#ooc wedding

[lavenderleahy]

Buck scans the reception venue, eyes finally landing on Tommy. He's is sitting at an otherwise empty table in the back of the venue, sipping on punch and staring off in the distance. As Buck jogs over to him, Tommy notices him and his eyes lift with the hint of a smile. Buck slides into the chair nearest to him, hunching over earnestly.

"Tommy, hey. I'm so sorry. I did not mean to ditch you for half the wedding."

"Hey it's all good," Tommy shrugs. "You've got your priorities. Maddie needed you. No one could've predicted the chaos of the day."

"Yes," Buck responds, placing a hand on Tommy's. "But I'm still sorry. I'd do anything for Maddie, but it still wasn't okay to desert you."

Tommy mirrors Buck's movements and places his other hand on top of his. Smiles gently. "Evan. I can hold my own at a wedding. I promise."

Buck glances down, then looks up at Tommy, smiling shyly. "It's just... it's only our second date and I've fucked up both of them."

Tommy laughs. A real, pleasant laugh. It makes butterflies dance in Buck's stomach.

"You've done nothing of the sort, Evan," Tommy responds. "Sure, everything with you is.... unexpected. But I like it."

Now the butterflies are doing somersaults. "Yeah?"

Tommy smiles and squeezes his hand reassuringly. "Yeah."

Buck beams. God, he's so nervous. Tommy makes him nervous. He still can't believe Tommy has given him another chance after their train wreck of a first date. He'd been thinking about the wedding for days beforehand, just wanting everything to go perfectly. Needless to say, it had not gone perfectly. Not even close.

But here Tommy still was, smiling at him, holding his hand, forgiving him anyways. He hadn't left in the chaos. He-

"You're staring." Tommy's voice interrupts his train of thought. He raises his eyebrows. "Like what you see?"

Fuck, Tommy's so confident. Of course he's confident. He's cool, and he's loyal, and he's willing to take risks, and he has a cleft, and - Buck can't stop himself. He reaches his hand up and gently grasps Tommy by the chin, his thumb on that dimple and his four fingers brushing against the stubble near his neck.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he says, breathless.

Tommy doesn't say anything, just nods solemnly.

Buck leans in and closes the gap, brushing his lips against Tommy's. Immediately, there's electricity buzzing between them and he deepens the kiss. Their noses and foreheads are pressed against each other, their lips dancing in unison, and there's nothing, nothing that Buck would rather be doing right now. His right hand snakes around Tommy's neck and he pulls him in closer, impossibly closer. The kiss is perfect. Tommy is perfect. He never wants this kiss to end.

But Tommy pulls back, ending the kiss far, far too early. His face his flushed and Buck is proud to notice that he might be a little breathless, too. He stands up, and Buck's eyes follow him, wide and wondering.

"C'mon," Tommy says, offering a hand to Buck where he remains in the chair.

Buck puts his hand in Tommy's but he can't move. His mind is still reeling from the kiss. He wants to kiss Tommy again.

"You said you needed someone to dance with, right?"

This shakes Buck out of his stupor, and he laughs. "Yeah, I did," he says, rising to his feet. He lets his eyes meet Tommy's and steps forward into his space. "Let's dance."

[just-jordie-things]

how excited is megumi about planning his wedding?

i think megumi would think he doesn't care about the planning in the beginning. as long as you're happy, so is he. besides, it's just food and color schemes, right? he doesn't care about allat. he just wants to marry you.

and then his pesky friends get in the way... showing you swatches of the most god awful colors, sending you pinterest boards of aesthetics he could hardly stomach to look at... don't get him started on yuuji suggesting a build your own taco table.... absolutely not!

but you're so kind, hearing out all their wildest ideas because you value their friendship therefore you value their imaginations! so megumi just keeps his hand secure over his mouth in the hopes that it hides his disgust with every horrible idea they bring up, all the while you smile and nod and tack on a thoughtful 'maybe...' to every idea.

as soon as he gets you alone it all comes spilling out. how he refuses to marry you surrounded by an outdated coral pink, or fake snow, and god forbid you write the other person's vows- he's had his drafted for the last three years! there would be no room at your wedding for zany pranks. it was supposed to be romantic, not a comedy show.

and just as respectful as you were to itadori and nobara, you hear him out for the entirety of his rant. if you weren't sure of his opinion on a taco buffet before, you certainly are now. about halfway through you've gotten the gist of what he's saying, but your patience is bountiful and you wait until megumi has gotten it all off his chest.

he finishes his list of complaints with a huff, and once you're sure the floodgates are closed again, you lean over to give him a quick peck of a kiss.

"if you want to be more involved in the planning, 'gumi, all you had to do was say so," you tell him with that sweet, knowing look in your eyes. the one that always makes the tips of his ears flush pink, even after all the years of being with you. "and trust my taste a little, won't you? did you really think i'd let there be dry ice at my wedding?" you tease, while still wondering why yuuji thought a smoky ceremony seemed like a good idea.

"you're right," he sighs, relaxing just a little. "i want to be more involved"

"that's great," you beam back at him. "i'll show you the binder when we're home, then"

"binder?"

"it's color coded and alphabetized"

"there's that much?" megumi's hesitance returns upon thinking through what he's just agreed to. will he still have time to exorcize curses if he dives into wedding planning with you?

"gojo is funding it, isn't he?"

"good point," he mumbles. "maybe... we can talk about the doves, then"

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 5

Summary - Two and a half moons after (Y/N)'s arrival in Kingslanding he must grapple with his new title as a dragonlord, wedding festivites, his grandsire's sudden illness, and his relationship with his father. The prince tries to balance all of this as the royal wedding looms over him.

Warnings - minor injuries, general HOTD warnings, drinking, canon character death, consummation scene (its minor and a fade to black)

I have decided to mold the lore to my own desires because there is almost next to nothing on House Royce during this time period. Also was going to break this into two parts because its so long but wanted all the wedding festvites to take place during one chapter.

(Y/N) winced as the maester prodded at his nose, the maester made humming noises as he examined the prince’s injuries. He applied a few plaster’s to (Y/N)’s nose, before wrapping it in soaked wool. 

“His nose shall heal fine, my prince.” 

Daemon nodded, “Thank you, you may go.” 

The maester bowed to the two princes, gathering his supplies and leaving (Y/N) alone with his father. Daemon watched as the man left the room, and waited until the doors were shut before turning on his son. He crossed his arms leaning back against a chair, and (Y/N) braced himself for a lecture. 

“How are you feeling?” 

(Y/N) blinked, “What?” 

Daemon pushed himself off the chair, making his way over toward (Y/N). He slowly reache

d his hand out, gently tracing the scratches and bruises on (Y/N)’s face, and (Y/N) was too shocked at his father’s actions to react. “Are you in pain?” 

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, looking up at his father. “I’ve had worse.” 

Daemon frowned, and (Y/N) wondered how much his mother had told him of his childhood mishaps. “What were you doing so far off Rosby Road?” 

(Y/N) flushed, “I- uh, snuck out.” 

“You snuck out?” His father’s face lit up, and he took a step back laughing and shaking his head. “How did your uncle react?” 

“Well he doubled my guard for one.” (Y/N) said, remembering his Uncle’s fury when (Y/N) showed up the next morning, face covered in blood and dirt. He had some choice words for the young heir, and (Y/N) was confident Daemon had heard his brother’s opinion on the matter as soon as he stepped foot into the keep. “But he was more interested in the dragon than my misbehavior.” 

“Ah,” Daemon smirked. “Yes, it must have been quite a shock.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes at his father, “I know you did something.” 

“What did I do, (Y/N)?” Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow at his son. “I did not drag Vermithor to you, or you to him for that matter. Vermithor made his choice.” 

“And it’s just a coincidence that as soon as you leave for Dragonstone, Vermithor leaves and seeks me out randomly.” 

“Perhaps it was fate.” Daemon shrugged. 

“You don’t expect me to believe that.” 

Daemon approached (Y/N), placed his hands on his shoulders. “It does not matter what you believe, all that matters are the facts. And the facts are that you have claimed Vermithor, you should be proud.” 

“I did not wish to claim a dragon, I never have.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s face hardened. 

“You are my son.” Daemon said, and (Y/N) hissed as his grip on his shoulder tightened. “You are a dragon, you cannot escape that.” 

His father’s face softened at (Y/N)’s expression. He released the boy, and seemed to hesitate before smoothing his hair back out of his face, “You should rest, you have had quite the number of shocks these past few days.” 

(Y/N) watched as father turned on his heel, and exited the chambers gently shutting the doors behind him.

“Lykirī.” (Y/N) smiled, as Vermithor pushed his snout into his chest. He pet the dragon with a gloved hand, laughing as the dragon continued to push him. “You must relax if you wish to fly.” 

(Y/N) had spent almost a week avoiding Vermithor after the dragon chased him down in the woods. Hoping that if he ignored him long enough the dragon would take the hint and leave, but eventually the Dragonkeepers sought him out, telling him that Vermithor had been untamable since he’d arrived in the Dragonpit. So (Y/N) resigned himself to the life of a dragonrider. He’d spent every day since then with the dragon, slowly but surely adjusting to his presence, and Vermithor had calmed drastically with (Y/N)’s visits. 

(Y/N) had taken to flying easily, much to his father’s delight and, as much as he hid it, his own. Although he had felt sick at the idea of claiming a dragon at first, he had come to find pride in the quick developments in his relationship with Vermithor. 

Rhaenyra too found delight in her betrothed’s new life. 

Anytime (Y/N) was free Rhaenyra was dragging him to the dragonpit, insisting Vermithor and Syrax go flying together. Viserys, at first happy to have another dragon in the family, soon grew inpatient with the two teens. Irritated at their constant absence from court, but (Y/N) paid him little mind. (Y/N) had no real place in his court, and he had not yet raised Rhaenyra, his heir, from the role of cupbearer. 

(Y/N) saddled Vermithor, leaning down to whisper to the dragon, “Sōvēs” 

The wind was cool against his face, blowing the strands of hair that had escaped his bun around in his face. (Y/N) had been wishing for clean and open air since he’d arrived in Kingslanding, this just isn’t how he expected to find it. Vermithor rumbled under him, and he laughed, leaning down so that he could rub the dragon’s neck. 

“I know,” (Y/N) spoke, almost shouting to be heard against the wind. “I am sorry I was late.” 

He’d been stuck in court all day, listening to his father and uncle bicker over details of the upcoming royal wedding. His uncle, ever the peacekeeper, had wanted Rhaenyra and (Y/N) to be married in the faith of the seven, as he was to Aemma and later Alicent, his father had other ideas however. 

“I do not worship the New Gods, uncle.” (Y/N) pointed out. 

“It is the tradition of the royal family.” The Grand Maester spoke up, as the other lords of the chamber had gone silent as soon as the tensions started to rise, seemingly fearful of angering any member of the royal family. Not that (Y/N) could blame them, he’d heard stories of his father’s infamous fits of anger. 

“(Y/N) follows the Old Gods like his mother,” His father looked pained to speak the words, but (Y/N) gave him an appreciative nod all the same. “And I have not known Rhaenyra to spend her days in the sept. We are Targaryens, they should marry in the tradition of Old Valyria.” 

“The faith-” 

“Fuck the faith.” Daemon spat. “I will not ask my son to forsake his gods so that some fat septon is comfortable, and we cannot bring a weirwood here so this is the only equitable compromise I see.” 

His uncle and the members of his council had grumbled at the idea, but eventually they conceded knowing this was an argument they could not win without insulting someone. His uncle dismissed them all, brows pinched in frustration. (Y/N) had caught his father’s arm on the way out, stopping him from walking away. 

“Thank you.” He did not meet his father’s eyes. “I know faith is not important to you, but it is to me so- just- thank you.” 

His father gently cupped his cheek, bringing (Y/N)’s eyes up to meet his. His father smiled at him, “You do not have to thank me. It is no secret that I hold no love for your mother’s house, but you do, and you are my blood. I will always defend you.” 

His father’s words still hung over his head by the time (Y/N) and Vermithor had returned to the Dragonpit. 

Rhaenyra was waiting for him as he dismounted, accompanied by a slew of Kingsguard and a royal carriage. The Kingsguard watched Vermithor warily as he grumbled, huffing as though he could sense (Y/N)’s apprehension at the sight laid out before him. 

 “Lykirī.” (Y/N) whispered, urging the bronze beast to return to the Dragonpit. Vermithor huffed one last time at the men, causing (Y/N) to chuckle, before returning. (Y/N) walked over to Rhaenyra, untying his hair and letting it tumble down to his shoulders. “That is quite the party, Nyra.” 

She sighed, “Our presence is required at the keep. We must be readied to greet the lords arriving at the court.” 

A Kingsguard opened the door of the carriage, and (Y/N) offered his hand for Rhaenyra to take. She took his hand, using it as leverage to step into the carriage and (Y/N) followed suit, taking the seat across from her. 

“What troubles you?” 

Rhaenyra blinked at (Y/N), “I am not troubled.” 

“Rhaenyra,” (Y/N) said, smiling slightly, “I can tell something is troubling you. Is it tonight?” 

“No,” She shook her head, leaning forward and placing her hand on (Y/N)’s knee. “No, it’s not tonight, it is this morning. My father is still blind to the schemes of some of those present in his court, they seek to undermine our family in favor of the Hightower children.” 

“Your father will not claim Aegon over you. You are his heir, you will be Queen and no scheming lord can change that.” 

Rhaenyra smiled, squeezing his knee slightly before releasing him and sitting back. (Y/N) turned to look out of the carriage, leaning back into the cushions and closing his eyes. He heard Rhaenyra chuckle softly, before the exhaustion of the day overtook him and he slipped away to sleep.

“You seem nervous.” (Y/N) turned, coming face to face with his cousin. He gave his best attempt at a smile, he fiddled with the collar of his shirt, and Gerold stepped forward. He adjusted the leather jerkin, allowing (Y/N) to breathe easier. “It is odd to see you in such formal attire.” 

(Y/N) laughed, “At least they don’t have dragons on them.” 

“No? I have heard a rumor that you’ve become quite the dragonlord in your absence.” 

(Y/N) reddened, ducking his head slightly, “It was an accident.” 

His cousin laughed, patting him on the shoulder, “There is no need to be nervous, cousin.” 

His cousin smiled at him one last time before joining his other cousin in the precession line. (Y/N) frowned at the sight of Gunthor, he’d been informed when his family and their court had arrived that his grandsire had fallen ill not long after (Y/N) departed, and in his heirs absence his cousin Gunthor, second in line, had taken his place as regent. His grandsire had been too ill to make the journey to Kingslanding, sending (Y/N) his well wishes and Gunthor in his place. 

A sudden hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to catch his father smiling, he squeezed his shoulder. “The tailors did well, you look like a prince.” 

“I am a prince.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s smile widened. 

“Yes, you are. Remember that, as there are those that would hope you forget.” His father nodded in the direction of Gunthor, and (Y/N)’s expression soured. 

“I do not trust him, I cannot say why but-” (Y/N) frowned, staring at his cousin’s interactions with the Valemen around him. “He did not write to me to tell me of my grandsire’s illness. I am the heir, I should be regent, not him, and yet in my absence he swooped in.” 

His father nodded, “Good. You must recognize the snakes before they strike.” 

His father stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the Valemen. “I am aware that we do not have the best relationship-” 

(Y/N) snorted, and Daemon laughed rolling his eyes. “Yes I know, but you are my son, my blood. And I would like to be not just your sire, but your father as well. I was not there in your youth, let me be there now.” 

(Y/N) frowned, hesitating. He swallowed before finally speaking, “May we speak of this after the feast?” 

“Of course,” His father lightly touched his cheek, “Come we should join the others.” 

He and his father took their places at the front of the party, Gunthor to (Y/N)’s left and Daemon to his right. (Y/N) took a deep breath as the doors opened, keeping his gaze on the two banners bearing the sigils of House Targaryen and House Royce hung in the back of the Great Hall as his family entered. 

“Ser Gunthor of House Royce. Acting Lord of Runestone, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon. And Prince Daemon Targaryen. And his son and heir to Runestone Prince (Y/N) Targaryen the future King Consort.” 

The guests of the hall stood, clapping as they walked down to the high table. The amount of eyes on him made (Y/N) uneasy, but he kept his head high, posture exuding the confidence expected of one of his station. (Y/N) made eye contact with Rhaenyra at the end of the hall who offered him a comforting smile, he nodded to her. 

They paused at the beginning of the steps, bowing to the King, before Rhaenyra stepped around the table making her way toward the crowd. (Y/N) stepped forward, meeting her halfway, he took her hand as his father had instructed him when going over the etiquette required of him at the feast. 

“You must act every bit the king you will one day be, no matter how unused to these events you may be.” His father had told him. (Y/N) scoffed at the advice, he was raised to be the Lord of Runestone, he knew how to act at a feast. 

As (Y/N) pressed a chaste kiss to Rhaenyra’s hand, and claps echoed around the hall, he cursed himself for not taking his father’s advice seriously. He had never known a feast quite like this, hosting the most important lords of the whole of Westeros. Lords he’d never met before like the Lannisters, Hightowers, and Velaryons. He took his place by Rhaenyra’s side at the table, his father and cousin taking the seats by his left. 

He let out a breath as he sat down, scanning the crowd as his uncle started to speak. Rhaenyra grabbed his hand under the table, squeezing it in reassurance, it was only then that he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. 

"Be welcome,” His uncle smiled out at the crowd, “As we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning. We honor one of Westeros' oldest houses, and a fierce ally to the crown, House Royce. Just as House Targaryen reaches back to the blood of Old Valyria, House Royce reaches back to the blood of the first men. With House Targaryen and H-"

Viserys paused, and everyone averted their gaze to where his lingered. (Y/N) tensed once more as Queen Alicent Hightower made her entrance into the hall. The color of her dress a clear statement to anyone who knew any of the histories. Reluctantly (Y/N) made his way to his feet with the rest of the guests, he shot an amused glance to his side where his father still sat, eyes narrowed at the young queen. 

Alicent addressed Rhaenyra, “Congratulations, step-daughter. What a blessing this is for you.” 

Rhaenyra gave no indication of thanks, and Alicent kissed Viserys on the cheek before taking her seat beside him. 

He’d not yet had any real interactions with the young queen, only knowing things told to him by Rhaenyra and Daemon. He had taken them with a grain of salt, wanting to make his own judgment of the girl, but with the blatant display she’d just shown to the lord’s of Westeros, (Y/N) decided that maybe Rhaenyra and Daemon had been right in their worries. Perhaps the Hightowers did have their own intentions with the crown. 

“Please be seated.” 

(Y/N) traced the rim of his empty goblet as his uncle stood silently, only picking his eyes up from the table when he started to speak. 

"With House Targaryen and House Royce united, once again, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dawn and Dragons in Westeros.” Viserys spoke, and the hall erupted into applause.

“And after tonight’s small affair,” Laughter sounded through the halls, and (Y/N) had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Seven days of tournament and feasting! And at the end of it all, a royal wedding. Between my daughter, my heir, your future queen. And Prince (Y/N) Targaryen, heir to Runestone.” 

As Viserys sat, and everyone else followed suit, Rhaenyra and (Y/N) rose from theirs. They approached the middle of the aisle, and began their dance. (Y/N) had never been much of a dancer, and suffered through the lessons given to both he and Rhaenyra. 

“I feel like a fool.” (Y/N) whispered as Rhaenyra and he side stepped each other. 

“You are doing wonderfully.” Rhaenyra whispered back, taking her place back to back with him. “Ignore everyone, pretend it is just you and me.” 

When they finished, bowing to one another the halls once again erupted in applause. (Y/N) took Rhaenyra’s hands in his, kissing them softly as she gave him a knowing smile. As the rest of the courtiers took their places on the dance floor, (Y/N) tried to escape back to the high table, longing for a cup of wine. He was stopped before he could reach the table much to his dismay. 

“My Prince.” The lady, who (Y/N) did not recognize, blushed, bowing to him. “May I have this dance?” 

(Y/N) gaped at her, before remembering who and where he was. “Yes, yes of course Lady-” 

“Reyne.” 

“Lady Reyne. (Y/N) smiled, mourning his cup of wine. He gestured toward the lords and lady’s dancing, “Lead the way.” 

He had to dance with five young ladies before he finally found his escape. He flopped, very unprince-like into his seat, immediately grabbing the cup of wine laid out in front of him. His father laughed, waving over a servant to refill the cup once (Y/N) had finished. 

“Not a fan of dancing?” Daemon smirked, “Or is it the ladies asking you to dance you are not fond of?” 

“Both.” (Y/N) spoke over the rim of his cup, “They only wish to dance with me because I am to marry Rhaenyra, if I were just the heir to Runestone they’d pay me little mind.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Daemon said, “You are a comely young man.” 

(Y/N) smirked, “Ladies don’t wish to dance with comely young men.” 

“Neither do lords.” His father raised his eyebrows, humor sparkling in his eyes. 

(Y/N) shrugged, smiling at his father’s tone, “You have been talking to Rhaenyra.” 

Daemon leaned close, patting his son on the leg, “I am just glad you two have made this match work for the both of you.” 

“We are not married yet, father.” (Y/N) reminded, “Things may yet just fall apart.” 

Before his father could speak, another lady made her way to the table. She bowed to both (Y/N) and Daemon. “Prince (Y/N), may I have this dance?” 

Daemon snickered, taking (Y/N)’s cup out of his hand. “Well go on, dance.” 

His father had disappeared from the table when (Y/N) had finished, and his cousins were wrapped up in conversation with a lord (Y/N) did not recognize. He made his way to the sidelines, stealing a full cup of wine, and pressing his back against the wall to avoid being spotted. 

He spied his father in the middle of the dancing, twirling Laena Velayron around, and (Y/N) frowned. His father’s wife, (Y/N)’s own mother, had died only three moons ago, and as far as (Y/N) knew Laena Velayron was engaged to some Brasvosi. 

“You would never know this feast was in your honor the way you frown.” 

(Y/N) turned to face the owner of the voice, smiling as Ser Harwin took a place next to him. “Ser Harwin.” 

“Are you not enjoying the feast, my prince?” Harwin smiled, leaning closer to the prince. 

“I am enjoying the wine, some of the company less so.” (Y/N) said, and Harwin laughed. 

“I understand the sentiment.” 

(Y/N) brought the cup up to his lips, smiling around its rim. Harwin grabbed an empty cup, flagging down a servant who filled both of their cups. (Y/N) watched as his father continued to dance with Laena, and Rhaenyra moved through the crowd, followed closely by Ser Laenor. 

Harwin raised his cup up, and (Y/N) followed suit, “To your marriage.” 

“My marriage.” (Y/N) and Harwin laughed as their cups met. 

(Y/N) spent the rest of the feast by Harwin’s side. Harwin had stopped drinking by his fourth cup, watching in amusement as the prince got drunker and drunker with each cup of wine. As the feast died down, and the lords and ladies took their leave, Harwin had found (Y/N) a seat, and was watching him ramble fondly. 

“I do not care for this court, Harwin.” (Y/N) sighed, leaning his head back. “It was simpler on Runestone, but here, here there are too many lords I do not know. I do not trust them.” 

Harwin laughed, patting the prince’s leg, “Perhaps a hall filled with those lords is not the place to have this conversation, my prince.” 

“(Y/N).” (Y/N) said, straightening. He looked Harwin in the eye, placing his hand on top of the knights. “Please call me (Y/N).” 

Harwin’s eyes softened, “Of course, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) smiled at the knight, keeping his hand where it was before two twin coughs behind him startled him. (Y/N) jumped, spilling his cup of wine onto himself. Harwin laughed as (Y/N) turned to look at the people behind him. Daemon and Rhaenyra stood above him, both with twin amused smiles on their faces. They had never looked more related, (Y/N) mused. 

“Having fun?” Rhaenyra asked. 

“I was informed that this feast was for me, and that I should try to have some fun.” 

Daemon laughed at his son's words, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him up out of the seat. “I think it’s time you take your leave.” 

Harwin stood, grabbing (Y/N) to help Daemon keep the prince upright. Rhaenyra sighed, a smile still gracing her face. 

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself, (Y/N).” Rhaenyra said. “But perhaps next time you can entertain yourself with less wine.” 

(Y/N) stepped forward, stumbling slightly and both Harwin and Daemon’s eyes widened as he moved. Freeing himself from the men’s grasps, (Y/N) approached Rhaenyra pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“I am sorry that I left you on your lonesome.” (Y/N) said, letting his hand rest on her arm. Rhaenyra smiled, at his words or his drunkenness (Y/N) could not tell. 

She pressed her palm to his cheek, “You are fine. I enjoyed myself plenty.” 

(Y/N) nodded. “Good, because this is for both of us. So we should both enjoy ourselves.” 

“(Y/N),” Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head. “Let us get you to your chambers.” 

Daemon and Harwin grabbed one of his arms, ignoring (Y/N)’s protests that he could walk by himself. Rhaenyra followed the three men, laughing at (Y/N)’s attempts to break free from the two men, and his drunken rambles to all three of the people accompanying him. When they finally reached the room, with some incident much to Harwin and Daemon’s dismay and Rhaenyra’s delight, Daemon turned to Harwin. 

“I have him from here, Ser Harwin will you please make sure the princess makes it back to her room.” 

Harwin nodded, and Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s cheek. “I will see you tomorrow at the tourney.” 

“Goodnight, (Y/N), Prince Daemon.” 

(Y/N) and Daemon bid the both of them goodnight, before the guards at (Y/N)’s door open the doors to his chamber and Daemon practically dragged his son into the room. Daemon instructe (Y/N) to lift his arms, and when he did he undid the jerkin and brought the tunic over his head, tossing it to the side. 

“Undo your boots.” 

(Y/N) complied, and when he was done Daemon led him toward the bed. When (Y/N) was seated on the bed, Daemon turned to leave, but (Y/N) grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks. “We have not had our conversation.” 

Daemon smiled, “Rest, we will have it tomorrow I promise.” 

(Y/N) nodded, “Alright.” 

Daemon pressed him down into the bed slowly, pushing the blankets back so that (Y/N) could get underneath them. He brushed (Y/N)’s sweaty hair out of his face, smoothing it down not unlike his mother used to do when he was ill. (Y/N) leaned into the touch, and Daemon smiled. 

“Sleep.” 

(Y/N) closed his eyes, slipping quickly into rest. But not before he felt the ghost of lips pressed against his forehead.

(Y/N) hated himself the next morning. 

He closed his eyes as he bathed, letting the warm water alleviate some of his migraine. He dressed slowly, groaning as a loud knock sounded throughout the room. 

“Come in.” 

Daemon strolled into the room, taking a look at his son’s appearance before chuckling. “How are you feeling?” (Y/N) just glared at him, causing Daemon to laugh again. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.” 

Daemon placed a small vile in front of him, and (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s watered down dreamwine,” Daemon said, “For your head.” 

“Oh,” (Y/N) took the vial, opened it and sniffed it a bit before downing it. “Thank you.” 

Daemon nodded, turning to leave. 

“Are you not here to continue our conversation?” (Y/N) called out, and Daemon turned back to face him. 

“I just wanted to see if you were well.” 

“I am.” (Y/N) smiled, “I just have a headache, I will live.” 

Daemon nodded, taking a seat across from (Y/N). He looked nervous at the thought of continuing their conversation from before the feast, it endeared (Y/N) to see his father’s usual tough exterior come crumbling down at the idea of a conversation. 

Giving his father some respite, (Y/N) changed the topic of conversation, “I saw you dancing with Laena Velayron last night. Is she not already betrothed?” 

“A man cannot dance with a lady?” Daemon asked, although his expression gave him away. 

“Not when that man is you, father.” (Y/N) said. “Do you wish to get remarried? You have no real need for any more heirs.” 

Daemon shrugged, “Perhaps I wish for company.” 

“You are lonely?” (Y/N) almost laughed at the thought. He could not imagine the so-called Lord of Flea Bottom wanting for the comforts of a lady. 

“Well my only son prefers to spend his time at Runestone pretending I don’t exist.” 

(Y/N)’s mood soured, and he frowned. He turned away from his father, crossing his arms like he wasn’t a man of seven and ten and instead a boy of nine. “You did not give me a choice. I was just saving myself from the pain I would feel when you inevitably wouldn’t arrive.” 

“I know.” Daemon ran his hand down his face. “I did not mean that I apologize.” 

“You know you have missed my last ten name days.” (Y/N) whispered. 

“I know.” Daemon said. “I sent you presents but I know that does not make up for my absence.” 

“I never received any gifts.” 

Daemon looked up in confusion, his expression contorted before he let out a bitter laugh. “No, of course you didn’t. Your mother probably never gave them to you. She never held any love for me.” 

“I remember you did not hold much for her either.” (Y/N) spat. “She told me that you fled Runestone the night after I was born, and did not return until my first name day only to flee that night as well.” 

“I was a boy, no older than you are now.” 

“That is no excuse!” 

“No it’s not and I have regretted my decisions every day! I was scared, (Y/N)!” Daemon stood. “When I found out your mother was pregnant I was terrified. We held no love toward each other, and I feared that our hatred toward each other would impact you. I was an idiot boy so I fled. Then you were born, and I was still just this boy, and you were so pure and I could not corrupt that with my hatred so I feld again. I fled again and again, because I was scared I could not be a good father to you, as I could not be a good husband to your mother and she could not be a good wife to me. When I finally realized what an imbecile I had been it was too late, you had no idea who I was.” 

(Y/N) remembered the day of his fourth name day vaguely. 

“(Y/N),” His mother gestured to a skinny man with pale hair and eyes like (Y/N). “Your father is here to see you.” 

The man approached him, and (Y/N) stepped back, placing his mother between him and this stranger. The man’s face fell, and he stumbled back. 

“Perhaps it would be best if I left.” 

“Daemon-” 

“It’s fine.” The man handed a wrapped package to his mother. “Give this to him.”

"You're running? Again?"

"Look at him Rhea-"

"No, run. Like you always do."

The man opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to think better of it. He turned on his heel and left, and (Y/N)'s mother scoffed.

He had seen his father only a few times after that day, and their meetings had always been brief and curt. His mother had certainly not helped (Y/N)’s view of his father, only ever nodding and staying silent when (Y/N) would complain. He had once asked her why Daemon did not stay for more than a night, and his mother had replied that his father hated the Vale and many of those who resided there. It had crushed (Y/N) to hear, but after learning of the gifts his father had sent that he had not received he could only wonder how much of his own hatred for his father was just what he learned to feel from his mother. 

“I am sorry for my absence.” Daemon said. “I can never make up those lost years, and I know my youth and stubbornness is no excuse but-” 

His father took a deep breath, “(Y/N), I wish- if you would allow, for us to start again. I know I cannot ask you to forget the years I was not there for you, but allow me to start again.” 

“I understand.” (Y/N) said, “I cannot forgive-” 

“-I wouldn’t ask you to-” 

“-but I understand. I understand more than I did at the very least.” (Y/N) said, and the tension in his father’s shoulders eased. (Y/N) smiled, it was probably a bit pained, (Y/N)’s head throbbing even more with the revelations of the morning. “We can try to start again. I make no promises, but we can try.” 

His father smiled, a genuine smile that (Y/N) had never seen across his father’s face before. “Thank you.”

“You are not participating, (Y/N)?” 

(Y/N) looked at the queen from where he was seated next to Rhaenyra, shaking his head politely. “I am not a knight, Queen Alicent.” 

Alicent looked him up and down, the motion making him squirm a bit. She did not respond but she nodded, turning her gaze back to the tourney fields. 

His father was not participating in the tourney either, instead taking a seat in the stands. Ser Harwin was participating though, much to Rhaenyra’s delight. (Y/N) did not find much delight in tourney’s, bloodshed was not a game to be played. 

In all honesty, (Y/N) was bored watching the tourney. Ser Criston had won, wearing Alicent’s favor which (Y/N) could tell irritated Rhaenyra. By the time the melee rolled around the next day (Y/N) was dreading spending the hot day in the stands of the tourney grounds. 

“May I have your favor, princess.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, giving Harwin a small piece of cloth. He tucked it into his armor, turning to (Y/N) who smiled. 

“I don’t have a favor,” (Y/N) said, and Harwin smiled, cheeks reddening slightly. “But I wish you luck.” 

“Thank you, (Y/N).” 

Their luck and favors did Harwin no favors in the melee. Rhaenyra had shrieked when Cristion’s morningstar made contact with Harwin’s collarbone, shattering it and his elbow. But the worst injury of the day had been to Ser Joffrey, and (Y/N) could not get Laenor’s cries out of his mind even as he fell asleep that night. 

There were no more tourney’s after that as a solemn mood had fallen over the royal court. Ser Harwin would live (Y/N) and Rhaenyra discovered, but Ser Joffrey was not likely to. And as it happened six days later, Joffrey passed, and Ser Laenor was inconsolable. Rhaenyra and (Y/N) both tried, even if (Y/N) was not as close with his cousin as Rhaenyra was, but in the end the knight took his leave back to Driftmark before the wedding even happened. 

(Y/N) spent the night before the wedding with his father. His father told him the story of his wedding with (Y/N)’s mother, describing how (Y/N)’s grandfather, Baelon, had to drag Daemon to Runestone. 

“If it is any comfort,” (Y/N) mused. “You had to drag me to Kingslanding.” 

Daemon laughed, “I did. But you will have a much happier marriage than your mother and I.” 

(Y/N) lifted his cup, “One can hope.” 

The wedding itself snuck up on (Y/N), the events of the week leading up to it not allowing him to worry about the ceremony. It was only now that he was dressed in red and gold Valyrian robes, standing atop Rhaenys’ hill, surrounded by the lords and ladies of Westeros, that the nerves started to reach him. 

He could hear the distant roars of the dragon’s in the dragon pit as the priest spoke. (Y/N) lifted the dragonglass blade, handed to him by the priest. He made quick eye contact with his father, who only nodded, before slicing Rhaenyra’s bottom lip. He gathered the blood from the cut, dragging his thumb down her forehead. Rhaenyra took her own blade, repeating the action on (Y/N) before slicing her palm.(Y/N) dragged the blade against his palm, taking Rhaenyra’s hand in his. They joined their blood as the priest spoke. 

(Y/N) took the cup handed to him, drinking from it, before handing it to Rhaenyra who did the same. The priest finished his rites, and (Y/N) cupped Rhaenyra’s cheek, he could taste the blood as he brought her lips to meet his. (Y/N) rested his forehead against Rhaenyra’s as cheers were sounded around them. When they pulled away and faced the crowd, he could see his father and uncle smiling. 

Their hands were wrapped by the priest, covering the open wounds, and they descended down the hill. Rhaenyra did not let go of his hand as they went, smiling at him as he helped her into the carriage waiting for them. “Thank you, valzȳrys.”

Both he and Rhaenyra were dressed in their small clothes separately. He’d been offered food and wine before he was brought over to Rhaenyra’s chambers, but he turned them down. He did not wish to spend his wedding night addled by wine. 

Viserys had insisted on a bedding ceremony, and Daemon had no qualms with the idea. But both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra protested. The meeting had ended unsuccessfully, but (Y/N) suspected Rhaenyra had private words with her father, as by the next meeting the topic had been dropped completely and it was agreed there would be no such ceremony. 

The doors to Rhaenyra’s chambers were opened by the guards, and (Y/N) stepped into the room. Rhaenyra was sitting by the vanity, brushing her hair in a velvet dress that hung loosely from her body. (Y/N) felt like a hedge knight in his plain cloth clothing. 

She smiled at him, placing the brush down on the vanity. She glided across the room, coming to stand in front of him. “Valzȳrys.” 

“Ābrazȳrys” 

Rhaenyra gently grasped the laces of his tunic, undoing them slowly. She kept eye contact with (Y/N) as she did so, letting his tongue wet her lower lip as the laces were fully loosened. (Y/N) grabbed the bottom of his tunic, bringing it up over his head, and placing it on a chair next to him. 

Rhaenyra took a deep breath as she watched (Y/N), she brought her hand up and gingerly traced the contours of his abdomen. (Y/N) took her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“Turn around.” (Y/N) said, and Rhaenyra complied. 

He stepped forward, brushing her hair to her front so that he could see the back of her dress. She shivered as his breath touched the back of her neck. He undid the laces of her dress with careful precision, causing her to laugh and joke. 

“Done this before?” 

Instead of responding, (Y/N) let the dress fall down her shoulders, leaving her bare. She stiffened as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before relaxing as he moved his mouth up her neck. She turned around and (Y/N)’s mouth went dry at the sight of her bare in front of him. She grabbed his neck, leaning up and connecting their lips. She grasped the laces of his trousers, undoing them in haste and shoving them down his legs. (Y/N) stepped out of them, groaning into Rhaenyra’s lip as she grasped him. He could feel her smile against his lips, and he pulled away bringing his mouth to her chest, eliciting a gasp from the princess. 

“(Y/N),” She gasped, and he kissed up her chest to her collarbone and back up to her lips, swallowing her next words. 

He pulled her close to him, lifting her so that she could wrap her legs around his waist and carried her to the bed. He gently set her down, and she smiled up at him. He returned the smile, before reconnecting their lips. Rhaenyra gasped as (Y/N) pulled away to mouth at her neck, she tangled her fingers in his hair pulling him up from where there would inevitably be a mark on her skin the next morning. 

“Stop teasing.” 

“Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

---

Translations -

Lykirī - be calm

Sōvēs - fly

Valzȳrys - husband

Ābrazȳrys - wife

Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys - of course, my wife

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Please let Astarion meet Tav's family and have a younger sibling like 6 be like im gonna marry the prince points at Astarion.

Tav : Sorry, im married to the prince

NO IM GONNA MARRY THE PRINCE

That's so fucking cute kill me. But I just realized AFTER I finished it I read this wrong 😭😭 I read it as "marry" instead of "married" so whoops now it's an asking for your hand in marriage fic.

Also, I'm going to make this a weird little, unofficial, alternate reality, off shoot of this fic to explain away why Astarion can be in the sun without ascending because I am ~lazy~

Quick summary if you didn't read it, Tav serves Selune, gets a blessing for all the good work, and uses it to cure the anti-light issue of the vampirism (but not all of it). It's not a literal extension of that fic but I'm stealing my own plot explanations. That's it! Now here we go:

~

Astarion wasn't nervous per se. He was just... on edge. And the two-week journey it took to get here wasn't helping things, not when it gave him so much time to ruminate in his thoughts. He never expected to be in the position of "meeting the family," let alone in anticipation for asking for someone's hand in marriage.

Astarion wasn't even quite sure how his life got here. He had always fantasized that a life without Cazador would be one of selfish hedonism, not one where he would be legitimately concerned about a damn six year old sibling's first impression of him.

But then you came along, effortlessly shattering all of his grandiose plans with a batt of your eyelashes. Perhaps the entire journey of falling in love was more complicated, but it felt like it was that simple. In hindsight, he never stood a chance against you, but it was hilarious that there was a time he ever thought he did.

All of his prior dreams and fantasies felt like nothing in comparison to just being with you. It had been a year since you both saved the Sword Coast, a beautiful, fantastic year. That had ended with him somehow more in love with you now than when he first confessed. Selune's blessing had certainly helped with that he was sure. He still couldn't quite believe that you would use a god's blessing on him of all people, but gods, was he appreciative. Because being able to walk in the sun again meant that he could live the life he wanted, with no restrictions. He could be the partner you deserved, the kind that a father would happily say yes to when asking for your hand.

Which brought him back to his current dilemma. Perhaps he hadn't seen any of your family members in the time you'd been together, but he had heard plenty. You loved them all to death, especially your little sister. You wrote to them constantly, the mere sight of a letter from your parents enough to put you in a great mood for the rest of the day. He was aware that your mother was supposedly a saint, a fact that your own father had instilled in you often. He knew that they had a wonderful, loving marriage and were both higher ups in the Church of Selune. A fact that Astarion didn't particularly enjoy.

As grateful to the moon goddess as he was, he was aware that you were an expectation to the very normal belief that vampires were bad. And that marrying one was one of the stupidest things you could ever do from an average person's perspective, let alone a Selunite.

Why you hadn't done the smart thing and lied about what he was, Astarion would never know. But he did know that the thought of their rejection over his admittedly sordid history was putting him in a tailspin.

"They're going to love you," You said for the hundredth time, giving his hand a squeeze as you led him up the steps to your childhood home, "You have nothing to worry about sweetheart. I promise."

Astarion highly doubted that, but you were already knocking on the front door before he had a chance to argue. The door instantly slammed open, a beaming child already launching themselves at you before Astarion could process what was happening.

But you were more prepared them he was. You effortlessly caught them in your arms, laughing at their excited shouting, "Titi! You're late!"

So this was the famous Arabeth.

"No, I'm not!" You laughed as you settled her on your hip, "And what happened to my little girl's manners huh? You haven't even introduced yourself yet."

The child glanced over at him, like she was just realizing for the first time that someone else was standing over there. She looked a little shocked at the sight of him, staring at him with wide eyes. Wide enough for Astarion to start to wonder if something was on his face.

He gave her a little wave only for her to bury her face into your shoulder, peeking out at him with her lips pursed. Which was not the best start to the whole making his darling's family actually like him plan.

"Well, as you've probably guessed this is Arabeth. She's just a little shy," You reassured as you stepped inside, muttering a quick invitation inside under your breath. He appreciated that, he didn't need the whole house to be reminded of his... limitations.

"But she'll get over it soon enough," You continued as you called into the house, "Mom? Dad? We're here!"

And just like that they were rushing into the room, acting just as excited as your sister had been. Your mother wasted no time in smothering your face with kisses while your father swept you up into a hug. It was a rather impressive display of coordination, considering how they hadn't managed to knock you and your sister to the floor in the process. Astarion was pretty sure they were both saying something along the lines of We missed you! But it was hard to tell with all of you so tangled up in each other.

It was heartwarming to see, in all honestly. Of course such a loving person would come from an equally loving family, what else would he expect?

Though he certainly hadn't been expecting for your mother to throw her arms around him next. She brought him into a tight hug before looking him up and down, "So you're Astarion huh?"

She turned back to you, grinning ear to ear with her hands set on Astarion's shoulders, "He's so handsome! Selune help us, do you remember the last boy you brought home? He had a nose the length of my arm-"

"And that's enough of that," You said with a strained laugh, pulling your eccentric mother back a few inches, "And we've talked about the impromptu hugs. What happened to asking for permission?"

"Sorry, sorry!" She said with a wave of her hand, "Let me try again. I'm Seliras, and this is my husband-"

"Marcoul," Your father interrupted, putting his hand out for Astarion to shake, "It's been awhile since we've met a boyfriend."

"He's a little more than that," You said with a sigh as everyone exchanged pleasantries.

"We'll be the judge of that," Marcoul said with a sharp but friendly grin, the grip he had on Astarion's hand briefly tightening before he let go, "From what we've heard, you're quite the character aren't you?"

Ah, so the interrogating was starting early then. It was nothing that Astarion hadn't expected. Besides, turning up the charm was his strong suit, even when he was uncharacteristically nervous.

Astarion smiled back at him, "You've heard right. And I'm more than happy to answer any questions you might have."

"Oh gods please don't say that," You groaned, but it was too late. Your parents were already leading him to sit, rapid-fire questions coming out of their mouth.

Where are you from? How did you meet? Are you serious about our Tav? What's your religion? Where's your family? What are your plans?

But Astarion answered them all, with only mild censorship for the child's sake. The child who suddenly couldn't stop staring at him. It wasn't exactly easy to sell himself as a future husband when he was a vampiric ex-slave, but he made do.

It was an overwhelming experience to say the least, but not necessarily an unpleasant one. That was one good thing about trying to marry into a family of zealots, it was a lot easier to convince them of your virtue when you received a personal blessing from their goddess.

By the end of the night, they were all throughly appeased, enough so to get off the topic of him for a moment.

"You look a little young to have a thirty-year old child," Astarion said to your mother. He was actively trying to compliment her for obvious reasons, but he was also genuinely curious. She barely looked a day over 40.

"Oh we breed young," She said with a laugh, "We had Tav in our teenage years. Arabeth came much, much later. Our favorite little surprise. Gods, I can't think of a single person in our family who didn't have kids young. Our little Tav is the only exception to the rule."

"But maybe not for much longer, huh?" Marcoul added with a grin, yelping when you lightly smacked him over the head for the comment.

"Do not start the kid talk again!" You hissed out, cheeks red, "We've talked about this!"

Astarion couldn't help but grin at your reaction, charmed by your embarrassment. Though... the idea of the two of you having children together sure was an interesting thought.

Astarion felt a tug on his sleeve while you were distracted arguing with your parents. He turned, smiling when he saw your little sister standing there, still staring at him with wide-eyes.

She took a deep breath before blurting out, "You look like a prince. Are you?"

"Not exactly," Astarion said with a small laugh. That couldn't be further from the truth, "There's no blue blood in my veins."

She frowned, cocking her head at him like he wasn't making any sense. But then an idea obviously struck her as she excitedly asked, "But if you married a princess, then you'd become a prince too. Right?"

"I suppose?" Astarion answered with a shrug.

"So if I become a princess, and I marry you, then you'll be a prince?"

This conversation was quickly becoming out of his depth. But luckily enough for him you were swooping in to save him.

You laughed at her question, turning your attention back to the two of them, "No offense Bethy, but I'm going to be the one marrying this particular prince."

But Arabeth wasn't having it. She crossed her arms, looking at you like she was the one talking to a child, "You can't. Because if I don't marry him, he won't be a prince. So there. I have to do it."

She looked so serious, her facial expressions incredibly similar to your own. Astarion was holding back a loud laugh as you tried and failed to reason with her, "I can marry him without the royal status-"

"No! I'm marrying the prince!"

Your parents were doing a much worse job at hiding their reactions, both of them opening giggling behind their hands as you came up with a compromise.

"Okay, okay," You said with a sigh, kneeling down to look the small girl in the eye, "How about this? I marry him first. But only until you become a princess. Then he's all yours. Sound fair?"

She thought about it for a moment before nodding to herself, "Sounds fair."

Well Astarion wasn't going to get a better set-up then that. He turned to your father, his nerves coming back for a brief appearance, "I'm assuming now might be a good time to ask what I came here to ask. Though I do promise I only intending on asking for one of your children's hand in marriage."

Marcoul nodded slowly, his face unreadable as he spoke, "I mean no offense when I say this Astarion, but you aren't exactly who I imagined for my daughter."

"Dad don't-"

"Darling, let him finish," Astarion gently interrupted, his eyes still locked with your father's.

He took a deep breathe before continuing, "That said, I've never seen her so... herself with someone else before. So yes. The two of you can marry. On one condition."

"Anything," Astarion said instantly, nearly giddy at the fact that he was so close to the official yes, "Just name it."

"You have to have the wedding here," Seliras answered for him, a massive smile on her face, "No ifs, ands, or buts."

"And I get to be flower girl!" Arabeth chimed in, her past indignation completely forgotten as she climbed all over you, "And there has to be chocolate cake!"

"Oh gods, help us," You groaned, but Astarion was already nodding along. He couldn't give less than two shits where it happened or who was involved. He could scarcely believe that it was happening at all. But that was the last thing he had needed.

He already had the ring, the most amazing person he could ever fathom being with. Who actually wanted him back.

Now all he had to do was ask.

[dollypopup]

me every time i go into the polin AO3

[violent138]

I feel like Jason would wind up married for some reason and just not tell anyone. And then one of his henchmen, while fighting the Bats during one of their weekly ideological disputes on how to handle a shared problem would go, "No wonder he hates you guys, you're ruining his damn honeymoon!" and all hell would break loose.

[jackwhiteprophetic]

Madney wedding should have been more fun and silly. Buffridays theme. Why would Chim NOT want a karaoke party? Why were the Buckley parents so involved so it looked so formal and not like them and there wasn't enough WHIMSY! YOU'RE TELLING ME THE INVENTOR OF THE OODIE WOULD WEAR JUST A NORMAL BASIC TUX TO HIS WEDDING? TO THE WIFE HE IS SO LOVINGLY OBSESSED WITH? Please can we have more fun and silly for them next season please.

[ideasarestuckinmyhead]

If it’s alright with you, Can you write wedding preparations with Auron?

A wedding in Bloom, along with panic.

Rook, felt weird. Not sick or anything but seeing the ring on their finger? Holy fucking shit. Auron proposed to them a few minutes ago, at a party after years of their relationship being public. Rook never though he'd proposed, they were happy! Don't get them wrong but....holy fucking shit.

"Oh my god we need to plan. What flowers should we do? Food? Cake? Guests? Oh God the THEME-" Gripping Auron's hand looking at him. The red head simply blinked, 'Why are they so worried?' Confusion was on his face.

"Dear, we have months to plan. And don't worry all will be okay. Trust me." Leaning down he kissed their forehead. Rook felt themselves calm down and smile at him, he always know what to say.

The night was filled of people congratulating them and getting side eyes from young people. Who wanted to get Auron for themselves, 'please like they had a chance.' Rook thought, everyone saw how much Rook was loved by him, the ring was just another thing they had.

"Rook, how about black and red for the colors? You do look lovely in red." Whispering to them in the limbo back to the penthouse. Holding their hand in his as he gazes at the ring he gifted them. Rook sighed, him and those colors! Honestly.

"Our wedding would seem Gothic. Not that I mind but what about traditions? Do you not want to see me in white?" Giggling they leaned on him. The happiness of a newly engaged couple coming over them.

"I'm not one for traditions but, the idea does seem lovely." Turning his head he kisses them. Rook giggled as they felt on cloud nine, today was perfect.

After getting to the penthouse the newly engaged couple talked more about their wedding. Deciding that tomorrow they will talk to different people to plan the wedding perfectly. Both got into bed and held eachother in their arms.

The next morning, Auron called a wedding planner. The newly engaged couple talked about what they both wanted. Auron, didn't have a lot in mind just that this was just making Rook his legally forever. Rook on the other hand had more details, they wanted the day to be special to both of them.

When thinking about the food, both tried thinking of combo's that would work. So the guests can choose one or the other. Meeting with someone who can cater to the wedding they flushed out more details.

Along with the guest list of how many people would be there. Rook would have more family on their part of the guest list. Auron was trying to see what business men he trusted enough to be there. Then decided no, just inviting his mother, Faust and Trish.

As they both talked more a smaller wedding with people they knew cared about them. Seemed even more comfortable for the both, they could have a big wedding but honestly they don't want to deal with the media reporting on their special day.

"Hey, what flower shop did you get my flowers from?" Questioning Rook looked up from their papers of color they could pick from. Auron, who was writing down a list of the guests to have invitations made, paused.

"From talk Floral. The owner is very kind and knowledgeable of flowers. Basically an encyclopedia of them." Placing his fountain pen down, Auron turned to his soon to be spouse. Having a smile knowing where this is going.

"Do you think he'd be able to do the flower arrangements? I know he's one guy and I don't wanna put too much press-" Rambling Rook's thoughts spiraled. Auron got up when they began, so sitting down next to them he touched their hand.

"Dear, if needed I'll get people to help him. Plus I think that would be good for his shop. Getting more recognition, I'll set up a meeting with him to see if he's interested in doing it." Kissing their forehead he then went back to writing the list. Pausing he then turned to Rook, who sighed and spoke before him.

"I don't know how I want the invitations to look like. Do we want simple or a design we both like?" Mumbling tbr last part Rook then turn grabbing a invitation sample page. Looking over the different designs and sighed again, just handing it to Auron.

"Why is there so much to doooo?" Groaning Rook placed thir head on the table. The headache that was small earlier slowly became bigger as they looked at different shades of red's.

Chuckling Auron placed a hand on their head, playing with their hair gently. That was true, all the planning was making their heads spin as they try to decide what they want.

"I know dear, but it'll be worth it. Personally, I never saw the attraction of have a wedding with someone. My baggage I brought into a relationship stopped me from even imagining it..." Whispering, Rook slowly turn their head looking at him. 'So he was doing this for me?' Smiling with tears they sat up and hugged him.

Auron welcomed the hug, then looked at all the planning stuff on the table before Rook. This caused his future spouse to look as well, then huffed and turn their head into the crook of Auron's neck.

"Let's continue later. I wanna take a nap with you. Well maybe eat first." Mumbling, acknowledging how hungry they were their stomach growled. Causing the two to laugh, slowly getting up Auron got his phone out and started calling their favorite take out place.

"Go get ready to lay down. I'll get your food, dear." Kissing Rook's lips he turned to order for both of them. Rook had a loving face at Auron, man they were so lucky to be married him. Ignoring the responsibility of planning a wedding they went to take a nap.

[iobartach]

like / reblog this for memes / asks from miguel?

I'll be lurking until saturday / sunday.

[ratatatastic]

"I gotta have you talk about Barkov a little bit... 'cuz, you know, he's your Captain but like... What should we know that we don't know about this guy? He's so quiet, he keeps a low profile—I'm sure that's by design—but he's the quietest, incredible superstar that...When Chris Pronger was working there (VP of Hockey OPs/Senior Advisor from 2017-2020), I remember he used to say to me, 'Hey, this guy is a Top 5 player in the game.' Even when nobody was even putting him in the Top 10 at that time, you know? But what makes him so great? What do you know about him now that you thought you knew before you got there?" "You know, well, everything—because I'm with you! I knew he was in the league, I knew he was a great player but playing on the other side—I'd see him play twice a year and I wouldn't watch that much and I had no appreciation for how good he was. But the answer—I'm gonna give you an answer about Barkov and it's not gonna be good enough... 'cuz I can't answer that question about him yet, I still haven't gotten to figure it out. I don't know to do it justice but he's this extreme perfect blend of absolutely no ego and an incredible drive to be better at the same time. So usually the guys that are really driven have a bit of an ego. Ego's not bad always, right? Maybe I'm using the wrong word to describe it but he will put his teammates and his—everything—first, and it won't bother him one bit! That's exactly the way he wants it! He doesn't want to be the first guy out, he doesn't want to—it's not that he doesn't want to do interviews because of the media! Talk to this guy! You walk in our room—you don't know hockey and you don't know names—you can't tell if he's the 1st forward or the 13th forward by the way he treats people. That's absolutely the truth! And the reason he's not appreciated as much as a player is: I have never, ever once seen him even remotely cheat to the offensive side of the game to score a point. He just won't do it. That doesn't mean he's sitting back defensively! He doesn't give a rat's ass about his point totals, he just wants to win. So he's never gonna put the numbers up that he could. If Barky decided he was gonna generate points—if somebody'd convince him, 'Hey, Barky! If you just cheat the game and score—we'd got a better chance of winning!' I don't know, [he'd put up] 120, 130 points? Like he is brilliant but he will never, ever put the game—you know, what? He wouldn't put himself in front of the game. The game demands certain things and you can't get past that no matter how good you are. There are certain things you got to do in this game and usually those are hard things... he'd never once put himself in front of the game." "You can't score 120 or 130 without cheating a little bit, right? It's just a real—" "Yeah, except those guys don't call it cheating! They call it anticipating. Bad players cheat, good players anticipate." "They see things before they happen, Paul! That's what happens!" "Exactly, exactly!"

The Cam & Strick Podcast | 9.24.24 (x)

[ranbling]

in my mind Buck stood beside Maddie and Chimney during their whole wedding instead of standing in the back and leaving in the middle of it

[e-m-p-error]

HE HAS ARRIVED

[starrycassi]

Out of character.

Andrew is the last person that one would expect to be insecure about himself. But, sometimes, some days, some nights.

Or the one where Nicky indirectly causes his cousin's marriage.

.

When Neil wakes up, the air is wrong.

Instinctively, he checks his own pulse, to make sure that he isn't having a heart attack. He isn't, so, that is good. He checks his own breathing, sits down in bed and looks around, makes sure that his body is okay. Or as okay as it can be after a specially rough night in the rink. US against Canada, the match of the year.

They won, so, that is good. His inner health is okay, also. No signs of any panic attacks coming, or anything of the sorts. Betsy taught him how to identify them.

The air is still wrong.

He takes a deep breath. It isn't the putrid, nose-clogging, overly sweet fragrance he is used to, and that's not good. It isn't sugary syrup and chocolate pancakes, it isn't colorful cereals and strawberry milk. It isn't anything Andrew usually ate for breakfast.

That sets off all his alarms. That was not good. Andrew, like him, has good days and bad days and days when eating is too much of a task for him to perform and he ends up just wanting to sleep in all day. Neil takes care of him, those days. Brings him food, water, and tries to be as quiet as possible throughout the day. If he can't do it, Renee will, and if they can't, Kevin will, and sometimes even Aaron shows up. Nicky's living in Germany now, but he makes sure to video chat often enough.

It's 8 am, already. Neil usually wakes up earlier. He runs out of the bed and into the kitchen, worried. What if it is too late, too late to cook, too late to bake, too late to order delivery, too late to call for an ambulance, too late to give him cpr, too late to-

Andrew is just sitting there, peacefully. In front of him, a bowl of salad. He's eating it

That is weird. Neil's brain doesn't have enough information about the situation to actually do anything. He locks his eyes in Andrew's face, and stares.

Andrew looka up, places his fork down in the green-filled bowl, and smiles.

That isn't good. Oh, God.

Neil suddenly feels so, so lost. He's seen Andrew smile a hundred times before. Under the meds, he smiled all the time; after that, just in a couple of very quick, small gestures on very certain events. A "blink and you'll miss it" situation.

This isn't genuine. This looks copypasted, and suddenly they are 19-ish again, sitting at the bleachers of the PSU exy's court, Andrew smiling at nothing and Neil frowning at him.

"Did you sleep well, honey?"

Wrong. Andrew's voice usually doesn't sound like that. He never says "honey". His tone is off. Is he mad? Playing a prank? Neil's heart skips a beat. The only logical explanation is that, somehow, in the middle of their slumber, Katelyn and him swapped minds and this man in front of him is, actually, Aaron. But this is his mind, and his body, and his house, so not that.

The other suitable theory is that Andrew was been cloned by idiot aliens in his sleep. That seems better.

"Neil? I asked... I asked if you slept well, baby?"

Neil takes one step back.

Andrew and him are not some sort of loveless, tragic, doomed marriage. They are a happy "technically we're secretly married just for the legal and tax benefits" couple, and Andrew is a lovely "technically" husband. He brings Neil new notebooks with funky covers for him to do maths and doodle on, he makes sure that Neils running shoes are in their best shape and a pair is always by the door and ready to be used, he buys electrolytes and a lot of vegetables he doesn't even like, he does small, little things, everyday, to make his "technically" husband's life better.

He never, EVER, calls him baby, though. As a joke, perhaps. When he wants to point out his stupidity and immaturity. Never as a pet name.

This is wrong.

Andrew, smiling, squinted at him. He isn't wearing his glasses. He isn't in his usual outfit. There was more skin showing than it would usually be. Andrew wore pants and long sleeves whenever he could, and this isn't exactly a babydoll, but he's wearing nothing more than his boxers and a wife-beater that belongs to Neil and looks way too tight and a bit too long on him.

He gets up, his smile carved into his face like a curse to bear and not the blessing to witness it usually was. He walks straight to Neil, and his eyes look completely out of it.

Neil should've dealt with things better. Realize that his "technically" husband is intoxicated. But instinct overtakes him, and in less than two minutes, he hastily puts on a pair of running shoes and leaves the house without a word.

He's a shitty "technically" husband.

To try and amend that, he stops in a park that he knows well by now, takes a few deep breaths, and calls Betsy Dobson.

.

Calling Betsy Dobson is one of his least favorite activities. That means something is wrong, and he kikes it when things are good.

(Andrew banned the word "fine" from the household. Good was an easy replacement)

So Neil calls Betsy and explains the situation with guilt, because leaving Andrew alone was a shitty move, Betsy confirms she will call Andrew, and Neil runs back to the house. Betsy calls him back in the middle of the way, says that Andrew's safety isn't compromised, and tries to get him to talk about himself and his feelings about the situation.

He hangs up.

He gets to the house in record time. The 20 minutes it usually takes him to return from the Gardenia Park turned into ten minutes, minutes crushed under his shoes, under his desperation to get back, under the curses at himself for his reaction, under his attempt to think about what is going on, and his many illogical ideal on how to deal with it.

Perhaps he shouldn't hang up on Dobson, in the future.

It's strange, but relieving, to see Andrew, his Andrew, open the door. Black sweater, grey sweatpants, glasses, Andrew. Mildly annoyed, quiet, Andrew. His "technically" husband. His lover. The man he loves. Really, actually, literally, loves.

Andrew rolls his eyes at him and his whole appearance, scowling, and the world is back on track, "Feeling better, rabbit?"

He moves from the door and Neil gets in, smiling. Yeah. Better. Rabbit is a lovely pet name. He likes it. Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit. He likes it. The world is spinning again.

"A bit. Feeling better, geumbal?"

Andrew stays silent, probably trying to remember what the foreign word means.

But that's fine. Uh, good. That's good. Neil drops himself on the couch, panting a bit. This was an extremely confusing situation, and he's beginning to question if it was real or he ran too much and his lack of oxygen made him halucinate or something when Andrew sighs, heavily, and asks, as a force of habit, "Yes or no?"

It's always a yes, and Neil says so. Andrew sits down next to him, and they aren't cuddling, but this is everything Neil could ever possibly have

"So..."

Andrew sighs, again.

"I'll say this, once. Coach sent us some vodka to celebrate yesterday's thing. I drank. Nicky called. He gave me some advice and I was intoxicated enough to try and follow it"

Neil can't help but burst out laughing.

The idea of Nicky trying to give Andrew some love advice is incredibly funny, but Andrew doesn't laugh, or chuckle, or call him stupid or something. He tenses his jaw and looks at the wall, and that's not good.

"I'm glad it was amusing to you, Josten"

"You're technically a Josten too, you know?"

That usually does it. Andrew turns around and Neil acts like he can't see the blush on his "technically" husband's face. Or he calls Neil a ridiculous sap. Or he vaguely says something about divorce rates on same sex couples.

Dobson would want them to talk about things. Andrew would probably listen to her advice and they'll do it anyway. So, might as well.

"Truth for truth. Yes or no?"

Andrew looks at him, lifting his eyebrows. He looks somewhat impressed. It's a spark, and then it's gone. They haven't been playing that, lately. They live, work and sleep together. There's no room for a lot of secrets.

"Yes. Ask"

Neil nods, and gets himself ready. He tries to think about the best, most cohesive way to word his question. Over the years, he's gotten better at covering all his bases in a single question, so Andrew can't claim that he should ask smarter questions if he wants better answers. But his brain is acting weird, and he hasn't eaten anything yet, and he's now used to breakfast, which, isn't it crazy, that Neil Josten is used to breakfast? And that someone usually cooks it for him? And that they share it, calmly and in silence, just because they're both free to do so?

"What led you to listen to Nicky when, before, you never really did that, even drunk or drugged?"

It's a bit of a tongue twister to spit out, but he manages just fine. Andrew frowns some more, and sighs, again. He looks everywhere but at Neil. He's ashamed. Sad. He's uncomfortable. But, he tells himself, he said yes, and this is Neil, and Neil would never hurt him on purpose. And he wants this. He wants to talk about it. And isn't it so crazy, that Andrew Minyard is going to talk about himself? And that someone will listen to him? Just because this is what they both want?

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not perfect. And even more contrary to popular belief, I am aware of that. I know that I'm not the most pleasant person to be around. I was thinking about it, these days, you know, with the legal paperwork and that. I guess I want to change a bit. For the better"

It's nice, to say it to someone who isn't Bee. It's nice, to look into Neil's eyes and see the millions of emotions running under them. It's nice, to know that 14-yo Andrew Doe would never believe he can say those words to someone. It's nice, to know that 20-yo Andrew Minyard would never want to say those words to someone. It's nice, to be Andrew Minyard-Josten, and simply sit on the sofa and talk things through with his lover. It's nice, to have a lover he actually loves, and wants, and chooses.

Neil leans in, and he mutters the question, and Andrew says yes because he fucking wants to and not because someone is holding a knife to his throat or something like that. They kiss, slowly, with feelings and all that sappy bullshit Andrew Doe wanted to have. They kiss, kindly, and they're so close that Andrew Minyard would have a panic attack and lash out. They kiss.

Then they take a break to breathe. Andrew asks and Neil says no, whispering and chuckling like an idiot, and Andrew may be blushing from the heat of the moment, but he moves away from Neil because they're both safe here. Safe to say yes. Safe to say no.

"I just- I want my question. Ask me again after that"

Andrew doesn't really need to think this one through. His mouth moves before his brain does, vomiting his biggest worry at the moment.

"If you could, what would you... change, in me?"

It's a question he never planned on saying. It feels weird. Like someone else, some lovey dovey married moron, said it. But perhaps that's the kinda person he's becoming. After all, to be loved is to evolve, or something like that.

Neil hums in silence, and Andrew is AJ, Andrew Doe, Andrew Minyard and a ball of anxiety all at once, and then, "Well, full honesty? There's something I'm fucking tired of. I think it's utter bullshit"

And he gets down on one knee. And they didn't do this. They did the legal paperwork, but never this, not this, and Andrew can feel his heart stopping and his idiot of a soon-to-be-again husband has absolutely no ring but that's fine, that's fine because he has Andrew's heart and what else can they fuckin need?

"Andrew Minyard Josten. Yes, or no?"

He never planned this. He never even allowed himself to dream about this, but, God, he's earned it. He wants this, and the "technically" thing was getting old and the sun is coming from the windows and Neil looks somewhat like an angel and they're thirty already and isn't this so weird when did they turn thirty he never planned to make it this far and it's like ten am already and neither one of them's had an actual breakfast and they're both in pajamas and-

"Yes"

And they go back to the whole kissing thing.

[rennelelorren]

Why do y'all write Tobirama wearing a woman's traditional wedding clothes in those arranged marriage ff....

Do you all really believe this man would lowered his pride to actually wear it?

[bravesung]

yes, this will be a dash-wide event. you're all invited. <3

[starry-stan-blog]

am writing chapter 6 of my scum villain fanfic and there is 3K of sqq unwittingly unleashing his wife beam on lbh

as soon as binghe gets back from the abyss it's over for sqq's ass