

The party was already in full swing by the time you got there. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what the event was for—an anniversary or birthday, maybe? Fundraising gala? A celebration of some sort of scientific breakthrough Steve couldn’t even begin to comprehend? It was always a toss-up with Tony.

You were greeting people here and there, stopping to chatter amicably about what you’ve been up to, how work was going, the latest shows you’ve been catching up with…

And then you kissed his cheek and told him you were going to go grab some drinks. Steve watched you go with fond eyes. You looked incredible tonight.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his reverie, and Tony Stark’s smug face came into view.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, sly and knowing. What did he know?

“Hey, Tony. We only just got here. What’s all this for, by the way?” Steve crossed his arms and glanced around for any telltale signs.

A smirk flitted across his expression. “Just thought we all needed a bit of social activity pumped into the team. It’s a great place to… get your courage up, hm?” Tony smiled, and Steve narrowed his eyes.

“Did Natasha tell you?”

Tony snorted. “We all know.”

“Great.” Steve slid his hand into his pocket and traced the smooth grooves of the ring box. “Is everyone expecting me to propose tonight?”

“No, pfft—we don’t want to pressure you or anything…” Tony pointedly glanced at a stage conveniently placed front and center of the room. “But if you need some, what should I call it… assistance, the stage is all yours to use.”

Steve balked. Proposing at a party was one thing, but proposing on a stage in front of hundreds of people was completely out of the question.

Or was it?

“I’m not going to propose on a stage. That’s more your style.”

With a shrug, Tony rolled his eyes. “I mean, Pepper hasn’t left me yet, has she?”

Steve chose not to grace him with a response, but frown-smiled when Tony grabbed a flute of champagne and shoved it into his hands. He was gone the next second, off to greet a new round of guests.

Thirty seconds later, you appeared by his side, positively beaming, but slightly out of breath. There were two chilled glasses clutched in your hands, almost sloshing over with how quickly you bounded to him.

“Oh, you already got a drink?” you asked, grinning. You clinked both glasses against his, chiming, “Cheers!”

And as you were downing the sugary alcohol in your right hand, Steve ran a finger along the ring box again.

Maybe… maybe it really wasn’t a bad idea. He looked back at the stage. There was a microphone stand on there. Has it been there since the beginning?

He turned his head back to you, and you told him about Banner inviting the two of you over for dinner some time. Just as he was about to reply, his phone started buzzing in his other pocket. Deftly, Steve slipped his hand away from the box and went to pick up the phone—Sam’s caller ID staring up at him.

His friend’s voice sounded strained through the phone, and Steve gripped your hand and led you to a more quiet hallway, away from the crowd and the thrum of music.

Sam hurriedly told him that there was trouble downtown—something about Spider-Man and a very sandy guy.

“Sandy?”

“Yeah. Dude’s made of sand.”

“Oh.” Steve paused, brows furrowing. “I’ll be there in twenty. Can you keep it together till then?”

“Don’t have another choice, do I, Cap?”

With that, Sam hung up. Steve looked to you, crestfallen.

“Honey, I gotta go.”

Your voice was light and airy, despite your slightly crestfallen and confused countenance. “Sam’s in trouble?”

“Yeah. I’ll—” There was an uncertain pause. Steve leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you at home. I love you.”

Your brows pulled together. “I love you, too. Stay safe, Steve.”

It was something you just had to accustom yourself to—when your boyfriend was a superhero, his priorities encompassed far more than you. But you understood, as you always did, and let him hurry away with a stiff lip.

The hospital was packed. Claustrophobically dense. You hurriedly wove through the crowd of anxious people hovering around the information desk, having already gotten the text which room Steve was in.

A few twisting hallways later, you pushed through a door and just about collapsed with relief when your eyes landed on Steve.

He was badly bruised. Hues of deep purple and faint blues were blossomed all over his face. One of his eyes was swollen, his sandy-blonde hair was tousled, and his bottom lip was split. He was wearing a hospital gown, and you felt nauseated wondering just what other injuries he was hiding beneath the fabric.

But he was alive. That was the least you’d hoped for.

Tears pricked your eyes, and you only then registered that Bucky was there, standing by the bed, expression grim and steeled. His blue eyes darted away from his best friend’s face to meet yours.

“I’ll give you two some space,” he murmured with a tight edge to his voice. Bucky patted your shoulder and whisked off before you could say anything.

“Steve?” you croaked, drawing nearer to the bed. Your throat felt tight. “Oh, God…”

Despite his entire face aching, Steve managed to tug one of the corners of his lips up into a meager smile. “Hey, honey.”

His voice sounded hoarse and overused, but was still utter music to your ears. You just about collapsed onto the side of the bed, reaching out to gently brush the back of your shaking knuckles over what little of his face wasn’t bruised.

“I heard what happened on the news,” came your tearful whisper. “I was so worried you…”

Something softened within the blue of his eyes. “I’m still here.”

You dipped forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and his tired eyes slid shut.

“Has a doctor checked on you yet? Any permanent damage I have to look out for?” You pulled away so you could roam your eyes over his form once more.

“Just a few bruises. Bone fractures. Nothing I can’t recover from,” he replied, though he winced when he tried to shift and sit more upright. You placed a hand on his back and helped him move, cautiously slow.

“Take it easy, old man,” you warned. “Don’t want you to pop a hip.”

Steve wheezed out what seemed like a laugh. Then, his eyes darted to the bedside table, where some spare clothes were neatly packed in a bag. Bucky had brought them, making sure to hide the ring box safely underneath a few layers.

Should he? Now, when he had the chance?

“I have something to ask you…” he began, tentative, dragging his eyes back onto you. You tilted your head pointedly, beckoning for him to go on.

Just as he was about to say the words, there were three rapid knocks to the hospital room’s doors and they creaked open immediately after, two nurses shuffling in, clipboards in hand.

“Hello, just here to run a few more check-ups!” one of them chirped. “It’s not often we get a super admitted in here.”

Steve just about physically deflated. Your brows kinked, and you patted his cheek fondly.

“I’ll come by later—gonna go see if Sam is okay. You should rest, Stevie. Love you.” With one final kiss to his cheek, you got up from his bed and made space for the bustling nurses. He barely managed to lift his hand to wave you goodbye before you hurried out of the room, back into the packed hallways.

A month had drifted by since he wound up in the hospital (and discharged the very next day). It was pleasantly breezy that day—gusts of wind tousling his now-overgrown hair and whistling sweetly in your ears.

Steve bent at the waist to place the bouquet of flowers down in front of the headstone. If it were any windier, he was sure it would’ve blown away. But it stayed put, the petals only barely swaying to and fro, and he righted himself back up.

“Sarah Rogers,” you whispered, eyes trailing across the smooth grooves of her name indented into the slab, voice thick with fondness. “What did she look like?”

Your arm wounded over the small of his waist. The two of you had visited the cemetery a few months prior, where you helped him scrub all the moss and dirt from her headstone. He told you about many of his adventures with Bucky before his time frozen in the ice, but very little about his mother.

A wistful smile touched the corner of his face. Now fully healed, much to your relief.

“She was blonde. Blue eyes. Crow lines, I think. Really faint, but they appeared every time she laughed.” There was a nostalgic warmth to his tone.

“Took after her, then.” You beamed down at the grave. “She must’ve been beautiful.”

Steve leaned into your grasp and kissed the very top of your head. “She was. She would’ve loved you, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“She would’ve thought you were perfect. She saw a lot of terrible things in her lifetime, but you—you would’ve made her laugh a lot.” A pause. The wind hummed a disjointed tune. “She always believed in me, even though she was terrified for me all the time. Worried herself sick. If only she knew I’d end up here…”

Your head landed on his bicep. “She knows. She knew from the very beginning.”

The blonde smiled at you again, and you couldn’t help but notice his crow lines, too. It was comforting to know that there was so much of his mother in him.

“You ready for lunch?”

“I’m starving.” you told him, before blowing a chaste kiss to the headstone. “See you soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

Steve began to lead you away, and he couldn’t seem to scratch the smile from his lips. The two of you started walking back home, taking your sweet time. You were saying something—something about a nice lasagna you had frozen in the fridge—

But Steve could barely hear any of it. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. He had to tell you now.

“I love you,” he interrupted. The words died on your tongue and you regarded him curiously, as if he’d grown a second head.

Apparently, there was a near manic look to his eye that prompted you to worriedly query, “Is something wrong, Steve—?”

Instead of answering, Steve stopped walking. He dropped down onto one knee, brandishing the ring box from his pocket, flicking it open. The realization broke across your features just a second later. Your eyes widened, and you reared back in shock.

And the words—the words just came tumbling out. Not at all what he’d scripted for months on end, but something entirely different. Something raw and unfiltered—purely from his heart. “I love you, more than I can ever put into words. You’re just—amazing, perfect in every goddamn way. I don’t want to go another day without calling you mine. I want to be yours, honey. All of me, every single bit of me, with all of you. It’s been an honor being your boyfriend. Really, it has, but I’m… I’m ready to be your husband, if you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”

There were tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You were only but a streak of color before you were yanking him forward, practically burying his face against your chest. He didn’t care that there was a rock digging into his knee. Barely even felt it.

The next moment, you were pulling away to yank him back up, kissing him like he was the very air you needed to breathe.

“Is that a yes?” he asked against your lips, slightly muffled. He was smiling, because he already knew your answer.

You nodded into the kiss, refusing to pull away. “I’d marry you a million times over, Steve. Again and again and again, until you get sick of me.”

“Could never get sick of you,” he whispered, forehead leaning over yours. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The two of you broke apart minutes later, reluctantly, though you had permanent smiles etched across your faces the entire way back home. The ring fit you perfectly.

When the news broke to the rest of the Avengers, they all erupted into an array of groans and cheers, and multiple wads of cash were passed around. Natasha sent the two of you a pleased wink. You two just landed her a combined total of a hundred bucks, but some secrets were simply better left unsaid.

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bluesidez · 11 months ago

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AHH CMON REQUESTS!! I know the inbox is flooded girl omg.

okay so as a request, i would really love to see a story where black, plus size reader and Miguel take on wedding planning. Reader is happy enjoying cake tastings, dress shopping, venue hunting etc. and groomzilla!miguel is trying to make everything perfect for her. It can be nsfw, but I trust you with whatever the vibe is! Love you down!! ✨✨✨✨

["It’s My Wife’s Day!"]

lab tester: @leoeloo 🩻

pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!Reader, black!Reader, PlusSize!reader

summary: No one is going to stop Miguel's fiancé from having the best day of her life, not if Miguel has anything to do with it.

content warning: AAVE (YAY!), sorry to anyone named Elana or Finley, Miguel gets a little mean here (I tried to keep it reasonable but he’s giving Libra Diva DOWN), mentions of food, some cultural (traditional) things from both sides but nothing crazy, there is one scene that could be triggering for my fellow big girls (but it's handled with care I promise), 18+ at the end so MDNI, it's also pretty suggestive throughout

word count: 8,888k EXACTLY (there should be no mistakes for as long as I've been working on it....but hey)

a/n: AHHHH! I was so happy to receive this request! (You have also been very sweet to me since my very first fic and I really appreciate that!!!) I said on my blog that I really love all things weddings, so this was a super fun write. I just love imagining Miguel in this position of making sure that his girl has everything while the girl is in complete bliss. (The mom here was also heavily inspired by my own mom who is much more active than I am in terms of telling people off.) As per our DMs, I did sprinkle in a little GR!Mig mannerisms! And! I added him being super in love with reader…but that’s a given. I do hope you enjoy! Also, I LOVE YOU!

Miguel refers to reader as his wife constantly before they’re actually married.

Also a headcanon for Miguel here that isn’t said explicitly is that his Libra trait of indecisiveness is on at all times.

Miguel could never forget the day you set his heart ablaze when you said those destined words:

“Yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”

He was over the moon. Weeks of him getting you to warm up to him, months of him chasing after you, years of him trying to show you that he’s the right one for you, and finally, your hand was adorned in the rock he’s been planning for you for eons. You were truly his lady, now and forever.

The proposal was quiet and intimate, mostly because Miguel was a bit fearful you would say no, a seed of doubt growing the longer he waited. He steadily reminded you to get your nails done and paid for your hair appointments every now and then. Each time he thought he could do it, he chickened out.

Then, one night under the stars after an unnecessary work event, his feelings just overloaded.

You were so ethereal.

He remembers you laughing over something his drunk coworker had said, eyes sparkling as you retold the story. Your curls were parted to the side, earrings dangling past your jaw. Your legs were swinging over the edge of his trunk, not a care in the world as you talked with vigor.

He thought that he couldn’t live without this. He couldn’t have a life without small moments like this with you. He couldn’t imagine a moment where you weren’t by his side.

So, the words spilled out of him like water. He took your hands in his and poured his heart out. Finally, the ring box that had practically melted a shape into his thigh was being freed.

You cried when you noticed what he was doing, emotions doing a complete 180.

“No wonder you kept giving me extra money for my nails,” you let out a watery laugh as you leaned into him.

Now, here you both were, almost a year later in the middle of wedding planning.

The theme and colors were carefully handpicked, the venue was booked, and almost every week, the two of you had something to look forward to.

Miguel was currently prepping ingredients for tonight’s dinner, listening as you chatted about your great wedding dress search of the day.

“We stopped by one store, but the lady behind the desk immediately turned us down. I didn’t want to ruin such a good vibe, so I left it at that. Ma was ready to hurt her though.”

Miguel felt his nerves tighten at the news, “What?”

“Yeah, as soon as me and my entourage walked in, she ran up to us saying something about a short stock, but we knew she was lying-”

“What’s the name?”

You raise your eyebrows at his abruptness.

“Miggy, it’s really ok. Don’t worry over this,” you got closer to him, taking his face into your hand.

“I’m not. What’s the name?”

You pull his face down to yours, “Nuh uh. I’m not giving you the name. We said we weren’t going to be stressed out over this process, remember?”

Miguel closed his eyes and brought his hands down your body, leaning his forehead against yours, “I remember.” He blew out a breath and squeezed your ass in hopes that it would help calm him down.

“Good. Now, you stay right here and I’ll go get ready for dinner. I wanna tell you about this poor girl whose dad didn’t like a single thing she put on.”

You kiss him three times, the last kiss lingering a little longer with Miguel humming into your lips and lean back with a warm smile. Miguel’s hands clinged to you until you were too far to reach and you walked upstairs to change into your house clothes.

Miguel stood next to the island, tapping his fingers against the granite with a tongue poking into his cheek.

The dress shopping process was the one he was the least involved in, opting to be surprised on the day you walked down the aisle. You wouldn’t even let his family pitch in for the dress, saying something about running up your dad’s pockets.

But how does a dress shop conveniently run out of dresses once his fiancé walks in?

Right as Miguel was considering googling every dress shop in the area, his phone buzzed to life.

Just the person he wanted to hear from.

“Hello?” Miguel turned to toss some butter on a skillet, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear.

“Miguel…”

He stopped in his tracks, knowing the exact tone of voice your mother was using.

“What happened?”

“Today was so beautiful!”

“But?”

“But that one shop on James Street? Terrible.”

Miguel would have usually chuckled at the dramatics, but this situation was no laughing matter to him.

“You should have seen the way the people in there turned they nose up at us! One lady was about to jump out of her skin. All of this for some of the ugliest dresses I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Miguel shifted his position and stood up straight, tossing minced garlic in the sizzling butter, “Did they say anything to you?” His hands were gripping the phone enough to leave indents on his skin.

“Other than telling us how she wouldn’t have anything we would like, no. She didn’t even want us taking a seat in the lobby.”

He moved to grab a pen and a notepad from the drawer, “Do you have the name of the shop?”

“Lady Love. They should call it Lady A Lie.”

Miguel smiled, thankful that he could count on his future mother-in-law to be his partner in crime specifically when it came to making sure that no one brought harm to you. The number one thing that he and your mom had in common was their need to spring into action.

“Thank you. She didn’t want to tell me anything.”

“Trust me, if she hadn’t begged me not to act a fool, I would have cussed that heifer out. She was so nasty and so rude. That ol’ cow.”

“They’ll have a notice from my lawyer by the morning.”

Your mother hummed, “Let me get my iPad out and get to rating they store. It was a bleach blonde butched buffoon named Elana at the front desk. She was the one giving my baby a hard time. Nobody in there was trying to stop her either.”

“I’ll remember that,” Miguel could hear you coming down the stairs, fuzzy slides creating a steady tempo against the floor. “Let me call you back later.”

“She must be coming back. Tell her to bring me back my shoes!”

Miguel chuckled, “Yes ma’am.”

You came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Was that Ma?”

“Yeah,” Miguel reached to place some chicken on the hot skillet, satisfied with the simmered ingredients he added. “She said to give her those shoes back.”

“She’ll get them back! I’m using them right now. What else were you two talking about?”

Miguel turns down the boil of the pasta noodles, shoulders tensing, “She was telling me about Lady Love.”

You clicked your teeth, “I thought I told you not to worry about it.”

“I’m not!” He turned the chicken over while you grumbled into his back. “But she called me with very upsetting news. What am I but a good son? I had to listen.”

“You two are gonna work my nerves.”

“Don’t say that. We’re just not going to sit back and let someone disrespect you like that. What kind of man would I be if I just let somebody not treat you right and I have the means to stop it? So, please. Let me do this.”

You huffed and buried your face into his back, fingers pressing into his skin. His words shut you up.

“Fine.”

“Thank you, cariño. Now, can you get the salad and the wine out of the fridge? This is almost ready.”

“What are you making?”

“Marry Me Chicken and Pasta.”

“So funny.”

“Ah, I know. It must really work, huh?”

Miguel walked hand-in-hand with you down the fancy boutiques in the shopping district.

You both had just gotten done wandering aimlessly as you waited for the cake-tasting appointment. Miguel had to be stopped multiple times from buying everything you complimented.

He was extremely happy to see you giddy about the cake tasting. It was something you’ve been looking forward to since the day you both confirmed a wedding date.

He’s studied your Pinterest boards heavily, the notifications dinging with every pin. He knows you want to go all out for the cake. Something large enough to feed both of your huge families and something grand enough to match the venue and the theme.

He arranged for the best of the best to be trying out today and if that didn’t work, he’ll seek someone else. He’ll even bake the cake if he has to, although you’d push him out of the kitchen.

“I hope they have that Biscoff flavor. I heard it was really good,” you turn to him with a hopeful smile.

Miguel smiled back at you, “I’m sure they will.”

He only lets go of your hand to hold the door open for you, eyes enjoying the view of your body in the flowy dress you were wearing. Earlier, he couldn’t stop kissing over the deep Queen Anne neckline of it, claiming that you smelled too good. You two almost didn’t make it out of the house on time.

“Hello! Welcome in!”

The bakery was bright and homey. The desserts on display were placed on light peach stands and risers and the smell of caramel and cinnamon was strong in the air. Square canvases covered the walls with cute paintings of some of the featured desserts.

“Miguel, look!”

You pull him over to some Miffy-shaped buns filled with different flavored custards.

“That is too adorable to even eat.”

“But I do hope you’d still be willing to give it a taste!”

You both look up to the friendly face behind the counter. They were a lanky figure with a glitter tattoo of a unicorn cupcake planted on their arm and pink gauges in their ears

“You two must be the future Mr. & Mrs. O’Hara. Lovely to meet you all.”

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” Miguel reached his hand out to give a firm shake.

“My name is Finley and I’ll be assisting you all today. We have several beautiful flavors for you to try.”

Finely directed you both to a square table booth in the corner of the bakery. Miguel slid next to your right side in order to wrap his arm around with one hand and eat with the other.

“Other than the standard Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry & Cream, Red Velvet, Marble, and ‘Wedding Cake’ flavors that we offer, the samples for you here include Tiramisu, Passionfruit, White Chocolate Raspberry, Lemon Blueberry, Cookies & Cream, aaaand Dulce de Leche!”

Miguel’s eyebrows went up, feeling skeptical but open.

“Woah,” your eyes grew at the neat display of confections before you. “I’m so excited.”

“I’ll be right over here if you guys need me. Enjoy!”

You picked up a fork and dug straight into the Strawberries & Cream.

“That is so freaking good,” you groan out, eyebrows scrunching.

“Let me see,” Miguel turned to you with his mouth open, eyes full of mirth.

“Miguel, please.”

“What? It’s practice for the real deal.”

“When we’re the only ones in here?”

“It’s going to feel like an intimate moment just between us, no?”

You sigh, defeated. He doesn’t even budge when you shove a giant piece of cake in his mouth. He grabs your hand before you can retreat, licking slowly away at the leftover cream.

He focuses on the golden fork, working in between the prongs. Time slows down as you watch the white icing disappear into his mouth. His eyelashes are long and pretty and his lips are plump and a little wet from his tongue.

One more pass of the fork through his mouth and he’s looking up at you with the same fire from this morning.

You clear your throat, “Is that how you’re going to eat the cake?”

“Something like that.”

You two slowly but surely make it through the rest of the flavors with you trying to stay unflustered and Miguel trying to up the ante.

He’s grinning and chuckling at your ruffled state until you get to the Dulce de Leche cake. He harrumphs as you cut into it.

“No, no, you wanna eat cake so bad, so eat it!��

“This isn’t the cake I was talking about-”

“I’m going to shove this fork so far down your throat if you even think of finishing those thoughts out loud.”

“You know I love it when you get that way,” Miguel sighs and reaches to eat from the fork before you can say anything back.

You wait in silence as you watch his face contort from disgusted to neutral to pleased.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah?”

“A little too sweet. Abuela wouldn’t like it.”

“Do you like it, though?”

He paused as he watched you take a bite.

“Maybe.”

“Would you like it as our wedding cake?”

“No….”

You smirked at him, “But you want it as your groom’s cake?”

“…Yes.”

He looks so conflicted about it that you almost feel bad for him.

“Miguel it’s ok if you like it, no one is going hurt you. You know you have a sweet tooth.”

“It is really delicious, like eerily so. It’s not my favorite cake, though.”

“Oh? Was it the Cookies & Cream one?”

“Close.”

You look around the plate, confused as to how fruit flavors have anything to do with sandwich cookies.

Miguel got closer to your ear, lips grazing the top, “My favorite is you.”

You push his face back with your hand while he grins into your palm.

“I see you two lovebirds are enjoying everything,” Finley walks back over to the two of you. “Any standouts?”

Miguel lists off the ones you were enjoying the most with ease.

“We also enjoyed this Dulce de Leche one but we decided it would be best for my cake but before we move on, do you have any Biscoff cake samples that we can try?”

“Of course, let me go get that for you.”

He looks back at you cheesing at him.

“You remembered!”

“Always.”

Finley comes back with a small Biscoff bundt cake.

“Now, unfortunately, we don’t offer this flavor for any tiered cakes.”

You took a bite and almost soared. The flavors were just the right mix of salty and sweet, some caramel coating the top.

Miguel looked from you to Finley, “Can you just do it for one tier?”

“Um, I can ask my boss when she comes back-”

“You can leave her number with me. I would really love to talk with her face-to-face.”

“Y-yes sir.”

“Good,” Miguel reaches over to wipe some salt off of your lips. “My wife wants a pretty grand cake and she has some particular ideas. We want to be really involved in the process for the best result. No surprises.”

“Absolutely. Would you still want to place that order for the groom cake? We have a sale on toppers for them right now.”

They place a pamphlet on the counter with countless toppers of grooms in pure agony. Some are being dragged by their wives and others are running away. Miguel turns his lip up and moves his eyes to Finely without lifting his head up.

“These are very tacky and senseless, so no. We’ll place the order for it at the same time as the main cake.”

Finely moves to remove the pamphlet, face red and eyes wet, “I apologize. A lot of the future husbands enjoy them.”

“Do I look like the other husbands that come through here?”

“N-no sir! Not at all.”

“Tell you what, give me your boss’s number and your business card. We’ll circle back. Thank you for today’s tasting.”

“L-let me at least give you some extra dessert before you leave. Free of charge!”

Miguel helps you stand as Finley hops around the store grabbing any and everything.

“I really hope you consider choosing us for the wedding.”

“The wedding?”

“Your! Your wedding!”

“Hmph.”

Miguel grabs the box from Finley’s shaking hands and promptly leaves the store with you on his arm. You turn back to Finley with an apologetic look and a quiet sorry leaving your lips, though you’re sure they’re still shocked by Miguel’s behavior.

“I’m going to set up more appointments. We need a backup cake,” he says as he guides you back to the car.

“You loved those cakes and you scared that poor person to death.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just me eating these cakes. And those were some of the most horrible toppers I’ve seen yet. Who does that?”

“You would be shocked to know that not every man is willing to celebrate and proudly love their partner.”

Miguel turned the car on and let the cool AC hit his face.

“But, if you still want to look at more bakeries, we can. More cake for me.”

You turn his face to yours and kiss his lips gently.

“Now what’s all this about eating me-flavored cake?”

He shifts the gear into reverse, “Let’s get home and you’ll find out.”

When you said you wanted creative and unique pre-wedding photoshoots, Miguel didn’t hesitate to make sure he could pull it together for you. Now he’s starting to regret it.

You walked out into the studio apartment with an oversized button-down that looked like it could be his, some thigh-high stockings squeezing at your thick thighs, and some black lingerie peeking through the thin shirt material. Your makeup was simple but jaw-dropping with glossy lips and a lovely blush that brought out a glow to your skin. Your hair was in a blowout style, curls bouncing with every step closer to him.

This specific photographer that you had mentioned in awed passing was known for her eye for romantic detail. Her pictures truly captured the love between couples in raw form. When you showed Miguel the pictures on her website, he was quick to get in touch with her to set up a decent amount of photoshoots. What he didn’t expect was for her to have an influx of assistants and protégés to have wandering eyes.

“Are you going to move the lights or are you going to keep gawking at my wife like an idiot?”

The one assistant who clearly didn’t understand what Miguel’s death stares meant jumped at his voice and rushed to move things within the set, the entire back of his neck beet-red.

“Baby, don’t be like that, he might just be nervous,” you slid your hands up his chest, straightening out his “work” shirt. “Don’t fuss at him.”

“He should do his job then,” Miguel shifted his gaze from the scrambling boy to you, voice getting quieter as he peered down at your excited face. “You do look beautiful, though. Can’t blame him.”

“You like it?” There was a spark in your eye. It was something that Miguel knew all too well.

He glided his fingers down your back, feeling the heat of your skin through the shirt. Your eyes never left his lips as he drew closer. You could feel his breath covering your skin.

The flash of a strobe light caused you to jump.

“These are going to make such stunning outtakes,” Xina gasped as she moved her camera back up to her face again. “Sorry to scare you. Please continue this and we can do the original plan in a second.”

You laughed as Miguel pulled you even closer, pressing kisses against your neck to avoid ruining your makeup.

The original idea of the shoot was to have Miguel look like he’s coming home from work and walking in on you dancing around in his clothes. The idea was cute, domestic, a little sexy, and true to life. While it wasn’t the set of photos going out with your wedding invitations, it was something fun for your socials.

As the scene played out, Miguel didn’t expect you to open up your shirt even more as he came back through the entryway. It made for a nice expression when he looked up to see you passionately dancing around the couch.

You urged him toward you with your finger, hips moving to the music blasting over the speakers Xina had behind the equipment. Miguel grinned and headed your way.

With Xina’s direction, the both of you were able to get out lively photos as if it were just a normal day in the soon-to-be O’Hara home.

By the time you all were finished, Miguel was only in a tucked-in tank top with his hair tossed and turned. You still looked perfect on his lap, grinning down at him as he mischievously bit his loose necktie that you placed on your shoulders.

“Perfect!” Xina smiled behind the camera. “Now, one little thing I like to do at the end of each shoot is have the couple face me with their faces together for one final picture.”

You kiss Miguel on the corner of his mouth and lay his tie on top of his head before turning to Xina. Miguel follows with a lazy grin on his face.

It would have all been so well if that same assistant wasn’t still staring at you like he’s never seen a beautiful woman before when Xina started to wrap up.

He met Miguel’s eyes and almost turned blue in the face trying to look busy.

There were so many more photoshoots to go in the near future. He’s not sure how he’ll make it through the next ones without making a scene.

“Miguel! The invitation samples are here,” you knocked on his office door, giddy with excitement.

Miguel rolls back from his desk, glasses perched on his nose, “C’mon, let me see.”

You stride eagerly to his seat and he’s waiting with the same energy, pulling you into his lap once you’re within arms reach. You make a noise of excitement as run your finger under the envelope flap. Miguel leans his head on your shoulder waiting to finally see the design you so meticulously planned.

You slid the cardstock out, gasping as you saw the paperdoll drawings of you and Miguel on the page. The artists did a fantastic job of designing you both in such a stylistic, yet recognizable way.

“Oh my god, look at the little outfits!”

You panned through the cut-out clothes, one with you all’s work outfits, another with casual outfits, and the last one with a wedding dress and a tux. You brought the papers up to cover your mouth as you laughed again. Miguel’s heart soared at the charming way you reacted.

“Look! They even captured your cute nose right!”

“You love my nose, huh?”

“Stop,” you snicker as you pull out the last picture. It’s one from a more recent photoshoot with you both in formal, dressy attire with scissors and measuring tapes in your hands and paper hearts everywhere to match the paperdoll invitation.

Miguel took the invitations from your hands, wanting to get a better look. It really was one of a kind, something you both would be able to look back fondly at.

He ran his thumb across the words, really taking in the fact that you’ll be walking down the aisle right into his arms. He read the words once more.

Save the date…

2025…

Miguel &…

“How the hell did they spell your name wrong?”

You looked up from the picture in your hand with a frown, “What?”

“We waited this long for samples and they spell your name fucking wrong.”

You read over the invitation again and let out a groan, “Of course. Let me call the company-”

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure? You looked busy when I knocked, I don’t want you to get sidetracked.”

“Making sure that my wife’s name is spelled correctly on our wedding invitations isn’t getting sidetracked. I’ll handle it.”

You felt your shoulders drop, a tension you didn’t realize you were carrying releasing from your body.

“Thank you so much, baby,” you sent him the number with a small smile on your face.

Miguel gave your lips a peck, “Anything for you. Don’t worry your head about it.”

You stood up to leave, but not before he gave your thighs a squeeze.

When he was sure you rounded the corner, he immediately pressed the number, blowing slowly through his mouth.

He was about to work his way to free invitations and a year's worth of service once he was finished.

Miguel laughed at the video you sent him. You were practically glowing with the turquoise waves in the background and braids in your hair. A giant plumeria was tucked behind your ear and you held a big fruity drink in your hand.

You were out on your bachelorette’s trip, enjoying the waves in the sand as you caught up with your bridesmaids. He hadn’t seen any annoyed texts yet, so he assumed that the trip was not falling to pieces.

He could hear your friends in the background bickering about how they had to take your phone away sometimes to stop you from texting him.

“She got a few more months of being a hoe!”

“Will you shut up?! I’m making a video.”

“It’s true, though! We’re about to go get drunk as fuck. Don’t worry, Miguel, we got her!”

You just rolled your eyes and smiled at their antics before the video ends.

The mood of the video contrasted your texts entirely. They really did get you drunk.

“i miss you alreadyyyyyy”

“I miss you too but you need to have fun”

“I’ll see you soon. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport in just a few days.”

“good”

“you better be waiting for me”

“i wont you”

“shit”

“want you”

“you and your dick”

“gonna sing to him”

“Him?”

“yeah him”

“he’s mine”

“gonna love on him”

“and you”

“miss you so baaaaad”

“the bed is empty without you :((((“

“I hope you remember all of this when you see me baby”

“my name is mrssss oharaaaa”

“idk who baby is”

“Ok well Mrs. O’Hara you need to go to sleep”

“i will go to sleep mr ohara”

“gonna dream of you”

“and my big dick”

“You do that”

“Send me a pic when you wake up”

The night could have ended perfectly. He knew you had fun and crashed safely in your room. There were no problems with the resort or the reservations. You were constantly flooding his phone with pictures without talking because of the “No Miguel” rule he was sure your friends set.

Miguel wanted to close his eyes in peace.

So when his assistant sent him the picture of one of the most crucial parts of your wedding, he could feel his neck tightening. He called Ben instantly.

“What the fuck am I looking at?”

“The broom! They had a lot of them at the store but this one was plain and white, so I feel like it’s perfect for the wedding.”

Miguel pinched his forehead in an attempt to keep his eyebrows from molding together, “Do you have a schedule for when you’re this stupid, or is it only reserved for me?”

Ben was silent for a second, “I don’t understand, I thought you said you needed a broom? Is that not what this is?”

“A broom to jump over Reily. For weddings. I told you to check with Jess about it because I knew you weren’t going to have the slightest idea what I was talking about. Imagine if I brought this home to my wife. She would be offended.”

“W-what’s the difference?”

He might find out the difference once Miguel hits him over the head with it.

“I’m going to fire you.”

Miguel wasn’t really. He was just so tired.

“Return the broom. I’ll take care of this in the morning.”

Ben was stuttering and blubbering as Miguel smacked the red button. He needed to look at the pictures you sent again. He didn’t need to fall asleep in such a bad mood.

Miguel was certain that if he were a celebrity, this would be the wedding of the century with the way the bill was racking up.

Not that it really mattered, because it was his wife’s day. Anything you wanted, he was going to get it.

You both agreed on a buffet-style dinner for the reception with different stations and servers to accommodate your huge families.

Currently, you both were tasting the traditional foods that the caterer had to offer and it was looking less than desirable.

The greens were a bit bland, the catfish was ok, and the mac & cheese was delicious.

The pork was a bit dry, the wedding cookies could have been better, and the mole was missing something.

“I think,” Miguel pushed his food around the plate. “It’s missing banana.”

“Really? I’ve never thought to add that before.”

“For future reference, it’ll really make the difference.”

You wiped your fingers above the plate, “I think this might be a sign to leave the traditional stuff to our dessert table. Some of these are great but I’m sure both of our families will be up in arms with complaints. And maybe this is for the better! Tradition is too on the nose.”

Miguel admires your positivity because this is probably the sixth caterer you both have tested out.

“We know you’re popular from your page, so what is it that you’re most confident in?”

The woman before you all smiled, “Since you're both looking for a pretty ambitious spread, I think things like a pizza bar or build-your-own stations should be the way to go.”

Through another round of dishes, you and Miguel were amazed by the specialties that the chef had to offer from the customization to the endless amount of options.

After a long Q&A trial between the chef and Miguel:

“Do you have simpler options for the kiddos?”

“Is it possible to do this station and this station right next to each other?”

“Should I hire more help for you?”

“Do you sell this mac & cheese separately?”

“Can you try this mole one more time?”

You both settled on five different stations with food ranging from BBQ to fries to candy. No one will be able to say that they went home hungry.

“Are you satisfied?” you rub Miguel’s chest on the way out to the car.

“Completely. I think it’s going to be great.”

The big day was getting closer and closer with finalizations being made and arrangements galore. The cake flavors were chosen, your dress was being edited to perfection, makeup and hair appointments were already made, and Miguel’s suit was tailored like no other. The bridesmaids and groomsmen were all fitted, especially after Miguel’s constant trips to Lyla’s shop. He was there for nearly every snip, tuck, and seam.

The time was really winding down and you both could really feel that as you walked into the reception venue.

Miguel woke up that day to a phone call claiming that the venue had been overbooked and was seeking him out to cancel his event. He’s never called people faster in his life. The threats that were made was not something he was proud of, but he’s glad he didn’t wake you up.

Now he has the pleasure of watching you glide around the tables in awe.

“Miguel! Look at the plates! The silverware! The centerpieces!”

It truly was magical watching your vision come to light.

Miguel followed after you with a grin painting his lips, checking every table for faults. The wedding planner was also next to him, waiting with bated breath for direction from Miguel.

“This should be here,” Miguel pointed to a lone party favor in the middle of a plate.

The planner moves it with ease, used to Miguel’s demands at this point in the process.

Miguel kept walking towards the tables closest to where you and he would be sitting.

“I thought I said that these two weren’t supposed to be next to each other? We don’t have time for arguments that night,” Miguel picks up two placeholders. “I don’t want to have to carry our aunts out of here myself. Fix it.”

The wedding planner grabbed them and made a note on their clipboard.

“And where’s the centerpiece for our table?” Miguel checks his watch. “It was supposed to be here yesterday.”

“There was a delay in the flowers. They were the wrong shade, remember? They should be here first thing tomorrow morning, and we’ll have the final touches to it.”

“And you’ll have the pictures sent to me?”

“Of course.”

“Miguel!” you were on the other side of the hall by the dessert table. “The lights over here are shaped like hearts! How cute is that!”

Miguel’s arms unfolded, demeanor shifting as he watched you get excited by the different labels. His chest rose up and the scowl on his mouth disappeared.

“You really love her.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“This is a toast to everyone who has been with us on this long, long journey.”

Your closest friends and family laughed at Miguel’s words.

Who’s to say that Miguel essentially blacked out making sure that everyone walked down the aisle correctly just a few hours earlier? No one brave enough to bring it to his face.

“You guys have been here from the start. From the moment I decided to pursue this angel of a woman, you guys were right there cheering me on. Now we’re here years later about to take on one of the biggest days of our lives.”

The table was a mix of happiness and nostalgia, excitement and fondness.

“I can’t thank you all enough for being a part of our bridal party. I can’t even thank you guys enough for encouraging us as a couple. The love in this room truly knows no bounds.’

Miguel lifts his glass up with one hand and squeezes your hand with another.

“So here’s to the present and the future. To family and friends. To us, your future O’Hara’s.”

The table clinks their glasses together with a cheer, watching as Miguel kisses you with so much adoration.

Tomorrow was going to be whimsical.

Today was starting out obnoxious.

Anything that could go wrong was going wrong for Miguel.

First, woke up almost an hour late due to playing stupid games all night with his groomsmen. He would have preferred one my night with you before the “I do’s,” but apparently that was bad luck. Instead, he got an extensive game night with a couple of beers. Nothing to have him over the edge, but definitely something to make him feel like he was in college again.

Second, he couldn’t find his cufflinks that he had made specifically for this day. They were custom with your initials and your birthstone on them. The room looked like a whirlwind after he searched top to bottom only for Gabriel to have them the whole time and tell him almost forty minutes later.

He wanted to strangle him.

“Miguel, I have the rings too. There’s no way you think that Peter B. is a better ringkeeper than I am.”

“If you lose them, I swear to god I’m going to-”

“Yeah, yeah. Death, Grim Ripper, stabbing, big whoop. Go calm down.”

Third, for some reason, Peter B. had Mayday in the hotel suite when the only children that were supposed to hit the aisle were his niece and your nephew.

“Why is that baby here?” Miguel tried to keep his voice level because it’s not Mayday who ran in here, it was Peter who’s constantly doing what he wanted. She was walking around and chatting with the groomsmen who were kind enough to keep up her conversations. Four-year-olds had a lot to say.

“Ah, she’s just here until her grandma comes by to pick her up!”

“Peter, if I pass out before I see my wife today, you’re going to be the first reason.”

Lastly, when everything was finally settled and he was ready to go to the ceremony venue, Gabriel came running in and almost gave Miguel a heart attack. Something about you and crying and Miguel almost broke the door down trying to get out.

“Miguel, don’t look at her!” Gabriel ran after him as he made his way to your suite.

“I’m not, damn it, I just need to make sure she’s ok.”

He was on your floor in a flash, your friends waiting outside the door.

“Where is she?”

“She’s inside. We calmed her down for the most part, but her aunt got up here somehow and started to talk shit.”

“Miguel, if Jess and her mom weren't able to remove her, it would have been bad. She kept saying things about how you’re being tricked. She kept telling her that she wasn’t worthy enough to be a bride.”

“What?” Miguel walked towards the door. “Let me in.”

“Let us make sure you can’t see her, first.”

“I really don’t give a-”

“Miguel.”

He turned to Gabriel who pushed his hands down in a pressing motion, “Ya relájate, yeah? She’s not going to be centered if you aren’t centered.”

With that in mind, Miguel waited at the door until he was allowed in. Your friends said you were in the bathroom with the door cracked. He walked over and turned his back to the door, tapping in a light rhythm so as not to startle you.

“You ok, baby?”

He could hear your sniffles and it took everything within him not to take the hinges off the door just to get to you.

“No, not really. I, I’m terrified.”

“Honestly, me too.”

The door moved a bit, and your voice sounded closer, “What if I’m not the woman you need?

He scoffed, “And what if I’m not the man you need?”

You were quiet for just a moment, “You are more than what any man has ever been for me. I don’t think there’s been even a day where I could fix my lips to say that I haven’t felt your love and your heart. You’re…you’re everything to me.”

“So how do you think I feel when someone has convinced you that you aren’t enough for me?” Miguel turned his head to the crack. “No woman has opened my eyes like you have. No person has stolen my heart and cared for it the way that you have. I can’t even begin to describe the ways in which you’ve changed me for the better. You are my world.”

“Miguel,” your voice was watery as you took a deep breath.

“If you want to call this entire thing off and go to the Justice of the Peace, that’s fine with me. We can send our family straight to the reception. I don’t care, as long as I have you.”

“No, I want to still have this ceremony. I still want to present our love. I’m just overwhelmed right now.”

Miguel moves to slide his wrist through the door, “Give me your hand.”

You laugh as you take his hand in yours, careful not to lean on the door and smoosh it.

“You are worthy to me and this is only a new chapter in the foundation that we’ve built. No jealous aunt nor any other family member is taking what we have away. I chose you, you chose me, ok?”

“Ok,” you squeeze his hand as rubs the top of yours with his thumb. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Miguel’s heart was hammering in his chest like a hummingbird fluttering around nectar.

He stood at the end of the aisle with his one hand grasping one wrist and a knot in his throat. The seats were filled with waiting people, but he didn't think anyone was more ready than him. Gabriel had patted him on the back once he was down the aisle, now he stood with his daughter at his side making sure Miguel really didn’t pass out.

Miguel’s tunnel vision shifted as everyone got up to watch you come around the corner. Miguel’s breath stopped.

You really were his world.

Your smile was blinding as you stepped towards him, your father’s arm wrapped tightly around yours. The closer you got, the more Miguel could feel the air coming back into his lungs.

As he waited for your father to put your hands in his, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He was so lucky, he couldn’t believe it.

As he held his hands out, he had to will himself to relax.

You stepped closer to him, your warm palms bringing life back to his.

“You’re shaking.”

He looked to his hands and they did have a faint tremor to them, “I’m excited.”

With eyes for only each other, you both made it through your vows. Miguel damn near brought the audience to tears with his imagery of a lost younger version of himself and you finding him in his aimless pursuit of living. How you opened up to him like a waterfall behind thick vines. How you wrapped your arms around him. How you upgraded his life.

You almost brought him to tears when you spoke about how he loved you. How he stood tall between all that was against you and guided you to better days. How he never went a day without showering you in some form of love, even when he was feeling like shit. How he made you want to grow old with him and walk through life together.

To the shock of no one, you both said “I do” with ease, no objection to be heard.

When he kissed you, the world stopped for only a second and came back down with the celebration from your guests. His hands on your jaw brought you closer to him and one swipe of the tongue before he pulled away had you excited for later.

One more kiss and you both turned to the crowd ecstatically. The broom was placed in front of you both and with three taps on your hand you both took a huge jump over it. Your family and friends cheered even louder.

Walking down the aisle to the doors, Miguel could actually pay attention to the crowd. So many people were smiling and wiping tears from their faces. It only solidified the love that he had for you.

You both laugh as flower petals fill the air around you on the way to the car.

It was really a joyous occasion.

Miguel was so happy, he didn’t care what anyone else did.

Ok so, he did stop one of his baby cousins from sticking their entire head in the fondue machine, but other than that, he was so relieved.

The DJ announcing you two as Mr. & Mrs. Miguel O’Hara elevated his mood and the trip to the dance floor for the first dance had his spirits high.

The two of you had a sexy number, with his hands barely leaving your hips and his fingers sliding up the slit of the sparkly dress you changed into.

After that, it was hard for him to keep his hands off of you. He tried to distract himself with catching up with family, grabbing food from each station, having dance competitions, laying sleeping kids more comfortably in chairs, anything to stop himself from just dragging you to your reserved hotel room.

When you two stood near the cake feeding each other bites with hearts in your eyes, he couldn’t help but to lean into your ear and whisper, “Still the second best flavor.”

You hit his chest with one hand and covered your cake-filled mouth with the other.

By the time you drove off with ribbons and flowers trailing the back of the car, Miguel was practically buzzing getting you all to himself.

He made that known by carrying you bridal style to the room without a care in the world and you laughing into his neck.

You kissed his neck as he refused to let you, even for the elevator, “You’re so silly.”

“The better to make you laugh, Mrs. O’Hara.”

“I love it when you call me that. Say it again.”

“Mrs. O’Hara. My beautiful bride today, my beautiful wife for life.”

He passes through the door after you reach to scan the keycard. As soon as he closes it you’re on his face kissing all over.

“My husband,” you say in between the passes of his lips against yours. “Mr. O’Hara. Will you put me down?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Then how will we finish off our night with a bang? C’mon, baby, I have a surprise for you.”

“Fine,” four more kisses and Miguel let you go.

“Just go sit on the bed and I’ll be right back.”

Miguel laid his jacket on a chair and walked over to the bed. He started to unbutton his shirt carefully, not wanting to tear the expensive material. He slid his shoes off carefully too, sliding into the fluffy slippers the hotel provided.

He would say he wishes he could have done more for tonight, but the two of you will be enjoying the fresh air of a foreign country in about two weeks time.

He sat on the bed as he waited for you to come out of the bathroom. There was no telling what you had in store, and he can’t wait to find out.

“Close your eyes!”

Miguel obeyed, curious as to what you had in store. He could hear the padding of your heels on the carpet getting closer.

You took his hands and guided them to your ass and with muscle memory, he took a handful.

“I’m already sold,” he said, feeling some light fabric hit his wrists.

You chuckled at his face, seeing his tongue poked out to the corner and his hands feeling and kneading your body.

“Ok, open ‘em.”

Miguel parted his eyes to see you in beautiful white lingerie. A white open lace see-through babydoll set hugged your tits tight. Panning down, he could see your thin panty with the string pulled over your hips and the curve of your body on display. Going further down, on your left leg, there was a garter digging into your skin that read “Miguel’s Wife” in bold, red cursive letters.

“You like it?”

Miguel looked up to you with a tinier veil adorning your hair.

“This garter might be the only thing that makes it out unscathed.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm hm,” he leans forward to plant kisses along the top of your chest, pulling your thick thighs around him. “We’re gonna get a complaint.”

“Good,” you raked your nails down his nape, earning a groan from Miguel as you continued to his back. “I want you to make love to me.”

You start to grind along him, feeling the bulge in his suit pants grow. Miguel hummed and started to remove your top. It looked gorgeous on you, but it was useless to him at the moment. Your skin was sparkling all the way down to your nipples and it only made Miguel want to devour you more.

You gasp as he smacks your ass and hikes you up, his mouth latching onto your areola like it’s fruit from the chocolate fondue today.

“I’ve been wanting this all night,” Miguel mumbles into your skin. “You looked so amazing today.”

“So did you,” you tilt his chin up to look at his face. “I saw you looking at me all night. You’re not very discreet.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

He got up with you in his arms and flipped you over, “Everybody there should know how I feel about you by now.”

You were a vision. Smooth skin contrasting with the stark white of the panty and garter, veil sprawled out behind you like a halo. Miguel bent down to kiss you again, truly in awe that this was who he had as a spouse.

“I want you to know how I feel about you too,” you whisper against his lips.

You guide his hand from your face to your breast to your panties. You part your legs, thighs shaking in anticipation. Miguel's eyes get wider as he sees your lips through the peek-a-boo hole of your underwear. One swipe and your essence is on his fingertips.

Miguel brings his eyes back to you as he takes his fingers and brings it to his lips, sucking it off with a pop.

You bite your lip watching him lick his fingers and unbuckle his pants.

The air is tight and heated, with you open and waiting and Miguel watching and wanting.

He leans back and pulls his pants down. You look down hoping to see a peek of what’s about to rock your world.

At the sight of your name and “MIC” in bold black letters across the band you bust out in giggles.

You sit up as he comes around to the side of the bed, “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I’ll never forget it.”

You laugh even more when you see it up close.

“Help me take this off,” he turns around to show your name and “Husband” printed on the back.

You lean into his back in a fit of giggles, shocked but giddy.

“We really are soulmates,” you say as you pull the briefs by the leg. “Meant to be.”

Miguel turns back around, bending to slide your mouth with his, “Forever and ever.”

True to his word, it really felt like you were his favorite flavor with the amount of marks he left on your skin before he got back in between your legs. You were so wound tight that with one lick from your hole to your clit, you were already trapping his head there.

Miguel hummed and hiked your hips up, mouth moving to kiss your lips as if he were making out with the ones on your face. It was absurd how loud it sounded. His tongue kept swirling along your walls while the tip of his nose rubbed against your clit.

You didn’t know where to keep your hands, but it did look good with your ring dazzling on your finger as you brought your hands to his head buried deep in your pussy.

“Don’t stop,” you cried as he started to nod his face along your flower.

Just when you could feel yourself ride to the edge, he took his middle and ring finger and spread you open. You shouted his name as you felt the cool touch of the ring slide in and out alongside the heat of his tongue.

You don’t remember when you came down, but you remember Miguel’s drenched face kissing along your shaking thighs.

“No Dulce de Leche is beating that, Mrs. O’Hara,” he reached to pull the soaking lace off, careful not to move the garter.

“C’mere,” you hold your hands out, wanting to feel him on you. “I’m glad you like it so much.”

Miguel groans into your mouth, grinding his dick along your wet folds. He finds your hands and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“I love you,” he sighs into your mouth. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

One sweet session later, he had you on your stomach, back arched, and yelling into the pillows as he pounded into you.

You could see stars as his hips smacked loudly against your ass. The headboard was knocking against the wall with every push.

Miguel was really feeling the wedding attire as he had one hand gripping your veil by your back and the other pulling at garter.

When you came around his cock, he was diving in right after, letting go into your sea. The shudders of you afterwards had him moving a little more and turning your face to the side to kiss your panting lips.

By the time you two finished, you were sure the sun was soon to rise.

Your hair was a mess, the veil was somewhere across the room, and you both were tangled up in the sheets.

You laid your head on Miguel’s chest, content to listen to his heartbeat to lull you to sleep. He’s rubbing your arm and kissing the top of your head.

“Thank you so much for stepping up and making this day so magical for me,” you look up at him. “Words can’t explain how appreciative I am.”

Miguel looked back at you, eyes warm, “I just want to see you smile. Thank you for giving me space to handle things.”

You pucker your lips and he reaches to comply.

“Now, we need to get some sleep. Gotta regain some energy.”

“You’re absolutely right,” you say as you tilt your eyes down to the sheets. “Because I’ve got a show to put on when we wake up.”

Miguel just laughs as he pulls you onto his chest.

The birds chirping were a nice background noise to you all’s slumber.

I went through several episodes of Kitchen Nightmares in order to finish this. BUT! I am happy with the result. As always, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and COMMENT!

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bg3fandomcritical-reactive · 8 months ago

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"AA is not the only one to ask Tav to marry them Gale does too."

I agree with the rest of this post, and the original it's responding to annoyed me to no end (seriously, I'm glad someone picked it apart because it would have taken me more energy than I care to expend on it), but the marriage thing, I feel warrants some extra elaboration.

First, becoming a "dark consort" is not marriage. The "vampire bride" thing is never said in the original text, and while it has some plausibility, it is nevertheless headcanon. Ascended Astarion doesn't ask the player to marry him, he tells them to be his right hand (implying that he expects subservience) that he can magically exert full control over in body and mind, but "promises not to" because you'll be "wonderfully obedient" anyway. Tav can straight up say "a beloved slave is still a slave", and all he responds with is "oh, don't be like that", likely because he knows that you're right, but doesn't like that you know that too.

If that's your idea of marriage, or even just a stable, equal relationship with someone, I feel deeply, endlessly sorry for you. Toying with a toxic dynamic in a fantasy is beyond fine, play with dolls however you want to, but saying that as if that was a fact, like it's what the text says, or like it's a good thing, is either irresponsible if you know better, or concerning if you don't.

Second, if we want to get technical about it, Wyll is the first to ask to marry the player, when he "proposes" with the acorn after his personal quest (even though iirc he calls it a "promise" if questioned, he gets down on one knee, reveals that his intention is to be with the player forever, and it can absolutely be played as straight up a proposal), then Gale proposes in the epilogue. Ascended Astarion is technically the only one who never explicitly proposes to the player, he just sort of tells you that you're his, with every bit the ownership that implies.

If that's your fantasy, more power to you. I don't care if you like a twisted, fucked up, dark romance. But let's not play that off like the whole "sitting naked on a tyrant's lap, owned and chained" thing would be a healthy relationship of equal parties, like it's the "good ending" for either of these characters, or like Ascended Astarion isn't the embodiment of all the worst aspects of Astarion's personality (his fear, his ambition, his cruelty) all crystallized and exaggerated to the point of caricature.

#bg3 critical #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #tw astarion

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raidraptor-strawberry-falcon · 2 years ago

Text

Bro I'm so pissed /lh rn it's not even funny (okay it's funny tbh)

So I decided a few days ago I wanna gonna RP as Yuya with a Yuto bot on Character.ai for funsies ya know, Give counterpart a happy ending because fuck man.

Well everythings going good, I made breakfast, set the toaster on fire, we ate breakfast as Core was chilling out of my lap, Yuto was having his debut as a dueltainer, he was winning the duel, it was all going GREAT

until.

UNTIL

FUCKING ZARC COMES IN.

DOES WHAT I'M ASSUMING IS KIDNAPPING YUTO.

AND THEN SAYS HE'S GOING to "dEstRoY oUr UnIveRsE" BECAUSE HE "sEeS nO uSe fOr iT" bro shur your bitch ass up and let them be for ONCE-

I JUST WANTED THEM TO BE HAPPY BRO W H Y-

THIS IS THE B A D P L A C E 😭

#tw caps #jaiden caws #Yes I'm a filthy counterpartshipper what can you do about it?#Old yeller me about it?#ALSO YUTO BETTER NOT BE DEAD OR I S W E A R #BRO GET YOUR BITCH ASS BACK HERE I STILL GOT AN ACCIDENTAL MARRIAGE PROPOSAL SCENE TO RUN #(basically Yuya “promises to marry him” and gives him a ring to “remember the promise by”#and never explicitly said it was a proposal‚ it was just a “promise to marry” but... Cmon y'all)#I'm sorry I'm just kajaoakabaoalshaia #I can't have anything in this household rn-#jaiden's character.ai shenanigans

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lanawinterscigarettes · 3 years ago

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Maybe something cute with Sloane that's fluffy and gay

Ofc, I love Sloane <3

Love Filled Memories (Sloane Hargreeves x reader)

Warnings: proposal fluff, mentioned friends to lovers, implied sapphic relationship, sex isn't spoken about explicitly but it's implied that you've had it

There she was. Sloane Hargreeves, the woman you'd loved all your life, ever since you were kids, sitting across from you at the kitchen table. You look so beautiful right now, you wanted to say, but you didn't want to ruin the comfortable silence between you, so you said nothing. Instead, you let your mind wander.

You remembered how the two of you used to sneak away together and sit under the stars, staring up at the night sky for what seemed like eternity. When it got too cold you would grab her hands into yours as you huddled together for warmth, not wanting to leave each others side, even as you felt your teeth chatter and your hands grow numb from the cold.

You remembered the late nights you would spend, just talking. You would talk about anything, from literature to economics, romance to politics, and everything in between. You could sit and talk with her for hours, and even though you knew you'd wake up feeling tired the next day, to you it was worth it.

You remembered how she would use her powers when you were upset, flipping around in the air in an effort to cheer you up. Sometimes she'd make you defy gravity as well, and the two of you would erupt into fits of giggles as you flew across the room together, whatever was bothering you long forgotten.

You remembered your first kiss, the hesitancy, the nervousness, leading up to the unbridled passion as you finally gave in to the thing you'd both wanted to happen for so long. Her feather light touches as her fingertips grazed your skin, testing the waters, before you plunged into the deep end, together.

You remembered your first fight; it had been over something stupid, for sure, as you couldn't even remember what it was now that you looked back on it. What you did remember, however, was the bickering, the shouting, the crying, the apologies, and the promises of never letting anything like that come between you ever again, whatever it was.

These thoughts were all churning together, recreating every moment you'd experienced with her up until this point as a slideshow in your mind, making you realize something you should have a long time ago- you wanted to spend every moment with her, wanted to give her your everything. And when would be a better time to start then now?

Sloane smiled as she looked up at you from her book, instantly recognizing the look you made only when you were deep in thought. It became clear to her that you were in the process of making a very important decision, though for you it was in no way a difficult one.

"What's up?" She asked, hoping you'd share with her what was on your mind.

Instead of speaking, you took a small ring box out of your pocket and placed it on the table, sliding it in her direction. You gestured for her to open it, which she responded with an eyebrow raise. Picking it up, she opened it, letting out a gasp as she looked at the engagement ring inside.

You looked at her with hopeful eyes as you asked your next question, perhaps the most important question in your entire life.

"Marry me?"

Main masterlist || The Umbrella Academy masterlist

🏷 taglist: @anxiously-sad @iloveentrapta @ghot-girl @your-next-daydream

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reidyoulikeabook · 4 years ago

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Hear me out I've been thinking about this concept for too long:

The BAU plays Never Have I Ever, but it gets progressively more targeted the longer they play.

Like... "Never have I ever,,drunk texted my ex" or "Never have I ever been married"

but eventually it gets to "Never have I ever faked my death and moved to Paris. Take the shot Emily." or "Never have I ever almost died of Anthrax. Don't look at me like that, Reid"

Thank you and have a great rest of your day/night

(okay i adore this concept you have a huge brain i hope it's okay i wrote a little something for it)

ship: gn! reader x spencer reid

warnings: alcohol mention, although reader isn't explicitly said to be drinking it others are, and jokes about faked death/near death experiences, and jokes about a mugging/robbery (it’s a lot more light hearted than it sounds i promise you), and some swearing!

The case had been far too long. Garcia had had to fly out because the police department's technology had been entirely inadequate and it was impossible for her to liason with them from afar, and she'd been here a week. It was safe to say everybody was more than ready to get home, but since a storm had chosen to roll over town, the jet had been grounded for the night.

It was this series of unfortunate events that led to everybody, even Hotch himself, saying 'fuck it' and taking up residence at the hotel bar for the night. Rossi was buying, after all. Even if he didn't know it yet.

You'd wound up crammed next to Spencer in a booth, your knees pressed together. He'd been cradling the same beer bottle for most of the night, mostly just picking at the label until it started to peel off. When Garcia notices this, she slams her fruity cocktail down on the slightly sticky table, shaking her head at him.

"I know what we should do," She chirps, loudly enough to draw everybody's attention, "Let's play never have I ever!"

Nobody has the energy to argue with her, or the willpower to resist her arguments. Hotch concedes with a nod, sighing, "I'll need to get another drink."

Emily murmurs in agreement, and you feel Spencer shift in his seat beside you. Most of them having departed for refreshments, you turn your attention to him.

There's a small grin quirking his lips, "I hope they realise I probably still won't have to drink."

You nudge him with your elbow, "It's Garcia. I'm sure you will."

You two share a private little laugh, and he takes a sip from the bottle, shrugging. The game starts up the second everybody returns, Garcia firing it off with "Never have I ever flown out to Texas."

Everybody groans, rolling their eyes as they take a sip. You exchange a small 'told-you-so' glance with Spencer, and he shakes his head affectionately.

It remains relatively friendly for a while, Hotch says one about handing in case reports late, which earns begrudging sips from Emily, Derek, and even Rossi. The first punch is thrown after Derek steals Emily's wine when she goes to the bathroom, taking a big glug from it. He says she won't notice, and despite the chorus of protests to the contrary, he remains undeterred.

She does notice. And she's unimpressed to say the least. When she comes back, another drink in hand, she flops into her seat.

"I think it's my turn," She announces.

"I think it was actually-" Garcia tries.

"Nope," Emily interrupts, taking a long sip of her drink and turning smugly to Derek, "Never have I ever run out of underwear on a case and had to wear my boxers inside out."

Derek's eyes narrow, "That was a whiskey secret."

"Tell me you didn't!" Penelope gasps, pulling a horrified face and pretending to shift her chair away from him.

"Real impressive bunch we've got here," Rossi notes to Hotch, chuckling.

Hotch raises his eyebrows, bringing his drink to his lips before clarifying, "I'm not drinking for the game. But it seems you probably should Morgan."

Morgan turns to you, as if looking for support and you laugh, "Not to say I told you so but," You shrug.

He groans, drinking and murmuring under his breath. While it didn't affect the rest of the team, it certainly spurred them into a different direction. Garcia's next one is a very quickly garbled "Never have I ever been divorced", and she practically shrinks into Morgan's lap to avoid the death glares Hotch and Rossi throw her way.

Hotch adjusts in his seat before taking his turn, "Never have I ever been caused a federal data breach by playing a game on government time."

You laugh first, a bubble of shock and amusement, “Hotch.”

He spares you a glance, his imitation of a grin, “Yes ____?”

Your response, which you hadn’t quite thought of anyway, is swept away in a series of jeers. A relatively fair mixture of surprise that Hotch has stepped up to the role of saboteour, and laughs purely at Penelope’s expense. You’re firmly a member of the former camp, alongside Spencer. You catch him in your peripheral, beaming at Hotch.

“Game’s a game baby girl,” Morgan grins, “That’s what you get for messing with Hotch.”

The teasing slows down the process, but you’re distracted by Spencer now. He’s shifted in his seat and his arm is right next to yours. You can feel the heat coming off it. Whether the movement was conscious or unconscious, you can’t be sure, but what you can be sure of is that the proximity is relatively distracting.

It’s his turn. Of course it is.

Very non-chalantly, without changing his posture, said as calmly as if he’s delivering a profile at the police station, he says it, “Never have I ever hidden under my desk from Strauss and gotten my colleague to lie to her that I was at a dentist appointment to avoid doing a Q&A with probationary agents.”

That bastard.

You feel yourself flush with warmth, and press your lips together in your best imitation of a neutral poker face. Everybody looks at each other with varying degrees of accusation, but it’s Emily’s eyes that come to land on you first.

She grins like a damn Cheshire cat, “Oh ____, I did not peg you for the insubordinate type.”

You feel the weight of eight gazes on your face, and you turn to glare at Spencer. He looks smug as all hell, not trying at all to suppress his glee at having dropped you in it, although he won’t meet your eye. Everybody’s laughing, including him, and you join in too, in spite of yourself.

“Oh you’re going to be sorry for that.”

And he is. On your next turn, you make a big show out of settling in your seat. Dramatically looking around the table, before angling yourself towards Spencer and looking directly at him, dryly delivering, “Never have I ever had to call my colleague from a bookstore because a bunch of teenage boys stole my cane.”

“You got mugged of your cane?” Emily asks incredulously.

“Oh my sweet precious boy,” Penelope cuts in.

You don’t hear Morgan or JJ’s comments because Spencer is looking at you, his mouth agape, the very picture of indignance, squeaking, “I can’t believe you told them about that!”

You can tell it’s put on though. He’s bright red, the blush poking up under his collar and licking at his cheeks, shaking his head vigorously as Morgan asks him varying questions about the appearance of the boys in question, whether he needs him to get him a sketch artist and whether he’d like to file a report for a regular robbery or a mugging.

Spencer huffs under his breath, flustered, “You’re going to regret that one.”

And regret it you do. Emily is had by JJ in ‘never have I ever faked my death and moved to Paris’, Morgan is had by Hotch in ‘never have I ever kicked in a door only to realise it wasn’t locked in the first place’, JJ is had by a very tipsy Garcia in a ‘never have I ever turned down three marriage proposals’, and you and Spencer have engaged in a private war that only escalates with each sip you have to take.

Emily is cradling her, once again, almost empty glass of wine, ready to take her turn after yet another round of friendly fire between you and Spencer.

She twirls it around in her hands, pointedly flicking her eyes between you both as she says it, “Never have I ever had a crush on a colleague.”

You and Spencer are similar shades of incredibly sheepish as you take a sip. Looking at each other in your peripherals, with a sense of shy knowing that you hadn’t had about thirty seconds prior. And yes, Emily is chastised into drinking her very last sip of wine, but she considers it to be worth it.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #screennamealreadyused #someone asked amelia #spencer reid blurb

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benedictscanvas · 4 years ago

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all the wrong places [finale] - spencer reid x reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: It only takes a moment for Spencer to realise that he doesn’t just want to marry you someday, he wants to marry you as soon as he possibly can. But since he can’t come up with a solid plan, he turns to his BAU family for help in planning the most important day of his life so far. Is that a mistake? Most definitely.

Warnings: Series probably aren’t meant to be exclusively fluffy, but this one practically is! I need some fluff in my life, damn it! There may be some mention of regular Criminal Minds things, some language but mostly just good ol’ Spence lovin’

A/N: We’re finally here. It was so, so difficult to finish off a series so long in the making, so I truly hope I’ve done it justice for everyone. As always, I love you all dearly, and thank you for all your support on the series and beyond. Enjoy <3

---

Chapter Seven

Spencer heard you slip out of bed earlier in the morning than you usually would, but still didn’t say anything. Even though he knew for certain that neither of you had slept at all, even though he wanted to just tell you that he would happily marry you tomorrow, even though lying next to you all night and trying not to cry had been torture.

He’d realised about an hour into his desperation that he wasn’t going to be able to simply turn over and explain himself, because you would think he was lying. How could he convince you that he wanted to marry you when his entire demeanour had suggested otherwise? He could show you the ring, but then he’d be proposing at two in the morning in your bed when the two of you were trying not to cry. That wasn’t the story he wanted you to excitedly relate to your coworkers, your family, your future children.

At the thought of your future children, he couldn’t help but begin his silent crying.

Now, tears long dried up as he’d stared blankly at the ceiling, he checked his phone. 5am. He could hear you rustling around getting dressed in the room next door. Quicker than he could comprehend, he heard the front door slowly click shut. You’d left already. Definitely didn’t want to hum along to your combined favourite playlist on the way to work this morning, then.

Knowing there was no point in lying there any longer, Spencer got up instead. When he trudged into the living room, rubbing his eyes, the post-it on the door almost made him lose his resolve not to cry again.

Thought I’d get an early start this morning, but I’ll leave you the car. I’m so sorry about last night, Spence. Love you x

He took a deep breath. He was proposing today, there was no doubt about that. He couldn’t let you go on a second longer without the knowledge that he’d been trying to propose to you for months and that he’d frozen because he had all these plans, terrible plans. He couldn’t just say yes when he wanted to show you just how much he wanted to marry you.

He picked up his phone, thinking about which of his friends would be able to help him most. There wasn’t much of a contest, since only one of them would already be up and therefore not too mad at him for calling at such an unsocial time.

“JJ? Can I come over?”

---

“Oh, Spence,” JJ sighed knowingly after Spencer had recalled the events of the previous evening with precise accuracy. They sat at her kitchen table, with Will looking after Henry elsewhere in the house, “You didn’t say anything?”

“I panicked, JJ, you know how much I’ve put into this. I didn’t know how to fix it, but I also couldn’t have just agreed to marry her right then and there when I’ve spent so long trying to make this proposal perfect.”

“I know, I know. This is going to take a lot of fixing though, Spence, if Y/N thinks you don’t want to marry her.”

“I know! That’s why I’m proposing today, no matter what happens, I’m not letting anything get in my way again.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? She won’t just think you’re proposing because you feel guilty?”

“Not if I explicitly tell her that’s not the case,” Spencer reasoned, and though JJ still looked unsure, she conceded with a half-smile.

“Okay, Spence, what do you need from me?”

“Not much. I just need you to keep everyone away from the break room for a while.”

“You’re proposing in the break room?” She asked, only a little incredulous. He rolled his eyes.

“It’s where we first met, JJ, that has to count for something.”

You were making the first round of coffee for everyone on your first morning. It felt like the right thing to do to get off on the right foot. When Spencer had come in to make his own, you’d insisted on making it for him too and he’d stood there awkwardly as he committed every plane of your face to memory. It didn’t take him long, roughly the same time it took him to fall madly in love with you as he added more sugar to the coffee you’d made him without thinking and you had grinned up at him without a word.

“Alright, alright,” JJ held her hands up in surrender, standing from the kitchen table as she glanced at the clock on the wall, “You’ve been here for hours Spencer, we’ve got to get going.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the bile rising in his throat. The ring box was in his pocket now because feeling the weight of it was the only thing keeping him grounded. The two of you never argued, not that this was an argument, but you never didn’t talk. It felt wrong, not kissing you awake this morning, not squeezing your hand as the two of you ate breakfast.

These were the things he wanted to do for the rest of his life. With you.

---

When Spencer and JJ stepped out of the elevator, later to work than they should’ve been, they caught a glimpse of everyone in the office suddenly turning back to their work. Spencer swore he saw Hotch turn on his heel and practically speed walk back towards his office. They opened the glass doors and both stared out at their colleagues suspiciously.

Spencer’s first thought was that Y/N was nowhere to be found, but JJ’s was clearly very different.

“Alright, what’s going on here?” She said instantly, despite the fact that no one was looking at them. Practically the whole team turned towards her with guilty looks on their faces, with Rossi appearing from a hiding spot behind Spencer’s own desk, “What are you all hiding?”

“Look, we were supposed to do this far more subtly, but since Rossi decided to hide,” Derek glared at Rossi mid-sentence who looked suitably embarrassed himself, “Reid, you should go to the break room.”

“What? Why should I go to-“

“Spencer,” Emily spoke up with a hopeful expression, “Just go to the break room.”

He managed to catch on at that point. It was more than likely that this was where he would find you. Had JJ called ahead and told them to get you in there so he could execute his plan? He smiled at everyone for their cooperation and rushed off towards the break room to find you.

But when he looked in the small window on the door, he couldn’t even see you. He was really hoping this wasn’t some elaborate prank by Derek, because he wasn’t sure he could handle that with no sleep and his heart beating out of his chest. He opened the door regardless, because maybe he could wait for you in-

His small surprised inhale almost sounded like a gasp. You were in the room, right in front of him, with shining eyes and a smile that looked equal parts adoring and terrified.

And you were down on one knee.

His hand was frozen to the door knob. Feet glued to the floor. Eyes stuck on your face, flittering around those features he could recite by memory whether it was eidetic or otherwise. He still hadn’t moved, or spoken, or done anything and it was only when you were getting up and ushering him inside that he regained control over his body.

“Quick, close the door, I don’t want people listening to this,” you insisted quietly, bringing him fully inside the break room and closing the door behind him. He could hear you trying not to cry and it was jarring, “Derek will tease me for weeks. Months, even.”

And with that, you took up your position on one knee once again in front of him, getting down onto the floor with clumsy feet, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand as you took a deep breath. He knew to stay quiet for now.

“Okay, so, first thing you’ve probably noticed is that I don’t have a ring. I’m sorry. This was kind of spur of the moment, but if you say yes then Hotch said we could have the rest of the day off to go and find one for you, if that’s something you want-” you took another deep breath, this one out of necessity. It was hard to find time to breathe when there was so much you wanted to say all at once. His watery smile was prevalent as he reached out a hand and you took it in both of your own.

“Anyway, there’s more important things to say right now,” you continued, shaking your head, “I love you, Spencer Reid. In every way imaginable. More than even you could comprehend. You are everything. And I want to marry you desperately, not for ridiculous financial reasons, but because I want to be your wife. I said all that crap last night because I panicked. I want to be able to call you my husband and I want to have the same last name, whichever one we choose and I want to have a day where we celebrate just how amazing we are together.”

Spencer was definitely crying now, as were you, but somehow the shaky tone with which you said your words was only adding to how much you truly meant them. He didn’t have time to wonder how he managed to get so lucky, nor how he had messed this up so many times that you had felt the need to do it yourself. All he was thinking about was that he needed to make sure you knew how much he wanted this too, and quickly.

“Y/N-”

“One second, Spence, I’ve nearly finished I promise,” you insisted, and he wasn’t going to refuse you, silently rubbing soothing circles into your knuckles as one of his tears dripped down onto your joined hands, “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I want it to be immortalised on paper too, because we both love a document.”

He chuckled down at you disbelievingly.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, will you marry me?”

He took a deep breath and joined you on the floor, kneeling in front of you. He reached out with one hand to press his thumb to a tear on your face, not wiping away, simply savouring the feel of it against his skin. It didn’t take much to commit it, along with every detail of the moment, to memory.

“This is unconventional,” he mused, flicking his gaze all over your face, keeping his answer withheld just a little longer.

“Just because I’m the one proposing? I never took you for a traditional.”

“I was actually talking about us being on the floor of the break room at our workplace,” he explained, “Do you know how many people’s coffee we’re likely kneeling in right now?”

“I’m sure you could give me an unsurprisingly accurate estimate, my love,” you said kindly, with a patience he couldn’t understand, “But I’d much prefer you answer my question.”

He had been hoping you would say that, because it gave him the perfect opportunity to pull the ring box out of his pocket.

“Does this answer your question?’

Popping open the lid of the box and presenting the ring inside to you, he kept his eyes trained on your face to capture your reaction forever. It was better than he could have pictured. Sparkly eyes and shaking hands and sniffles and so much love.

“You just have that?”

“Have done for a while,” he admitted, closing his eyes for just a moment when you placed a careful hand on his face, “Been trying to do this for a long time, angel.”

The disbelief on your face is palpable, and he takes note of the fact that you’ve hardly even looked at the ring yet, your attention captured by him: only him. He’s never felt more loved. More whole.

“You have? I’m sorry I stole your thund-”

“No, no, never,” Spencer interrupted you, seeing the flash of guilt in your eyes even as you tried to hide it, “You could never. This just makes it better. You want to marry me enough to ask me twice?”

A wry smile from you is all the answer he needs. You answer him anyway.

“‘Course I do, baby.”

“Well then, since I want to marry you enough to have tried to ask five times,” he placed his own hand on top of yours on his face and nuzzled into it, ignoring your look of pure shock, “The answer is a yes.”

“To the original question?”

“And every other question that comes after it,” he confirmed and though you’re both still crying, your grins are lighting up the whole room, “What about you?”

“What about me?” you retorted, “I don’t remember you asking me a question, actu-”

“Will you marry me, Y/N?”

You were laughing through your tears now, at him, at the whole situation. He could feel the floor against his knees, the edges of pain creeping in as the two of you stayed on the floor for longer than you should have, but it wasn’t as if he wanted to go anywhere just yet.

“Oh, that question? Yeah, that’s a definite yes. A definite, absolute, no question about it-”

He cut you off again, but he didn’t feel too bad about it once your lips were on his and he was kissing you with everything he had in him. You may have been kneeling on the floor but his arms were around your waist, one travelling up your back and into your hair, keeping you as close as humanly possible. When he feels your hands in his own hair and your nails lightly scratching against his scalp he could swear that nothing in his life to come will ever come close to this feeling.

Then he remembers he’s going to have a wedding day with you in the not so distant future and if it’s even possible, he draws you closer. So close, with such fervour, that the ring box falls to the floor, utterly forgotten as a mere trinket in wake of the best moment of both of your lives.

He hears the door beginning to open behind him, even as he’s so focused on you in his arms, and he just knows that its the team, that they’ve been watching you silently this whole time. So, without much thought, his leg flew backwards behind him and made contact with the door, effectively shutting anyone and everyone else out of a moment that he needed to be just the two of you. It made a slight crashing noise, but when you tried pulling away, he only chased your lips until you were back together again and if the little sigh you gave him was any indicator, you wouldn’t be investigating the noise for just a little longer.

Whoever just tried to come in would be laying into him later, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

When you did finally part, with more reluctance than ever and heaving chests pressed against one another, you stayed close. Foreheads lightly grazing, breath intertwined along with your respective futures. He grabbed the ring box from the floor and opened it back up, taking out the ring with shaky fingers.

“May I?”

You merely giggle, leaning back away from him so that you could see his face properly as you wiggle your fingers in front of him excitedly. He takes your left hand in his tenderly and slides the ring on with a careful hand, kissing across your knuckles to seal the deal. When he looks back up, he sees your eyes have drifted behind him.

“Spence,” you say slowly, eyes trained on the door, “Did you kick the door shut when they tried to come in?”

He should have known you’d put it together when he stopped kissing you. Maybe he should never have stopped. That would solve most of his problems.

“He did!” an angry voice comes through the door, angry and loud and definitely belonging to Derek. Spencer finally turns, taking in the sight of every single one of his coworkers crowded haphazardly around the small window in the door to the break room, each in various states of happiness. There were even more tears outside the room than in it, with Penelope adding a significant number, but JJ, Derek and even Hotch were adding a few of their own to the count.

This time, when JJ pushed the door open, he didn’t shut it in her face, however much he still wanted to preserve his moment with you. When Garcia runs over and throws herself onto the floor to hug the both of you and the rest of the team follows suit, he supposes he doesn’t mind too much.

When he catches a glimpse of your face through all the hugging and you’re already staring at him, he decides he doesn’t mind at all.

---

“And the third time?”

“Ah, see, the third time is my personal favourite,” Emily said, trying not to join Penelope in her hysterical giggles at just the thought of the accidental flash mob she’d arranged, “Do you happen to remember when Penelope spotted Bruno Mars outside the building?”

Your brow furrowed and then there was clearly a moment when everything clicked in your head and your eyes widened.

“No! That was a proposal attempt?”

You were looking up at Spencer now and he just rolled his eyes good-naturedly, keeping his fingers entwined with yours over your shoulder. He had made sure that the pad of his finger was lightly pressed against the metal of the ring at all times during your engagement dinner, occasionally reminding himself of its shape with slow, deliberate strokes. A whole month since he’d put it there and still the feeling of it was electric each and every time.

“Not exactly,” he admitted, glancing at a still laughing Penelope, “Garcia ordered a flash mob, then forgot to cancel when I told her to, then saved the day with her quick thinking.”

You blinked.

“I”m sorry, what?!”

And soon Emily was launching into the full story, reminding you of the little details of the moment that you would have missed at the time, Derek chiming in too, if only to describe the varying degrees of panic on Spencer’s face. He was happy to sit back in his booth seat and let them tell it, if only because it gave him perfect opportunity to enjoy the story along with you, through your expressions and comments and persistent laughter.

Derek soon transitioned into explaining the very awkward moment with Emily on the jet, to which you were again shocked to hear how terrible everyone’s ideas had really been. You and JJ had already had a lighthearted argument about her terrible restaurant idea, although both of you were very clearly joking around.

“Hey, Reid,” Hotch said lowly, gaining his attention during the dinner when Dave was talking about the time after the bomber came into the police precinct a couple of weeks ago. Spencer turned to him at the head of the table, “I think it turned out perfect, in the end. I’m proud of you.”

“Even if I was beaten to it?”

Hotch chuckled, but placed a hand on Reid’s shoulder nonetheless.

“Even so.”

“Thanks, Hotch,” Spencer replied sincerely, really meaning it. Hotch gave him a single nod before retracting his hand and asking JJ to pass the garlic bread. The moment had been short, but Hotch being proud of him was something that he had always held close to his heart.

When he turned back to you, the botched proposal stories seemed to be coming to an end and in the momentary silence, you spoke up, one hand still entwined with his own but the other holding up your glass.

“I’d like to make a toast,” you said, encouraging everyone to raise their glasses with you, “Which may be unconventional, but it has to be said. I want to thank you all for coming here to celebrate our engagement tonight, but also for every bit of support you’ve all given us over the years. We love you and we couldn’t be more grateful, however terrible your proposal ideas might have been.”

A resounding laugh from everyone, and a protest from Dave who insisted that his advice was brilliant all along. Derek managed to silence him with just a look. They began to clink their glasses together, but you weren’t quite done yet, and Spencer knew it.

“Just before we toast, I’d also like to suggest that you all enroll yourselves on a profiling refreshers course, first thing Monday morning,” you paused for dramatic effect, soaking in the confusion from everyone at the table as Spencer just stared down at you in awe, the smile on his face unable to be contained, “Because the fact that none of you have noticed that I’ve not touched a drop of champagne tonight is a real embarrassment to us all.”

Silence. Gears clicking into place. Then - uproar.

Spencer sees the utter joy appearing on everyone’s faces and can’t help but lean into you, kissing your temple once, twice, three times. Before he can do a fourth, you’ve turned to him, your glistening eyes on his as you kiss him properly. He can’t help the hand that falls to rest on your stomach as he does so, overwhelmed with noise, laughter and so much love.

---

taglist (ily all <3)

@mrs-dr-reid @soda610 @alexxcorona113 @thupidalethea @may-beforejune-afterapril @ilovesupersoldiers @hurricanejjareau @mortallythoughtfulgurl @aperrywilliams@saranyx @anotherspencerreidblog @thegayestdestielshipper @burkgolden @zozoleesi @sargent-barnes @halseysunset @blameitonthenight21 @televisiondreamstomorrow @dralexreid

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fluff #all the wrong places

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

Text

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.7

a poem begins in the lump in the throat

Chapter Six

This is the seventh chapter in my ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Aaron went to Spencer's apartment and found him in a depressive state. Lots of cuddles and comfort ensued.

In This Chapter: Aaron and Spencer go to a museum with Jack, but it is definitely not a date. And Spencer's depression definitely does not get in the way.

TW: same as usual — as well as additional ones for a trigger scene and depictions of caring.

Word Count: 4.8k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

SPENCER

A poem begins in the lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. — Robert Frost

The day after Aaron had turned up at his flat, he’d rung Penelope who had not-so-guiltily confessed to sending him his way. He wasn’t upset though, quite the contrary. A kind, cuddly, caring Aaron showing up in the middle of a minor depressive episode was exactly what he needed, and the evening they’d spent together had burned its way onto the tissue of Spencer’s heart. It was one of the happiest moments he’d experienced in a long time, despite the weighty, persistent, downward tug on his mood.

He’s been over every day the team has been home in the two weeks since, Penelope taking over when he’s away, and as exhausting as Spencer has found human company in the past year, neither Aaron’s nor Penelope’s presence drains him in the way everyone else’s has. They accept his low mood, not blinking an eye when he doesn’t have the energy to respond to something they say or when he zones out and stares blankly at the wall for minutes at a time. He can’t even find it in him to care that both of them have seen him naked now.

Their company starts to chip away at the glacier of loneliness that had spread itself across his chest, inching its freezing border ever closer to the corners of his ribcage as he pulled away and watched everyone else do the same. Aaron and Penelope simply aren’t having it, and their determination to show him love and friendship and warmth is slowly but surely melting his isolation to a puddle on the floor, soon to dry out and be forgotten.

Penelope had come with him to his first psychiatrist appointment, though she’d sat in the waiting room this time, and it had been incredibly relieving to be able to properly let go of some of the heavy burden that had weighed so heavily on his shoulders all this time. He’d kept him on the same antidepressants Dr Reese had prescribed him, and although he hadn’t felt a huge difference yet, Dr Parker was incredibly reassuring and he was trying not to assume defeat so early in the game.

He did feel slightly better, though, as he came out of the dip in his depression that had come on the day after his day out with Penelope. Once Aaron had noticed his mood brighten and his energy levels increase slightly — evidenced largely by Spencer not immediately falling asleep on the sofa when he comes back in from work — he’d suggested getting out of his apartment and doing something.

Spencer was apprehensive at first: the idea of willingly putting himself in a position of proximity with strangers and unpredictable circumstances made his skin crawl. But then Aaron had proposed a quiet trip with him and Jack to the Natural History Museum, maybe a walk in the park if the weather was nice. Spencer had found it hard to decline.

The last few weeks had only solidified Spencer’s feelings for Aaron further, intensified by both his persistence in being close to Spencer and his relentless kindness, and he had begun to feel something like real, genuine hope stirring on the surface of his soul.

He’d caught Aaron looking at him a few times when he thought he was asleep or zoned out, and the softness on his face felt reflective of Spencer’s own expression when he looks at Aaron. He couldn’t imagine him being so insistent on taking care of anyone else on the team, and since he’d left the BAU anyway, he had no obligation to be so dutifully kind.

Yet, he shows up before and after work every day the team is in Virginia, no matter how far out of the way Spencer’s apartment is, making sure he eats, showers, has clean clothes. Making sure he knows he’s loved. (Something whispers deep in his heart that maybe that love is the kind he’s dreamed of.)

On bad nights when he was still working at the BAU, he’d hug his knees to his chest and imagine Aaron curled up behind him telling him how much he loved him, telling him that it was going to be alright. He could never look the man in the eyes the next day at work, but that didn’t stop him. It worked better than anything else he tried and now it’s a reality he can’t pinch himself out of.

Truthfully, in the weeks between quitting the BAU and Penelope forcing Aaron and herself back into his life, he’d desperately missed his time in Aaron’s apartment, playing with Jack and pretending his life wasn’t splitting at the seams. The idea of spending a whole day with them — without the added baggage of trying to box up his increasingly untameable depression — was something he actually looked forward to. It’s a nice feeling; admittedly one he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Penelope comes over the morning of the outing.

(“I’m not about to let you flush this down the drain just because you end up having a tough morning,” she’d insisted when Spencer told her she doesn’t need to. “I’ll come over and force you out of bed and into a nice little outfit if I need to. You are going on that date with Hotch. Sorry: Aaron.”

“Shut up,” Spencer had said weakly. “It’s not a date.”

“Irrelevant,” she’d sniffed and levelled him with a glare he couldn’t argue with.)

He’s pretty sure that her insistent and relentless protectiveness and aid is part of her very focused mission to make up the last year to him. In fact, he’s almost certain, considering every time she sees him he’s bombarded with yet another apology and a small present for him. He’s not sure how to get through to her that he’s already forgiven her.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks as she walks into the living room to see Spencer curled up on the sofa with a blanket pulled over him. He had actually made it to bed last night, but the only way he could pull himself out of bed this morning was to promise himself a few minutes on the sofa, exciting day ahead of him or not.

He shakes his head. “Not hungry,” he sighs, picking at a loose thread of his blanket.

“That’s okay,” Penelope says lightly, dumping her handbag on the armchair before breezing into the kitchen and setting the orchid she’s brought with her on the windowsill. He hopes she knows she’ll be the only person around responsible enough to water it. “We’ll find you something small. How does a little bowl of cornflakes sound?”

“Fine.”

She puts the coffee machine on before bringing him a bowl of cornflakes that is decidedly not little. He hates that her tactic works and he eats the whole thing. “Why do you always have to be right?” he grumbles as he polishes off the bowl and puts it on the coffee table.

“I don’t know, baby genius,” she sighs exaggeratedly, sagging into her armchair. Spencer doesn’t know what he’d do without Penelope Garcia and her incessant dramatics. “It’s truly an affliction.”

“Mhm.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, but Penelope’s saved by the coffee machine beeping and she stalks into the kitchen to pour him a cup. He has no idea how early she wakes up to make it over to his house dressed to the nines with a full face of make-up on at eight am. He smiles fondly at her as he takes the proffered mug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says brightly, sitting back in her chair and sipping at her own cup. “So, how are we feeling about our date today?”

As much as Spencer does not appreciate her suggestive eyebrow waggling, he can’t help but smile at her antics. He also can’t help but blush. “It isn’t a date, Penelope, I’ve told you this.”

“Right, right,” she says drily. “I think I’d have an easier time believing you if you weren’t constantly sending one another heart eyes and weren’t clearly half in-love with one another already.”

Spencer decides it’s probably best to avoid mentioning that his feelings have definitely progressed past the ‘half in-love’ phase, and just looks down. “Jack will be there,” he points out instead, “and the Natural History Museum isn’t exactly a steamy date location, is it?”

“No, that’s exactly the point. It’s a Dr Spencer Reid date location.”

Spencer looks at her a little speechless for a moment. Unfortunately, she’s right. He’s privately thought about getting married in one of DC’s many museums, and science and history are two of the subjects even a casual acquaintance would know he’s fascinated by. Plus, it’s also something he’s bonded over with Jack.

All of that may be the case, but it doesn’t change the fact that he absolutely cannot let himself consider this a date.

He’s already let himself fantasise enough about Aaron returning his feelings; not letting himself think of this as anything other than platonic is the only thing he can hang onto to protect his fragile heart. Getting his hopes up only to find out he’s wrong would crush him, and he can’t risk a devastation of such proportions right now. He’s barely getting out of bed in the morning as it is.

Penelope seems to catch on to his spiralling thought process and leans over to lay a hand on his knee. “Hey, I know it’s intimidating,” she says gently, “and you don’t have to think about it as a date if you don’t want to, especially if you’re apprehensive because he hasn’t said anything explicitly. I just don’t want you to doubt yourself. I promise you he has feelings for you, too, okay? You need to trust me on this one. That man is absolutely gone for you.”

Despite himself, he finds himself smiling at her as her words warm him from the inside out. Even if he knows he has to be careful with his heart, he can’t help the optimism his head conjures up at such a promise from someone he trusts with his life. “Okay,” he whispers shyly.

“Right,” she says, putting her half-empty coffee mug down on the table and gripping Spencer’s free hand to pull him up from his pathetic sprawl across the sofa. “Come on, you. Aaron won’t be long, let’s get you looking at least half-human.”

He only agrees because she lets him bring his own coffee mug with him to the bathroom. She’s a good friend.

Penelope slips out a few minutes before Aaron is set to arrive per Spencer’s request, and he sits nervously on the sofa, waiting for the doorbell to buzz. He’d chosen his favourite shirt and tie combo and gone with a lilac sweater under his smartest navy coat. He holds his scarf in his fidgeting fingers, ready to put it on once they get outside, but he still feels naked. Suddenly, everything that’s riding on this day out fills him with a sort of dread and he feels vulnerable, scared of all the endless ways this could go so wrong.

Before he can spiral properly though, his intercom buzzes and he rushes over to answer it, even though he knows who it is. He’s glad he does, because Jack’s voice crackles its way into the quiet of his apartment. “Spencer, Spencer, come out, we’re here,” he shouts excitedly, and even though Spencer winces at the feedback his high-pitched voice elicits, a fond smile still finds its way onto his face.

“I’m on my way down, buddy,” he says back, with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, before patting his pockets to make sure he has his keys, phone, and wallet. He locks his door carefully and makes his way down to the front of his building. Apprehension balls in a pit in his stomach, but it loosens as soon as he approaches the pair waiting in the cold outside the front door.

Jack runs up to him and he crouches down to give him a big hug, wishing he had the strength and confidence to pick him up and twirl him around like he’s seen Aaron and Derek do so many times. Jack doesn’t seem bothered, though, an excited grin painted across his face as he pulls back from the hug.

“Hey,” Aaron says once Jack has let Spencer go and he stands back up straight. He presses a hand gently to the middle of Spencer’s back and the touch spreads warmth up to his shoulders as he watches the curve of Aaron’s smile. “How are you doing?”

“Rocky morning,” Spencer admits — he’s almost certain Penelope sends Aaron status reports, so lying is pointless. “Penelope helped.”

“She always does,” Aaron says warmly, keeping one hand on Spencer’s back while the other holds Jacks as they walk to the car parked a little way down the street. A little spark of excitement rushes through Spencer’s body as he briefly lets himself think about what casual passers-by might assume about the three of them. “You still up for the Natural History Museum?”

“Of course,” Spencer replies, as brightly as he can, trying to ignore the pull of sorrow still weighing his gut down. “Are you looking forward to seeing the dinosaurs, Jack?”

“Yes!” Jack shouts eagerly, letting go of Aaron’s hand to unzip his little puffer coat to reveal his long-sleeve t-shirt. A big, green t-rex stands out against the blue background, and Jack’s never looked prouder. “Dinosaur, see?”

“I do,” Spencer laughs. “It’s a great shirt, Jack.”

“Hey, let’s zip that coat back up, buddy, well done,” Aaron says gently and Jack does so obediently. “He insisted on wearing it,” he tells Spencer once Jack’s hand is back in his and he’s securely wrapped up. “He wanted to show you.”

They arrive at the car before Spencer can reply, and Aaron opens the passenger door for him to get in before strapping Jack into his car seat and setting him up with a few of his toys, including his favourite dinosaurs. It’s only a fifteen minute journey to the museum, and they pass the first half of it in a comfortable silence, but eventually, Spencer works up the courage to ask the question that’s been at the tip of his tongue the past two weeks.

“How’s work?” he asks, trying to be as innocuous as possible, though his awkward avoidance of Aaron’s eyes probably gives him away.

“It’s good.” He’s clearly treading carefully as he eyes Spencer for a brief moment before he returns his gaze to the road. “We’ve only had one major case since you left, and we muddled our way through it, got it solved. Everyone does miss you, though, Spencer. They really do.”

It’s a concept he still can’t really get his head around. He hasn’t been around for a year, not really, and they didn’t miss him then. It feels almost… convenient, to Spencer. Guilt is not remorse.

“Have you found my replacement yet?” Spencer surprises himself by not feeling any jealousy at the prospect of someone taking his position on the team. He’d long ago accepted how replaceable he is socially, and it’s not like the pool of talented, intelligent prospective agents is exactly small. He also has no desire to be around his old team; not as they were in the build-up to his resignation, not like that. He still has Aaron and Penelope, but he’s only just starting to trust that they’re not going anywhere.

“I think so,” Aaron sighs heavily. “As long as her paperwork goes through, she’ll join the team later this week.”

Spencer nods, not really knowing what to say to that. Aaron reaches his right hand across the console and rests it on top of Spencer’s clasped hands, the warm reassuring weight of not just anyone’s touch but Aaron Hotchner’s turning his insides into a melted puddle as his heart beats faster. He hooks one of his fingers over Aaron’s, a silent message to keep his hand there, and he doesn’t worry about what to say next. Nothing needs to be said.

Spencer knows the Natural History Museum like the back of his hand, so he directs them to the best parking spot before taking the lead and walking them into the gorgeous, open foyer. Jack bounces excitedly between them, so Aaron lifts him onto his shoulders to reduce the likelihood of a disaster.

“It’s not too busy for a Sunday,” Spencer observes, half trying to calm himself down in such an unfamiliar environment, “so we should be able to see everything we want to. Jack, do you want to see the dinosaurs now or later?”

“Now!” he shouts loudly, wiggling as happiness floods his little body. Spencer smiles fondly at the pair, and a little more of the apprehension he’d felt at leaving the house melts away.

“Well how could I refuse that request?” he chuckles, leading them towards the dinosaur exhibit. His breath catches when he feels the back of Aaron’s hand brush the back of his, and in a moment of bold and brash insanity, he interlocks his pinky with Aaron’s. After the moment in the car, he feels such an action is warranted, but as soon as he does it, panic sets in.

Before he can retract his finger though, Aaron takes Spencer’s hand properly. The feeling of Aaron’s big hand gripping his own in a gentle but firm hold makes his stomach dip, and goosebumps find their way up his arms and down his side. He’s never felt safer than right in this moment — never mind the crowds of people they’re passing through; the insecurity of being outside his flat; the uncertainty of what could happen — never mind all of that, because his hand is in Aaron’s and Aaron keeps him safe. He doesn’t trust much anymore, but he will always trust Aaron.

Jack babbles eagerly the whole way to the dinosaur exhibit, repeating some of the facts Spencer had taught him in his previous visits to the Hotchner household in a “did you know?” format, leaving both Aaron and Spencer chuckling fondly, trying to encourage him as much as possible.

Spencer shows them around the exhibit, acting as their tiny group’s personal tour guide, and Jack couldn’t be happier, insisting on walking instead of being carried so he can press his face up as close as possible to the displays, his breath fogging up the glass as he leaves fingerprints all over the cases. They spend nearly an hour walking around the exhibit, playing with the interactive toys and examining each and every display in a close-up fashion.

Once they wrap up their dinosaur exploring, Spencer brings Jack to a bench and asks him what his favourite thing he learned is.

“Uhh,” Jack hums, furrowing his eyebrows in a way that reminds him so much of Aaron it’s almost uncanny, “oh! They were terrible and they were stupid!”

Spencer’s confused for a moment before laughing as he manages to decode what Jack is trying to say. “Dinosaur does translate to ‘terrible lizard’, well done,” he agrees, “and you’re right, they weren’t much smarter than reptiles these days. Good job, Jack!” He raises his hand for a high-five, and Jack doesn’t waste any time in slapping his palm to Spencer’s.

“Can we get ice cream?” he asks eagerly, widening his eyes in a plea as he looks at Aaron who's been observing the unravelling scene from the pillar next to the bench.

“Go on then,” Aaron concedes, grinning at his son’s uncontainable happiness as he wiggles around next to Spencer.

They head to the museum’s cafe and all order ice cream, taking a seat in the middle of the canteen.

“This reminds me of field trips back in school,” Spencer muses, gesturing to the surrounding noise with his spoon.

“Yeah?” Aaron asks while Jack picks distractedly at a scratch on the table, licking his ice cream cone happily.

“Before I was identified as a gifted student and sent years up the grade school ladder, I was a fairly normal kid in a fairly normal school. We went on a field trip to a museum in first grade, and I loved every minute of it. I got to impress all my friends by sharing all my memorised facts about space, and we ate our packed lunches in a canteen like this. My mum was still on her meds back then, and she’d cut all my ham sandwiches into dinosaur shapes.”

Aaron’s smiling at him as he talks, and he realises that it’s probably because it’s the most he’s had to say in weeks, much less something anecdotal and personal. Spencer realises belatedly that it’s the sort of thing one might share on a date, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

“I’m glad you have nice memories from your early childhood, Spencer,” he says, and his hand reaches across the table to find Spencer’s again. “It’s the least you deserve.”

He averts his eyes as he blushes, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by the attention, and focuses on his ice cream for a few minutes before he’s cooled down a bit. “What about you?” he asks, meeting Aaron’s eyes again. “Any field trip memories?”

“I made out with my ninth grade girlfriend at the planetarium once,” he admits quietly, a mirthful chuckle finding its way into his voice.

“Maybe minutely better than dinosaur shaped sandwiches,” Spencer says, a little shyly.

“Ooh, dinosaur sandwiches!” Jack chimes in, suddenly aware of the conversation the adults are having. “Can I have some?”

Spencer’s phone vibrates just as Aaron goes to appease Jack’s enthusiasm for novelty shaped lunch food, and he pulls it out curiously. These days, the only people to text him are Aaron and Penelope, and Penelope had told him she was going out with a friend today.

Hey, pretty boy — Spencer’s heart sinks as he reads the first line of the message, tears immediately springing to his eyes — I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Hotch said something about personal stuff going on? Anyway, I thought I’d text you to tell you just how much we miss you at the BAU. Life isn’t the same without you, and it was hard to not even get a chance to say goodbye. Any chance we could meet up at some point? We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to, we can just go grab a coffee or something. D

Aaron must read something off in his face — it’s not exactly like he’s trying to hide it — and he immediately slides closer to him on the circular canteen bench. “Hey, hey, Spencer,” he says soothingly, “you’re alright. What’s going on?” He just slides the phone over to show Aaron the message, and he immediately gets it. “I know that must be overwhelming, and we’re in public which can’t be helping.” He glances over at Jack who’s looking worryingly at Spencer, clearly confused. “Why don’t we go back to our place? Jack and I will help you feel better, won’t we, buddy?”

Jack nods at that, pressing himself into Spencer’s side and wrapping his tiny arms around him. “Yeah, we make you feel better.” He reaches up and clumsily brushes a tear away from Spencer’s cheek before kissing it. It makes his heart warm that this is how Jack treats someone sad: he must be emulating the behaviour adults have shown him in these situations, and Jack only ever deserves the absolute best. Especially after losing his mom.

“Thank you,” he whispers, pressing himself closer to Aaron. Every time he’s upset he seems to lose his inhibitions around him, but he can’t help it. He needs the comfort only Aaron can provide, and after denying his starving heart the love and reassurance it's been begging for for so long, he can’t help but indulge himself now it’s finally an option.

They make their way back to the car and Spencer’s in such a haze of confusing emotion the only thing he can really ground himself in is Aaron’s arm wrapped around his waist and Jack gripping his hand on his other side, sending him worried looks. If he had the wherewithal to feel anything other than a deep sense of grief combined with rising panic he’d feel guilty for ruining such a nice day out, but as it stands he’s spared that particular brand of misery.

The drive back to Aaron’s is a little longer than the first journey of the day, but Spencer just clings to the hand Aaron offered him as soon as they got back in the car and tries desperately not to spin completely out of control and start hyperventilating in front of the five year old strapped into his car seat behind him.

Jack is asked to play in his room for a bit once they get home and he obeys, aware of — if not entirely comprehending — the tension in the air. As Spencer sits on the sofa waiting for Aaron to get back with a glass of water, the grief and panic clear a little. He hates himself for the relentless gravity of his depression: the way it pulls down even the brightest of days, the way he can physically feel his insides being sucked downwards into the blackhole of desolation.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aaron asks gently as he sits next to Spencer on the couch, close enough that their arms are touching. Self-loathing is the only thing preventing him from leaning into his comfort like he did at the museum, like he did in the car. Instead he pulls away and curls himself as small as possible into the corner of the sofa. When Spencer doesn’t reply, Aaron takes a risk. “Do you think you might be so upset because somewhere, deep down, you want to see Derek too?”

He snaps his head up at that, surprised Aaron would say something so blunt and, as much as Spencer doesn’t want to admit it, truthful. After a good few moments of contemplative and patient silence, his thoughts are ordered enough to voice them. “I miss them all,” he admits quietly. “I desperately want to see Derek. But the Derek I left hurt me so much I wouldn’t know where to even start in trying to reconnect with him.”

Aaron nods in understanding from his spot in the middle of the sofa. Spencer longs for this pit of self-loathing to melt away so he can feel confident enough to crawl back across the cushions and share Aaron’s personal space again.

“That makes a lot of sense, Spencer,” he says, resting a gentle hand on his ankle, and it’s such a casual, intimate touch he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He settles on not moving even an inch, lest Aaron pull his hand away. “For what it’s worth, the others have started to piece together why you left. I know they’re all regretting how everything played out, and everyone on the team misses you sorely.”

Spencer ponders that for a moment. He doesn’t know how it makes him feel: it’s nice to be missed, and a sick sort of vindication flourishes in the less savoury side of him at the idea of the others realising the crippling, world-changing pain he’s been in for the last year, right under their noses.

He misses so much about the others, but that’s not new: he’s missed JJ’s hugs and Derek’s teasing and Emily’s friendship for close to a year now. Sitting at his desk in the bullpen next to Derek and Emily’s private bantering, sharing an inside joke he didn’t understand towards the end of his career at the BAU had cut deep, reminding him just how achingly alone he was.

“I don’t know where to start,” he says hopelessly, feeling like he’s repeating himself. Tears spring to his eyes again, spilling down his cheeks relentlessly, as though the second he’d let one fall, they toppled down his face like river water desperate to escape, unsure of when the dam will close again.

Aaron scoots himself over to Spencer’s end of the sofa like he can’t help himself, and this time he lets himself fold into Aaron’s warm embrace. He cries as quietly as possible, but it’s hard when he doesn’t have the energy to do anything other than sob helplessly. He can hear himself; he knows he sounds like a broken, defeated man, but he simply doesn’t have the power to care.

As his sobs start to dry out, he sees that Aaron is crying, too. He’d noticed his wet eyes the last few times he’d cried in his presence as well, and he has no idea how to feel about it. If Aaron is seriously going to cry every time he does, though, then he’d better strap in.

“Why don’t you have a nap?” he suggests, wiping a tear from the sensitive skin under Spencer’s eye so tenderly it makes his heart clench. “Then afterwards, we can think of a way to go about this. Maybe we could start with a short text back. How does that sound?”

Spencer nods tiredly, and lets Aaron help him get into a comfortable position on the sofa. A warm, soft throw is draped over him and Aaron half closes the living room blind, but the day is dark and grey enough already anyway. As he’s falling off to sleep, a hot water bottle is tucked under the blanket and he instinctively curls up against the warmth, but he knows that the real comforting soporific is the man reading quietly in the armchair next to him.

For the first time in a long time, Spencer looks forward to waking up.

Chapter Eight

Rereading Penelope in this chapter when I came to edit it made me want to take a second to recognise all of the unofficial carers out there <3 I've been a carer for both my mum and my grandmother at various times in my childhood and teens, and it's tough going. If you're looking after a friend or a family member, please remember how amazing and wonderful you are, and also remember that it's okay if it's too much, and it's okay if you need to cry or scream or break down. You are still just as brilliant no matter your emotional reaction to what is an exceptionally difficult situation to find yourself in. I love you, and I'm always here to talk to you about this (or anything that comes up in this fic!) <3

If this chapter brought anything up for you, hotlines are in the endnotes of the AO3 version of this fic. Bigger countries are listed and a link is included if you live somewhere else in the world. I love you <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @marvel-ous-m @oliverbrnch @sbeno22 @aaron-hotchner187 @kuolonsyoja

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mst3kproject · 4 years ago

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Countess Dracula

In Countess Dracula we have the tale of a lonely old woman who discovers that she can make herself young again, just so long as she doesn’t mind having to murder somebody to do it (she doesn’t). Our antiheroine uses this newfound youth to seduce the least interesting man in the movie, until at last her misdeeds catch up with her when her latest victim turns out to have been the wrong demographic to make the magic work.

Does that sound familiar? Yeah, this is a very Leech-Woman-y movie. It stars Nigel Green, the news announcer from Gorgo, and comes to us from Hammer Studios, home of Moon Zero-Two. The director, Peter Sasdy, never made anything that wound up on MST3K but he did work on the legendary Pia Zadora bomb, The Lonely Lady. Countess Dracula is not a wild ride, as its pace is fairly sedate, but it is certainly a ride nonetheless.

The count of somewhere or other has just died, leaving his realm to his nineteen-year-old daughter Ilona – and technically also leaving his spiteful widow, Elizabeth, free to marry her longtime lover Captain Dobi. Most people would consider this a perfectly acceptable retirement, but Elizabeth is impossible to satisfy. She doesn’t want to grow old while Ilona (currently on her way home from finishing school in Vienna) rules the county and gets all the attention. When Elizabeth discovers that bathing in the blood of virgins restores her youth, she embraces murder as a hobby and has Ilona locked up so she can stay in charge while posing as her own daughter! In that guise she sets out to pursue handsome young Imre, the son of her husband’s most trusted general, while jealous Dobi can only sit and seethe.

I bet you think you can guess how this movie ends. I bet you think Dobi tells Imre the countess’ secret, and the two of them defeat her. Or else the real Ilona escapes and meets him, they expose Elizabeth as a fraud, and then get married and rule the land with justice and mercy or something. That’s what would happen in a normal movie… but you guys know I don’t watch normal movies. Maybe instead you’re guessing that nobody does shit and Elizabeth just carries on her merry way until she’d destroyed by her own hubris? That’s more like it.

Not all of Hammer’s films were good, but they were generally pretty well-made and Countess Dracula is not an exception. The elaborate costumes and sets are very nice, although areas like the town square are obviously artificial and the old lady makeup on Ingrid Pitt as Elizabeth is pretty bad. There’s also a young woman made up in very ugly brownface as a ‘gypsy girl’, except they totally forgot to do any makeup on her for the scene where her naked corpse is discovered in the woods.

There are even a couple really well-done moments of storytelling and worldbuilding. A scene in a pub, when everybody falls silent as Dobi and Imre enter, shows eloquently how terrified the peasants are of the aristocracy. Elizabeth gets some chilling bits when we see the true depth of her depravity. She sees no difference between controlling people through love and controlling them through fear – either way, she gets what she wants, and their feelings don’t matter. My favourite detail is the subtle cultural conflict going on in the background, as the characters speak disparagingly of ‘Turks’ and yet have clearly picked up some bits and pieces of Ottoman culture.

Although its plot outline is very similar to The Leech Woman, the philosophy of Countess Dracula is completely different. The Leech Woman didn’t really give June a viable alternative to her poisoned fountain of youth. Old women in its world can only sit around and drink and know that nobody loves them. Elizabeth, however, has a possible future – Dobi repeatedly notes that he’s been waiting twenty years for the opportunity to legitimatize his relationship with her. He would have happily devoted himself to her for the rest of his life, and the two of them could have lived in retirement while Imre and Ilona gave them grandchildren to spoil. Dobi even says there is dignity in age, directly contradicting The Leech Woman by applying it equally to both sexes. June was more or less forced to become a monster, while Elizabeth chooses it explicitly.

So there’s honestly some pretty good stuff in this film. Where it unfortunately falls on its face is with the characters, none of whom can really be said to have an arc, and the ending, which is rushed and unsatisfying.

The movie’s main focus is always on Elizabeth, but she refuses to grow or learn anything at any point. She starts off as a nasty, selfish bitch and just stays a nasty, selfish bitch. She has no actual master plan, but seems convinced that she can keep up this charade indefinitely, even though Dobi points out the impracticality of that. Dobi believes she’s going mad, but the truth seems to be she’s just horrible. She is evidently terrified of growing old, but that is never explored. We see her react to aging, rather violently at times, but we never find out what the root of this fear is.

All this means that Elizabeth, despite being the focal character, is never sympathetic. June in The Leech Woman at least started off as somebody we could pity, before she descended into depravity. Elizabeth is a terrible person from the get-go, as illustrated in the very opening when she has her coachman run over a peasant who wants her to fulfill a promise her late husband made her.

Imre and Ilona are pretty much complete ciphers. Imre spends the entire movie in Elizabeth’s thrall one way or another. He is madly in love with her in her guise as Ilona, and after finding out the truth he’s too scared of her to openly defy her. The only personality trait he manifests is gullible foolishness, and any sympathy we might have had for him evaporates when he cheerfully kisses a barmaid’s tit on the same day when he’s proposed marriage to the woman he believes is his true love. Ilona spends most of the movie locked up in some mute peasant’s hut doing not much. When she finally enters the story properly, she comes across as stunningly stupid.

The character who does the most to try to thwart Elizabeth is her lover Dobi, but he’s less interested in stopping her from killing virgins than he is in having her to himself. He gets Imre drunk and tosses him in bed with the barmaid in the hope that Elizabeth will reject him, and later takes Imre to see Elizabeth bathing in blood to youthen herself. These things don’t work, partly because Imre is an idiot and partly because Elizabeth is always more evil than he thought she was, but at least he tries.

At the end of the movie, Elizabeth’s latest bloodbath wears off in the middle of her wedding to Imre, and she runs off to murder Ilona in order to make herself young again. Imre tries to stop her and gets stabbed for his trouble, which does at least expose Elizabeth’s evildoing to one and all, and she and Dobi are hanged. What happens to Ilona I’m not sure, but I know they didn’t have therapists in the seventeenth century. Nobody wins here. It’s a downer for everybody, including the superstitious peasants, who will continue to be terrified of their rulers now that their worst fears have been confirmed.

Several things might be made of the fact that it’s young women Elizabeth is killing. It’s interesting to note that the idea of male virginity is never even brought up. We could contrast two depictions of motherhood, in the form of Elizabeth’s jealousy of Ilona versus Juli the nurse’s unconditional love for her. There’s Imre’s description of ‘Ilona’ as embodying all aspects of womanhood, to which Dobi replies that no woman can be maiden, mother, and whore all at once… yet that is just what Elizabeth is trying to be. What I find interesting in this, however, is how the movie depicts Elizabeth’s own internalized misogyny, in the fucked-up attitudes she displays towards youth, beauty, and gender.

Elizabeth feels that age and experience have made her undesirable. Dobi assures her that he finds her as attractive as he ever did, but she evidently does not believe him, and her mistreatment of her female servants has a definite note of jealousy in it. She kills young virgins not only to gain their desirability, but because she hates them for what they have and she does not.

What’s unusual is that she applies this same attitude towards the men in her life. Elizabeth is no longer attracted to Dobi, because he is old and experienced. Their affair has gone on for years, and in Dobi’s mind this has only deepened his love for her – but Elizabeth is tired of it and wants something new. Imre is young, handsome, and innocent. He has no wealth of his own and has not yet really accomplished much in life, but Elizabeth doesn’t care. If all she has to be is young and pretty, then how could she ask anything more of him?

Here, Dobi and Elizabeth represent two different versions of gender equality as it applies to sexual attractiveness, with him raising Elizabeth to his level, and her lowering Dobi and Imre to hers! Elizabeth treating the men in her life as she has been treated illustrates the inequality quite sharply, but what ultimately destroys her is applying the same standards to herself. She believes so totally that nothing else matters as long as she is beautiful that she doesn’t care what she has to do to accomplish it, or who sees her do it. In the end, she is undone by her own self-loathing.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #countess dracula #70s #magic voice recommends #we're running out of plots

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karnakian · 4 years ago

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anyway, speaking of maria ... you know the drill, annual maria rant ( under the cut this time because it’s long and i’m sure some people might get tired of me talking about her lol )

i think if i ever did actually bring her in as a guest muse ( which ... idk, maybe ? i’ve always wanted to at least lol ) i might rethink the way that i’ve been envisioning her for the past few years. keep in mind that the only time maria is brought up in - game is during leon’s proposal event, although she is subtly alluded to in his date event as well, though this is only realized upon retrospection.

the event makes it clear of course that maria was leon’s closest ( human lol ) childhood friend and that they did everything and went everywhere together from a young age. while he viewed him as a younger sister, she had romantic feelings for him since they were children. he also described her as being a crybaby when she was young, too, which eventually led to their infamous promise - leon, desperate to stop maria from crying when she was inconsolable one day, questioned if there was anything that he could do to get her to stop, and she asked if she could marry him one day. he agreed, and they later marked their names on the temple ( leon karnak ) in the old tongue as a symbol of this vow. since that day, even though leon later forgot all about the promise after having dismissed it as just another silly childhood game or otherwise a phase she would eventually grow out of, she never cried again :

even on the day when leon left to become a guardian, maria stood at a distance behind everyone else, looking as though she might cry at any minute but not allowing herself to even once :

this, of course, is what led him to remembering their childhood promise, and became the crux of his guilt that wound up as his basis for distancing himself from the rest of the townsfolk once he woke up in the modern age and vowing to never marry anyone so as not to trample on her feelings more than he already had. her letters that she wrote to him also reveal that she waited for him for decades, still not crying even once, eager to keep their promise even after he was gone. even though it is later revealed through a ~ wacky turn of events ~ that maria did eventually find someone and get married ( and, ultimately, became happy ), this becomes the main conflict in lftp -- should leon allow himself to find his own happiness after believing he had taken away hers ? on top of that, maria also revealed that her neighbors, not knowing about their promise, found her harsh and unfeeling after she never appeared to grieve, even after her parents died and her other friends slowly left her, leaving her alone. why should leon get to have friends and start his own family when, he thought, he took away her chance of having her own by stealing her tears ?

the story of course does have a happy ending, revealing that maria did end up having a happy life as stated above and that she wrote a book detailing her married life, written in the ancient tongue that she and leon had learned together as children, that she hoped that leon would one day be able to read when he woke up again so that he would know not to feel guilty. she even made a wish for him using a blessing from their childhood that he would find his own happiness as well.

this is all information that has been integral to my portrayal of leon since ... i started this blog, actually LMAO. his guilt towards maria and believing that he irrevocably ruined the life and stole the happiness of one of the people most dear to him, alongside his inability to relate to the modern age and some good old - fashioned survivor’s guilt to boot, are the main reasons, in my opinion, that he works so hard to ensure that the people of selphia only know him on a superficial, surface level -- haha he’s the guy that jokes around and teases people ! you don’t want to become his next target, do you ? it’s not that deep, don’t look at him too closely, haha ! that being said, i did notice on my most recent playthrough there a couple of thing that over the past few years i had kind of ... forgotten about.

i mentioned earlier that i had always kind of hoped to add maria as a guest muse here, so i’ve always been pretty interested in what kind of person maria was. of course maria is someone who leon cherishes highly, referring to her as a ‘ sweet girl ’ that he regarded as a little sister, someone who used to cry all the time and was later thought of as cold and mean after leon left. given that this event is the only time in game we hear about her, there is so little information that we actually know about her, and all of it is from leon’s word of mouth or from maria’s direct perspective. i’ve always taken what little info we do know and have seen her as someone who was ... kind of quiet, but kind. timid, perhaps, and maybe didn’t have many friends due to her shyness. a lot of this, i do still absolutely stand by !! however, there are a couple of things that i noticed during my most recent playthrough that i think are really vital in understanding the kind of person maria was.

the first thing i noticed that stood out to me was the emphasis on leon being really maria’s only friend, and perhaps even him being the only person that really actually cared for her. when he talks about viewing maria as a little sister, he does explicitly say that perhaps he was the only one who thought of her in that light.

it’s hard to know exactly what he means by this because there is just sooo little information regarding their childhood, but to me this reads that she was someone who didn’t really have anyone but leon, maybe even possibly someone who was shunned or disliked by her peers.

another thing that struck me when playing through it again was, of course, leon’s breakdown upon finding maria’s “ final “ letter. at the beginning of his rant, there have always been a handful of lines that have stayed with me through the years :

these are the first lines that leon says right at the beginning of his speech, right when he’s transitioning from shock to spilling over in grief. keep in mind that his partner with him has never said a single word throughout this ( except for maybe his name ? i can’t quite remember lol ) and that this is his instinctual first response to finding and reading this letter -- to protect maria. it could just be in response to what maria said in the letter about people finding her distant and mean, but keeping the information above about him being the only person that thought of her kindly ( or, at least, in a sisterly way ) i find that the fact that leon’s very first response is to guard her from accusations of being ‘ cold ’ to be really interesting. to me, it seems like it’s almost second nature to him, like it’s something that he’s done in the past.

i’m not entirely sure exactly where i stand on the topic of maria’s personality, but it’s clear that she’s a lot more interesting and complex than i think i previous gave her credit for.

#tl;dr i think shes really interesting !! even if she was never actually shown in game and u only ever hear about her lol #idk its possible she was just one of those people whose shyness was mistaken for her being conceited ? i kind of like the idea of her-#being a bit of a brat at least in her childhood too lol #i just have a lot of thoughts about her and i wish we got to know more lol !!#ooc.#i have more to edit i think but i have to go so i'll work on it again later lol

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

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Welllp This Is...Holiday Fic, Version 3.0

Hello, internet! It is December, and that means it is also time to regain our festive feelings through holiday-type fic. Of which I have written just...an absurd amount of. So, before we start slamming on some more keys with inevitable cliches and kissing (and the list of prompts I’m going to post later and maybe start writing tomorrow) here is a wholly self-indulgent, self-promotional list of the copious number of holiday stories I’ve written. Under the cut, because honestly it’s ridiculous.

Multi Chapters

To Make the Season Bright Rating: M Words: 49,683 Chapters: 5

It's just one weekend. At Christmas. In New York. With everyone there. With Killian there. It's fine. Emma doesn't mind – he's always there and she wants him to be there and it'll be good. Great, even. Festive. She's looking forward to it. She just hopes she doesn't do something stupid. Like shout feelings in his face. That probably wouldn't be very festive.

The Gift Receipt Rating: M Words: 46,244 Chapters: 5

It genuinely makes sense in her head. After all, Mary Margaret is being Mary Margaret and Emma just needs five seconds to herself and for her friends to get off her back and saying she can’t talk to Killian Jones because she and Killian Jones once went on a very bad date is the perfect excuse. It’s also not true, but whatever. It works. Until Emma needs to bring someone home for Christmas. To get the entire town off her back. So, she comes up with another plan and another lie and pretending to get back together with a guy she was never actually with will make their inevitable break-up incredibly easy. It makes sense. Seriously. That is, of course, until Killian agrees and there’s far too much pie and radio hits of the 70s and opinions on animated Christmas classics. It gets a little more complicated after that.

Older Now, But Not Done Hoping Rating: T Words: 25,577 Chapters: 3

Killian Jones has lost his festive spirit. It's been forcibly removed by corporate America and private developers and how much alcohol the customers at his bar drink every night. Although, he supposes, that means he's making a profit, but that also feels a little Scrooge-esque and he doesn't have time for visits from ghosts. Because he's suddenly got a whole schedule in front of him, written out and planned by his roommate. To reclaim their mutual and collective festivity. Together. Oh, and he's in love with her. At Christmas. And all the time, really. This is going to be great.

It’s the Thought That Counts Rating: M Words: 27, 178 Chapters: 3

It was, in theory, a good idea. It was, in theory, an absolutely fantastic idea. Because there was still, sometimes, a crisis or two in Storybrooke and nothing would be more chaotic than trying to find a Christmas present on Main Street, while also trying to keep said Christmas present a secret. Ordering gifts on the internet makes sense. It's just a few clicks and online sales and the presents will be there in plenty of time for Christmas to be perfect. Emma and Killian are positive. Except then the presents don't show up and it's Christmas Eve and plan B isn't so much a plan as it is just a bit of pre-holiday desperation and the entire town knows what they're up to.

One Shots

The Best Laid Plains Rating: T Words: 4,040

Emma knows what she wants. And she remembers what the qualifications are. She just needs some help with them. Or: She and Killian once decided they'd only get married if one of them came out with an outlandish proposal.

Following the Recipe Rating: T Words: 3,802

Emma can't bake cookies. That doesn't stop her from engaging in cookie-baking competitions. At Christmas. And Killian is more than happy to help.

Grounded Rating: T Words: 6,064

Being stuck at the airport is the worst at normal times. At Christmas, it's at least ten-thousand times worse. Unless you manage to make friends with the vaguely attractive, frustratingly charming guy sitting next to you in the terminal.

Carol of the [Wedding] Bells Rating: T Words: 7,926

Going to Vegas with your friends for Christmas? Totally normal. Getting married to one of your friends while in Vegas at Christmas? Might take a bit more explaining. Especially when neither one of you can remember it.

More Than You Could Ever Know Rating: T Words: 5,040

It’s the perfect plan. So, she told the new guy at work that she was already married and couldn’t date him. Fine, no big deal. Emma has someone more than wiling to pretend to be her husband and a friend more than willing to do her pre-party hair. She’s certain everything will work out. The very last thing she expects is for Killian to be jealous. Because she might have picked the wrong Jones brother to play doting husband.

Once Again As in Olden Days Rating: T Words: 6,462

She’s absolutely freezing cold. It’s a dumb metaphor, one that only serves to make Emma even more pissed off than she already is. Because two hours ago it was summer. But a few more hours before that, she was also locked in a tower guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. And now she’s outside. With her kid. And a pirate that isn’t hers, explicitly, but keeps staring at her like he wouldn’t mind if he was. So maybe it’s not the worst. Maybe she’ll be able to get warm eventually.

Want Something That Will Last Forever Rating: T Words: 5,093

The weight in his jacket pocket is getting heavier. Burning a hole. A metaphorical one. Because a literal one would probably freak David out and David is already worried enough and Killian is a very good friend. Who is willing to help David plan his proposal to Mary Margaret. Even if it messes everything else up in the process.

A Fair, Even-Handed, Noble Adjustment of Things Rating: T Words: 9,267

Emma just wants to do something good. Give back. Maybe get a few bonus points. Metaphorically speaking. Not the last one. That defeats the purpose of all of this. But she can’t really think straight because he keeps humming and using nicknames and stealing all the flour. And she’d give up all the bonus points she’s, maybe, accumulated by, possibly, doing good if she could just remember what his name is. This is not going the way she planned. At all.

Heart to Heart and Hand in Hand Rating: T Words: 7,052

She was cold. She was tired. She did not want to be ice skating. She wasn’t really ice skating. She was just…kind of standing there – while getting yelled at by security guards and stared at by her boyfriend and they were being pushed off the ice. Not literally. And Emma knew she was being a Grinch or, maybe, just Max the Dog because she wasn’t in control enough to be a Grinch, but Killian wanted to go ice skating and well…fake it ‘til you make it festivity, right?

Kiss Her Once [For Me] Rating: T Words: 9,500

To say that the last year has been hectic would be the greatest understatement in the history of the modern world. Or, like, libel. In print, it’s libel. Because the last year has been filled with political promises and campaigns and far more press conferences than Emma realized were possible. And now, with Washington D.C. ahead of them, the only thing Emma really wants is to figure out how many boxes she’ll need to move all her stuff. That is, of course, until Killian finds her sitting in the middle of Regina’s hallway, a distinct lack of alcohol in her system, and the guarantee that he’s got a plan. For fun. Of the festive variety. It includes mistletoe.

Prompt: Santa!Con Rating: T Words: 2,444

Killian is very drunk. There are people dressed like Santa everywhere. And Emma isn't sure she heard the question correctly. She might be a little drunk too, honestly.

Prompt: Killian Wakes Up Without Any Blankets Rating: T Words: 2,444

He's freezing. Presumably because his wife — who he loves very much — has once again stolen all the blankets.

Tripping Over the Blue Line

A Few Days Off for Christmas Rating: T Words: 11,903

Matt's first Christmas at the brownstone means several things. Chinese food. Bad bread pudding. And unexpected guests.

A Chance of Snow Showers Rating: T Words: 3,372

Everything's a competition on this team. So no one is all that surprised when Killian agrees to race during family skate. Even with a baby strapped to his chest.

Dropping Gloves...In the Name of Festive Fashion Rating: T Words: 3,038

It’s probably one of the more ridiculous things any of them have ever done. It’s also one of the better ideas any of them has ever had – it’s festive and in the spirit and the fans will love it. And maybe it’s kind of fun because it ends with another win and some positive press before the break and Phillip’s jacket is really just…a work of fashion art.

All Knotted Up Rating: T Words: 2,188

He’s never actually done anything like this – brought a girl home for Christmas. No, not just a girl – Emma. Emma was coming to the brownstone for Christmas and the entire Vankald family would be there with traditions and bread pudding and there had to be gifts.

He needed to buy a gift. Or, at least, get a gift. And the list of people who wouldn’t laugh right in his face at the idea of Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, freaking out about that was growing more and more slim by the minute.

We’ll Take a Cup [Defense] Of Kindness Rating: M Words: 19,204 Chapters: 2

It's one night. New Year's Eve. And a whole list of rules. Because Regina might have actually lost her mind. Or maybe that's just Emma. Because they've played a million games in two days, or it's at least felt that way, and planning an outdoor practice a few weeks before the Olympics seemed like a good idea at one point. Now it just seems insane. So she's going to wear this dress and kiss her boyfriend. A lot. He's good. Better than good. Great. The greatest. It's New Year's Day and, yeah, sure it's freezing, but Killian hasn't actually tried to push Scarlet on the Subway tracks yet so that seems like a step in the right direction. So he's a little distracted a few weeks before the Olympics, but that's fine. It's good. Or it'll be good. Eventually. Soon. In the meantime he's probably just going to kiss his girlfriend. A lot.

First Line Center Rating: T Words: 9,508 Chapters: 2

She hadn’t read the invitation. It hadn’t changed in years, after all - a set of rules and expectations for a New Year’s party that they were all going to break anyway because the most traditional thing about this team was flouting tradition. So, Emma had mostly ignored it. Until. A shout and Killian refusing to wear a tie and something crashing in her kitchen, one kid worried about another and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something. There was a joke about fresh ice to be made, she was sure.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #there are a lot of words here #and somehow the full week of writing i had got away from me very quickly #so we're going back to the same prompt list as last year to try and regain some sense of productivity #anyway that's coming later #for now here's all the holiday-type kissing i've written already #more blue line than i remembered honestly

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jonesgirl88 · 4 years ago

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Katie! Do you ever think about how Oliver married Holly because he was looking for Shane before he knew Shane existed? He was looking for someone who would shake things up a little, but in a way that made him better - that made his life better - yet still see him for who he was, and love him for that? Then Shane shows up and even though the timing seems wrong and he can't do anything about it, his heart goes "Oh, there you are. I've finally found you." UGH MY HEART

I DON'T KNOW YOUR NAME AND IT MAKES ME SAD. Until I know your name, you are 'Muse' and I'm perfectly okay with that! You thought you had long answers...hold on, sister. I have wanted to ask you about Holly FOREVER but didn't want to seem stalker-y so I've been holding off. You asked first so HERE'S ALL MY HOLLY & HOLLY/OLIVER THOUGHTS AND DO I HAVE T H O U G H T S. I'm going to try to organize this as best I can. First, if you haven't seen the international version of the FPWL Holly/Oliver drink scene you need to watch it. It will explain why Oliver decided to marry Holly through Oliver's eyes. I need to use 3 quotes: "Don't you think you've waited for her [Holly] long enough? I believe in keeping promises. I am, after all, a gentleman" - Pilot "This odd fellow who loves words and books and things from the past, and has spent his life trying to find a future with someone to share it with. I haven't been very successful at that yet" - For Christmas "Holly you are a beautiful woman with a fascinating way of looking at the world that could entrance the most stoic of men. I had never met anyone like you; you made me uncomfortable with my life and I thought maybe that's good. Maybe my life needs a little shaking up. You certainly did that." - FPWL (International version) First things first: I don't hate Holly. I really want your thoughts on Holly because I don't see her as a "bad guy". She's an antagonist but she's not a villain and she's not hate-worthy in my opinion. Yes, she's flawed. Yes, she's not "wife material". Yes, I wouldn't trust her to watch a goldfish let alone live a life with her. However she's not a bad person and she's very upfront with what she wants. We're only told Holly's side of the story once in FPWL during the drinks at the Brown scene. We have no reason not to take her at face value so from the beginning, she's been honest. She wants to travel the world and write poetry--she doesn't want to be tied down. The elephant in the room: yes, it was VERY wrong of her to run away to Paris. It was VERY wrong of her to cut off contact for 2 years. Holly is a flawed human who, like someone else we know, leaves when things get tough. There is no excuse for her absence and I appreciate none is given other than she is who she is and Oliver has to come to terms with that. Oliver is also a flawed human with a bit of a savior complex. He saved Holly in the middle of a blizzard, a noble and righteous act. He remains true to the covenant of marriage despite his wife running away, a noble and righteous act. He protects Shane in the bank vault when she's freaking out, a noble and righteous act. He's a protector and he calls himself a "gentleman" and he has a strict moral code but as Shane points out, he's a hypocrite. In his need to save the "damsel in distress" (Holly), he sees who he wants to see--someone who needs protection. Holly doesn't need protection past that one instance but he continually wants to be a hero. Oliver is intense. About everything. He and Holly have been married 3 years (said in For Christmas) but she's been gone 2 years (FPWL). Rita and Norman have been working together 4 years and Rita knows Holly. We know Norman and Rita first met Christmas Eve and Holly and Oliver were stuck in a blizzard. Oliver and Holly went from complete strangers to married in one year. If you watch the international version of FPWL, they explain both Oliver and Holly thought they were destined to be together because who survives something like that without something happening between them. Hopefully this is where it all ties together. Oliver sees himself as a "gentleman" but he uses that as a façade to see people how he wants to view them. He puts them in easy-to-understand boxes even if that's not who they are. In this instance, Holly never wanted to settle down but Oliver didn't want to see that. They both thought they belonged together because of what they survived. If Holly didn't want to settle down, why would she propose? I'm not 100% positive, but I'm about 82% sure she thought she could

change him. Holly and Oliver aren't that different; they're both wordsmiths, they both have a love for experiences rather than things, and they both believed they were part of divine timing. Even how they married speaks to the wanderlust of Holly: they eloped. She proposed and 3 hours later they were married. As a man of faith I would think that would cause Oliver to open up his eyes to the reality of who Holly is, but when you believe this person and you are meant to be because of a divine meeting...I can see how and why he rushed in without much forethought. Holly leaves and Oliver freezes in time BUT he does begin to think about what he wants, leading to quote 2. Oliver wants to spend his life with someone. I believe he loved the Holly he built up in his mind, but not Holly the person. Over the course of 2 years, he comes to the realization the Holly of his mind and Holly the person are different beings; one very real and the other a figment of his imagination. Now enter Shane and Oliver wants to put this new mystery in a box but Shane refuses. She bucks his perceptions of her and is part of his growing process he has to go through. I honestly do not believe Oliver had romantic feelings towards Shane until the dance in the DLO. That's the beginning of him realizing he wants Shane but at this point he is still devoted to Holly and I believe he wants her to come back. Unlike Holly, Shane never leaves and he keeps bumping against the wife that left and a woman who doesn't and his heart is definitely conflicted. We know Shane is conflicted; Becky literally tells her to get "an available Oliver". Holly is the characterization of "refusal to confront". Holly ran away when she didn't like her circumstances and it takes 2 movies and 9 episodes for her refusal to be realized. Shane self terminates several times because she can't deal with the circumstances BUT she comes back. Oliver leaves in emotionally charged moments because he can't deal with what's happening BUT he comes back. Now we come to the last quote: the confrontation between Holly and Oliver. Did Holly love Oliver? I think she did as much as she could. She is drawn to a boho, artist, backpacking lifestyle and if she found someone who could do that with her, I think she would have no problem committing to that person. But Oliver isn't like that. He wants a house and a steady job and to work at the post office. Living out of a backpack is as disinviting to him as living a routine is to Holly. Did Oliver love Holly? I think he did as much as he could. He pigeon-holed her and didn't listen to what she wanted when she told him explicitly who she is. He had to grow to see his own errors and in that, he saw Holly for who she really is. At the end of FPWL I think Oliver is seeing Holly for who she is and Holly is seeing Oliver for who he is. I think they care for each other but Oliver is now listening to his heart and realizes what and who he wants. Look at what he says to Shane: "You know, for two years I've imagined what it might be like if it became absolutely clear that my marriage was over. Once all the questions were answered and I knew I would never be Holly's husband again, how would I feel? What would I do?" What did he do? He went out and bought a porch swing. He's over Holly and is ready to move on. The refusal to confront had to be confronted; the truth was revealed; and now we can move on. Oliver and Shane can move on and there's no more running away. Oliver literally says "I'm not letting go". One more quote and then I'll finally answer your question. "Well, when we began together as colleagues charged with delivering so many lost things, I believed that to everything there is a season and to every lost letter there is a divine purpose. Only today, seeing you, Norman, and you, Rita, so happy, and you, my Shane, my love, promising to love me forever, only now do I realize... just how very lost I was, too, and that your friendship and your faith have uh, delivered me as well." - TTA Oliver has changed and he knows he's changed. He's

changed for the better and didn't realize how lost he was until he found his way out. The savior needed a Savior and while he was a "man of faith" before, he's truly a faithful man now. He knows how much he's changed and how much he needed to change to be the man Shane needs and deserves. SO TO FINALLY ANSWER YOUR QUESTION: Do I ever think about how Oliver married Holly because he was looking for Shane before he knew Shane existed? Answer: No, because Oliver didn't realize what he needed until he grew up and saw what was in front of him. I don't think his heart knew Shane when he saw her BUT when he starting thawing and allowing himself to feel and think about what he wanted and needed in his life as a partner? ABSOLUTELY his heart, mind, and body jumped to Shane in a moment. This isn't speculation: it's canon. The ring is freshly off. The divorce papers aren't even signed. Holly probably isn't even on the plane back to Paris. Oliver is already building Shane her porch swing because his heart looked up and said "Oh, there you are. I've finally found you." And that, my dear Muse, is totally worth gushing about.

#sholiver #asked and answered #this literally took me all day to write #and I can keep going #but then I'll really look crazy #but if you want more...ask #signed sealed delivered

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aegor-bamfsteel · 5 years ago

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Dowry vs. Bride Price: Westeros and Tyrosh

Westeros has a dowry system, where a woman is given wealth (commonly in the form of portable property) by her father’s family upon her marriage; in medieval Europe the property is usually hers or her children’s to use, but in Westeros her husband has significant rights over it and can be the chief reason for their marriage. The most notable example is Walda Frey’s marriage to Roose Bolton, where the dowry was her weight in silver paid by her grandfather Walder to Roose. Furthermore, Lord Lyonel Corbray is even more "well pleased” with his second wife’s “immense” dowry than with the girl herself, as she is the daughter of a wealthy Gulltown merchant. Westeros is based on medieval Europe and is clearly patrilineal (lineage is traced from father to son) and patrilocal (the family resides near the husband’s parents); dowries were offered in such societies where land is valued more than manual labor, due to the concentration of land ownership in the hands of the few (the aristocracy).

We don’t have many detailed instances of Tyroshi marriage, but the cases we do know about seem to indicate that Tyrosh has a system of bride price, where a man or his family give a woman (or, more specifically, her parents) property or service either just before or even during their marriage. Aegon IV explicitly promised some form of wealth to the Archon for Daemon to marry Rohanne of Tyrosh, which Daeron II had to pay for the marriage to take place; Yandel referred to the exchange as a dowry, but he is clearly looking at this situation from a Westerosi lens, as dowries outside of the Daemon/Rohanne marriage are only mentioned as being settled on women. Rohanne’s bride price may seem like a special case akin to Daenerys’ wedding to Hizdahr zo Loraq, where the bride is of a much higher status than the groom and so their union necessitates a reversal of custom, but Fire and Blood introduces another Tyroshi wedding that seems to follow the practice of bride service: that of Orryn Baratheon and the Archon’s daughter. We are most familiar with bride service from the biblical Genesis, in which Jacob serves Laban for seven years in order to marry Laban’s daughter Rachel (although Laban tricked him into marrying his eldest daughter Leah, so Jacob had to labor seven more years for Rachel’s hand). Orryn, exiled from Westeros for 10 years, took service with the Archon and within one year had married his daughter, although after the marriage he continued to serve the Archon until his term was over (in real-world societies including in ancient Jewish law, sometimes the service/price is not paid all at once and the groom enters a contract where he promises to pay what he owes). Orryn’s exile status meant that he had no family to pay bride price, so he needed to take bride service under the Archon to wed his daughter. Bride price/service occurs in societies where manual labor is more valuable than land, and we can infer Tyrosh, a heavily urban, small, “bleak and stony island” does not value land as the main source of economic wealth; rather, manual labor seems to be essential, whether through the institution of slavery (slaves are said to outnumber freeborn Tyroshi three to one) or from mercenary companies. According to an evolutionary psychology theory, bride price also originates from polygamy since there is a relative scarcity of unmarried women, and we know from Racallio Ryndoon’s dozen wives that some polygamy is practiced in Tyrosh.

Some inferences about how Tyrosh’s bride price custom and how that may have impacted Tyroshi-Westerosi relationships under the cut:

Tyrosh is majority uxorilocal/matrilocal, perhaps even somewhat matrilineal: bride service in particular necessitates the couple living close to the bride’s parents. The children of Rohanne and the Archon’s daughter were both raised in their mother’s lands; obviously from necessity in Rohanne’s case, but the Archon’s daughter never went to Westeros with her own daughter to try to raise her near Storm’s End after her father’s term was over. It seems fairly easy to assume that Tyroshi “citizenship” is based on the origins of the mother, as it was in ancient Rome (all children of freeborn women were free no matter their fathers’ status), GRRM’s model for Valyria. Matrilineality facilitates the incorporation of foreigners into the society, which is important for mercantile Tyrosh.

This is partially the reason for the imbalance between the number of Tyroshi men versus women in the books when this is not the case for their ‘sister cities.’ Several Tyroshi men appear in the books as sea captains and sellswords, and background Tyroshi sailors are easily distinguished by their dyed hair. Lyseni women have been significant side characters since book one (with Doreah, who is Dany’s slave) and are in-universe famous for being the beautiful consorts of Westerosi kings. There are even some Myrish women who have recent prominence in Taena and Serala (note: it isn’t said whether or not they are related to any Myrish magisters). The only Tyroshi women who have prominence are long dead nobility, Rohanne and Kiera and the Archon’s daughter (all three are certainly connected to the Archon in some fashion). In a matrilocal society, the women do not often leave their natal home (whereas in a patrilocal society women have to reside with their husband’s family), while the men frequently leave in order to make their fortune and thus be able to afford the bride price. If the city is matrilineal, the glut of male Tyroshi expats makes even more sense since they will not be able to inherit most of their mother or father’s property, so leaving the island is often the only way to make a decent living.

The bride price practice explains why Kiera of Tyrosh, unique among Westerosi royal consorts, was married to two Targaryen princes: Valarr died in 209 in the Great Spring Sickness, while Kiera’s only living child Vaella was born in 222. We don’t know when Kiera and Daeron were married, but the age gap between her stillborn sons (pre-208) and daughter is big enough (at least 14 years) that whoever Archon Kiera was related to might have had his term expire, and issues of her fertility might’ve caused other related Tyroshi women to be recommended for the crown prince. But the double marriage to Kiera may have happened because amid a country wracked by a devastating plague, ironborn raids, a hard-fought rebellion, and rampant tyranny, the crown simply did not have the funds to pay another bride price.

The Blackfyre daughters were able to marry well, whereas it was difficult to find matches for the sons: Daemon had seven sons, five of whom reached adulthood, but we know only of two or perhaps three (Haegon and Captain Daemon’s father; if you don’t believe Maelys was Haegon’s son, then his father as well) who had sons that carried on the Blackfyre name. In an aristocratic society with a dowry system like Westeros, the Blackfyre brothers could have traded on their noble birth and royal blood to marry an heiress (even a wealthy merchant’s daughter like Lyonel Corbray did), but in Tyrosh they would’ve needed to pay a bride price or spend years in bride service. This could explain why Daemon II was clearly not married by age 22 (yes he was gay, but so was Laenor Velaryon and he wed Rhaenyra at age 20), partially why Haegon waited so long to cross the Narrow Sea (he was in bride service beforehand, and after he needed a few sons to secure the succession), and perhaps even why Aenys Blackfyre traveled to the Great Council to become king while his nephew was crowned (he didn’t have a male heir). A bride price system might explain why the male Blackfyre line died out by three generations when there had been so many heirs, if the family wealth was mostly tied up in marriage dues.

As for the daughters, I’m fairly certain that after the family went into exile, the proposed betrothal between Aegor and Calla was scrapped due to lack of advantages (Aegor was now a landless sellsword whereas Calla was one of perhaps three exiled princesses and relative of the Archon). Calla or her sisters would’ve been a brilliant match for any ambitious, wealthy Essosi magister who wanted leverage over the Targaryens. Bloodraven’s statement in The Mystery Knight that Daemon II’s brothers and sisters would seek revenge if he executed Daemon II indicates that the sisters were powerful and capable of claiming the throne (if their brothers had died), which probably made them more attractive matches. The wealth their marriages brought the family might’ve helped the female line survive to canon era, though in a much better position than is usually speculated.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #tyrosh #marriage #asoiaf theories #Rohanne of Tyrosh #House Blackfyre #archon's daughter #orryn baratheon #kiera of tyrosh #calla blackfyre

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writingfortoomanyfandoms · 6 years ago

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BAFTA Ready

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Summary: Ben and the reader attend the BAFTA’s together

Requested: No (well... kinda)

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Thanks to everyone who voted for who I should write this fic about! I was just so inspired by how fucking hot they all looked yesterday omg. Please remember to like, reblog, comment and send me asks! I love hearing from all of you guys!

“Can’t you get ready here?” Ben groaned, his hands moving to her waist to pull her back towards him. Y/N giggled, allowing him to move her back to the sofa where the two of them had been lounging comfortably together, binging Black Mirror episodes.

“I need help to look good tonight, Ben,” Y/N said, turning around in his lap so she was straddling his waist, facing him, her hands went to his blond hair that was still messy from sleep, despite them having woken up and gotten out of bed hours ago.

Ben sighed, and Y/N felt him relax under her touch and his head dropped to her shoulder where he placed a kiss to her bare skin that peaked out under the burgundy zip up hoodie of his she was wearing.

“You should just wear this, you look stunningly gorgeous, my love,” his hands ran up and down her waist and Y/N felt heat rising to her cheeks at his sweet words. Her left hand gently reached down to take his in hers, squeezing his rough hand tightly.

“You’re so not allowed to say things like that,” Y/N playfully scolded and Ben chuckled, lifting up their intertwined hands as he removed his head from where it was still hiding in her shoulder and he kissed her ring finger gently.

“You should be used to it by now, future Mrs Hardy,” he teased and Y/N let out a giddy laugh.

“I can’t believe we’re getting married,” she sighed contentedly, kissing his cheek.

“I can’t wait to let the world know that you’re officially mine,”

“I was always yours,” Y/N said, her voice soft and she slid her other hand from his hair down so it was cupping his cheek and she grinned at him. “I always will be,” she vowed and her heart fluttered at the way Ben’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, sparkling with joy at her promise.

“But now it’s explicitly clear that you’re my girl,” his voice was low and heavy as he murmured the words and Y/N pulled his lips to hers, trying to pull him as close as possible.

Ben had proposed to Y/N over a month ago. It had been a spontaneous decision at the time - he had been planning on doing it for months before and had gone out and bought the ring with his friends and had a big speech and outing planned for which he would propose to her with. But, as it turned out, the perfect time for him to propose presented itself while they were at home, early in the morning as Y/N was making pancakes for him at ten o’clock at night after he had had a bad day and Ben realised just how much he loved her.

Ben proposed that night and was over the moon when Y/N said yes.

The two of them had, of course, told their family and close friend - BoRhap boys included naturally. And they had never intended to keep it a secret from the public, they had just never actually announced it and no newspapers/magazines appeared to have picked up on the shiny ring on Y/N’s finger.

The BAFTA’s seemed like the perfect chance to announce their engagement.

“I don’t want you to go, just stay and get ready with the guys and me,” Ben sighed, nuzzling his nose into her neck again and Y/N shook her head affectionately.

“I need to get my hair done properly,”

“Joe can do it,” Ben sighed and Y/N laughed.

“Yeah, that went so well last time,” she grinned, getting flashbacks to the last time she allowed Joe anywhere near her hair and she had to get an impromptu haircut. Ben chuckled against her skin and Y/N could tell he was also remembering that moment. “I should go,” she said and Ben shook his head, pulling her back down as she tried to get up.

“You should definitely stay, you’ll be the most gorgeous woman there no matter what, my love,”

“Sweet sappy son of a bitch,” Y/N laughed, kissing her fiancé again. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” Ben murmured, his eyes shining in utter adoration.

“I can’t wait to see you in your suit,” Y/N confided and Ben chuckled, rubbing her back.

“It’s gotta be good to make sure we look amazing together,” Y/N laughed against his lips.

“Fuck you look stunning,” Ben said, gaping at Y/N as he got out of the limo to open the door for her. Y/N grinned shyly, looking at the ground, awkwardly playing with the material of her dress.

“You look amazing too, Ben,” she said, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

“You look nervous,”

“I’m shitting myself,” she admitted with a giggle and Ben grinned, rubbing his hands up and down her bare arms.

“I’m excited,”

“So am I - I’m nervous about the awards though,” she confided and Ben kissed her forehead.

“I love you,”

“Rami’s going to win,” she murmured and Ben rolled his eyes.

“Not exactly the response I was expecting,” he joked and the giggle rose like a bubble in her throat.

“I love you too, dipshit,” she said, pressing her lips to his in a sweet kiss she had been craving since leaving him in the morning.

“You’re definitely our good luck charm tonight,” Ben said, affectionately wrapping his arm around his waist and leading her back to the car, opening the door for her.

“Y/N!” Joe screeched, launching himself across the backseat to hug her.

“Hey Joe,” she laughed, hugging her friend back.

“Dude you literally saw her yesterday,” Gwilym scoffed from the front seat and Y/N leant across the centre console so she could hug him as well.

“You say that as though I’m not the entire reason for your existence,” Y/N retorted, feigning offence that had Gwilym trying to hold back a chuckle.

“We can’t all be in love with you,” Gwilym teased.

“That’s definitely my job,” Ben agreed, pulling Y/N back so she was no longer level with Gwilym and was instead pressed against his side. He locked their fingers together, squeezing her left hand tightly, giving away his nerves. Y/N returned the action with a comforting smile and pecked his cheek.

“What will you do if we win?” Joe asked, leaning against the car door and Y/N raised her eyebrows at him, a grin playing at the corner of her mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“What will you do?” Joe demanded with a grin. “Like you baked us a cake at the Globes,” he clarified and Y/N nodded in realisation.

“Oh, right, I get you,” she hesitated before shrugging. “I’ll buy you McDonalds?” She offers and Joe cheers.

“At the after party?” Ben adds and Y/N rolls her eyes before nodding.

“Sounds good to me,”

“You guys will win though,” Y/N said confidently and Ben chuckled, kissing her hair.

“You’re our good luck charm,” he murmured into her skin again, causing heat to rise to her cheeks.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,”

“You’re staring,” Joe muttered, leaning over to say the words into Y/N’s ear. The girl elbowed her friend, scowling at him.

“He looks hot,” she defends and Joe held his hands up in defence.

“I’m not disagreeing with you on that,”

“Stop trying to steal my boyfriend!” She demanded and Joe laughed, shaking his head.

“You can have him - I have something way better. Ben Cardy,”

“Watch yourself, Mazzello. Me and Hardy are coming for you and Cardy for cutest couple award,” Joe scoffed at her words, shoving her arm in defence.

“Please, Y/L/N, you’ll have to prise that award from my cold, dead hands,”

“What the fuck are you two even talking about?” Gwilym asked, escaping from interviewers in order to join his friends.

“He’s trying to steal Ben from me,” Y/N stated bluntly.

“You have me,” Gwilym teased and Joe scoffed.

“Stop trying to break me and Ben up - it’s bad enough that we’ve got to have a beard in the form of Y/N. I don’t want Ben getting jealous when he sees me with you too,” Joe sighed in mock frustration.

“Future Mrs Hardy, your man-child’s calling for you,” Gwilym pointed out, nudging Y/N and nodding towards the blond man, who was indeed beckoning towards Y/N with a grin on his face.

“See? He wants me, not you,” Y/N said, sticking her tongue out at Joe immaturely before moving to join Ben in front of the camera.

“So your Ben’s date for the evening!” The interviewer greeted excitedly. Y/N gave a warm smile, feeling the nerves settling in her stomach and she nodded.

“I am,” she confirmed and her smile widened as she felt Ben’s arm snake securely around her waist, clearly having sensed her nerves.

“You look gorgeous tonight,” the interviewer complimented and Y/N cocked her head to the side, beaming.

“Thank you so much! I mean, not a candle to Lucy. She’s stunning,”

“I haven’t seen her yet,”

“She looks drop dead gorgeous, honestly,” Y/N confirmed, feeling her heart swell with love for her friend. “Rami’s a lucky guy,” she added and Ben shrugged.

“I think I’m the lucky one to be honest,” the interviewer clutched her heart, pretending to swoon, causing the couple to laugh.

“That’s adorable,” she commented and Ben shrugged again, pulling a face.

“It’s just true, to be honest,” Y/N turned to grin at him, pushing herself onto her toes to kiss his cheek.

“And I can’t help but notice the ring on your finger,” she added and Y/N giggled, holding up her left hand.

“Guilty,” she admitted and Ben grinned, kissing the top of her head.

“When did that happen?”

“About a month ago now,” Ben shrugged and Y/N nodded, scrunching up her face as she tried to think.

“Give or take,” Y/N confirmed.

“Are you going to be Hardy or Jones?” The interviewer asked and Y/N turned to face Ben, furrowing her brows. He mirrored her expression.

“I... actually have no idea,” she admitted, laughing a little.

“Whichever sounds better,” Ben said and both of the women laughed at his joke.

“Are your cast mates going to be involved with the wedding?”

“I think if we exclude Joe then he’ll either boycott the whole thing or throw a tantrum in the church,” Y/N said honestly and Ben nodded in agreement, trying to hide his smile.

“Well we’re all thrilled for you two, congratulations,”

“Thanks,” Y/N beamed.

“I should let you get on your way but it’s been lovely talking to both of you - good luck for tonight!”

“Well... that was fun,” Ben whispered in her ear as they walked away and Y/N smiled, moving closer to him and turning her head to give him a tender kiss.

“I love you so much,”

“I love you too, Y/N Hardy,” Y/N raised her eyebrows in amusement. “Just trying it out,”

“Ben Y/L/N?”

“Let’s not close all our options,” he agreed and Y/N kissed him again. “Y/N Jones,” Ben hesitated before shrugging, a bashful smile crossing his handsome features. “I don’t care either way, as long as it means you’re my wife,”

Later that evening, as the after party settled down and Y/N and Ben headed home in a taxi, Y/N snuggled up to Ben’s side and was surprised as she got a post notification from Instagram. She looked up at her fiancé with one eyebrow cocked but he responded by kissing her.

It was a series of photographs of the two of them throughout their relationship, ending with one of them tonight at the BAFTA’s, Y/N’s engagement ring on show.

Y/N Hardy sound good to anyone?

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