#good lord i spent a stupid amount of time on those flowers

[murkybu]

when you came into the world, you cried and it broke my heart

[undyingghoul]

Valentine's Ghoul/Ghoulette Headcanons

Hey, look, content! I am so tired and cannot think at all but I am doing this anyway. happy early valentine's day you guys, i hope it's good for you all <3 ~~~~~~~~~ Dewdrop- He won't let anyone know he enjoys it, not even his dear valentine. He's secretly very into the holiday but lucifer forbid he let it show in an obvious way. Flowers? Nah, he'll give you a nice bouquet of nothing. Chocolates? Overrated, overdone. He hisses at even the thought of giving them to his valentine. There will be a nice card though, entirely handmade. He'll also make a coupon booklet... Except it's not entirely hugs and kisses, if you catch that drift, but those are included for the sake of fluff and wholesome purposes. He's a sucker for that secretly too. He won't do a fancy smancy dinner, but rather get a takeout dinner of your choice (he'll ignore Swiss puppy dog eyeing it and whining for some from the kitchen entirely by the way). Overall, he has his own special way of celebrating, but he still makes an effort for it to be as perfect as possible.

Mountain- Flowers. Right off the bat. The minute he sees his valentine? A nice bouquet of flowers tailored just for them in a fancy vase. He'd also get you a small basket filled with your favorite snacks, drinks, small items, and a card. Mountain is very traditional when it comes to this holiday but he wouldn't have it any other way. He'd spend the entire day by their side, doing what they want when they want, how they want. He'd end the day with a nice candlelit dinner in the greenhouse with your chosen dinner he cooked just for his valentine. And of course some snuggles and cuddles. That is a must you know.

Rain: The lake is the hit spot for Valentine's day. Rain planned out an entire day at the lake, getting Dew in on the fun by helping keep things warm if it gets too cold. Dew agreed to help because he knew how much Rain was worried about this day. He wanted to help Rain have it be as smooth as possible. Rain also may or may not have gotten help from Mountain in decorating the lake with pretty plants. And the picnic on the dock was just amazing even though Rain fell into the lake at one point from tripping over his tail. Perhaps he was a soggy boy, but a happy soggy boy.

Swiss: At first Swiss didn't know what to do. Everyone else had grand ideas, but then he remembered how busy the local shops were this time of year. It was almost like the universe wanted this to happen. He took his valentine to the shops with maybe too much money, but what better way to spend than spending it on someone you love and cherish, right? He bought some cupcakes, cookies, and brownies to share, salty and savory things, and way too many physical items. That one wrap he had at an American food stand really hit the spot for him though. After the day was done he came back with his valentine carrying so many bags Phantom nearly passed out from laughter- apparently, he looked a bit ridiculous to the young quintessence ghoul with the amount of bags, a furiously wagging tail, and a stupid grin on his face. But it was all worth it in the end.

Phantom: Oh LORD did he go above and beyond. When he found out this holiday was a thing he maybe got excited. Too excited. He may have collapsed from dizziness from how excited and riled he was. After Aether forced him to chill out for a bit he sprung into action, prepping everything for his valentine. Outfits, dinner, things to do- He had it all planned. He picked a nice outfit for him and brought his valentine to a local clothing store to get some clothes they wanted. After that, he spent time with them at the small library. He had somehow convinced the library to let him rent it for the day and he had used one of the corners to set up a cozy little nest area to read, chat, and snack in. He read books to his valentine, ones he knew they'd been meaning to read, and just soaked in the calming aura and presence. A nap was in order for a few hours but afterwards Phantom cleaned up their corner and took his valentine back to the Abbey for a nice dinner in the dens (it took some convincing but had the ghoulettes back him up to get it cleared for an hour or two). Needless to say he was in bed with his valentine and sound asleep before the rest of his pack came back.

Aether: He kept it on the down low. He didn't go above and beyond but didn't make it a sad holiday either. A card, a thoughtful and colorful flower bouquet, a small thing of candy and chocolates, and an adorable stuffed animal. He spent the day with his valentine entirely, watching cheesy romance movies, feeding them some chocolate snuggling up to his valentine under a nice cozy blanket, and ending with a nice pasta dinner. Though the day was not very busy it was still enjoyable and a good day. Cumulus: This ghoulette was prancing around in joy when she woke up. She fluffed up her hair all nice, put cute bows and ribbons in it, dressed in a nice casual yet alluring outfit, and sprayed some perfume on her. When she saw her valentine she was over the moon. Greeting them with a hug and a kiss on the cheek she quickly pulled them out to the gardens for a nice, slow walk. Talking, laughing, playful smacks and shoves- Oh how she loved it. Seeing her valentine smile and laugh made her purr and tail wag. She picked berries earlier from the fridge and brought them on the walk, sharing them and basking in the wonderful taste. It wasn't long before one naughty joke was made about that wonderful taste that had her cackling. At the end of the day she made a thoughtful dinner of all her valentine's favorites, along with some fruit on the side and a nice cold glass of soda. Cirrus: She made little puffball clouds for her valentine in the shapes of hearts as they woke up that morning. With a giggle escaping her she led her valentine to wonderful breakfast variety, filled with many options of sweet, salty, and savory. After a filling breakfast she took her valentine to the rooftops and made the clouds dance in the sky as the sun rose. The clouds reflected the colors: oranges, yellows, reds, purples, and pinks all seeming to mix into the clouds as they danced. She moved a cloud or five around her valentine slowly, letting it grace their skin to feel the cool sensation. After puffing the clouds back into place in the sky she just enjoyed time on the rooftop and its view with her valentine, talking about anything and everything until night hit and it was time to eat some dinner. Something easy was made that night but it was a very calming way to end the day.

Sunshine & Aurora: These two tag teamed it. Sunshine was experienced, and Aurora was beyond nervous. Sunshine agreed to help the new ghoulette traverse this holiday. Guiding Aurora carefully while her valentine was so incredibly patient and understanding, Sunshine couldn't help but smile. After some time Aurora became more comfortable and relaxed, easing into the holiday slowly. She paired with Sunshine to help put on a small show of fire and water with a touch of air. Sunshine swirled fire streaks through Aurora's clouds and through the center rings of water, letting the gentle burning fire swirl around her valentine. In the middle of the day it was declared by Aurora that she would share her valentine with Sunshine because she didn't want her to feel left out. Sunshine puffed a plume of smoke from her nose in excitement. The trio spent the day doing whatever they could find, even some arts and crafts that turned out to be an absolute blast. To end the day, Sunshine fried some fish in a pan and served some rice to go with it. Aurora added a small salad bowl and a fruit bowl into the mix. It was a delicious dinner and the best way to end the holiday.

[oumaheroes]

Old Age

Word Count: 1772

Characters: Canada, England, and France

---

There were some days where Canada truly felt his age.

Most of the time how old he was didn’t really hit him. He happily pottered around work or home as easily as he imagined most humans his physical age did: running for a train he was almost certainly going to miss, tripping down the last few steps on a flight of stairs because he was staring at his phone and wasn’t watching his feet, or spilling coffee on himself when he missed his mouth taking a sip.

His colleagues, despite knowing who he was, spoke to him as an equal and Canada could happily pass weeks, or sometimes even months, without consciously being aware of how old he was- or even really what he was.

It was easy to forget, surrounded by humans every day, that he was not one. His ministers and co-workers spoke to him without questioning his position that high in government- that was admittedly unusual for a face as young as his. Occasionally, he’d bump into a young intern or graduate who didn’t know him and he’d have a nice, genuine interaction before a look of shock crossed their face when someone high up greeted him respectfully. It was a helpful, yet stark, reminder.

But overall, when you were surrounded by people who did know it never really hit him that his presence or job was something he took for granted and the passing of time was something he didn’t really take notice of. It was normal. He was there, he was called Matthew, sometimes, or Canada, but both were his name and the potency of what he was, was surprisingly quite forgettable.

Of course, what he was was never something he could completely avoid. Someone would mention a time, or a date, or a thing that had happened and Canada would immediately feel the distance widen between them all as it was made obvious that, to everyone else, what they were discussing was history. It was something passed, something that had happened to other people too long ago to properly connect with on an emotional level. An old battle, an old political bill; something that someone long long dead had said or written that now remained only as faint ink on curling, dusty paper.

But to Canada it was there in his head, the words clear and as easy to recall as if they were spoken to him yesterday. A benefit of nationhood, he supposed, to be fully aware of things that had political consequence, to be able to trace the makings of himself back through time and see how they spiralled and grew.

History wasn’t just words, to him, or mere events. Such things made up the foundations of himself, the building blocks of his life and he felt them thrum through him like a song, twisting and moulding him into being.

Becoming aware of his age and the difference between himself and humans were when Canada really felt the weight of the years he carried. Over three hundred of them made themselves known, hanging off his shoulders and settling down to his legs to hold him up. It was easy to briefly forget how old he was, but that knowledge was impossible to rid himself of entirely- Canada was made up of history, of the bones of time and they cracked together as he moved through his life to remind him of who he was with every step.

He had burned, he had bled, he had died. He had seen.

That was the point of him. To watch to passage of time and remember it, to hold the memory of his people within him and use their voices and experiences to push for the continuation of the future. Their future.

Canada was his people, was made by his people for his people and as he sat amongst them, discussing old old moments long gone with humans who could only read and dream of them, the distinction of what he was would hit him like a thunderbolt.

It was heavy, to be so old. To have seen so many things, to have lived through so much. To be what he was.

He had just had one of those instances. He and his cabinet had spent the entire morning discussing the founding of their nation and its independence in order to plan for the yearly celebrations and Canada had suffered through the whole time feeling every second of his age press against him.

When talks finally drew to a close and he could escape, Canada dragged his ancient body towards the centre of town. England and France were visiting, along with the rest of the UN, and he’d promised to meet them both for lunch before they too were pulled into an afternoon of far more internationally inclined meetings.

If he were honest with himself, what Canada really wanted to do was go home and watch TV; switch his brain off so that he could numb himself with bad reality shows. It was a good pastime that he enjoyed with guilty abandon and one that he would much rather have preferred doing. However, he’d made a promise and Canada was nothing if not a nation of his word.

Sadly.

England and France were already there when he arrived, tucked away in a corner table. France glanced up as the door jingled with his entrance, waving him over with a smile. Canada nodded at the waiter who motioned him through and settled himself down in a chair at their table between them.

‘Good afternoon,’ France greeted him with his usual cheek kisses, hair tickling Canada’s nose as he leant in close, ‘you arrived just on time, I was about to throw Arthur out of the window.’

‘You wish,’ England looked up from his phone and shot him a quick, but warm smile, ‘Hello Matthew.’

Canada’s heart sank. He really wasn’t in the mood to play mediator today, ‘Dare I ask why?’ he said, turning to France.

France gave an effortless shrug and settled back in his seat, ‘Do I really need a reason?’

‘Yes.’

Both England and Canada spoke at once and France gave a sly grin, ‘I won’t darling, you don’t deserve the trouble,’ he patted Canada’s knee soothingly and politely ignored England’s muttered “as if you could” from across the table, ‘but the idiot seems to think he’s correct about something which he very much is not.’

‘Oh, of course,’ England retorted immediately, ‘you can’t remember properly but I’m the one who’s wrong.’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘What is it?’ Canada interjected quickly. The waiter who had greeted him at the door was shooting their table looks of alarm out of the corner of his eye and Canada smiled at him apologetically, ‘Maybe I could help.’

To his surprise, England and France shared a look, something unspoken passing between them, ‘You weren’t about yet,’ offered France, sounding apologetic.

‘When was it?’

‘Oh, not too long ago,’ England waved a hand airily, ‘only six hundred years or so.’

Canada blinked, ‘Six hundred?’

‘Or there abouts,’ England frowned again, ‘I’m not sure when exactly, but I know France is wrong.’

France scoffed, ‘You can’t remember when it is, but you know I’m wrong?’

‘Obviously. I know it was about fifty years after Agincourt, I’m not sure of exactly when but-‘

‘Well, there you go! You’ve muddled it up with something else.’

‘I haven’t! You held that ball, the one with the fucking shit tonne of flowers everywhere, and were displaying those golden goblet things you were so damn proud of and I gave you that stupid painting-‘

‘No!’ France interjected angrily, ‘You took that painting and then were made to give it back.’

‘I didn’t! It was my bloody painting- Jesus fucking Christ,’ England held his head in his hands, ‘that’s not the point, I’m using that as a reference-‘

‘Yes well, pick a reference that has a grain of reality in it, would you?’

England opened his mouth to argue back again but Canada didn’t hear him, by now long tuned out of the conversation.

Only. Only six hundred years ago. Canada couldn’t even imagine that amount of time, couldn’t imagine having lived so long that six hundred years was considered to be a mere drop in the ocean.

But to these two, it was. England and France had both been alive for millennia, had known each other for that long and had been alive without each other for even longer before that.

Sitting next to them, his own existence suddenly felt like nothing, felt insignificant in the history of mankind. What had Canada seen, that these two had not? He couldn’t even begin to imagine. Three hundred years felt more than enough.

It hit him, then, how long most of their kind had lived. He’d realised this before, of course, but still the comprehension about the difference in age between him and most of the world left him dumbstruck anew. Fuck, what about China; Lord only knew how old he really was. There wasn’t a point in history that it didn’t seem as though China hadn’t been around to experience, even from across the world. Whole empires and civilisations had risen and fallen and most of the nations Canada knew had personally been involved in them somehow. It was astounding to consider all the people who had lived throughout the centuries that, to Canada, felt like nothing more than characters in a story.

What on earth was three hundred years to age like that? To history that felt so ancient to him, so disconnected that it didn’t really even feel real, but that was as normal to most nations as his own history was.

How many years would Canada have to live until three hundred was something he would describe as ‘only’?

‘Are you alright, lad?’ Canada was jolted out of his spiral to find England looking at him with concern, a hand on his arm.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ he shook his head, ‘it’s just- you’re both so old.’

England coloured and France laughed, ‘We’re not old,’ England jabbed a thumb in France’s direction, ‘Well, he is.’

‘It is more about how you feel and act, dear, that’s more important and in that regard, you are far older than I.’ France yelped suddenly as England kicked him under the table, ‘Does the truth sting, Arthur? Is that why you felt the need to vent your frustrations on me?’

‘As if I need more of a reason-‘

They began again, in earnest, but Canada let them continue uninterrupted, silently and guiltily enjoying the feeling of being a child once more.

---

AN:

I must admit that not much thought or plot went into this. I wanted to write something short and somewhat silly as a treat for spending most of yesterday editing. Ideally, one day I want to take this concept and explore it more with greater care and detail because I think it’s something a newer nation like Canada would really struggle with.

300 years is a long time, and I’m sure it must be hard for him to feel that age and then go and speak to anyone from the Old World and be met with the reality of how truly old their kind can be. Canada is a baby, despite the centuries he has collected for himself, and I feel like there would always be that conflict within him about how old he feels around humans comapred to how old he is next to other nations. Maybe this idea is best explored as a headcannon rather than a fic, but I had a fun time writing it.

Anyway, that is my tuppence worth- thank you for reading!

[ashes-and-ashes]

"I wish you could just admit you made a mistake" "I didnt make a mistake, I like it with salt" *while stirring coffee*. Any pairing you want and it doesnt have to be romantic.

I had a blast writing this!! Some domestic!drarry for the soul :)

Coffee

~

Harry wakes to the smell of coffee and the sound of clattering in the kitchen. The light streaming in from the windows makes him blink blearily, the blankets warm where they wrapped around his legs. He reaches groggily over to the other side, where Draco usually slept and touched only air.

For a heartbeat, just a heartbeat that old panic comes back, of waking up and finding the other person gone. Harry’s spent too many mornings like that; Draco having slipped away some time before dawn, the bed cold and so, so empty. He clenches his hands, fists slipping on the sheets. It always took awhile for him to calm down, to be reminded that he was here, in their apartment in Diagon Alley, all old windows and exposed brick.

Draco had picked the place out, half-forgotten on a small side street, the windows boarded and the door locked. Harry had thought he was crazy at first, crazy for wanting an old wreck like this was.

But they had cleaned it up nicely: exposed beams and huge windows with emerald shutters, hard wooden flooring covered in soft rugs. Pansy had done most of the decorating - Harry wanted too much red and Draco wanted too much green. The flat was now a comfortable amalgamation of them both - broomsticks on the floor, Harry’s coffee mugs and Draco’s crystal wine glasses, a Muggle television and an old pensieve that Draco had bought from god knew where.

It felt like home. Harry’s never really felt like that before, having a place to truely call home.

He gets out of bed slowly, wincing at the bright lights. There’s a mess of clothing dumped on one of the chairs; he grabs something at random (Draco’s - only he would bother to buy a sweater this nice) and pulls it on, padding into the kitchen.

Draco’s perched on the counter, a newspaper in hand. Harry watches him, all tousled blonde hair and long legs and the faintest edge of a rosy blush on his cheeks. The sun hits him from behind making him look like he was glowing, the entire room lit up by the beauty of his smile.

Harry remembers a time long ago, back to the War and the fighting. Draco had been colder, harder, painted in shades of grey instead of gold. Still beautiful - he always had been beautiful - but nothing close to what he was now.

He could have watched Draco for hours, flipping through the Prophet idly, the smell of warm coffee in the air. Draco notices him before long though; he rolls his eyes, tossing the newspaper over Harry’s head and onto the sofa behind him. “Creep,” he says, though there’s no venom behind the words. “How long have you been watching me?”

Harry shrugs. He doesn’t bother to hide the smile on his face, like he might’ve so long ago. He’s long learnt that Draco was Draco - he never needed to hide anything around him. “Few minutes. You know we have a couch right?”

“Oh really?” Draco says in mock surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Maybe you’re just stupid,” Harry says and Draco lets out a long laugh.

“Bitch,” he mutters and flicks his wand. The mail comes soaring into Harry’s hands, the door swinging slightly behind it. “Here’s all your precious fan mail by the way.”

Harry scowls, examining the parchment in his hand. “How do they keep finding us?”

“Probably a tracking spell or something. How come I never get any fan mail?”

“You have the fucked-up Death Eater guy.”

Draco pours. “Yes, but he’s a fucked-up Death Eater guy. You get all the admirers. No one has ever sent me a condom before.”

Harry shudders. “Oh please no,” he says, dropping the stack of mail onto the coffee table with a groan. “That was one time! One time!”

“It was an extra large!” Draco calls out as Harry shoves his way into the kitchen, slamming an empty mug onto the counter. Ron had gotten it for him as an 18th birthday present - one of those tacky souvenir ones that seemed to have sprouted up everywhere after the war. The Bae Who Lived was stamped on one side, along with a lipstick mark that did not resemble Harry’s lips at all.

Draco had now stretched himself out on the counter, legs dangling idly over the edge. His arm was out and bare next to him, the Dark Mark covered up by beautiful flowers, rendered in soft purples and blues and greens. It was a Muggle tattoo for the most part, with the exception of one single hydrangea - in ever shifting colours of pale pinks and soft teals. Draco had designed it himself - they still had the parchment sketched on the wall in the bedroom.

“Move,” Harry grumbles, unceremoniously shoving Draco off the counter. “Why are you even up so early? It’s not like we have practice or anything.”

Draco gives him a disbelieving stare. “It’s almost 8.”

“Too fucking early.”

“Go to bed earlier then.”

“I did!” Harry shakes his head. “You’re the one keeping me up all night.”

“Well,” Draco says, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I’m sure I could wake you up by - “

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Harry scowls into his empty mug, running a hand through his hair. “The only thing I want to be woken up by today is the Lord and coffee. I need coffee.”

“Pot,” Draco says, gesturing vaguely towards the coffee machine. “My boyfriend. The handsomest idiot in the world.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Harry grumbles as he pours himself a huge cup. Draco had an unusual talent for making incredible coffee, despite not knowing how to use a french press about 6 months ago. “I defeated Voldemort, right? That’s got to count for something.”

Draco laughs. “Please. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” Harry scowls. He finds the milk in the fridge, adding copious amounts to his coffee. “Where’s the spoons?”

“This is your fucking loft too,” Draco mutters. He hands Harry the spoon from his own coffee mug, smirking as he did. “Honestly. Remember that headline a few weeks ago? ‘Harry Potter; the Hidden Mysteries of the Boy Who Lived?’”

“Vividly,” Harry mutters, now rummaging around the cupboards for the sugar. “Made me sound like some sort of bloody celebrity or something. Anything Skeeter writes is trash.”

Draco hums. He kicks his feet out in front of him idly. “True. It’s a load of bullshit anyways. Hidden mysteries my ass.”

Harry flips him off. He finds the sugar in a jar next to the stove and adds a few heaping spoonfuls to his coffee, the rich scent already helping with his headache. “I’m mysterious!” he protests. “And handsome. And attractive. And devastatingly intelligent.”

“Apparently not,” Draco says, “Seeing as you just put salt in your coffee.”

Harry freezes. He turns back towards the stove. For the first time he notices the small black letters on the side of the jar. Sea Salt.

He inwardly groans, turning back to face Draco, who had a shit-eating grin on his face. “No. I meant to do that.”

“I wish you would just admit you made a mistake,” Draco sighs, watching as Harry serenely stirs his coffee. “Gryffindors.”

“I didn’t make a mistake,” Harry mutters, clinking his spoon against his mug. “I like it with salt.”

“Oh really?” Draco says. Harry sees the glint in his eye and gulps. “Then you wouldn’t have a problem with drinking it?”

Harry swallows, hard. Shit, he thinks. Draco’s eyes are full of challenge, that streak of competitiveness that made him fall in love in the first place.

Harry slowly raises the mug to his lips. “Fuck you,” he says and chugs the whole thing. Halfway through he regrets it - it’s burning hot and excruciatingly salty, like drinking warm ocean water. He never could turn down a dare though, draining the cup to the dregs.

“See?” he says, slamming the cup down in front of Draco. “Delicious.”

Draco gets to his feet, smiling wickedly. He crosses over to the stove, picking up the jar of salt. “Delicious?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, trying to hind the grimace and the lingering taste still in his mouth. “I could drink this all day.”

He regrets the words as soon as it leaves his mouth. Draco grins, his face turning evil. “Well then,” he says. “It’s a good thing I love my boyfriend so much then.”

Fuck.

“Draco - “ Harry starts, but Draco just winks.

“Love you,” he says, and then dumps the entire pot of salt into the coffee.

[foulserpent]

only human

long character analysis + fan fiction hybrid involving critically acclaimed worst best game of all time The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion! martin is in a mental and emotional hell! ned and martin resolving unresolved sexual tension after like, 100000 false starts! being mentally ill with the bro’s! "fluffy" ending!

cw: brief depiction of violence, ptsd, implications of past relationship based trauma, borderline explicit but not really sexy sexual content (nothing p*rnographic but 18+ pls)

On some nights, Martin was in hell.

The world was on a slow death march towards ruin outside the walls, this much he knew. Not even the strongest fortification could shield him from it. Every night from his gilded cage, he heard the screams, breathed the foul smoke and burning flesh and disemboweled gut, see the daedra drag the near-dead into the shadows to be torn apart, still crying out as they were devoured. His hands wet with blood, shaking in vain as his healing failed him and the survivors were pulled apart by their own wounds. The long walk out of the doomed Kvatch, past swarming flies and hundreds of blank eyes looking into the unforgiving sun. The revelation that all this was for him.

On the worst of these nights, staring into the ceiling of Cloud Ruler Temple as the sun began to creep over the horizon, he would wish he had just died.

This time last year, he was on track to live out the rest of his days in obscurity. Probably in Kvatch, probably remaining a priest, where the only weight on his shoulders was giving people their assurances that the Divines would look out for them and hoping he would finally taste truth in these words. It would be better than this. Those who held the reigns of the Empire were even more deluded than he'd thought, if they believed that his noble blood would divinely grant understanding of what to do, some inborn ability to keep collected and strong and sane trapped here as his friends faced death at his behest.

He would be called "lord", shone and polished as a commodity, loved and utterly devoted to, and never, never known. His feelings did not matter. This message had been thoroughly beaten into him. None of it mattered to whatever hand kept him guarded as preciously as the helpless king on the chessboard, behind a line of pawns to the sacrifice. Xikeel bringing him little gifts from gods-know-where (some teeth, a ring, a few spoons), slithering down from the rafters to visit him in the late night hours. One of the blades- bewildered - walking in on them dancing, without rhythm or music.

Long conversations with Ned, who would never treat him like an emperor, who barely even seemed to want to be there but had become doggedly devoted to Xikeel and himself. Bringing him wine, face softened into a smile in anticipation of an evening sitting outside in comfortable, quiet company. Tired and spiteful, but so warm.

He did not know when his feelings had turned to want. There was never an astonished realization, no moment that had changed everything. The first time he consciously acknowledged it was not as a revelation, but as an observation. Ned had cut his hand, a simple, foolish mistake that left Martin wearily healing him, in spite of the bosmer’s protests. Martin had held onto his hand longer than the spell needed, feeling the pulse in his fingers and wanting to entwine him in his own. Wanting to pull him in closer. Noticing that he wanted this, and noticing that it did not surprise him.

It was one of many things to think about, significantly less distressing than every other aspect of his current existence to say the least. He wondered if it was the day he had returned from his nigh-suicidal mission to cheat a god, haggard and shirt bloodied and yet with the softest eyes Martin had seen in the man, cracking a weak smile (a flash of teeth) that said "I've done it, and I hope you can forgive me". He wondered if it was Ned's unwavering devotion to leaving his shirt half-unbuttoned, the burn tearing through his chest on display like a trophy. The necklace would fall across the older man's breast while he laughed and joked about stupid things with Martin as if they were old friends. He was not above simple things.

Perhaps this was a test of the temperance he had spent years cultivating, hollowing out a part of himself to nurture the seed. After all, he had not been with anyone for a long time.

---

He had loathed the existence of the arena in Kvatch, drawing in men and women from all around in what amounted to mass suicide. There was little honor in it, just desperate people consuming themselves for just to grasp a thread of glory, dying in the mud as the crowd roared.  But Martin was only human. He had found himself looking on the men as they passed through town, all muscle and scars and fiercely alive. He had found himself drawn to one who had come into the temple for a blessing of protection. The man never said why, though Martin knew where he was bound. It was never hard to tell.

The man was tall and rather handsome, with a muscular frame and dark hair and looking to be only a few years younger than himself, (this had to be around when he was forty-one or forty-two. Had it been that long?). They'd spoke first as strangers do, running through the motions of a blessing under a thick smoke of incense and flowers burnt in offering to the Dragon. Martin averted his gaze from the sword at the man's hip as he prepared the oil. Its hilt glittered in iron filigree and unmistakable rust of dried blood struck gold by the afternoon's dying light. His eyes wandered to the man's face instead, moving to begin the anointment. The dark haired man swiped his tongue over his lips and glanced away, and Martin's heartbeat spiked.

For gods sakes.

The man talked compulsively, glancing around as if something stalked him in the shadows between the stained-glass-light. Martin had silently hoped he would grow bored with the old priest and be on his way, if only so that he'd have time to himself to contemplate what the hell was wrong with him. So, naturally, the man kept talking long after the ritual was complete and the candles extinguished. About where he had come from, (all the way from High Rock, it turned out), the unusual rains lately, family. Partners. Lovers. The conversation turned here, and had fallen with such a speed that he barely realized what was happening. The man had found Martin beautiful, and Martin, exhausted with penitence and enthralled by the stranger and aching to just be human again, had found himself quietly slipping out with him.

Martin's home was truly tiny when occupied by two, an unfamiliar claustrophobia that was quickly dragged into the mire and drowned in a little too much wine. It was cheap and burned his throat with its sweetness, but he didn't care. They'd stumbled and fallen into his bed.

"For good luck," the man had said, as they kissed rough and far too clumsy.

"For good luck," Martin had kissed into the man's neck.

The man was a bit fumbling, all muscles and scars and fierceness. No matter how close their bodies pressed, no matter the grip Martin had - his fingers marking new trails over a scarred back -  there was that distance. Two magnets repelling, even as they forced themselves together. These men going to their deaths couldn't be touched. And neither could he, no matter how he tried. There weren't even the barest roots of love here. Just body on body, flesh on flesh. It wasn't bad, though. Martin was only human.

He didn't know what to say in the morning, as the man collected his belongings to go off to the fight. "Good luck," Martin said again, feeling stupid. The man had said "thank you" with his eyes distant. He bent down and out the door, and walked out into the humid morning air, leaving Martin with a strange emptiness in his gut. He never saw him again.

It shouldn't have impacted him so badly. He'd had a one-night stand that was, frankly, pretty good. He'd given another man some comfort, something above and beyond his duty as the Priest-Healer-Penitent. It wasn't really against any vows. His lungs still breathed the smoke of offerings to the Dragon, a shrine to Dibella was dutifully kept at the foot of his bed and given a clumsy offering before the main event. He had not fallen back into the snares of that damned daedra. It wasn't a betrayal of those he'd lost. So why was he guilty?

---

And yet here he was now, on the precipice yet again. Really, he was long into the fall.

Him and one-of-two Heroes of Kvatch had slept together for a week now. Nothing more than the sharing of a bed and body heat, their day to day lives much the same as the world crumbled around him. They had kissed a few days ago, slightly dizzy with wine and the memory returning only in a haze. They'd kissed again the night before, sober and beyond any deniability as the bosmer was making his way out on errand. Ned had blushed and flicked his ears back, leaving him with a soft smile and a quiet "See you," as he slipped into the night.

Now, Martin found himself kneeling as if in prayer at the foot of his bed, his companion sitting up before him. Ned was half naked, body all muscle and scars and an exhaustion that ran far deeper than that. Martin had been healing a wound on his stomach- sliced open by a nasty (and thankfully, poorly aimed) dagger. The Mythic Dawn long since knew what he looked like, though they had hardly been this bold before now. They stalked the base of the mountains like jackals at the edge of a kill, waiting for an opening to lunge in and tear off some scrap of flesh. Ned hadn't wanted to talk about this one. His hands shook as he'd taken off his bloodstained clothes, and he scoured them with a washcloth long after they were clean.

"I'm fine." He had said. "I'm just tired."

Martin was tired too. That first night together, he had this romantic notion that being held by his friend would keep away the nightmares. They had come as they did most nights, crawling out of the depths of his subconscious with the worst of him they could offer. He'd woken up, breathing hard as terror dripped down his body. There was one difference. There was a warmth pressed to his back, and it breathed a half-snore as it moved in closer, nuzzled into his trembling neck. Ned hadn't woken. He had just wrapped Martin up into strong arms, and settled back into a deep sleep. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but even as the last traces of the nightmare pulled out its spurs, Martin felt safe. All he wanted was to return the favor.

Now, Martin leaned to kissed the gash across Ned's chest, the one that the man would wake up in terror clutching at, eyes somewhere far away and breathing hard. He trailed kisses down the line of skin warped by fire and blade, and Ned laughed. "I can barely feel it."

"Really?" The sword and its burns had probably damaged a nerve. Or done something worse, something that cut deeper. It was a daedric weapon after all. Martin would later ask where exactly he had sensation, to see if anything could be done about it. Later, perhaps. Now, he was tired of being the Priest-Healer-Penitent.

He leaned back in, close but just out of reach. His lips hovered down over the soft hair down his middle, making a glancing contact below the wounds. Even there, the skin seemed to have been broken and healed many times over a long life. How could someone live like that?  He kissed him, just below the lower scar.

"How about here?"

"S'better"

Ned was definitely feeling something. The man's breath caught just slightly at the touch. He overcorrected, shifting in his seat a little and clearing his throat. Uncrossing his legs. Martin moved further down, just a little past his navel, laying another kiss on the recently healed wound. He wanted nothing more than to taste - touch the man before him, and to wake up with no guilt, no loneliness- he kissed him again.

"Or here?"

"Little better," the man's tone was flirtatious. "I mean, it'd be lot more sensation if you went just a bit low...er."

Ned had trailed off in the last word and froze at his own indiscretion. He was tensed like one with a hand raised against him, expecting a blow. As if he could have misinterpreted where this moment could go, alone and naked with his friend kneeling before him. As if Martin would be mad.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-uh." Ned flailed, pulling his knees shut.

"No, no, I'm sorry. I'd like to, if you would."

Ned's breath hitched. He looked utterly bewildered.

"OH- yeah, sure? Uh- Yes. Yeah." He sputtered.

They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment that lasted an eternity. Neither man dared to even take a breath. Ned cracked the tiniest fraction of a smile.

They both laughed, pulling apart. The tension had snapped, and the ache in his gut relented, put itself to the side. Martin hoisted himself back up onto the bed, sitting to his friend's side with a chaste several inches between them.

"It's... Been a while." Martin sighed. "Look at me, acting all nervous."

"Me too man, me too." Ned laughed, covering the blush on his face and utterly failing to hide the red of his ears. "’Promise I'm not usually like this, I have no friggin' idea what my problem is."

"Well, this'll just have to do." Martin made a show of shrugging and frowning in mock-resignation.

Ned let out a 'ha!' and leaned back, all muscles now relaxed as he smiled up at his companion. His words and smile were casual, but he was looking at Martin with such soft eyes, as if this tired old man was the damn moons and stars.

"Can I kiss you?" Martin asked.

Ned nodded.

He leaned over him, and went in for another kiss. And another. This time, it was as if a dam had burst. All lips and tongue and teeth and breath and hands moving on skin with a practiced clumsiness that spoke to years of experience, and spoke to one treading a ground that was brand new and wonderful for it.

As they pulled apart, Ned smiled and squeezed Martin's hands, and he squeezed back. They guided each other downward.

Now, Martin's lips were at a precipice below deniability. His hands held ready at the man's waist, a few fingers interwoven with his, beyond caring if their palms sweat or if their arms shook. He looked up to meet Ned's gaze, who cracked a smile and looked away, threading his other hand into Martin's hair in spite of his sheepishness.  

"Can I keep going?" Martin asked.

"Yeah," Ned answered, still smiling. Eyes closed. "Please."

Ned's thumb brushed his cheek, a gentle encouragement. A 'thank you'.

And he kissed him.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Beautiful War

-dragonswithjetpacks

Chapter Six: Appealing to Val Reous

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Read here on Ao3

The sun was just setting behind the city of Val Royeaux when they caught its glory at the top of a small hill. Agreeing that approaching the gate at dawn would be a better idea, the group made a small camp while enjoying the view. Orlais was particularly green this time of year. The ladies in the city would be wearing pastels and flowers. Not to mention, showing as much of their breasts as they possibly could get away with. It made Claira smile. She was never found of fashion. But the springtime cakes they made were always so delightful. Though their smell was more satisfying than the taste.

"You've been quiet," Varric implied as they rest.

"I'm always quiet," Claira disagreed.

"It's been an unsettling type of quiet."

"I didn't realize there were different types of quiet," she shaved off a piece of meat roasting over their fire.

"You keep looking at the city. And heaving that big sigh of yours."

"I'm finding it odd that you watch me enough to notice I have a particular sigh," she chuckled to herself before she took a bite of her meal.

"People who are easy to read are always fun to watch."

"I'm not that fun to watch," she said between bites.

"Normally you aren't," he propped his elbow atop his knee. "But you got this particular look growing on your face the closer we get to the city."

"Because I never thought I'd be going back to Orlais," she shrugged. "Let alone Val Royeaux."

"You've been to Val Royeaux before?" Cassandra was suddenly interested.

"My mother is Orlesian, so we visited on a few occasions. But I've lived in Val Royeaux. Twice in what I might consider my adulthood."

"Ah, yes, Lady Helena was from a smaller lesser known nobility," the Seeker recalled.

Claira had not spoken of her mother in so long that it was almost off-putting to hear her name. They had not made contact in some time. And the most recent letter she received was about Jordan's missing persons. There were never any pleasantries with Helena; it was always demanding and berating. The woman needed complete control.

"She hates coming here," Claira added. "I'd like to think it is because it reminds her of how fake she truly is."

"Then it must bring you bad memories," Cassandra empathized.

"Quite the opposite," Claira smiled, looking out longingly to the city. "Orlais was the beginning of my freedom."

"Do go on," Solas joined the fire at last. "I'm sure we've all been waiting for a glimpse of your youth."

"You've been locked up pretty tight, Herald," Varric agreed. "I think it's your turn for storytime."

Claira turned back to her party, all of them watching and waiting with bright eyes. It was the first time she was able to share any sort of personal information regarding herself. On the other hand, she had gotten to know them quite well, even considered them friends. Indeed, being back in Orlais brought up memories, both good and bad. As a child, she never had a chance to speak without being shut down. And as an adult, she realized that she had shut herself down as a defense. But here, in a place that had sparked her new beginning with the people she had learned to trust, she felt safe.

"I was sent to a girl's school when I was young. Around the age of fifteen."

"That late?" Cassandra seemed surprised. "And so far away?"

"I was not a compliant child," Claira laughed. "I had many house mistresses that found me unreasonable. Eventually, I was sent to Starkhaven. But the headmistress stated she couldn't help, either. Even as my wild side was gradually tamed, I was still clumsy, homely, and awkward. It didn't matter how polite or intelligent I was... I was considered a lost cause."

"How absurd," Solas appeared disgusted.

"I was sent to Orlais in hopes I would return a lady. But because of my age, the teachers were harder on me. It was almost torture. Most of them were cruel. But they allowed me to study in peace if it meant not having to deal with me. And the books in Orlais were incredible. I could have been a scholar with all the time I spent in that library."

"Why didn't they just transfer you?" Cassandra inquired.

"My mother was spending a good amount of my father's fortune making sure I didn't come back home until I was guaranteed a husband. I think eventually their goal was to find a nobleman not necessarily suitable for me, but willing to settle. I was never interested in marriage, though. I was set on becoming a warrior at a young age. So I left the school."

"By left, you mean snuck out?" Varric questioned.

"Snuck out would be putting it lightly," Claira laughed. "I planned for weeks to get out of that place. And when I did, I ran until I couldn't see the city anymore. I found a place to lay low. And that's when I met my mentor."

The party was quiet, listening to the campfire crack as she paused.

"Most have just assumed I was a typical Trevelyan Free Marcher. But I was never part of that life or the Chantry. I was never even given the option to become a Sister. Looking back, that's probably what I should have done when I left the school. Instead, I left with a strange man who told me I could achieve my dreams of becoming a warrior. It was stupid of me to trust him. But I'm glad I did. I trained under him for many years while traveling. He brought me back to Val Royeaux to the Academie in hopes I could be knighted, allowing me to live a life I had truly wanted."

"I should have known," Cassandra shook her head. "I imagined with the reputation of the Trevelyans that you were just a natural fighter. But there's no mistaking your stance is Orlesian. I always meant to ask."

"So that means all those nobles from Orlais that come by speaking their language and talking with that snooty tone... you can understand them?" Varric asked.

"Oui," Claira smirked. "Chaque mot. Every single word."

Varric let out a loud burst of laughter.

"This would have been useful information," Cassandra was still in shock.

"I didn't want to ruin the surprise," she shook her head. "Besides, if Josephine knew, she'd have me speak to the nobles more often."

"Isn't she giving you lessons?" Cassandra pressed.

Again, Varric rolled over in a fit of laughter as Claira half shrugged, half nodded. Solas remained silent, although very much enjoying the conversation in itself. And no one stopped Claria from speaking about her adventures in Orlais from that point. They only interrupted her to ask questions, much to her liking. It was the first time she had spoken about it to anyone, not that it was a secret. The more she told of her rebellious childhood and the harsh ways of her mother, the more she realized how much mental abuse she had been through. She couldn't imagine being that cruel to anyone.

************************************************

The gates into Val Royeaux were surprisingly empty. Claira remembered merchants and travelers flooded the archway into the city. Peddlers and pickpockets loved the area, as many people stopped to linger there to admire the stone masonry. Now, only a few people were scattered through the walkway. Claira was not the only one who noticed the lack of others.

"The city still mourns," Cassandra observed.

A couple who had been speaking quietly amongst each other passed by them innocently. However, once they caught sight of Claira, their jaws dropped and their eyes widened behind their mask. They took off in a slight run toward the open gate without daring to glance back.

"Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are," Varric jested.

"Your skills of observation never fail to impress me Varric," she retorted.

"My Lady Herald!" a scout greeted them from the city.

"You’re one of Leliana’s people. What have you found?" Cassandra questioned without hesitation.

"The Chantry mothers await you, but… so do a great many templars."

"There are templars here?"

Claira felt her chest grow tight. The intention was to meet with the Chantry, not the templars. They would have eventually attempted an audience with them, but this was too soon. She was unprepared. They continued walking through the entrance as they were informed of the current situation.

"People seem to think the templars will protect them from…" he faltered."...from the Inquisition. They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the templars intend to meet you," the scout continued.

"They wish to protect the people? From us?" the Seeker was still confused.

"We expected this," Claira stated.

"From the Chantry, yes. But I didn't expect the templars to make an appearance."

"The people may just be assuming what the tempalrs will do. I've heard of no concrete plans," the scout confirmed.

"Do you think the Order’s returned to the fold, maybe? To deal with us upstarts?" Varric added his sense to things.

"I know Lord Seeker Lucius," Cassandra explained. "I can’t imagine him coming to the Chantry’s defense, not after all that’s occurred."

"We’re doing all this to get help with the breach. Maybe this is our chance to get the templars on our side," Claira attempted to remain optimistic.

"Perhaps..." Cassandra wasn't convinced. "Return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are… delayed."

"As you say, my lady," he placed a fist over his chest and trotted off to exit the gates.

As they progressed through the walkway, a group of guards began to observe them. They were not quiet about their conversation and there were hints of the Inquisition harboring murderers. It appeared the city was relying on the templars to protect them from their heresy the Chantry was spreading any misinformation they could. It was horrible timing, she had to admit. And it was going to be difficult to proposition both sides while they were standing next to each other. It wouldn't be as simple as uniting under one cause. This was going to be a political battle.

"Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!"

Mother Hevara, one of the Chantry members who was supposed to be greeting the Inquisition shouted on a stage in the center of the market as they approached. Standing next to her were two other sisters. And in front, a wall of templar guards. Many of the citizens had gathered before her. Claira recognized a trap when she saw one. Even if it had no teeth.

"Together, we mourn our Divine. Her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more! Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet! No servant of anything beyond her selfish greed," the sister preached.

The crowd of people parted as they passed. The plan was to antagonize The Herald to the point of attack. With as many people surrounded her to witness the savagery, the trial would be quick. But Claira was smarter than that. It was almost insulting how stupid they assumed she would be. If they wanted to cause a scene, she would most certainly give them one. Claira was aware of how Orlais truly operated.

"We came to you in peace, only to talk," she spoke loudly, but calmly. "But this is what you choose instead? I implore you: Let us sit down together, to deal with the real threat!"

She turned to the common people who were too intimidated to move, looking many of them in the eyes. They gazed upon her as if she were a mythical being of wonder. It was a mixture of both awe and fear. Claira seized that moment and bolstered her voice.

"Do you know everything the Maker commands? Look up in the sky! I alone survived the Breach ... and I can end it!"

"And this is how you gain favor with Orlesians... with who can put on a bigger show..." Varric muttered under his breath.

"It appears to be working," Solas whispered back.

"It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!" the Seeker added, looking to the templars for a reaction.

"It is already too late!" Mother Hevara pointed to the templars who were now taking the stage. "The templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this Inquisition and the people will be safe once more!"

Claira was not prepared for her next act. However, the scene was ended abruptly when a templar approached Mother Hevara. It appeared as though he was going to escort her off stage. Though, she was quite wrong. Instead, he struck the Chantry Mother across the face, sending her to the hard stage floor. She cried out, but no one moved to help her. A templar hesitated, only to be held back as Lord Seeker Lucius entered the stage.

"Still yourself. She is beneath us."

The templar looked unsure but still did nothing. Claira moved forward, but Cassandra quickly grabbed her by the arm. Something seemed very wrong, but there was not enough time to act upon it. There was not enough information to pick a side.

"What's the meaning of this?" she questioned instead.

"Her claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own," he looked down on her.

"So you're here to deal with the Inquisition?"

"As if there were any reason to."

His ambiguity made Claira's skin boil. Cassandra tightened her grip.

"Lord Seeker Lucius, it's imperative that we speak with-"

"You will not address me," he interrupted his fellow Seeker.

He motioned to the templars and they began to shift as he walked away. Cassandra was taken aback. Her grip loosened on Claira's arm. They exchanged glances at one another, both suddenly very concerned. It was a far reach, but Claira began to hope this was some sort of play they stumbled into.

"Lord Seeker?" Cassandra was still confused.

Lucius stopped, clearly agitated. Looking into his dull eyes made his presence even more heavy and dark. This was not the man her cousins had described, nor the reasonable person Cassandra claimed him to be. Months ago, when Claira was traveling to the Temple with her cousins, she remembered hearing them discuss the discontinuing of the Nevarran Accords. Lucius inherited the role and ideas of his predecessor, but it was commonly accepted that he was more than willing to compromise.

"Creating a heretical movement, raising a puppet as Andraste’s prophet," he finally confronted them. "You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed! The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! You are the ones who failed! You who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine."

The words were far more dangerous than any threat he could have given. Lucius was now a tyrannical man with a lust for power. He wanted recognition, for whatever reason. Which was fine on its own. However, he wanted to destroy his adversaries so that he may rise from their downfall. The Chantry, the mages, the Inquisition; they were all beneath him.

"If you’re not here to help the Chantry, then you just came to make speeches?" Claira retaliated.

"I came to see what frightens old women so, and to laugh," his voice lowered, making it all the more unsettling.

"You openly refuse the Herald?"

"You have nothing. No influence, no power, and certainly no holy purpose."

His assumptions burned at her like a hot iron. It left marks that made her clench her fists in rage. There was nothing she could do. She could say no more. She could not lash out. She could not even move without risking her good nature. This was not how she intended their meeting to be. She felt like a child once again being beaten by her mother. She felt helpless.

"But Lord Seeker…" the hesitant templar spoke ."What if she was truly sent by the Maker? What if—?"

A higher-ranked office stepped between the templar and the Lord Seeker. "You are called to a higher purpose! Do not question!"

"I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the void," Lucius drew attention from the crowd. "We deserve recognition. Independence! You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition… less than nothing."

The Lord Seeker made a point to look fiercely at Claira as if it would weaken her soul. Something was reaching for her behind that stare. But it was not enough to break her. It only added more fuel to her flame. She prayed there would be a time they would cross paths again without any spectators.

"Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!"

The market was still, all but the sound of clanking armor as the templars left Val Royeaux. It wasn't just the Inquisition left stunned, it was quite literally everyone who had witnessed the horrifying affair. As the sound of their marching fainted, whispers began to rise from the people.

"Charming fellow, isn’t he," Varric was the first to break their silence.

"Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?" Cassandra almost shouted in frustration.

"I thought you knew the Lord Seeker?" Claira turned to her, almost angry at the information she had been fed.

"He took over the Seekers of Truth nearly a year ago, after Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He was always a decent man, never given to grandstanding. This is very bizarre."

"It doesn't look like he can be reasoned with."

"There must be those in the Order who see what he’s become."

"We can investigate once we return to Haven," Claira assured. "We still have the matter of the Chantry."

Mother Hevara was nearly forgotten. After the templars openly denounced the Chantry in front of everyone, no one bothered to help her off the stage. They only stared, whispering to one another and spreading the rumors even further. But now that Claira was able to get to her without being barred, she was at her side. The Sisters stepped back, still feeling threatened by the Inquisition. Despite the vile glare the Mother gave her, Claira assisted her onto her feet with gentle hands.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Hardly," the Mother replied roughly. "This victory must please you greatly, Seeker Cassandra."

"We came here seeking only to speak with The Mothers. This is not our doing, but yours," Cassandra replied.

"And you had no part in forcing our hand? Do not delude yourself," the Mother's fight had returned. "Now, we have been shown up by our own templars in front of everyone. And my fellow clerics have scattered into the wind, along with their convictions."

"I understand the hardships the Chantry has faced," Claira spoke. "But you'll find no pity here."

"Just..." the Mother sighed. "Tell me one thing: Do you truly believe you are the Maker's Chosen?"

"Whether by the Maker himself or by fate, yes, I believe I was chosen."

"I suppose it is out of our hands, now. We shall see what the Maker plans in the days to come."

"Take care, Mother Hevara," Claira gave a slight nod.

The Mother nodded back, only out of common courtesy. Claira could feel her death stare watching her back as she left the stage. She made her way through the market, Cassandra and others following close behind.

"Well, at least we've been able to calm one side of the three-headed beast," Claira sighed.

"For now," Cassandra replied. "The other clerics are another matter. Either way, we should return to Haven and inform the others."

Claira opened her mouth in response, but the familiar sound of a blade cutting through the air caught her attention. he held her hand out just in time as a whistling sound brushed by her ear. An arrow from a balcony above shot straight into a small spot where the dirt was showing through the stone. There was a letter tied to it with a single red ribbon. It looked like one of the ribbons used for the Inquisition's missives. The party looked upward but saw no one.

"Not just yet," Claira grinned. "It looks like there are others to appeal to in Val Reouyx."

[rinrinp42]

Becoming Grim Chapter 2

Here’s the second chapter!  In which questions don’t get answered until they do, relationships are hard, and some people show up.

Kravitz slipped from behind the tapestry, once more in his vest and jerkin, medallion on display. He glanced around and sighed. Good, no guards. He turned and took a step towards his rooms when a hand landed on his shoulder. He stiffened.

"Dear Heart, thou hast been visiting Kleeck once more," his mother spoke from behind him.

Kravitz spun around to face her.

"I, I don't know what thou mean-" he started.

She interrupted him by running a hand through his straightened hair, magic warm on her hand. A modified Seeming weaving into his hair, solid unlike a regular version of the spell.

"Thine feathers were on display," she told him with a wistful smile.

Kravitz ducked his head, peeking through his lashes at the elaborate style her own hair was in and the mostly hidden braid holding a gold bead and feather.

"Where we in the Haugskold, thy dreads would proudly show them," she told him, placing a bejeweled hand on his cheek.

"Kleeck says thou still shine like obsidian," he told her.

Delight lit up her face before it shuttered, and her hand dropped.

"Wife," a harsh voice barked from behind Kravitz and he flinched, "Boy! What are the two of you doing in the middle of the hall?"

"My Lord," Kuori's voice was flat, "we were discussing which instrument Kravitz shall learn next."

His Lordly Father snorted in disdain.

"Nothing will come of it, why bother?"

Kuori's arm twitched, as if she were about to reach for a weapon that was no longer there.

Kravitz had never seen her zweihänder but Kleeck had sketched it out once, showing Kravitz how Kuori looked as the Sorcerer Queen of the Haugskold before his Lord Father had taken her.

He imagined his Lord Father did not think of said zweihänder when he spoke to Kuori thusly.

And yet, his mother stayed her hand, taking a breath before answering.

"It is enough to fill his time. Or would you rather he go to the Slums?"

His Lord Father sneered at that and stalked closer.

Kravitz woke with a start, as The Raven Queen's favorite, oversized raven cawed at him.

Oh, it was, he had fallen asleep. He.... didn't really do that in the Astral Plane, though Shadowfell was always an exception to the rule. He slipped from the ger, squinting at the false sun Hades had weedled for upon marrying his wife. The day cycle was determined by Persephone, but it still aligned with the Material Plane in some spots.

He needed to go, he had to explain things to Taako.

He stretched and gave a pat to one of the ravens as he headed out of Shadowfell and into the Astral Plane proper. He nodded to a few of the Guards, old souls who had sworn themselves to the good of the Astral Plane and the souls within, who would remain loyal to The Raven Queen as long as she held the well being of said souls as a top priority.

With nary a thought, Kravitz ripped a tear to the Material Plane, and Taako's house, open and stepped through.

He was immediately tackled by his boyfriend, the elf wrapping around him and burying his head in Kravitz's shoulder.

"Taako?"

"You didn't come home," the elf mumbled, and Kravitz silently cursed even as he wrapped his own arms around Taako.

"I, uh, spent the night in Shado- in the Astral Plane. I, I didn't think you wanted me here, and, I, uh, had to think about some things-"

Taako shook his head.

"Don't care. Just don't, don't do that again, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Kravitz promised, what else could he do?

Taako pulled back, determinedly ignoring how he wiped at his eyes. Kravitz let him keep the fantasy.

"You are probably starving my man. Let ol' Taako whip you up something."

"Taako, about last night-"

"Nope. We are having brunch and moving on."

Kravitz swallowed and nodded. He wasn't going to make Taako listen to his stupid past. He'd just.... deal. He'd done it before.

It was a strange few days after that, with Taako being clingy and refusing to talk about it and Kravitz both not wanting to push and desperately trying to forget the memories the medallion had brought up.

And then there was Lup.

"I don't give a shit if you are The Raven Queen's favorite, I will kick your ass if this keeps up," she snarled at him before their next bounty.

Kravitz gave her a startled look.

"I, I don't-"

"Listen here jackass, I can and will get Lucretia to put a Ward around Taako's house to keep you out."

"Lup, what are you-"

"How you're treating Koko!" she exploded at him, "He's walking on eggshells around you so you won't fuck off again!"

Kravitz paused at that, replaying Taako's actions since he got back and cursed himself again. Of course Taako was trying to keep him from running off, it was just like how he'd doted on Lup once she got her body back.

Gods he was an idiot. Kleeck would have whapped him upside the head for this. "Bards - and yes, a conductor is a Bard - must observe the feelings their music creates." He hadn't even thought about why Taako was so clingy, about what he had brought up for the elf.

"We have a job," he told her, his voice sharp as he swept past, his flesh melting into bones, "keep the personal out of it."

She glared at his back.

Later, Kravitz stepped through a tear and wrapped his arms around Taako, burying his face in Taako's updo.

"I need to have a long talk with The Raven Queen," he mumbled.

Taako turned in his arms, gazing up at him, slight panic in his eyes.

"But first I need to explain what happened before."

"No, Taako's good out here," the elf protested.

Kravitz shook his head.

"I don't, I'm not ready to share all the details, but you deserve to know," he said.

Taako was silent at that.

"When I was a child, my mother was married to a very powerful man. She hated him dearly, but for all her strength and magic, he outclassed her. He, he didn't treat us or those who relied on him in any decent way. My mother was as much a possession to him as any jewel. We, my mother and I, along with my mother's lover and my mentor, led a rebellion against him. We won, and he was gone. But now these medallions that are just like the ones he made us wear are popping up in these necromancy cults."

"You don't like to talk about then, do you?"

"No, it, it wasn't a good time. My mentor, Kleeck... Kleeck was all but destroyed."

A tug on his Soul and a raven's caw in his mind. He sighed.

"I have to go, but Taako?" he cupped Taako's face in his hands, "I will always come back to you, okay? And if I can't? Then I know you would find a way to get me back. You already did it once."

Taako smirked at that.

"Damn right I did."

Kravitz smiled at him and placed a kiss to his forehead before giving him a proper kiss. And then he was striding through a tear, flesh melting away.

"Where did you disappear to?" Lup asked with a facimal of a scowl, "I had to argue with the Guards to be able to even get that necromancer out of the Stockade. They don't even like me!"

"They just don't know you," Kravitz said, nodding to one of the Guards hovering around.

:She knows not the past of this realm,: they told him.

Lup's lich-like form flickered in confusion.

"What was that?"

"Val wished to tell me something. :She'll get there.: Don't worry about it."

With that he led the way, stepping into one of the wrinkles of space in the Astral Plane that would take one to Shadowfell. The trick was knowing how to even find one outside the Appeal Gate. The Soul in Lup's grip transformed into a ghostly figure even as her jaw dropped.

"Skin, love, it's rude to walk about Shadowfell in work forms," he told her, even as his own flesh formed around him.

Lup obeyed numbly.

"I didn't know this was here," she mumbled, glancing at the gers, the various Celestials wandering around, the Souls who had bargained with The Raven Queen for something or other that meant they were kept from the Sea of Souls, and the Guards who no longer looked like people shaped light.

"Did you think The Raven Queen held court in the Stockade?" Kravitz asked, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

"I, I guess I didn't think about it."

Kravitz hummed at that.

"Arawn is with her," Persephone said as she slid up next to them.

Lup gave the Celestial a wide eyed look.

"She knows you are coming and the Three Judges are holding court outside. This must be very important," she peered up at Kravitz through her flower crown, eyebrows raised.

"It really is. Ellyjobell will most likely join us as well," Kravitz glanced at the Guard as the once-gnome stepped into line with him.

The grim look on her face was only made worse by the scar she still bore that nearly bisected her face.

Persephone gave a startled look to the pair of them and fell back.

Kravitz led the way into the Hall where The Raven Queen and one of the Celestials were leaning over a map. Arawn was a more than capable warrior, and was more willing than some of the other Death Celestials to fight for the Souls in their possession and the well being of the living.

The two glanced up as the group entered.

"DID YOU SPEAK WITH TAAKO MY OWN?" The Raven Queen asked, the hint of her smirk only visible when one knew where to look around her great headpiece.

Kravitz rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I did. But if we could focus on the important part?"

Arawn chuckled at the two of them.

"YOU AND YOUR RELATIONSHIP ARE ALSO IMPORTANT TO ME MY OWN," she teased him.

Kravitz flushed before motioning Lup and the necromancer forward.

"This is one of the recent necromancers we have found with that mark. And this one was willing to make a deal."

The Raven Queen grew serious at that.

"CENTAUR NESSUS SHOULD YOU PROVIDE INFORMATION ON THE MEDALLION YOU WERE FOUND WITH, TIME SHALL BE LIFTED FROM YOUR SENTENCE, THE AMOUNT DETERMINED BY THE CONTENT OF YOUR INFORMATION."

Nessus quaked at that before straightening.

"We serve an Old God, one that predates even you," Nessus sneered, "the High Priest realized the whispers for what they were once we all heard the Story."

The Raven Queen regarded him for a moment.

"HM. ALMOST USELESS. BUT STILL, I CAN BE GENEROUS. ONE YEAR."

"What?! When Nerull takes his rightful place, you will be ousted from power and placed under Him, where you should be! When that day comes his loyal servants will be rewarded and I will be free!" Nessus ranted.

Kravitz swung is scythe around with a flourish, bringing it to a rest on Nessus's throat.

"Speak like that again and your sentence will become a Destruction instead of Imprisonment," he spoke casually.

Nessus froze at that. The large raven that shadowed The Raven Queen most of the time chortled.

Ellyjobell stalked to the door and jerked it open.

"Henzio! Shava! Get in here!" she barked.

Two more Guards slipped into the Hall, nodding at the reapers and giving short bows to the goddess before focusing on Ellyjobell.

"We're done with this trash, take it back to the Stockade."

The Aasimar and Elf nodded and grabbed Nessus, effortlessly dragging him away. Once they were gone, Ellyjobell turned back to the rest.

"So," she said, her voice falsely cheerful, "the Cult of Nerull is back. What are we going to do?"

[ineffablecolors]

New Tales from the Old Forest [4/?]

To mark the beginning of December properly I have something new for this verse. Whether you enjoyed this last December as part of my 'Tis The Season series, found it later on or are just now stumbling upon it - I hope this starts off your holiday fanfic endeavors just right (I sure hope it does the same for mine 'cause I have plans for this fic).

Happy beginning of Christmas and welcome back to New Tales from the Old Forest!

New Tales from the Old Forest; ~ 2, 800 words; FF.NET || AO3

Using the gorgeous banner @katie-dub created for me once upon a time! :*

She stomps back to her car through five feet of snow, feeling the coldness slither in through the zipper and the little hole on the inner side of her left boot. Wet socks. The last thing Emma Swan needs at 8 pm on the 24th of December.

Henry is in the backseat where she left him 15 minutes ago, his fingers moving rapidly over the screen of his phone now that it is too dark for him to be reading his book. 

Emma sighs at the memory of that Golden Age of 15 minutes ago. Back when hope and excitement and that warm fuzzy feeling that she had been making tentative friends with over the last year had kept her from realizing exactly how fucking cold and windy the coast of Maine was in the smack-dab middle of winter. Yes, her nerves had been pulled pretty tight back then but not like this. Not like now.

15 minutes ago it felt like Dasher, Dancer... Patter? Pranter? Ugh. All of Santa's prats of reindeer were making her insides their new holiday runway. Led by that Cupid bastard. 

That’s it. She is blaming it all on some freaking Christmas reindeer possession or... yeah, that sounds good.

Because there is no way she would be in this situation, if she was in possession of all her faculties. Nope, no way. This situation is exactly the kind of situation that Emma Swan is an expert at avoiding. Or she was. A year ago.

And yet. Here she is. At 8:07 pm now, on the freaking 24th of freaking December, with a trunk full of presents, a 11-year-old in the backseat and three Americanos buzzing through her system.

In Storybrooke, fucking Maine, in front of Killian fucking Jones' house. His very dark. Very empty house. 

How did she end up here again?

Oh, yeah.

///

It's official. Emma Swan is a moron. An absolute fucking idiot. It takes exactly 2 days, 1 hour and oh, 20 or so minutes after Killian kissed her goodbye and got into his cab to the airport for- 

It’s the middle of February and it's not freezing or anything but the wind is giving a vicious whipping to any and all skin she was foolish enough to leave exposed. And she would like nothing more than to take Killian's hand - his very gloveless, very cold hand - and squeeze them into the cab waiting in front of her apartment (yes, they had dinner at her apartment and she royally screwed it up and what else is new in Emma Swan’s world).

But Henry is waiting for her inside, hopefully (but highly unlikely after an evening spent in Killian's presence) already in bed and she has a honey trap to set tomorrow and her homework to do before that and a drive to the airport and back really doesn't sound that appealing.

So instead she sways a little on her feet and quirks up an eyebrow and says she'll get him a calendar for next time and she lets him pull her in so that she kinda steps on his toes but also ends up with his lips on the corner of her mouth. She lets her hands frame his face and regrets the long coat that she was so grateful for a moment ago because she can barely feel his hand on her waist through the thick wool. She opens her mouth and tastes her Bechamel sauce (which is sadly inferior to her Bolognese). She sighs into him and digs her nose into his cheek when he goes to pull back. She plays with the soft part of his left ear and makes him kiss her again, less tongue, more teeth, more pressure and the very first licks of regret for not taking this further when she had the chance. She lets him let her go and get into the cab. And she waves when he is already almost out of sight.

It takes exactly 2 days, 1 hour and oh, 25 minutes or so now after Killian kissed her goodbye and got in his cab to the airport for those licks of regret to become a full-on raging fire of 'Emma Swan is an absolute fucking idiot for not banging Killian Jones when she had the chance’.

///

 It's official. Killian Jones is an idiot. A complete and utter bonehead. It takes precisely one solid night of sleep and two days without hearing from Emma for him to realize that.

Of course, he heard from Henry but he highly doubts that Emma knows that and that… well…

"How how did you manage to mess that up?"

Killian scrubs his good hand down his face and tries to blink his eyes properly open. Getting in at 'I don't want to look at the clock 'cause my head knows I won't like what I see' o'clock and getting up for a meeting with Regina the next morning (because some people know how to tell days and some other people are too stubborn to admit their stupidity and ask for a re-schedule) is really not conductive to him being ship-shape in the late afternoon.

Which, unfortunately, is when Henry gets home from school and wants to know precisely why Killian showed up at Emma's door two hours after him on the 15th of February.

"I assure you, lad, I keep asking myself the same thing."

"I convinced my teacher to organize a Valentine's Day sleepover just so you guys can have a...." Henry stammers a bit here and if Killian was more awake, he'd be able to tell if it's the light in his room or the boy is actually blushing. "You know... grown-ups sleepover.."

He... does not know what he is supposed to say to that. What would Emma want him to say to that? What would he tell his own son, if he-

"Well, unplanned as it was, I'm glad that my miscalculation-"

Henry snorts at that but Killian chooses to ignore it.

"-meant I got to spent time with both your mother and you."

Yeah, that… that was nice. Talking to Henry always is. Nice and rejuvenating and inspiring and life-reaffirming and many other things that Killian will keep to himself so that he doesn’t completely freak out the poor boy.

His mother however is a whole different ballgame. Obviously. Would be concerning, if she wasn’t…

He is losing his bloody mind. It has been scattered all over ever since he got back but now that he’s had a good night’s rest, it’s even worse. Because now he gets to think about it. His little impromptu surprise. He gets to think and analyze and rationalize and all those things he knows make his characters compelling on page but make his own life bloody miserable on practice.

And the more he thinks about it, the more he wants to get up and go bang his head against the tiles in his bathroom.

What the hell was he thinking?!

Flying over on Valentine’s Day? Showing up a day late with a bloody bouquet of bloody paper flowers. Paper flowers! Lord, could he be more of a walking cliché? At least he left the poem attempts on his desk where they are merrily mocking him right now.

What did Emma do on Valentine’s Day (the actual day, bloody buggering-)? She simply called him.

“Of course she did, she is a bloody normal person, who hasn’t spent the last seven years in minimum contact with humanity.”

He remembers the obvious surprise on her face when he showed up on her doorstep. Even after he had blurted out his plans to her over Skype the night before. Perhaps even after that she didn’t expect him to show up. Perhaps she thought he was a somewhat normal and well-functioning person.

“Well, joke’s on her, ain’t it?”

He remembers her slight discomfort at having him in her apartment – her eyes darting this way and that way, her hand aborting its movement as she reached to brush something off his shoulder.

He remembers Henry’s shock at his arriving just after he had gotten home himself – the way his eyes grew wide – surprise and then glee (bless the lad’s pure heart, not finding anything weird about him just showing up on their doorstep at 11 in the morning).

He remembers the awkwardness at trying to figure out what to do now that they were obviously spending the day together – movies seemed too time-wasting, skating seemed like too much activity, a simple walk seemed aimless and why was this so bloody hard, he had been talking to both of them on the regular for over a month.

He remembers other things too. Still feels them rather. He feels the brush of her fingers as she handed him a cup of coffee while listing places in New York City that had good coffee. He feels the brush of her shoulder against his as they walked down a narrow sidewalk and he struggled to always stay on her right. He feels her breath just below his ear where it tickled him every time she leaned to supply any crucial information that he might need to comprehend the infinite amount of school stories that Henry seemed to be set on regaling him with. He feels the way their couch bounced as the lad dropped next to him, while Emma was getting dinner ready, and broke his words-per-minute record again, this time asking Killian for stories from book signings and the casting for the movie and everything else that he imagines any self-proclaimed ‘fan’ will eventually lose the battle with trying to keep locked inside.

And then he remembers the expression on her face. The utter horror that washed over when she realized that she’d prepared a steak dinner for a one-handed man.

It’s been years. It’s not… well, it’s never not a shock but it’s not a surprise anymore. When he discovers something new, something old that he can’t do anymore. Of course, he came across the fork and knife issue a long time ago – has it mostly figured out by this point.

Funny how he didn’t see this new thing coming – disappointing the girl you like. It probably has something to do with the fact that he hasn’t actually liked a girl in the time he has been operating with one hand. Not like that. Not a girl like that.

And she seems beyond embarrassed or annoyed or worried, she seemed on a whole other plane, holding court with herself over the soundness of her decision. Whether the one to make steak for dinner or to let him into her house (her life) – Killian really isn’t sure he wants to know, even while his brain insists on probing and guessing and analyzing and basically bloody torturing him.

“You should just let mom cut it for you. I always do. Steak is a bitch.”

“Henry! Language.”

“Sorry. Steak is a pain.”

The lad’s expression is so droll, it somehow manages to make him chuckle and draw him out of his plans to just spear the steak on his fork and risk doing his best impersonation of the dining scene from Beauty and the Beast. 

And then he remembers the pinkness of her nose in the cold evening air and the press of her warm tongue so in contrast with that chilly little nose and the way she seemed to shuffle into him every time he considered pulling back and the almost wistful glow in her eyes when he finally did.

He remembers something and reaches for his phone and then he remembers another and drops it like it’s burning his only remaining fingers.

And that’s how 2 days pass. And then another 2. And then a week.

And during the second week he starts reaching for it less and less because it doesn’t really take that much thinking and analyzing to figure out what it means that she hasn’t called him either.

///

 Henry is no fool. He knows that they are being idiots. He knows they probably had one of those ‘possible True Love alert’ moments that all of Killian’s True Love couples have at some point in the books and probably got all freaked out because he can’t remember his mom dating anybody like ever and Killian doesn’t look like he even knows how to use the word ‘date’ correctly.

The problem is that Henry has no one to bet against on who will break first.

The bigger problem is that he has no one to help him figure out when he should stop humouring them and step in.

///

 She is high on life. Yup, Emma Swan is actually feeling pretty damn good about herself for once.

She caught her perp with minimum effort for a maximum paycheck. Henry got an A on the art project she helped him prepare. There is a new pizza place down the street and it is divine. Her kid has great taste and chose her favourite Indiana Jones movie for tonight and then promptly went to bed after it with almost no whining at all.

Oh, and she is having a great hair day.

Realistically it’s probably not much. But dammit, Emma feels good about herself. She feels good enough to pick up her phone and hit Killian Jones’ name. More impressive yet, she feels good enough not to hang up as it starts ringing.

For once she feels good enough to shut up the thought of ‘well, he was obviously just trying to get into your pants and then that didn’t happen so it’s-

“Swan?”

She almost swallows her fucking tongue. Literally. And people actually do that. And Emma thinks she might have a slight phobia of swallowing her tongue. And why is she thinking about that now?

“Emma?”

“Are you afraid of swallowing your tongue?”

“Are- I beg your pardon?”

Pillow in the corner of the couch, meet Emma’s face.

“Emma?”

“Yup. Hey. Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’m sorry. I mean… Well, no, I just… Umm…”

“Swan, I-“

“Did we break up?”

Pillow, kindly suffocate Emma to death.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Stop begging and actually answer one of my questions!”

“Right. Sorry. I am. Sorry. I’m very sorry, love. We did not break up. I mean, if we are- If you thought we were- Not that I didn’t- I mean- Bloody hell!”

“Yeah, I thought we were.”

“Right. Good. That’s… me too. So we still are. We didn’t, we definitely didn’t break up.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Pillow, muffle any whiny sounds Emma might make.

“I just wanted to give you some time… space.”

“We live in different cities.”

“Right. I just wasn’t sure how happy you were about me just showing up in yours.”

“What?!”

“Well, I… well…”

Pillow, try not to die while Emma takes out her frustrations on you, you were kinda expensive.

“Killian, I… OK, I’m sorry, if I wasn’t... I just… No guy has spent time with me and Henry and had dinner with us and all that jazz.”

“Oh. Alright. I guess… I didn’t think you might have… not been seeing anyone for awhile as well.”

“No, I mean… never.”

“Never?”

“I mean, I have- of course, but… No one’s ever spent the day with us like that. Ever.”

“And I made you.”

“What? No. I mean- I- we wanted you to. I would’ve told you not to come, if I didn’t. I… I didn’t think it went that bad. I mean, I-”

“No. No, it didn’t! It was… I had a lovely time, Emma, I just…”

“Right. Well, me too.”

“That’s good. Good, we both enjoyed spending some time together.”

“Sounds like it.”

“That’s…”

Pillow, sorry for being catapulted across the room as Emma finally allows herself to fist-pump the air at Killian's quiet chuckle.

“So what was the other question?”

“Huh?”

“We’ve established that we haven’t broken up. So what was the other question that I was supposed to answer?”

“Oh. Uhhh… Oh, oh! Aren’t you afraid of swallowing your tongue? I don’t mean like getting tongue-tied but like literally swallowing your tongue. Just like-“

///

 He gets finding her on the couch. He gets the dead phone. He gets the empty cup of coffee. He gets the tangled hair and slight smile.

But for the life of him Henry can’t explain the decorative pillow thrown half across the hallway.

///

 Right, ok, this is not exactly how she ended up in front of Killian Jones’ house on Christmas Eve but… we’re getting there.

‘Patience is a virtue’ as Killian would say.

The ass.

[you-andthebottlemen]

25 - A collab with @storiesaboutvan

Hello, everyone. Boy, are you in for a treat. 

So it all began when Rhi ( @storiesaboutvan ) and I realised we had both received wedding requests. We made the decision to team up to collab the most spectacular wedding vanfic. 12,521 words to be exact. We have spent aaaages working on this and it’s been amazing. I hope you love it as much as we do. 

So, read below for 6390 words of Van’s POV wedding goodness. Think nerves, love, kisses, and oh....Van in a suit. Yep. 

Then click here for ‘your’/ reader’s perspective, written by Rhi. 

Thank you to whoever requested these for the patience, we definitely did not forget about you. 

Love Evangeline xx 

***************************

Today was one of the days I’d been dreaming of since I could remember. Everything was leading up to this. I’d stand in the kitchen as a kid watching on as my dad would drunkenly confess his love for my mum and she’d roll her eyes and kiss him; growing up I’d think about how lucky they were to be so in love and how I couldn’t wait to have that with my own wife one day.

Every girl I’d ever fancied I’d planned on marrying, but it was always a puppy love dream. That changed when I met y/n. In fact, everything changed when I met her.

Family had always been the most important thing to me and today marked the official start of my own. I was beyond excited but right now, nerves were taking hold. I was overwhelmed with a mix of anticipation, anxiety and full-blown love. I wanted everything to be perfect for y/n; I wanted everyone to see how much I fucking love her.

I stood in front of the mirror at home, fiddling with my tie. I couldn’t get the fucking thing to sit straight. I ran a sweaty, shaky hand through my hair and groaned in frustration.

“You alright mate”? Larry asked, coming in after hearing the sound I’d made.

I was flustered. I just looked at him, my eyes clearly expressing what was going on inside my head. He came up to me and undid my tie then fixed it up so it rested flat and straight against my chest. He was already in his suit; he looked like some fancy secret agent or somethin'. We were all in navy suits and white button ups with burgundy ties to match the bridesmaids’ dresses.

“What if I fuck up? I just want it to be perfect you know and I’m just this scruffy lad who sings nonsense and she’s a fucking queen. Honestly, why the fuck is she marrying me she could do so much b-”

“Van. Don’t be stupid. She fucking loves you and has for years yeah? Maybe she could do better, but it doesn’t matter, she chose you. You love her better than anyone could and for her, that’s perfect. It’s not about your wonky tie or even Catfish,” Larry interrupted me as I started to lose it, putting a hand on my shoulder and talking with a rare sincerity.

For months now he’d been killing me, teasing me that he’d gotten to see y/n in her dress ages ago and that I had to wait. He droned on about it, trying to get me mad and it sure as hell worked; many incidents of wrestling had occurred. He went to help her choose her dress, which was sweet, but he wouldn’t shut up about how stunning she looked and all that. It was driving me mental, I could have rung his neck, the smug bastard! But now I was glad to have him by my side today more than ever.

I didn’t get nervous often, I was usually easy going and confident. But this was all new; this was bigger than anything I’d faced yet. No amount of fans in a venue, no amount of pressure to put out a good album could match to this.

“Yeah?” I said, taking a breath in and fixing my hair.

“Yeah mate, you’re Van fucking McCann!” He smiled, pulling me into a hug.

I couldn’t have chosen a better best man.

Once I was ready and Larry had talked some calm into me, we walked out to the kitchen where the rest of the lads were waiting. They were all in their outfits too; I’d never seen them so dressed up. They didn’t even go to this much effort for our first Brit Awards.

“Looking spiffy lads,” I commented cheerfully as I walked out.

They all cheered and hugged me, slapping me on the back and grinning. I could feel their pride. There were none of the usual lads jokes about being tied down, none about how ‘boring’ I’d become after marriage. They all knew what this meant for me and they all loved y/n.

Mum and Dad arrived shortly after. I hugged them both tight and told them how much I loved them and how if my marriage was at least half as strong as their’s was, then I’d have won the fucking lottery; they promised it would be. Dad fixed my tie even though there was nothing wrong with it, pulling my gold necklace out from under my shirt so it hung loosely over the top. He then kissed my forehead as if I was his little boy again. Mum shed a rare tear, I just pulled her into me again and held her close.

"We are so proud of you son, you're making a good decision with y/n," Dad said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I smiled; they didn’t need to tell me that, I knew I was doing the right thing.

Everyone raised their glasses and made a toast to me and y/n. Bondy, who of course was still wearing his hat, tried to get me to have a drink to loosen up but I didn’t accept. Just like I didn’t drink before a show, I sure as hell wouldn’t drink before my wedding. Mum fussed around pinning white flowers to all our jackets at y/n’s request before we made our way out.

We piled into the car and headed to the ceremony venue. Y/n’s ring in my pocket pressing against my chest, I couldn’t stop thinking about everything that was about to happen. I went over my vows in my head a dozen times, I thought about how I’d have to kiss her as to not mess up her makeup. I needed it to be perfect for her. Well, as close to perfect as I could make it. Apart from the day our children would be born, this would be the most special moment of our lives. My hands grew clammy and my knees felt all wobbly.

Once out of the car Larry put an arm around my shoulders as if sensing the rise in my anxiety.

“You ready?” He asked.

I rubbed my hands together and then through my hair again, swapping my weight between feet. I was agitated and jittery. Christ, I’d never even felt like this before a gig, what was happening to me.

“Fuck. Ready as I’ll ever be,” I responded with a breath out and a smile, handing him the ring from my jacket pocket.

...........

I’d stood in this park a million times before but never had it made me feel this overwhelmed. This was where y/n and I first met so it seemed an appropriate place to get married. Plus it was fucking beautiful. The green grass was dotted with big old trees that always seemed to whisper like those big trees in Lord of The Rings, their leaves just starting to turn a golden orange colour as it was getting into Autumn. The sun was shining without being hot and we couldn’t have gotten better weather. Honestly, I didn't care where I got married, as long as I got to call y/n my wife by the end of it, it’d do. But I can’t complain about this.

People began to arrive, our close relatives sat down and the wedding officiant stood at the end of the aisle; a sign it was time for me to take my place. Larry and I walked up the aisle, followed by Benji, Bob and Bondy who stood to the side. Y/n's mother smiled at me from her seat with her hand against her heart, she looked so emotional, but happy. I loved y/n's family, but I loved, even more, the fact they loved me too. Her dad was a tough nut to crack but we eventually got there and I'd always thought her mum had a little crush on me. Now we were all as thick as thieves.

I nervously glanced at my parents who were smiling, then at the lads who gave me a thumbs up. I held my hands down in front of me, knotted together so no one could see them shaking. The music started and I held my breath. I could see y/n’s bridesmaids walking towards us. Gwen came down first as the maid of honour, she looked like a princess, in her burgundy dress with her insanely long brown hair flowing behind her. Next followed Dani, Benji’s girlfriend; loved how they’d become so close. Lastly came Oliver, y/n’s best friend since she was a kid. He was a tad eccentric that one but we all loved him to bits. Oli’s suit was just like mine except full burgundy not navy. He rocked it though; I’d never be game to try it. He was smiling like mad and it made me so happy to see everyone so full of joy for us.

Lastly, y/n appeared on her fathers' arm. Everyone turned to look at her and you could hear the gasps that followed. I honestly could have died right there. She looked fucking amazing. Fucking incredible. In fact, that didn't even cover it. Larry was right all those times he'd rubbed it in. My breath caught in my throat and I was stunned. Her dress was simple, flowy and white. It had a low but elegant v-neck and soft sleeves that fell loosely down her arms. It ended halfway down her calves and you could see her glittery gold sneakers, I couldn't help but smile at that. Always practical my girl was.

As she walked down the aisle our eyes locked and she smiled. I swear it was like all these tiny angel voices singing in my ears or something, everything else faded away. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I thought I was going to cry. Larry squeezed my arm smiling and then I smiled too, realising I'd been standing there with my jaw on the floor. I felt like I could have just fallen to my knees in front of her and cried, she looked so beautiful and she was going to be my wife.

Once she got close enough, it was torture not to reach out and touch her or shout from the rooftops about how damn good she looked. I really struggled to keep my cool. All nerves from earlier had dissipated and I was filled with an intense excitement and burning passion. I was going to marry the absolute fuck out of the smartest, kindest, funniest, most beautiful and most loving girl in the world.

She smiled shyly as her father kissed her cheek and she hugged him. Before he went to take his place he looked at me.

"You take care of her, don't mess this one up or I'll get ya," He said in a joking tone that was riddled with an underlying threat. I just nodded furiously and he pulled me into a hug with a laugh. Y/n chuckled at my nerves and brought my attention back to her once again.

She stood in front of me, her hair flowing down softly. I looked at her lips, they were a dark burgundy, perfectly matching my tie and the dresses and her gold eye shadow tied in with her shoes. I always said she was a queen but today I'd never meant it more. She wore the thin gold chain I'd given her when I proposed. It was slightly longer than mine and hung perfectly with the neck of her dress. It glinted in the sunlight and I briefly thought about the day where I'd be able to put my gold pendant onto it for her after we welcomed our first-born. I took her hands in mine and squeezed them tightly. Hope she didn’t mind how clammy they were.

Y/n’s vows made my heart feel like it was going to burst; I had to wrestle with myself once again not to pull her into me. I’d spent weeks on my vows, I struggled fitting everything I wanted to say into such a short space. Writing songs and lyrics had never been difficult, I could write a tune in about three minutes, but once again this was an all-new challenge for me. The vows came out messy and my nerves began to show through. But really, it was just me trying to convey how much I loved her and what she meant to me in a way that she’d never heard before and in a way that would show everyone in those white seats, just how special she was to me.

“I’m going to be the best husband you could ever have and everything I ever do is going to be for you.  I can’t wait to be with you forever, to have our own family and to grow old with you and have you spoon soup into my mouth because I can’t do it myself without spilling it,” I smiled and looked y/n in the eyes.

I was rambling a bit and had strayed from my plan, all caught up in the moment but y/n laughed quietly and grinned. It was difficult to not use my hands to talk, it was a habit I couldn’t shake, especially when nervous.

“You’ll always be my priority and I will honestly love you forever. I’m so lucky to have found you and still can’t believe a woman like you could possibly love me too. You’re strong and beautiful, smart and caring; you fit me like a damn glove, you know? You changed my life for the better and I’m never gonna let you down,” I finished and saw y/n’s eyes filling up with tears despite the smile on her face. I could have kept talking for hours and she knew it too.

Soon after, Larry handed me y/n’s ring and he gave me the biggest smile I’d ever seen; his eyes were glassy and you could see he was beaming with pride beyond anything he’d ever felt for the band and I knew that was a lot. When I slipped it onto y/n’s hand. My heart rate was speeding up, it felt loud and impatient. I was surprised no one else could hear it. I felt like I was in some beautiful romance film all anticipation and tears.

"You may now kiss the bride," the officiant declared with a smile. Finally.

We both leaned in, love and excitement radiating off us. I couldn’t even describe it, it was like two magnets finally getting to snap into place. Grinning like two idiots, we smashed our lips together and it was the best kiss of my entire life. All thoughts of not mucking up her makeup were gone and I just kissed her with every ounce of passion in me. The people gathered to watch us tie the knot cheered and I smiled into y/n’s lips, a small tear leaking out the corner of my eye.

When I finally pulled away, she was smiling and teary too but she looked at me in such a way that made my stomach flip and my knees weak. Christ, did I love my fucking wife. My wife. Far out.

I was surprised that none of her lipstick had smeared. Must be that liquid matte stuff she's always on about.

And with that, we were married. I was absolutely beaming; I wanted to scream from the fucking clouds. I scooped y/n up into my arms and carried her down the aisle all cliche. She laughed and threw her arms around my neck. I saw mum and dad all puffy eyed and glowing.

“We fucking did it!” She whispered to me between kisses as I carried her off to get our photos done.

“And I’m going to fuckin’ do you tonight, Mrs McCann!” I responded with a wink and she burst out laughing at my cheekiness before she kissed me again. I could never get enough of her.

“Say that again,” she asked more seriously, as I set her down on the ground. I made her spin around and show me her gorgeous dress.

“Mrs McCann, I fucking love you.”

.........

The old pub was lit up with hundreds of tiny, golden fairy lights draped along the walls and ceiling; it felt warm and magical. They’d closed it off from the public for the night so we could enjoy our reception in peace. Tables were laid out in a lazy fashion as we didn’t want to allocate people seats, seems a bit weird and restrictive to do that? Besides, no one in our circle had bad blood so we’d rather them all mingle as usual or get to know each other if they didn’t already. We wanted the reception to be laid back; just friends and family havin’ a good time and feelin’ the love.

We had so many memories in this place. Catfish had played here in the early days, I’d just started dating y/n and had convinced her to be our merch girl at the time. Since we hardly sold any tickets, she used her charm to sell shirts. It worked, particularly on me, and it was one of the many reasons I loved her. We’d also had our first date here, and many more after that. The whole place just reminded me of messy, smoke filled nights; kissing y/n out the back where we weren't meant to be and laughs with my mates on the rocky bar stools inside. It was a home away from home of sorts.

“This is perfect,” y/n sighed happily as she sat down beside me. I had one arm around the back of her chair and the other I reached out to hold her hand once it was close enough. We looked at each other and smiled, totally and utterly in love.

From where we were sitting we could see the photo booth in the back corner. The bright flashes lit up the room slightly more every time it went off. Gwen and Bondy were inside laughin’ and posing with the props. They had their arms around each other and Gwen even stole Bondy’s hat for one of them, sitting on his lap and adjusting his fake moustache. It was y/n’s idea to have the photo booth and it seemed to be a good call; it was popular. Gwen and Bondy fell out of the booth giggling and looking at the strip of pictures that would be one of many memories from tonight, before heading towards the bar. Typical of those two. Next up were Dani and Benji. They waved us over and y/n stood up and skipped happily towards them, pulling me by the hand behind her. Dani yanked her into a hug and they had a quick catch up before posing in the booth together, pulling faces and kissing each other’s cheeks. Benji congratulated me again and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. I rocked on my feet and moved my hands around, unable to stand still.

“Hey boys, get in here!” Y/n called, pulling me into the booth by the front of my suit jacket. The four of us squished in together, our faces all pressed up against one another’s. The pictures probably turned out awful, I think Benji’s hair took up most of the frame. But that didn’t matter; any picture with y/n in it was bound to be a stunner.

Soon enough the first course of food came out. Everyone sat around talking, drinking and sharing memories. I was sat at a table with y/n on my left, Larry on my right, as well as the bands’ manager and some other friends. My parents were sat with y/n’s family; they got on well, which was great. After the entree came the speeches. The part I was both dreading and painfully excited for.

Larry stood up with a grin on his face, holding his glass of champagne. Y/n clung to my arm, leaning into my side and smiled up at him, I had no clue what he was going to say.

He cracked jokes and recounted memories of our friendship over the years; school, the band and all the crazy tour shit, when he first met y/n and all the stories in between. He told everyone how when I met her, I wouldn’t shut up about how wonderful she was; it did their heads in but we got good songs out of it. I laughed and y/n blushed as he shared some embarrassing stories about the two of us as well.

“I honestly don’t know what y/n is doing with a guy who has shat in a sink and by the way I have photographic proof for anyone interested.... But I’m glad they ended up together. Y/n has done so much for Van, including making him get a better haircut. They’re two of the best people I’ve ever met and I love them dearly. I feel lucky to be an honorary member of their family,” Larry said with a smile and a wink, holding his glass out and looking over to me. Everyone chuckled at the last part because they all knew it was true, he’d end up being like my second wife or summat.

“To y/n and Van,” he smiled and everyone repeated. I pulled my arm around y/n and kissed her forehead softly. My heart pounded with love for her and for Larry too if I’m honest.

..........

Bondy stood on the stage, in the place that would have usually been mine, with Gwen standing to his right. He tapped on the mic to get everyone’s attention. Those in the photo booth fell out, those at the bar turned around. People gathered along the makeshift dancefloor and looked at the band plus Gwen on the stage.

“We’ve eaten, we’ve drunk and we’ve heard some class speeches. And god knows we’ve taken a shit load of photos in that thing,” Bondy started, pointing over at the photo booth and everyone laughed quietly; both at his words and his evident tipsiness.

“What we haven’t done yet is danced. So clear the floor and welcome our favourite sickeningly in love couple for their first dance. Let’s all fuckin’ hope Van has more rhythm now than he does on stage,” Bondy announced, holding up his beer and taking a quick sip.

“Mate! Have you seen my hips?!” I called back with a cocky smile.

I stood up and held my hand out to y/n. She took it and I pulled her up, leading her to the floor gracefully. She looked like she was floating, even in those gold sneakers. She smiled up at me and put both arms lazily around my neck and I held her waist, pulling her close. The band started playing our song. ‘Crazy Love’ by Van Morrison. It couldn't have been more perfect.

“I can hear her heartbeat from a thousand miles

Yeah heavens open every time she smiles

And when I come to her that's where I belong

Yet I'm running to her like a river's song”

Bondy’s deep voice rang out in the room and Gwen’s backing vocals melded perfectly. You wouldn’t have even guessed that Bondy was well on his way to wasted, he didn’t miss a beat. The music was slow and the perfect pace for a slow dance. Y/n and I hadn’t rehearsed a dance and neither of us was great at dancing anyway. But we pressed our foreheads together and shut our eyes, moving side to side gently.

“She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love”

I wiggled my hips a little in the chorus part and y/n giggled under her breath.

“I love you, Van,” she whispered, tightening her grip on me.

“I love you too. I’m never going to stop saying that you know. Even though I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said it today already,” I replied.

“I can’t wait to start our lives and our family and everything Van. Truly. I’m so excited,” she bit her lip to stop the grin and the sprawl of words that threatened to tumble out.

“I’m dead excited too. Can't even put words to it, love," I said, leaning back into her.

Her makeup was still perfect, but you could see the cute freckles on her cheeks. She looked like she was in total bliss. It was so good to have her in my arms. Y/n stared at me as if she hadn’t seen me in a long time and needed to learn every detail of me again. She looked at my nose, then my cheeks, then my lips. I could feel her looking at every freckle, every eyelash.

“She's got a fine sense of humour when I'm feeling low down

And when I come to her when the sun goes down

Take away my trouble, take away my grief

Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief”

The people watching us began to fade away. I was in a small bubble with y/n and I was so, so happy with that.

"What?" I asked smugly, feeling her eyes still lingering.

"You're… so fucking incredible. And you're my fucking husband! What the fuck!?" She grinned and I kissed her nose. She’d learnt off me with the whole swearing thing, I couldn’t help but feel proud of my potty-mouthed bride.

"Damn right I'm your husband, babe."

“Yeah I need her in the daytime

And I need her in the night

Yeah and I want to throw my arms around her

Kiss and hug her kiss and hug her tight”

After Bondy sang the last line of the second last verse, I leant into y/n and kissed her lips softly. I whispered ‘I love you’ over and over into her ear as she rested her head on my shoulder and we continued dancing. Well, shuffling in our case. I took in every second of this moment, determined never to forget it. I wouldn’t let it be like shows where I get so lost in the moment that it passes me by and is all a blur the next day. I needed to hold onto this forever.

“You remember a few years back when it was like our third date or something and you sat me down and just bluntly said you were gonna marry me one day? I thought you were crazy,” Y/n said with a funny sort of smile, her eyes looking downwards at our feet.

“Why’d you keep dating me then?” I asked.

“Because I figured out quick that you were my type of crazy,” she looked up and kissed me again.

“And look where we are now,” I said, glancing around the room briefly, struggling to take my eyes off her even for a second. This was one short as hell song, but this moment felt like forever. I could live in this feeling.

“You give me love, love love...” I sang softly to y/n as Bondy went on with the chorus again. She hummed along with me and we twirled around, leaving our comfort zone of small side steps. Everyone cheered as we did so and once again, the soppy grin was spread across my face.

“And when I'm returning from so far away

She gives me some sweet lovin' brighten up my day

Yeah and it makes me righteous, yes it makes me feel whole

Yes it make me mellow down into my soul”

When Bondy came to the last, and my favourite verse, I pressed my forehead to y/n’s once again and we listened to the lyrics. I knew we both had the same memories running through our heads, triggered by the words. Me coming home from tour and the short time we’d have before I’d leave again. All totally bittersweet but amazing just the same. The lyrics were true. She did make me feel whole and she did make me feel at peace, well 'mellow in my soul' I suppose. She was the constant in my crazy, rollercoaster of a life.

As the song finished, we kissed again and I stayed put for a second too long, wanting time to stop. But of course, it didn't. Y/n held my cheeks and smiled, staring at me again as if she couldn't believe I was real. She had tears leaking out of her eyes and she pulled me into a hug. I held her tightly and everyone clapped, I spotted mum over her shoulder looking a little teary herself.

Bondy called everyone else to the floor and then began playing a more upbeat song. Bondy, Gwen and Benji whistled the intro together somehow in sync. Everyone danced, pretty badly if I'm honest. But that was the best part, it meant everyone was happy and no fucks were being given. Y/n and I pulled apart and started dancing like idiots too.

"This is like, one of my favourite songs!" She said excitedly, clapping her hands along to the beat of Bob's drums.

"I know," I smirked. I'd ask Gwen to prepare it with Bondy especially.

'Home' by Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros pumped through the room and got people feeling good. People clung to their lovers, clung to their friends. It was so fucking good.

Bondy and Gwen alternated between the parts, having a good old laugh on stage together. She took his hat again and I whistled, she winked at me. I was so fucking happy, I felt like a hyperactive baby or something. I sang the word's to y/n as we danced and she just laughed at me and did the same, rocking her head about to the tune. Some of her other friends danced with us and she took turns dancing with them and then back to me. I could see Lou, Bondy’s best mate and biggest fan up the front of the stage drunkenly swaying with one arm in the air and the other holding a bottle of wine all to himself. Where did he even get that?

"Home is whenever I'm with you, babe!" I called out, lifting my arms up again. I grabbed y/n's waist and swung her off the ground. When I stopped she was dizzy and fell into me giggling. She stood there biting her lip, picking up the gold necklace around my neck between her fingers and staring at it. She laid it out over my tie as Dad had done earlier and then went back to dancing like mad.

When the bridge was coming up, y/n slowed down and listened extra carefully to Gwen and Bondy. I couldn’t wait to see her face. Gwen and Bondy slowed down and looked right at us. They stood next to each other on the stage, Gwen threw her arm around Bondy’s neck.

“Y/n?” Bondy said.

“Van?” Gwen echoed.

“Do you remember that day you fell outta my window?”

“I sure do‒you came jumping out after me.”

“Well, you fell on the concrete, nearly broke your ass, and you were bleeding all over the place, and I rushed you out to the hospital, you remember that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, there's something I never told you about that night.”

“What didn't you tell me?”

“Well, while you were sitting in the backseat smoking a cigarette you thought was gonna be your last, I was falling deep, deeply in love with you, and I never told you 'til just now!” Bondy finished with a grin.

“Oh my god!” Y/n almost bent over laughing and smiling. She grabbed me by the front of my jacket like earlier and yanked with such force that I came crashing into her. She plastered her lips onto mine, the damn lipstick still staying put! Everyone around us beamed and Larry had his phone out videoing, probably for snap chat as usual so I poked my tongue out and jokingly gave him the finger.

From there, the party only got wilder, even Dad got on stage for a number. Next thing there was some dance contest between Bondy and Lou. It was all hips and jazz hands. Somehow poor Bond lost but he had Gwen to console him. Y/n asked if I thought they’d become a thing. Maybe.

“Well, if I can have you, guess Bond can have a princess like her?” I offered.

Once the boys and Gwen had finished and came to join us, Bob, of course, whipped his camera out. He took a photo of y/n and me; I swear we’d probably never look happier. We were going to have the damn best photo album.

Y/n, Oli and Gwen went off to the photo booth together and I was left with the boys. Bondy and I began ballroom dancing around the place to whatever song came on shuffle; the champagne had well and truly kicked in. It was nice to let go and have fun, really celebrate you know?

As the night went on, the music slowed. Couples slow danced and whispered how they loved each other, some probably even reminiscing on their own weddings which I liked. It was interesting to just watch everyone in front of me, just living their own little lives that somehow got tangled up with mine. But as usual, of all things my eyes fell on, y/n was the most fascinating.

“Are we ready to get out of here Mrs McCann?” I asked as y/n sat beside me and rested her head on my shoulder. She let out a sigh of contentment and shut her eyes, smiling.

“On one hand, I never want to leave. I could live in this night for the rest of my life. On the other, I want you to myself. So yeah, let’s get out of here,” she replied. It was well past 2am anyway.

............

Y/n had thrown her bouquet of flowers, all traditional like in the movies. Funnily enough, Dani had caught it so people teased Benji like mad, the poor lad. Everyone had waved us off, cheering and whistling, which seemed to be a recurring thing throughout the celebration it seemed.

Our plan was to go straight from the reception to the airport and jump on the first plane to wherever we wanted, then and there. No actual planning, all spontaneous an’ that. So we had our bags packed and waiting to go. We tumbled into the back seat of the car and let it drive us away. Gwen and the boys were gonna clean up for us, bless ‘em.

Y/n and I were squished in the back seat; she put my hand on her thigh and bit her lip. I knew what that meant. Ignoring the driver, I took her chin and kissed her. Her lipstick was finally starting to crumble and for some reason that excited me. She pulled on my tie and kissed me deeper. She made a small moaning sound that was more like a squeak really. Dead cute. Her skin was soft under my fingers but I could feel goosebumps starting to erupt. She gripped my neck tightly and her breathing started to get heavier. God, I wanted her so badly.

“The things I’d do to you right now...” she whispered into my cheek. The driver awkwardly turned up the radio and looked straight ahead, putting up the window between the front and back.

“Babe don’t even start. I’m going crazy enough as it is,” I said, kissing her again. We were making out in the backseat like two drunken idiots who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. That taxi driver's lucky day.

The windows were starting to fog up, y/n giggled mischievously and continued to plant small, slow kisses down my neck. I tipped my head back in pleasure and bit my lip to stop myself making a noise that would be beyond embarrassing.

“I can see a motel over there, Van. Let’s just pull in right now. I like, want you and need you and I’m gonna die” y/n quietly moaned, pulling at my tie again.

“But we’ll never get a flight to...god knows where,” I said, hating myself for being so practical right now.

“Van. 'God knows where' can wait...”

“We’ll just wind up waiting hours in the morning though,” I replied, cringing at the thought of a busy rush hour airport.

“Yeah, but waiting for hours gives us time to go and make out in places we shouldn’t be making out in,” she argued, looking up at me with her big sparkly eyes.

“And....surely you don’t want to wait until we get to a hotel tomorrow to rip these off...” she said, pulling her dress up slightly to reveal lacy white lingerie, the sexiest I’d ever seen. Leg garters and all.

“Fine. I won’t argue with my wife,” I smiled devilishly, kissing her once again and running my hand up and down her thigh.

“Just pull in at that motel mate. Thanks,” I said to the driver. He nodded with what seemed like relief. We kissed all the way there and when we arrived I tipped generously.

Y/n climbed out of the car and I followed, holding her waist. We stood outside in the dark with our hands running all over each other and lips more than starving. My hair was a mess and her lipstick was smudged well and good. We pulled away and laughed, y/n trying to fix her hair.

“Come on y/n, I have some unfinished business to attend to,” I said with a wink, referring to that lingerie hidden under her wedding dress. My mouth watered at the thought of finally being alone together.

I took her hand and we ran off into the motel reception office, giggling and giddy with love. All proper plans put aside, just the thought of being with y/n on my mind. We got handed the keys quickly and ignored the eye rolls of the woman behind the desk.

We crashed through our motel room door, letting it slam behind us. Y/n tore off my suit and tie in record time and we fell onto the bed. We were impatient and the making out was messy; we were like two reckless, horny teenagers and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[the-shadow-guards]

Garden Party

“If I tell you how nice you look, could you rescue me from someone?”

Ellie gave Anthony a sidelong look over her glass. “Depends.”

He stared out over the garden veranda in uncomfortable fear. “Beth Caldwell.”

Oh, her.

Ellie put her drink down with a look of disgust, and not from the sour lemonade in it. “You don’t even need to ask.”

“Oh thank you. She’s- Ellie, hide me!” Anthony ducked down behind her as best he could, considering he was a whole head taller than her.

Ellie feigned interest in the table of snacks and ignored Beth. Anthony crawled under the tablecloth.

That’s not going to end well.

She had the sudden image in her mind of Anthony spending the rest of his life down there, refusing to come out and surviving off fancy pastries and sour lemonade, spying on everyone from under the table and her being the only one who knew where he was.

“Ellie! Oh, Ellie Temple!” A woman cloaked in heavy perfume and rose pink taffeta linked her arm through hers. “I’ve been dying to speak to you. Did you see Lord Chipson dancing with Lady Hine? Absolutely atrocious. That man shouldn’t be allowed to drink in public.”

The tablecloth hissed in outrage.

“Isn’t this a private garden party?”

Beth waved her hands as of to shoo away Ellie’s words. “You know what I meant. In the public eye of society.” She leaned in to stage whisper. “Speaking of eyes, I’ve had my eye out for Anthony Chipson. The footmen say he arrived with his uncle, but I haven’t seen him.” She peered at Ellie, eyes huge and blinking innocently.

Ellie stared back in vague concern.

“Well?” Beth prompted.

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to offer to help me look for him?”

“I could-“

Beth dragged her away from the refreshment table, leaving a trail of heavy perfume in their wake. “Oh, thank you, thank you! I get so nervous around him, and oh, couldn’t you just stare at that face forever? So many freckles and such a handsome nose…”

Ellie toned her out as she caught sight of Beth’s cousin.

He was leaning against the base of a horse topiary, waistcoat unbuttoned and cravat loosened, the breeze teasing his hair.

It looked like he’d walked out of one of Mrs. Temple’s perfect oil paintings.

Duncan Caldwell caught her look and winked.

“Ellie…. Oh, Ellie, ew, no.”

“Hm?” She turned back to Beth and frowned at her sneer. “What?”

“Not you too. Every girl at court fawns over him. Trust me, if you’ve lived with him, you wouldn’t... don’t fancy Duncan.” Beth pulled her into the rose garden, craning her neck and looking for Anthony.

Ellie scoffed. “You fancied my uncle Jacob for a turn. And I gave you the same advice. I lived with him, I told you not to like him that way.”

“That was a passing girlish infatuation,” Beth said loftily. “I am above such things now. Do you think Anthony likes water lilies?”

“I-” Ellie didn’t bother protesting as she was marched down the stone steps towards the Caldwell’s pond.

Few people were milling about, mostly couples stealing kisses under parasols or sneaking through the hedges to find somewhere more private.

Beth herself paid them no attention as she stalked around the pond with Ellie in tow. “He has to be here somewhere, he has to be!” She stopped and Ellie almost walked into her back. “Is that him?” she whispered.

Ellie followed her gaze to a lone figure sitting under a willow tree.

It was definitely not Anthony. In fact, it some was someone that despised Beth nearly as much as Anthony himself, but for very different reasons.

“I think so,” Ellie lied.

“How do I look?” Beth fluffed her skirts and adjusted her hat. “I can’t smell my perfume. Do I need more? And my lipstick? Oh, I knew I should have brought a bigger bag.” She fished a tiny bottle of perfume from her purse and dabbed it onto her neck. “Oh, Ellie, I’m so nervous!” Beth puckered her lips and patted on a liberal amount of vibrant pink balm. “Better? Better. Wish me luck!”

Ellie closed her mouth and ran after Beth. “If you go alone, he’ll know you sought him out.”

“Exactly. He has to know that I’m interested in him. Shoo.” Beth took a deep breath. “If you must spy on me, then do so behind the tree.” She looked down her nose at her. “Please do. I want to know if you think he fancies me back. Just don’t be obvious,” she whispered.

“Of course.” Ellie tip-toed around the pond and signaled for Beth to sneak up on the unsuspecting figure on the bench. She slipped through the willow tendrils and stood silently behind the tree.

A moment later and Beth’s shoes crunched on the dirt.

“Anthony? I feel a bit faint. Might I sit with you so you could be a gentleman and catch me if I fall?”

“No,” spat Vincent. “I won’t catch you.”

“I- You’re here.”

“You did invite my tutor.” Vincent paused. “Lord Masonwell? I am his plus-one.”

“Oh.” Beth’s voice was dripping with disdain. “Mother and I were hoping he’d bring someone… social.”

“Pity. So was I.” Dirt crunched and Ellie found herself facing Vincent. “I see you still enjoy eavesdropping, Eleanor.”

She sighed and joined Beth. “We thought you were Anthony.”

“Obviously. If you’re looking for him, try the refreshment table. And look under it. He will hide from people down there.”

That’s where he is!

Ellie made a face at Vincent and faintly shook her head.

He understood. And made great show of rolling his eyes. “Actually, try the dance floor. Anthony loves to dance.”

“Oh, Ellie come on before my perfume wears off!” Beth snagged her elbow and started off towards the stairs.

“Beth, a moment. I want to talk to Vincent.”

“Why? Nevermind. I’ll see you at the dance floor. And be quick!”

Ellie slowly turned around.

Vincent looked irritated. “Can’t you leave me in peace?”

“Thank you for helping Anthony avoid her.”

He studied her suspicious. “Is he really under the table?”

“Before I got dragged away, yes.”

A faint smile toyed with the edges of his mouth. “Perhaps I will go get a refreshment and see for myself. It’s been a while since he’s done something that stupid.” Vincent pulled the willow vines out of the way for them and walked beside her as they returned to the party. “He once tried to do that at royal ball.”

“Tried?” Ellie didn’t want to ruin their fragile conversation by speaking, but oh, for some good ammunition to use against Anthony next time he brought up the goat incident…

“He couldn’t stop sneezing.” Vincent looked over in alarm at her chuckle. “What?”

“That’s funny.”

He remained silent.

“Vincent?”

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “What, Eleanor?”

“The table is this way.”

“I knew that. I…” He pursed his lips and looked away. “This way is faster.” Vincent took her arm and pulled her around a corner, striding confidently down path lined with obnoxiously white carnations and gardenias. The stench was almost as volatile as Beth’s perfume.

Ellie reclaimed her arm from him. “This is not faster.”

“Yes it is.”

“Fine. I’ll come with you to prove you wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“Want to bet?”

“Fine.” Vincent glowered at her. “If this way is faster, you leave me alone for the rest of this party. If you win, you get to…”

“You have to walk around with a gardenia in your waistcoat’s lapel.”

“A what?”

Ellie plucked one from the nearest bush. “This.”

He gagged. “No, not-”

“Fine, a carnation. You have to wear this for the rest of the day.” Ellie waved it in his face and smiled victoriously when he smacked it away.

“It’s a deal.” Vincent spun on his heel and stalked down the gravel path.

Ellie skipped after him, poking through the flowers for the biggest and brightest carnation. She was going to win this bet. She’d been around the Caldwell’s manor gardens before, when her and Beth had gotten enough of the stuffy tea room and Lady Caldwell’s endless gossip. Vincent was lost and doing a very good job at hiding it.

She picked a carnation and twirled it between her fingers. “I think we would have been at the refreshment table by now. Do you know where you’re going?”

His glare could have melted the last of the winter snow on the mountains. “No.”

“Then why come down this path?”

Vincent’s jaw was locked, a muscle twitching in it. “I do not like Beth’s cousin.”

“Duncan? Why?”

“It’s rude to pry, Eleanor.” Vincent’s frown deepened. “It…” He shook his head. “Personal reasons I don’t share with just anyone, and especially not you.”

“How flattering, and just when we were starting to get along.” Ellie pointed to a small sidepath. “There’s stairs this way.”

“Thank the heavens. I would almost trade you for Beth Caldwell.” Vincent paused at a bend in the path. “Almost. You don’t stink of rotten flowers.”

“I was about to say the same about you, except that you’re going to smell like a flower. I won the bet.” Ellie tucked the carnation into his lapel and started up the stairs, knowing full well he would try to speed around her, and she held her skirts wide and took her time, just to infuriate him.

“Eleanor,” he complained.

“I’m sorry, would you like to wear a hundred petticoats and haul them up s stairs while in a corset?”

He muttered something under his breath.

Ellie reached the top of the stairs and stepped aside so he could join her. Together they made their way to the refreshment table.

Vincent discreetly pretended to inspect the pastries and kicked the tablecloth.

“Bloody arsehole, what are you doing?” Anthony whispered furiously from under the table.

Ellie raised a glass of lemonade to her lips and pretended to take a sip. “Beth might look for you under there.”

Anthony’s gingery head appeared, framed in creamy linen. “Oh hiya Ellie. I didn’t recognize you from down here.” Her words caught up to him. “And how does Beth know I’m here.”

She looked over at Vincent.

“You told Beth-”

“I didn’t know. I though you outgrew this.”

Anthony crawled and stood, dusting off his knees. “Then where am I supposed to hide? Last time she found me, she spent an hour sprawled on my lap and feeling faint. And her hands did not stay to herself. Oooh, are those cherry?” He picked up a pastry and inspected it.

Vincent shifted uncomfortably as Lord and Lady Caldwell caught sight of him and started heading over to say hello. “There’s a willow tree by the pond. She shouldn’t go looking there for a while.”

“Thanks, Vince. Ellie.” Anthony waved the pastry in a farewell before he turned and disappeared around a duchess with an impossibly tall hat.

“Eleanor.”

“Vincent.”

“I’m going to hide under the table. Don’t mention it to anyone.” He ducked down behind her and vanished.

She calmly sipped her lemonade and smiled politely at Lord and Lady Caldwell as they arrived.

“Ellie, dearie, was that young Vincent that was just over here?” Lady Caldwell looked around her as if Vincent was hiding in her hat. “We did wish to say hello. It’s been forever since we’ve seen the poor darling.”

“I believe he went to go see about finding a quiet place to think.” Ellie smiled sweetly and gestured towards the daisy maze. “I think he went in there.”

“Oh, bugger.” Lord Caldwell frowned. “We’ll find him later. And you tell that uncle of yours that I’ve got a racehorse I think he’d be interested in.”

Ellie watched them leave. She kicked him under the table.

“Ow!”

“They’re gone.”

“You kicked me!”

“You left me with Lord and Lady Caldwell.”

Vincent frowned. “Perhaps you’re correct. Now, if you’d be so kind as to excuse me, Eleanor. I’ve been polite towards you enough for one day.”

“Likewise.”