#i spent like 2 hours rearranging flowers

[tarudce22]

I hope that everyone that bought flowers from my store yesterday namely the roses that came in a vase, where happy with them.

I had to save those guys so they could go out on the floor again.

Re-did all the arrangements. Which I am not trained to do, as the store i work at doesn't have a true floral department but somehow managed to do. 

At lest those in first shift where most likely happy when they came in today cause that was less glass they had to figure out what to do with.

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Snapdragon - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Snapdragon (Antirrhinum) - Meaning: Presumption, deception

Summary: Reader thinks her boyfriend, Bruce Wayne, is cheating on her. Bruce tries to figure out how to tell her about his nighttime activities.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 1864

Warnings: Suspected infidelity, angst, discussion of insecurities, a little bit of gaslighting/misdirection from Bruce, Alfred is a sassy bitch, Bruce is a mopey bastard, cliffhanger ending

Day 12 takes a sharp turn back into angst! I wrote this with the Christian Bale Batman and Michael Caine Alfred in mind, but use any Batman/Alfred you fancy. Also, sorry for the cliffhanger.

In Bloom Masterlist

Part 2: Snowdrop

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are incredibly appreciated! ❤️

Bruce was cheating on you, you knew it. He hadn’t spent the night at your place in weeks, was texting you back at odd hours at night, and whenever you did manage to pin him down for a date he seemed disengaged, preoccupied, like he would rather be elsewhere. 

Dating Gotham’s Prince was difficult enough as it was, press following you everywhere and your face showing up in supermarket tabloids — you were just a regular person, you didn’t come from money or rub elbows with Gotham’s social elite, you had a regular boring desk job to pay the bills. 

You met Bruce by accident one day when you were on your way into work. You weren’t paying attention and almost walked into oncoming traffic, but Bruce had caught your arm just as you stepped off the curb, spilling your coffee. You’d turned, ready to give him such a tongue-lashing, but a motorcyclist zipped by at an ungodly speed right where you’d been about to step. Bruce then offered to replace your coffee and escort you to the office (“For your own safety,” he’d insisted with a  devilish smirk that you couldn’t say no to). 

You’d been dating ever since, almost a year now, which surprised most of the press. Numerous gossip sites were speculating about how you’d managed to keep Bruce’s interest for that long, but you’d learned to tune all their shit out. 

The insecurity you felt now stemmed from Bruce’s own behavior, not the latest expulsion of bile from the gossipmongers online. You’d texted Bruce to meet you at your place after work, only receiving a thumbs-up emoji back. 

You weren’t worth a real response. You weren’t worth his honesty. You weren’t worth him.

Shaking that insidious voice out of your head, you decided you needed a drink. In the middle of pouring yourself a glass of wine (box wine, another reminder of the insurmountable differences between you and Bruce) a knock sounded at the door. 

Looking through the peep hole, you saw a large bouquet of flowers held in front of a tired-looking Bruce. You opened the door and let him in, accepting the flowers and a kiss on the cheek. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” Bruce said, lingering near your cheek and stepping closer, putting his hands on your hips and pulling you closer to him. You tensed in his grasp, and he immediately let go, lifting your chin with a finger so you had to look him in the eye. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” 

Looking into his baby blues was a little too much to handle, so you simply nodded and moved away from him. 

“Yeah, just gonna get these in water,” you said, lifting the bouquet slightly. Fishing the one vase you owned out of the cupboard, you filled it at the sink. Bruce followed your movements, hands in his pants pockets while he watched. 

“I’ve only got a few minutes, unfortunately, but I was hoping you were free this Friday for a proper date,” he offered, smiling in his charming way. You only hummed your response, focusing on rearranging the flowers so they looked nice in the vase.

You had a speech prepared, known exactly what you wanted to say to him to get him to confess that he was cheating. Now that he was here, however, your well-formulated hypothesis was harder and harder to grasp. Like smoke, it dissipated the more you tried to catch it. 

“You sure everything’s okay? You seem tense,” Bruce observed. That was your cue, and you knew you had to take it before he got any closer. Once he had his hands on you, every rational thought would flee and you’d be at his mercy. 

“Are you cheating on me?” you asked, fighting to keep your composure. You’d never been good at confrontation, so you figured the best way to handle this was firm, direct, like ripping off a band-aid. You tried to put on a confident air even though your insides were practically liquifying with nerves. 

Bruce sighed, “We talked about this, you can’t believe anything you read on those sites. They’re just in it for the clicks-”

“I’m not-! I didn’t get it off the internet, it’s just…you’ve been distant lately, and I can’t think of any explanation other than you found someone more…in your league,” you explained, wrapping your arms around you in an effort to comfort yourself. The insecurities you felt earlier were slipping into your words, despite your best efforts to shove them aside.

Bruce softened, took a step toward where you were standing in your kitchen. When you didn’t flinch away, he laid his hands on your shoulders. “Babe, you are in my league. Hell, you’re way above my league, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” 

“I don’t either,” you said, “but this isn’t coming from an external source, it’s what I’ve noticed when it’s just the two of us. You seem distracted, like you don’t want to be in the moment with me. And it’s a rare occurrence that you text me back before midnight, if at all.” 

Bruce’s hands stroked down your arms, warming your skin. He leaned down into your eye line. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know you were feeling that way, I’ll be better about being present with you, I promise. There’s just been a lot going on at work and it’s been…busy, I’ve been busy, you know?” 

You nodded, “I know.” 

“But,” he said, unhooking your hands from where they’d been holding your elbows, “Now that I know, we can fix it. I’m gonna do better. Thank you for telling me.” 

You let him unfold your arms and bring them up around his shoulders, resting them there and bringing his hands to your lower back. He kept his grasp loose until, against your better judgment, you tightened your arms and pulled him into a hug. He returned your embrace, planting a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

When he held you like this it was easy, too easy, to forget your stupid insecurities and let yourself trust him. In his embrace, every imperfection you nitpicked about yourself ceased to exist. He was a safe space — well, until recently. 

Bruce said your name quietly to get your attention. You looked up at him. 

“I love you,” he said, the look on his face betraying the heartbreaking truth of his statement. 

You pushed up on your toes and kissed his lips quickly — any slower and you’d completely melt into him. 

“I love you too, Bruce.” 

________

Later that night…

Bruce was well and truly fucked. He’d known it was only a matter of time before you noticed his odd behavior, the late hours, the preoccupation and distractibility. Fuck! 

He and Alfred had rules, dammit, and he should’ve followed them. 

No more than five dates or two months, whichever comes first. 

They’re never allowed to roam the house unsupervised. 

Most importantly, keep feelings out of it. Sex and companionship, nothing more and nothing less. 

But it was different with you. You’d…surprised him, which he didn’t think was possible anymore. You were funny and gorgeous — not his usual type, but still enchanting — and a little spiky, which only intrigued him more. For the first time, Bruce wanted to get to know someone on a deeper level. Maybe it was age, or he was finally ready to admit he wasn’t an island, or maybe he was just sick of the endless line of vapid, waifish model-types he usually dated, but whatever the reason you came into his life at exactly the right time and you were…perfect. 

What was the old saying, nothing good can stay? The truth of that statement weighed on him as he pulled off the suit, tossing the pieces haphazardly all over the cave, leaving a trail to where he eventually settled in his computer chair. 

“Y’know, sir, while kevlar is good at stopping bullets it does rather badly when left unattended on a damp cave floor,” Alfred scolded gently, bending to pick up the pieces of Batman. Bruce only grunted at his butler, pulling up the dossier he’d been preparing on the Joker. The last few weeks it looked like the psychopath had reemerged, which is why he’d been so preoccupied. Gotham barely survived the last scrape with that psychopath, so Batman had been doggedly hunting him after the sun went down. 

“Did you stop by her place, then?” Alfred asked, referring to you. “She seemed rather insistent on it.”

Bruce paused, then sighed and turned to face Alfred. “She thinks I’m cheating on her.” 

“Not exactly an incorrect assumption,” Alfred joked. Bruce flashed him a glare, but the butler didn’t notice. “Well, we knew this was coming didn’t we? Once you started breaking the rules for her, it was only a matter of time.” 

Bruce internally groaned, not wanting to admit Alfred was right. “I just wish I knew what to do. She’s the first person in a long time that I’ve actually wanted to have around. Present company excluded, of course.” 

“Of course, sir,” Alfred said. “You’ve arrived at a crossroads, if you don’t mind me saying. You either tell her, or you don’t.” 

“How do I know if I should tell her?” 

“That answer lies in how much you trust her to keep your secret.” 

“And how do I know that I won’t lose her even if I tell her?” Bruce asked, voicing his biggest fear. Painting a target on your back as well as his, and then being shoved out of your life. 

Alfred laid a comforting hand on Bruce’s shoulder, like he always did when sharing a hard life lesson. “You don’t, Master Wayne.” 

The hand left his shoulder and Bruce turned back around, each man now going about their usual business. A few quick incident reports later Bruce made his way upstairs to his bedroom, hoping with how tired his body was that sleep would claim him quickly. 

No such luck.

Instead, he tossed and turned, going over every possible outcome of the inevitable conversation.

Option 1: He tells you about Batman, you accept it, and the two of you make it work. This, of course, was the ideal scenario so he knew that wouldn’t be the outcome. Nothing in his life worked out ideally. 

Option 2: He tells you about Batman, you freak out and break up with him, and you become a huge liability. Giving you that knowledge would be like handing you a grenade with the pin pulled out — if you held onto it, you were both safe, but if you let go…Kaboom. And how long could you hold onto a secret that big, that dangerous?

The last option was that he doesn’t tell you, you continue to assume he’s cheating on you, and you break up with him eventually. He loses you, but you remain unaware and therefore safe — from his enemies, from prosecution, from whatever else came from being Batman's girlfriend. 

Around three in the morning Bruce’s mind was made up, his next steps planned, and resolve steely, but he waited until half-past five (a more normal wake-up time) to text you. 

‘Dinner at my place tonight. We need to talk.’ 

Read Part 2 Here

[haihaihaitani]

Hi I love your work I especially really liked the manjiro them or me and bucket list which feels like a part 2 I was hoping to request a part 2 for them or me when reader decided they done playing second fiddle and leaves takes their things and leaves Manjiro a note saying they deserve better then him

Summary: Ending things is never easy but you need to do this. But you have to do this. It's for the best...

Pairing: Manjiro Sano X G/N!Reader

Genre: Angst Drabble

Word Count: 559

Warning: hurt no comfort

Masterlist

A/N 1: Thank you so much for the request! I'm sorry for how short this. But I hope you still like it! I tried my best!

A/N 2: Part Two of Them or Me. Highly recommend reading that one first.

Your heart was in your throat as you wrote the note. You didn't want to end things this way, with a note on the kitchen counter and your bags in the hall. You thought he would come home so the two of you could scream and fight for each other. But he wasn't coming home tonight. He probably wouldn't be home for another few days.

Before you made your decision, you cleaned the apartment from top to bottom. The bathroom was reorganized and the bedroom furniture was rearranged. There wasn't a single speck of dust on the many decorative baubles in the living room. Carpets were vacuumed and hardwood floors were mopped. Even the decorative china and silver he bought for special occasions that you never got to use were polished to a shine. The apartment looked like it had never been used, and it gave you a small fraction of satisfaction.

Another part of you hoped Mikey would see the impeccable cleaning as a sign that you were never there at all. You never existed to him. You were simply a figment of his imagination. And maybe, just maybe, you could pretend he never existed to you either. That you never spent hours agonizing over when he'd come back and if he would be wounded. That you didn't waste three years of your life trying desperately to get him to love you as much as you loved him. You could quite possibly convince yourself that this was for the best and that he never loved you in the first place, that you were just a passing fancy.

But deep down, in the part of you that you pushed away and tried to ignore, you knew you would never forget him. Mikey, he wasn't like the others. He wasn't forgettable. He was unforgettable. He had managed to get under your skin and make you feel alive with every kiss and every touch. And you were giving all of that up. You weren't sure you could stomach it. But you needed to try.

He made his choice.

Now it was time for you to make yours.

So, as you signed the letter with a kiss and a tear, you placed it right on the counter where he would see it. You made sure everything else was still arranged exactly as you wanted. You touched the petals on the flowers that you bought for the vase in the center of the kitchen table. You hoped that by the time he returned to the apartment, they would be dead and stink up the apartment with sickly sweet rot. Perhaps that would be another clue that you were never coming back.

When everything was done, and you could delay your departure no more, you headed for the front door. A voice compelled you to turn around and look at what you were leaving behind. Everything from the life you wanted, the life you craved so much to have with Mikey, was being forgotten at this very moment. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to cry, to scream, to lose yourself in your grief that everything you wanted was no longer yours.

But all you felt was numb.

This was how it needed to be now.

You weren't his anymore, and he wasn't yours.

Now it was his turn to finally realize that.

[ssparksflyy]

leo valdez dating hcs !

pairing : leo valdez x gn!reader warnings : itty bitty cursing , maybe spelling mistakes but ill fix em later a/n : yoyoyo starting this at 1:06 am. not sleeping til im done <3 ilysm for reading this, nd hopefully i write something again soon 😭 perhaps a pt.2 to the last time? 😋

leo is literally the most perfect bf :(

hes very much a gentleman

holds ur things, opens doors for u, asks u about ur day, holds ur hand when ur walking, and comforts u when ur sad

omg nd idk if u guys have seen this one video where this guy is dragging his foot through the snow so his gf has a clear path and doesnt step on any snow

but he'd 100% do that if it snowed

leo's always making sure u get the best treatment and nothing less

now, its a known fact that this boy will def make things for u

have u guys seen those cool flowers made outta scraps nd stuff? yea expect at least one of those every day. all in different colors.

he'll sneak into ur cabin every afternoon, doesn't matter if ur in there or not, nd leaves them on ur nightstand with little notes

like u could just be having the most shit day

nd then u walk into ur cabin and find a cute little flower, always a different color from the day before with a note that says something like

'i saw you laughing at something (ur friend's name) said. i love the way you throw your head back laughing like a little kid <3 love, leo'

like AW

u dont know how to tell him ur running outta room for the flowers, but at the same time, dont want him to stop ♡

i feel like leo would also make matching bracelets that connect with a magnet

he asked piper for help since she's got a BUNCH of beads, nd spent like 2 hours trying to make them bcs he kept dropping it 😭

nd once he FINALLY finishes them he literally SPRINTS to show u all like

"y/n! y/n! look! i made us bracelets!" nd has the biggest smile on his face as he shows u that they connect

u give him a big ol hug + a kiss on his cheek and his grin somehow grows even bigger

leo loves loves loves holding ur hand

his hands are warm ofc, nd the fact that their rough makes it 10x better

he loves fidgeting with ur hands

like ur used to it at this point

he'll ask u how ur day was nd starts to play with one of hands as u tell him abt ur day

if u dont like that / ask him to stop, ofc he will, he'll just start fidgeting with something else

IT'S ME, HI

he FOR SURE wears one of those adhd rings that spin when he isn't working

IM THE PROBLEM ITS ME

if u let him play with ur hands and wear rings, he'll take em all off and rearrange them, sometimes putting one of them on if he thinks its cool

after u tell him abt ur day, he'll tell u about his as he puts his arm around u and u lean into him

its apart of ur nightly routine, you'll either meet in urs or his cabin, depends on who finds who first

sometimes the other person'll stay the night

leo's a big cuddler, nd since he's so warm, u end up staying the night in his cabin pretty often

can i just say

leo's the typa guy to have the SLUTTIEST waist EVER

like he is SNATCHED

u often find urself wrapping ur arms around his waist bcs of that

its not fair :(

movin on

leo loves dancing omgg

if u dont know how to itll be his #1 priority to teach u how

sometimes when ur hanging out in bunker 9 he'll put on a slow song nd just starts dancing with u

in that moment he rlly doesnt care about anything else. he's with you, and that's all that matters.

UGH I JUST THOUGHT OF DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED

in short

like him

leo is literally the most perfect bf ever nd i love him

a/n (pt. 2) : yooooo, hope u enjoyed! its 3:25am. im tired. but now have motivation so aint that fun :,) also idk why it takes me so long to write i literally just get distracted

BUT BASICALLY tysm again for reading, ily, nd goodnight <3

peace from manhattan,

percy jackson

[blueberry-pie-moved]

minimalisms boring collecting shiny trinkets that look cool in ur room is where it’s at

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

--

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Kismet {12}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot, Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy

Words: 4.2k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

Note: How are you guys liking the pacing of this story? I think this might be my slowest burn of all.  😬😬

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When one thinks of a vacation, you think of beaches, sand, salty ocean water that you can see right through, a blazing sun that is a joy to be burned by, tropical drinks, lounging by the pool in a hammock with an endless supply of bathing suits. When one thinks of the quintessential French vacation, you could think of waking up the smell of flowers from the countryside and the ocean salt, the warm caress of the sun as you sip your French coffee, lounging on the beaches, touring the countryside by day, feasting on the best authentic French cuisine, sipping the best of wine country offered all the while soaking up culture and relaxation. In other words, live like the French.

 Your vacation, though it started awkwardly, didn’t remain that way for too long. You and Henry had made it a mission to take relaxation and freedom to the max and, by doing so, you had created somewhat of a routine. Usually, either you or Henry would make breakfast and coffee then have it outside. After breakfast, you’d both lounge by the pool for an hour or two. That was before you found out he liked to work out first thing in the morning. Though you weren’t much for working out, you vowed to do it with him. which led to you having your coffee and then out for a run through the fields. He often went four miles out then four miles back, but when he realized you were not a runner, he cut it down to two and two. Even that was torture for you.

 Then once you’d returned and showered, whoever came out first would make a simple breakfast that you’d have out back and then to the pool. After you’d take a drive, often going miles and miles checking out neighboring towns seeing sights. On each day, Henry always had something planned. One day it was a tour of a vineyard where you learned all about the winemaking process, helped harvest grapes, and even did the traditional squishing grapes with your feet. That was the day Henry had the brilliant idea to play up your ticklishness, which led to you falling in the barrel staining your white shorts ensemble red. He laughed his ass off to that. By the time you left the vineyard, both of your outfits were ruined, but you had plenty of pictures and a crate of the wine you’d made.

 Another day it was sailing around the Mediterranean in a boat that Henry manned himself. You couldn’t help but watch in awe as he steered it like a pro and taught you the proper terms for things on the boat. When he’d found a good spot to drop anchor close to some rocks, you lounged on the hull soaking up the sun, then taking a dunk in the ocean when the heat became too much where you snorkeled around the reef. On a particular day, he took out a speedboat to St. Tropez for shopping and spa treatments that really had your entire body feeling like jello.

 While he liked to spoil you with luxurious options, he also liked the rugged things too. He taught you how to fish and took you on multiple nature walks. While you enjoyed nature, you realized you didn’t like it as much as he did. According to him, he would choose to be out in nature as often as he possibly could. You were slowly beginning to enjoy it as much as he did. A few times, you took him to a club where you saw firsthand that he was a real party boy in another life. You liked the club nights because it showed you a whole other side of him. The side that was carefree, able to cut loose and not take himself seriously. It was a side you made a silent vow to bring out as often as you could.

 To round out the experience, he did as the French and took advantage of France’s natural romance. There were plenty of romantic dinners at romantic restaurants that overlooked the ocean or the cliffs or the city lights and even a few at romantic vineyards with the view of the rolling hills and a sunset. The romance was not something hard to find, and it wasn’t always in going out. You spent plenty of nights in the villa lounging together with candlelight in the room and a gentle breeze wafting through the opened doors while watching something on tv together. While it was awkward before, you were becoming more and more comfortable around him. 

This comfort also helped you feel closer to him and though you teased each other often, said sly things to one another, and even flirted shamelessly, nothing else of significance had happened. Henry didn’t make any moves to kiss you or cuddle or even hug you, really. The most he’d done was hold your hand at the most sporadic moments, for the shortest amount of time. It made no sense, and it drove you crazy because you could feel the attraction between you in everything you did. You could sense the desire in the air was strong, but everything remained lukewarm.

 Though your comfort level rose, your insomnia never subsided. When Henry had gone to bed, you often remained up just writing music, journaling, or making things with the pictures you’d taken throughout the day. Your sleepless or low sleep nights gave you the chance to either reformulate your plan or think about your progress. A lot of times, thinking about the progress had you thinking about him, and if you did that, it was only a matter of time before your mind drifted to your want for him.

 It was funny to you that before him, you could push affection, intimacy, and sex to the side and act like they were not even actual things, and it never bothered you or had any effect. Since Henry, it was damn near impossible. You thought about his touch at every turn, about his lips more times than you could count, and imagined him between your thighs at least once every other day.

 One night it had gotten so bad from remembering him swimming in the pool in slow motion. Everything he did was in slow-mo like he was posing for some men’s porn magazine. That was the night you had to please yourself to thoughts of his wet lips, memories of his voice, and body as it moved through the water and muscles as he hoisted himself up out of the water with it dripping off of every inch of him. that night, it was the quickest you’d ever come. You wondered if he was struggling the way you were, but throughout the days, you saw no evidence he was, and that made you more insecure than you’d ever felt in your life.

 ~~~~~~~~~

-Nine Days Later-

 The night was young—well, young for you. While Henry slept, you found yourself in the back yard with the breeze brushing against your bare skin. The glow of the moon beamed down on you, bathing you in its pearlescent illuminance, making you feel like a goddess of the night. It could have been the moon, the fact you were naked under it, or the 2nd bottle of wine you were on. It didn’t matter what it was; you felt good. The wine made your thoughts flow more freely, and where your thoughts went, your pen in your notebook mapped. You got your best writing done at three in the morning when you were naked and feeling wine-nice.

 With your pen hooked on your bottom lip, you looked over the new lyrics you’d written for a song that Henry had inspired. The notebook was filled with at least ten more from the same muse. This song was the night’s second one. The first centered around your anxious thoughts about making the first move and how to do it in a way with little to no risk, and your worries of being in the friend zone the second was drastically different. This one focused on you admitting your attraction, the possibility you were falling for him, and your fear of him making you feel out of control. It was raw and real, the realest you’d been in a long time when it came to your feelings.

 The words across the page were sensual and painted a clear picture of arousal and desire. As you hummed to yourself the way you imagined it flowing, you began replacing your hums with words. You quickly got lost in your process and zoomed through putting everything down on paper. Once your brain sparked off, it never stopped until it finished the mission.

 “Aliya?”

 You turned to the sound of Henry’s voice, forgetting your state of undress. Almost immediately, you gasped and grabbed the blanket holding it to your breasts.

 “Shit.”

 Henry was already turned away, his back facing you.

 “Um--.”

 “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. God, I—shit.”

 Henry snorted then slowly released a breath in a loud huff.

 You rearranged the blanket then spoke, “You can turn around.”

 Slowly and cautiously, Henry turned to you again. With your lips pressed together, you gave him your best apologetic face.

 “I’m so sorry. I thought you were asleep. I didn’t think you’d come out here,” you explained.

 Again, Henry snorted then chuckled to himself as he nodded his head. You were so embarrassed that you covered your face.

 “I’m sorry,” you whispered one last time.

 “No need for sorries,” Henry began trying not to make eye contact. “It’s um—it’s okay.”

 The awkwardness had returned.

 “I didn’t see anything. Don’t worry.”

 You didn’t believe him one bit but pushed any remaining awkwardness deep down and fought through it.

“Don’t you sleep at all?”

“Not really. Remember, insomniac.”

 “I know you said that, but usually insomniacs can manage something,” Henry said.

 “Um, well, since I was diagnosed, I can on occasion get three or four hours tops.

 “Wow. We’ve been sharing this house for a little over a week, and I didn’t know that much.”

 You smiled and took another sip from your glass. “You’re off the hook, you actually sleep, and it’s great.”

 “How long have you had it?”

 “Since I was maybe eighteen,” you explained.

 “So what do you do when you’re not sleeping?”

 After finishing your glass, you moaned and leaned back in your chair. “Walk around, find a good spot to sit, write, sometimes go for a drive, online shop, work. Usually, it is mainly work,” you confessed.

 Henry gave you a stern daddyish look. “Are you working now?”

 You bit your bottom lip and scrunched your face. “Guilty but only sort of. I’m writing music. That’s not work for me. For me, it’s a component for my sanity.”

 Henry nodded. “So you sit up all night naked writing music?”

 The way he put it had you laughing out loud.

 “Wow, pretty much. Fuck, when you sum it up like that, you make me sound like an insomniac exhibitionist.”

 You laughed together for a few short moments. “Can’t they prescribe something?”

 “They have, quite a few things actually. When I was eighteenish, I was on several sleeping pills. I was the guinea pig, and I must have tested at least twenty brands and formulas, but none of them seemed to work well with me. Of course, they had to monitor my intake to make sure I didn’t become addicted, but after a few years, I said, forget it let’s not try anything anymore. I just stopped taking the pills and sucked it up,” you clarified.

 Henry looked impressed. “So you function on three hours of sleep?”

 “Pretty much.”

 He whistled then bowed his head. “Wow.”

 “it’s not bad. Honestly, it might be a blessing in disguise. I get so much work done they wouldn’t believe.”

 “You literally make money while others sleep,” Henry joked.

 You softly snickered and nodded.

 “Do they know why it started?”

 He was asking all the right questions, you thought to yourself.

 “Yeah, we know.” You really didn’t want to say anything else, and you had a mini internal fight. Groaning, you continued. “Trauma.”

 You could feel his eyes on you, and you rearranged your things on the table and picked off invisible lint off the blanket, all in an effort to not look at him. Though you were physically naked, you felt emotionally so as well. Taking a risk, you glanced at him and held his gaze. He was unreadable.

 “Here,” Henry said, holding out a spoon to you.

 “A spoon? What’s this for?”

 Henry smiled and took a step toward you. “Close your eyes.”

 You scoffed and wrinkled your nose before you closed your eyes and waited. You didn’t hear anything and wondered what he was doing.

 “Uh—hello? Henry, are you there?”

 The sound of Henry clearing his throat told you he was in a different location that was somewhat closer.

 “I’m here. Open.”

When you did, you looked around expecting something but not sure just what. When your eyes landed on the ice cream before you, you smiled.

 “For your massive sweet tooth.”

 You couldn’t help but giggle. He’d learned a few things about that sweet tooth over the last week. This was him being cute about it.

 “This Is my favorite flavor and brand. You don’t play, huh.”

 “Of course not. I pay attention.”

 “Thank you.”

 Henry nodded, then pulled another spoon from behind him. “Cheers?”

 You knocked your spoon against his and said the same thing. Henry sat beside you while you opened the ice cream, then both of you dug in. the first spoonful had you moaning so loud it echoed around you.

 “That good?”

 “Mmmm, so good, better than sex,” you joked.

 “Then I am sorry, Ms. Taylor, you are having sex with all the wrong ones.”

The spoon paused at your lips as you quirked your eyebrow at him. Henry wasn’t backing down, though. He held your gaze almost like he was challenging you. Damn, you thought before you looked away first.

 “So you write all your own songs?”

 Nodding, you put another spoonful of ice-cream in your mouth. “All by myself.”

 “Impressive. I know artists try, but not a lot do it alone. There will usually be a few co-writers,” Henry added.

 You were a little surprised he knew that. “You’re right. More and more try to get on it for the added profits that being a writer brings in. for me, I do it for far more selfish reasons.”

 Henry quirked his brow, silently asking you why.

 “I need an outlet, something to get everything in my head out. I’m up for twenty to twenty-one hours a day, and I have a lot going on in there. So, I need to be able to get that out to start fresh the next do, that means---I write.”

 The way Henry’s eyes rested on you made you feel like he had so much to say, but he was holding back with doing so.

 “It’s good to have an outlet.”

 “What’s yours?”

 His goofy smile made a return, and you couldn't help but smile back.

 “Don’t judge me, okay, but it’s video games.”

 You smiled and raised your hands. “No judgment here, ever.”

 “I like video games, Warcraft, Witcher, Call Of Duty, HALO. Anything bloody, I’m there for it. I also use exercise a lot. I have to work out, have to.”

 “Have to?”

 Henry took another spoonful of ice cream and sighed out. He looked like he was thinking about something, and you gave him the time needed.

 “Yeah, when I was a kid, I was heavy--,” he began sighing. “I was a fat kid, and it meant I got teased and bullied a lot. My nickname was fat, Cavill.”

 “Oh no, that’s horrible.”

 “Yeah, plus I was at private school. Let’s just say—it was hard, really hard. I had some dark times, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t stick with me some even to this day.”

 You bit your bottom lip, reached your hand out, and rested it on his knee. Your heart sank thinking about what he’d gone through. You knew how painful words could be, especially as a child. “I’m sorry. Kids can be such assholes.”

 Henry snorted and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “They sure can.”

 “Plus, I could tell working out is a joy for you. I’m not blind, and neither is the female population of the world and some of the male.”

 Henry’s laugh was unexpected but welcomed all the same. You liked his laugh, and the more you heard it, the more it was becoming one of your favorite sounds.

 “Seriously though, I’m sorry you went through that. I know it couldn’t have been easy to work through.”

 He looked down at your hand that was still on his knee and nodded before he cleared his throat.

 “You mentioned you’re close with your grandmother?”

 Taking your hand back, you rearranged the blanket again and nodded. “I did. Yeah. She’s my mother’s mother, and she is—she’s my world.” With a soft smile on your lips, you quickly went through your fondest memories with her.

 “I don’t think it’s healthy to depend on her as much as I do, but--.” You shrugged. “She helps me with so much, like being forgiving, being more open, being a better person in general. She gets me and doesn’t judge me or make me feel like something is wrong with me. In her eyes, I’m—Corrin, my middle name, and it’s great. All the pressure I constantly carry around is gone.”

 Talking about how much your gramaw meant to you made you emotional, and the sting of tears in your eyes told you just how emotional you’d gotten.

 “That’s great to have at least one person in your life that can do that for you. you’re lucky.”

 “Yes, ha, she’s—uh, she’s the reason I’m here,” you confessed. Henry looked very interested to know what you meant.

 “How so?”

 “She uh, she just reminded me of a few things and pointed some other things out to me,” you said, giving him the CliffsNotes version. You could tell it wasn’t going to cut it, though, so you continued. “She pretty much made me think from a  different perspective, the one that I was desperately trying to ignore.”

 Henry still looked interested, but he nodded. “I have to thank her because I’m glad she changed your mind.”

 You studied him for a little while as you put another spoonful into your mouth. “Are you?”

 Henry didn’t look away or give way to any emotion on his face. He just nodded. “Yes. I’m glad you’re here.”

 You didn’t see any indication that he was lying or stretching the truth. You did notice that the pull between you was still there. Henry was the first to look away this time, and the two of you continued to share the half-gallon container of ice cream while chatting. He told you more about his private school days and painted a clearer image of what he was like as a boy, and the image you got was absolute adorableness and tenacity.

 By the time you both walked back inside, two hours had passed, and the beginning of the sunrise was peeking out behind the mountains. You stood in the long hall that separated your room from his clutching the sheet wrapped around you and your notebook.

 “So, in the morning—or a few hours we’ll catch a flight out,” Henry confirmed.

 “Still won’t tell me where to?”

 Henry smiled, rubbed the back of his neck, and shook his head. “You don’t like surprises, do you? This is the fifth time you’re trying to pry it out of me.”

 You pinched your lips then groaned. “No, no. It’s not that I don’t like surprises. I love surprises—well, good ones. I just like to know every detail. I like--.”

 “Being in control,” Henry finished, hitting the nail right on the head. You knew it was the loss of control that was making you antsy.

 You closed your eyes and slowly breathed out.

 “Yes. I guess I might have a control problem.”

 Henry looked very amused. “Might?”

 The two of you laughed together, and you couldn’t believe the call out.

 “Shut up.”

 “It’s okay. I get it. I like control too, a whole lot, and I don’t usually like when control is taken from me, but I’ve gotten better with it. Now, I won’t die if my control is taken. Then—it felt like it.”

 You nodded at yet another thing you had in common. It was becoming more than you could count on your fingers.

 “Good for you, but I—I might die.”

 Henry laughed again, this time not with you, at you.

 “I’m going to make you a promise. By the end of this vacation, you will be better at giving me control,” Henry said, his voice so deep and commanding that your spine tingled. When the tingling traveled around to your gut and moved downward, you clutched the sheet tighter.

 “Oh, will I?”

 He smirked; it was a cocky one. “Yes, you will. I don’t break promises. Never have.”

 Your eyes locked, and that tingling intensified, making your lady parts beg for some attention. He was downright captivating, and it was so hard staying on your side of the hall.

 “All you have to know is that I won’t abuse my control. You can trust that. You can trust me.”

 You almost made the yikes face hearing the T-word. You knew he remembered you saying that trust was a tricky thing for you, and you also knew this was probably a test. You were in between a rock and a hard place. After sighing out, you spoke.

 “Okay.”

 “But, you do have to say these five words, though,” Henry said with a smirk.

 “What?”

 “I—relinquish—control—to—you.”

 With every word, his voice got deeper and deeper, his eyes more and more focused on you. It was so easy to get lost in them, and he must have known it.

“Uh—no. I can’t say that.”

 “Sure you can. I know it’s not easy, but I promise you will not regret it.”

 Your nose flared, heart raced, mouth went dry, all points of your anxiety. You hated feeling backed in a corner, and you hated giving away your control even more.

 “Will you relinquish control to me?”

 With a grin, he spoke, “I will.”

 “When?”

 “One day,” Henry said, that grin still on his face.

 Of course he’d say that you thought. “How about, I will try,” you appeased.

 “Nope. Not good enough. I want it all, Aliya.”

 You groaned and ruffled your curls, still clutching the sheet with one hand. He was not going to let up.

 “God, Henry.”

 He didn’t say anything, just waited. He didn’t even look pressed like he was worried you’d say no. He looked confident, commanding, and in complete control, and it called to you. There had never been any other man who you’d ever thought about giving control to. None of them felt like him. He felt different.

 “I,” Henry perked up but kept his eyes firmly on yours. another thing you loved about him. “Relinquish—control,” you paused again, feeling the full weight of the words you were going to release. You weren’t just saying that you were giving him control to make the decisions. You were giving him control, period. That was when the panic picked up. “Control to,” you rolled your eyes then hissed. “You.”

 The silence stretched, but the longer it went on, the less anxious you felt. Yeah, there was some residual panic lingering, but the look in his eyes only comforted you.

 “Thank you. I know how hard that was for you,” Henry softly said.

 You looked down and took a shaky breath. “You have no idea.” When you looked back at him, he was still staring at you. “Okay. Well, good night, Henry.”

 “Good night, Aliya.”

 A visible shiver ran through you, but you ignored it and turned around to walk to your bedroom door. After a few steps, you stopped and smiled as an idea formed. Instead of walking forward, you turned around and walked back to him. Once close enough, you tiptoed, threaded your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck, then pulled his head down to yours. It was then you pressed your lips to his.

 From the second your lips touched, it felt like you’d been standing out in the rain and gotten hit but a lightning bolt. Your moan was loud, and once it slipped out, Henry grabbed you, pulled you flush against him, and held you there. The hand on your hip squeezed while his right hand sneaked around your back to press his palm against your tailbone. That was when you realized you wanted more—a lot more. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, then nibbled, sinking your nails into his curls. You were second away from dropping the sheet, so you pulled back, grasping to the fraying threads of your self-control. Henry’s eyes were still closed, giving you a few extra seconds to admire his beauty. He still had the same effect as the first time he’d kissed you. 

 “Good night, Henry,” you said again, pecking his lips once more before walking away again.

 Though you’d given relinquished control, you just took a little of it back. It felt good.

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

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[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

Valentine’s Day Surprise - Harry Styles Mini Series (Part 2)

Part 1 

**

It was the next day and you needed to get out of the house. Even though it was freezing outside, you were headed out for a walk and to grab some lunch with Gemma. You layered up and put on your favorite winter boots before heading out the door. As you walked along the shops on your walk, they were all decked out in pink, red, white, and purple and other various Valentine decorations. 

Which of course brought you back to your conversation with Harry and how he wouldn’t be back for the holiday. Part of you kept telling yourself it was fine and that it wasn’t a big deal, but it still didn’t help the other part of you that thought it was a very big deal. Flowers, chocolates, and little teddy bears filled all the window displays and you couldn’t help but think of you and Harry exchanging Valentine gifts when you were younger. 

At school everyone would always make little cards with a small bag of candy to hand out to the class, but you and Harry always saved something special for the other. You laughed to yourself as you thought about the tiny stuffed animals he had gotten you or all the discounted chocolates you two would be eating together while watching your favorite shows. 

Maybe that’s why you putting so much into spending Valentine’s with him because it was something you two always did as children and now that you two were actually together... it would be even more special. But it’s not like you could do anything about it anyway, so it was better to just figure out a way to make a virtual date special. 

When you got to the restaurant, Gemma was already at the table looking over the menu. 

“Sorry, I’m late,” you said. “I got distracted on the way over.” 

“Oh, you’re fine. I was a little early,” she smiled, wrapping you in a hug. “So, how are you doing?” 

“I’m okay,” you smiled. “Good... just finishing up my book.” 

“Yeah? How’s that going?” She asked. 

“It’s uh... going,” you laughed. “I’m revising it again... hopefully this will be the last time before line edits.. it supposed to release at the end of October, so the sooner I get this finished, the better.” 

She nodded, “How are you and Harry doing?” 

“We’re great,” you smiled. “I mean as much as we can be with not seeing each other for a bit... and apparently it’s going to be even longer now.” 

“Oh, that’s right. He said he won’t be back until around March or later, right?” She asked. 

“Pretty much,” you sighed. “Which sucks on it’s own, but I’m also pretty bummed we won’t be together on Valentine’s Day. I know it’s stupid and petty..” 

“No, it’s not,” she said. “It doesn’t matter how commercial this holiday is, everyone still wants to spend it with their significant other or wants someone to spend it with. And this would be your first one together, so it’s even more special. I get it.” 

“He came up with an idea of having like a facetime date, which we’ve done before, but I don’t know... I want to make it special, but I’m not sure how I can. I don’t want to feel like it’s just another FaceTime date, you know?” You said. 

“Okay, I have an idea, but I’m not sure if it will work,” she said. 

“What is it?” You asked. 

“Harry can’t leave LA, right? Because he’s working and can’t travel back and forth, hence why you two are going to be apart,” she said. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. 

“Do you think you would be able to travel to LA instead? Maybe surprise him there and you two wouldn’t have to be apart?” She asked. 

You bit your lip, “I have thought about it, but I don’t know. What if he’s too busy and wouldn’t have time for me? I don’t want to be in the way.” 

“Babe, you’re his girlfriend,” she said. “You could never be in the way and if you were then you need to get rid of him because you don’t deserve that,” she joked. 

You giggled, “Do you think it would work though? Like, if I went, I would want it to be a surprise. Do you think you could help me arrange it?” 

“Hmm... I guess I could fit you into my schedule... you are practically family after all,” she smirked. 

“Okay, then let’s do it!” You smiled. 

**

Harry had been on the phone and looking over this calendar for well over an hour. He kept trying to find a tim where he could fit in flying to London and back, but even if he was able to rearrange some meetings, it didn’t seem possible. He sighed running his hand over his face trying to figure out what to do next. 

It would be a lot easier if he just asked you to fly out here. He would arrange everything and pay for it, but he felt bad asking you to do that. Plus, he was afraid it would be spending too much time trying to figure out how to get there, that he wouldn’t have any plans once he was there. 

He grabbed his phone because he knew he needed advice. 

“Weeeeellll, hello Baby Brother!” Gemma smirked. 

“Hey, Gem,” he said. 

“What do I owe this rare phone call?” She asked. 

“I call you all the time,” he defended.

“Yeah, yeah, anyway, what’s up?” She asked. 

“I need advice,” he said. 

“Of course, you do,” she said. “What did you do this time?” 

“Why do you always assume it’s because I fucked up?” He asked. 

“Because about 99.9% of the time, you have,” she joked. 

“Remind me why I love you again?” He asked. 

“Because I know too much,” she said. “Anyway, carry on with your question.” 

“I’m in LA and I’m going to miss Valentine’s Day with Y/N... and I’m trying to figure out how to get there in back in the span of two or there days and I can’t make it work,” he sighed. 

“Okay if you’ve already figured out you can’t do it, where do I come in?” She asked. 

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “I just... do you think it’s worth be moving everything around just to be there for a few hours compared to just having a long distance date?” 

“Well, I mean, would it be worth it to see you girlfriend in person compared to a seeing her via a screen, yes, but that is a lot of traveling,” she said. 

“I know, I want this to be special. Yeah, we’ll have other Valentine’s Days in the future, but this is our first one. We won’t ever get it back,” he sighed. 

“Okay, look at it this way, let’s say you decide to go to London,” she said. “And you’re exhausted from traveling or you’re worried about having only a small window of being there... that probably would ruin your time together than if you just stayed put, right?” 

“That’s a possibility,” he sighed. 

“How about this,” she said. “Instead of sending all your time trying to travel thousands of miles for a few hours, try spending time on making what you can do special. You could also postpone it until a time you can be together.” 

“I guess you’re right,” he sighed. “I really want to be there, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to make it work.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay? Y/N understands,” she said. 

He nodded, “Thanks, Gem,” he said. 

“You’re welcome. You’ll get my bill in the mail,” she smirked. 

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

**

You didn’t know how you were able to pull it off, but with the help of Gemma, everything was planned accordingly. Plus, you ended up finishing the remainder of your draft, so you wouldn’t have to worry about working during your time there. Now, the only thing you had to worry about is what you are actually going to do once you got there. 

You didn’t want to plan the entire thing out because you weren’t sure what his side of things looked like, but you wanted to make sure other aspects were taken care. First up was gifts. You weren’t going to over board, but you knew you wanted to get something small and cheesy along with something a little nicer. 

This was your first Valentine’s Day together after all. So, a few hours before you were due to catch your flight, you decided to head out to the shops and find something. Luckily, most stores still had quite a few options to choose from or else you were fucked. You were at a tiny gift shop on the corner when you found a little teddy bear, just like the one you had been given all those years ago. However, it had one aspect that was very different, but fit perfectly. 

The bear was holding a heart that said, “I Adore You, My Valentine,” written on it and you knew Harry would love it. You quickly put the bear in your shopping basket before gathering a few other little random items such as chocolates and a candle you knew he would like. 

Just before you decided to check out, something caught your eye. It was a stand of bracelets that looked exactly like ones you use to make when you were younger and your mom bought you a bead kit. You smiled looking at the different ones until you finally saw one you loved. You grabbed it and headed straight to the check out. 

On your way back to your house, you passed by another shop, a lingerie shop to be more specific. You knew it was very cliche to make a purchase like that for Valentine’s Day, but sometimes cliche was exactly what you needed in life. So, you made your way inside and looked around before trying on a few different options and deciding to get a couple of them. 

Once you got back to your house, you added the things you just bought into your luggage and made your way to the airport. 

It was time to go see your man!

**

Harry was stressing big time over what to do. He kept trying to figure out some fun things to spice up the virtual date and make it special. He even tried to order flowers and gifts to send to you, but of course the majority of shops were already sold out. He had two days before the 14th and he needed to figure something out quick. 

“What’s going on with you?” Jeff asked as Harry paced around the room. 

“Other that royally fucking up Valentine’s Day, not much,” he sighed. 

“Why are you putting so much pressure on one holiday?” Jeff asked. 

“Because... you don’t get it,” Harry sighed. “This isn’t just one holiday. It’s the first one being with Y/N. We’re never going to get that back. Yeah, it’s cheesy and it’s not technically a big deal, but it is. We’ve spent so many years of our lives apart and now that we’re together, I don’t want to miss anymore occasions. When we were younger, we would spend Valentine’s together, eating all the candy we got at school and going through our cards. I remember getting jealous when she would gush over a card from another boy or if someone else got her a little something extra.” 

“We even went to a Valentine’s dance together when we were ten,” he laughed. “I remember she wore this really pretty dark red dress that had roses on it and we danced and laughed the whole night. She was actually the first person I awkwardly swayed side to side with at a school dance. So, that’s why I’m putting so much pressure on myself. We have all these amazing memories from our childhood and I want to make sure we have just as many now.” 

Jeff sighed, running his hand over his hair, “Okay, I feel like I’m in the middle of a romantic comedy on Netflix right now, but go pack a bag.” 

“What? Why?” Harry asked. 

“Because I’m taking you to the airport,” Jeff said. 

“For what?” Harry asked. 

“Because you’re going to London,” he said. 

“Really? How? I tried-” Harry asked. 

“I’ll take care of it. Now, just go. You get on a red eye in a few hours,” Jeff said. “I checked.”

“Why are you doing this?” Harry looked at his friend and manager. 

“Because you deserve to make those memories with Y/N,” Jeff said. “Now, go before I change my mind.” 

Harry smirked, wrapping his arms around Jeff, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said. “I knew there’s a reason I kept you around.” 

“Ha ha,” He rolled his eyes. 

Harry laughed, shaking his head, before going straight to the room to get his bag. It was time to go see his girl! 

**

Uh-Oh... Part 3 coming tomorrow. 

I will say this, we’re about to get a Winter Storm in my area with ice and snow, and there is a potential I could lose power/internet, so I’ll keep you updated just in case I can’t post tomorrow. :)

[janicho88]

Come Back Part 3

Paring- Dean x Reader

Word Count-3810

Summary- After everything you and Dean have been through to get together you deserve some happiness right?

Warnings-Smidge of angst, fluff, some language, maybe just a couple words.  Implied smut

A/N As of right now this is the final part.  There is a chance someday there will be a fourth.  There are a few more pictures in this one, I like to visualize things, was trying to help you see what I was.  Pictures found on google.

Part 1    Part 2 

Three months later

Chaos, mayhem and craziness, that was what surrounded you.  Currently you were hiding in your old room in the bunker trying to get away.  Unfortunately the knock at the door told you that they found you again.  Charlie, Donna, and Jody, all of whom you had renamed in your head, hurried in. They were trying to help get everything ready for the wedding in a few days.  They all had an opinion on how it should be, the problem was, their opinion didn’t match yours.

Chaos, I mean Charlie thought you should do a Star Wars theme. They women could all dress like Princess Leia and the guys Jedi, with the robes and hoods. You think you just about had her talked out of it.  You had told her if that was what she wanted to wear, go right ahead, but she would be the only one. 

Mayhem, oh miss Donna wanted you to learn square dancing.  She was also hoping for big dresses with these crazy bows, and so so many ruffles.  You told her she was more than welcome to have one herself.  At this rate it was going to be more like a costume party than a wedding.  You mentioned to Donna you didn’t think Dean was going to learn square dancing this week for the wedding, but if she wanted to show people that night it was fine.   

Craziness, bless her heart. Jody’s ideas were probably the closest to what you were thinking.  After you lost your parents you spent most of your time at Bobby’s before going off hunting with Dean.  You saw Jody as a mom figure, and she knew the inner girl you kept hidden.  You just didn’t want to make things as grand as she did.  You appreciated everyone’s help, they were just a bit overwhelming when you had them all at once.

You weren’t expecting too many attendees.  Besides the three ladies, Alex and Claire would of course be joining.  Garth and his family would be here, a few other hunters the guys kept in constant contact with also coming.  You expected, but weren’t completely sure Crowely and Rowena would also make an appearance.  Rowena liked you, and the two of you had become friends over the years, even if Dean wasn’t thrilled about it.  Sam was Dean’s best man, Donna your maid of honor.  Since Dean was legally dead, and also wanted for numerous federal crimes a marriage license was out of the question.  Cas was officiating, both you and Dean figured married by an angel would make it legal and binding for the two of you.

Turning your attention back to the three ladies in front of you, you figured it would be wise to see what questions they had this time.

“What are you doing for decorations?”

“Where is the caterer going?”

“Where is your dress”

Jody’s question was the easiest so you started there.  “My dress still needs to be picked up, they finished the last alteration yesterday.”  While hunters don’t often get normal things, one thing you always dreamed about watching chick flicks was a beautiful wedding dress.  When you told Dean you were just going to get a simple dress or wear one you had, he encouraged you to go after your dream one.  He joked about wanting to see you in a big fancy dress in your real wedding pictures, not just your fake ones Sam had made.

As for the decorations, “Dean and I talked, we will move the tables aside in the library and rearrange the chairs for people to sit.  I don’t have any decorations.”  

“What nothing?  No fancy lights or even flowers?” Charlie wanted to know. 

 “No, we figured simpler was easier.”  Charlie just rolled her eyes.

“There aren’t that many of us, we didn’t exactly get a caterer.  There is a restaurant in town we’ve gone to a few times that does party size orders.   We ordered a few dishes to serve 30 that should give us plenty.  Sam or Dean are picking them up the day before the wedding, we just need to reheat it the next day.  Dean joked that we can order pizza later if people are hungry.  Honestly, I don’t care much about any of those things, well other than the dress, but it still isn’t as important as Dean.  End of the day what matters most is actually being together with Dean.  I want to be able to truthfully say he’s my husband.”  

They all chuckled at that.  You still had to humor them with a few more answers before they left you alone.  You had about two minutes to yourself when there was a knock on the door.  Turning your head toward the door you saw Dean walking in.

“How’s it going with your wedding army?”

“Not funny, they are driving me nuts.  I know I said I didn’t want to go to Vegas before, but is that completely off the table now?”

“Personally, I wouldn’t want to face the wrath of those 3 if they found out we eloped now, but if you really want to Baby is gassed and ready to go.”

“UGGHH, you’re right, we would never hear the end of it now.”

“I’ll talk to them, see if I can get them to calm down.”

“Thank you, Honey, you're the best.”   

After giving you a kiss your fiance left to try and wrangle in your help. Fiance, what a crazy year you two have had. It started with the fight that had you leaving the bunker and Dean.  Followed by the amnesia and being Dean’s fake wife.  They two of you had been together since the memories returned, you had officially moved into his room.  He didn’t say anything else about a wedding after the comment about getting real pictures so you didn’t push.   A month after all of Dean’s memories of you came back  he took you out to dinner then a walk by a nearby lake.  It was by the lake he dropped down on one knee and asked you to be his wife.  With tears in your eyes you had said yes. Dean didn't want to ever lose you again, hunter’s don’t always have the longest lives so he wasn’t going to waste any more time making you his actual wife.

The next month and half had kept you all pretty busy with hunts, you had not had much time to do anything for the wedding.  One of the few things you two finished was picking out your rings while gone on a case. 

 Your lack of completed tasks is why the girls are here now trying to help you.  You appreciated the help because honestly the last couple of weeks you hadn’t had a lot of extra energy.  You were thankful Dean hadn’t noticed that yet though.

Dean talked to your three friends and got them to tone everything down a bit. It made the next few days so much easier for you.  The night before your wedding they took you out for your bachelorette party.  You mentioned to them you didn’t want a hangover the next day so you wanted to avoid the alcohol.  They took you out for dinner, and still ended up with a trip to the bar after.  Things went pretty well though, and it was a fun night with the girls.  You weren’t sure what the guys were doing for Dean, but you knew they were hanging around the bunker.  When you made your way from the garage to your old room, you could still hear them in the library. 

You know those days where everything that can go wrong will?  That was your wedding day.  It was now 11:30 and the wedding was supposed to be starting at 1, if it ever did.  You could not believe the morning you had had.   Dean and Sam had picked up the food yesterday from the reception. Everything was sealed and labeled just how you had ordered it.  The guys brought it home and put it in the fridge.  This morning when you, Jody and Donna were in the kitchen talking about when to reheat everything and what goes where you took it all out of the fridge, good thing. What was supposed to be an alfredo pasta was, well you weren’t really sure.  It was something slimy.  In the container labeled chicken breasts, raw vegetables, at least those were edible. They would work too since Sam forgot to grab anything to make a salad.  Instead of mashed potatoes you got yams.  The cornbread Dean wanted, just cream corn.  

Jody called the restaurant to see if they could fix it and get you the right things.  They were extremely sorry, but could not fix it right now.  Apparently your food got mixed up with another catering they had today for a bigger group.  They were working on fixing that one right now, and it would take a few hours to start on yours.  They told Jody they would be giving you a refund though.  Looks like you’ll be ordering pizza after all. 

Leaving the kitchen after that mess you headed up to the library.  The site that met you had you closing your eyes hoping it was all a nightmare.  The guys little bachelor party the night before  looks like it got out of hand.  For some reason there were books everywhere, the tables and chairs all over and as soon as your shoe hit the library floor it stuck to it.  They apparently spilled a bit of alcohol, you could smell it now.  That had you running for the bathroom.  You carefully made your way back to the library, Sam looking around the corner when he heard your approach.  

“Hey we were going to come clean this up before you woke up.  Guess we overslept.  Don’t worry about this.  It will straighten up in no time.”

“What about the smell Sam?”

“We’ll find something.”

“What happened in here anyways?”

“Cas might have had a bit too much to drink and he was trying to show off some of his powers.  Didn’t go well as you can tell.  Used too much energy and passed out before we could get him to fix it.”

As you were talking you didn’t notice Charlie and Donna coming behind you.  They were going to finish the cake table and chose to bring the cake out now.  Charlie hit the sticky floor and stumbled. She held her balance until she hit an out of place chair and the cake went flying. Now you had another mess and no cake.  At least you had bought Dean a pie, which Donna was carrying.  Never mind it met the same fate as the cake.  What else could go wrong?

You should not have asked.  After trying to help clean up some of the mess, Jody sent you to shower.  She was going to start your hair after.  You two had practiced your updo a few times and she knew exactly how you wanted it.  Problem was today your hair didn’t realize it was supposed to cooperate.  The half up half down with curls you wanted was mostly down, and extremely limp.  Oh well, it was just hair you told yourself.  While looking in the mirror at the flop on your head someone knocked on the door.  It was Sam.

“What’s up Sam”

“Is anyone here any good with alterations?”

“What kind, to what and why?” You asked with your eyes narrowing in the mirror.

“Slight problem with the tuxes. Um how do you feel about purple?”

‘What’s wrong with the tuxes?  What’s purple that I need to feel something about? Again why?”

“Cas’ tux apparently came in purple. Now is the first time he’s opened it.  He must have hit the wrong box.  The alterations are for Dean and I.  My tux is a bit too big, and his is too small.  He can’t even get the coat on.”

“Didn’t you get measured for your tuxes? Why didn’t you try them on before?”

“We sent in our measurements and they sent us things to try on and we told them what fit.  Things have been hectic.  We all thought they would be fine.”

You didn’t say anything just stared straight ahead for a minute.  “I guess your Fed suits will have to work.”

You were hoping to do a few pictures outside before people came, that way you weren’t holding up the reception after.  You had figured if everyone here was ready by 11:30 it gave you time for pictures and to get back to your room before anyone else arrived. 

Shortly after 11 Donna and Charlie were helping you into your dress while Jody looked for your shoes. 

“I can’t find them anywhere Y/N do you know what they were in?”

They were in a white box.  They were on the counter, I grabbed the dress and Charlie grabbed my shoes.”

“I didn’t carry anything out of the shop.”  The redhead behind you spoke up.

“Did anyone carry the white box out?”

Silence great, you left without your shoes.  You had white flip flops guess that will have to do.  Donna started to zip the back of your dress with Charlie helping when you heard a ripping noise.

“What is that?”

“OH NO!  Y/N, I am so sorry!” Charlie exclaimed.  Apparently she had ended up standing on the dress while they were pulling the zipper and it was enough to tear the fabric in the back.  They unzipped it, while Jody left to see if there was any thread in the bunker to try and sew it up.  Charlie kept apologizing, but you told her accidents happen, and ushered them both out for a few minutes of quiet for yourself.

There was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Babe it’s me.  Jody told me about all the problems, are you okay? Can I come in”

“NO!  If the only thing that goes right today is the tradition of not seeing the bride then so be it.  You can open the door a smidge, but don’t peak in.”

“Okay, okay.   How are you holding up.”

 “I’m beginning to think someone cursed us today.  Who did we piss off now?”

“Just a rough morning, we aren’t cursed this time.  I’m sorry about the mess we made in the library.  We got the spills cleaned up.”

“Does it still smell like beer?”

“Eh, maybe some.”

“Okay.  Thank you for getting the rest ready.”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry this isn’t the day of your dreams.”

“It’s okay, I’ll survive.   At the end of the day the most important thing is I have you by my side.”

“Always, Sweetheart.  We’re in this together.”

As you and Dean were talking you heard the clank of heels coming down the hall. “Is that Jody coming back?” 

“No, it’s Rowena.  Hello Rowena, can I help you?”

“Hello Dean. No, you cannot, I just fancied a word with the bride to be.”

“Dean, be nice.” You whispered out to him

“Fine, I’ll see you out there Sweetheart everything will be fine.”

 As Dean walked away you opened the door and let Rowena in.

“I heard from Samual, it’s been a bit of a rough morning for you? That library smells like a brewery.”

“That’s one way to put it.  Not much is going right, the food is wrong, the cake hit the floor, along with Dean’s pie.  The library was a mess this morning.  They cleaned it, but like you said it still smells.  The guy's tuxes don’t fit, Cas’ is the wrong color, I forgot my shoes and my dress ripped.  My hair has decided this will be the day it does it’s own thing.  This isn’t exactly how I thought this day would go.  I guess I should just be happy we haven’t been called for a hunt yet.”

“Sit here and let Rowena see what she can do Lass.”

You had been sitting in your room for about five minutes when Jody and Donna came back. They took your wedding dress and an old pair of shoes and left again. They must have found some thread, not sure what they are doing with the shoes though.  Five minutes later they returned again, much too quickly to have actually sewn the dress.

“Okay, let’s get you dressed,” Jody said.

“Wait, what about the dress? Did you fix it already?”

“We did not.  Your witchy godmother did.  She fixed your dress, shoes, the tuxes, cleaned up the library a bit.”

“Oh my.”  You were speechless. 

As they were finishing closing your dress there was another knock at the door. Rowena entered a moment later.

“You look just about perfect deary.  One more little thing.”

Rowena spoke a few words and you could suddenly feel your hair moving around.  She was fixing that too.

“Rowena, I’m going to cry thank you so much!”

“No tears today, it’s a happy day.  Even if you are marrying that Winchester.”

“Thank you so much.”  You gave her a hug and she went back out to the library.  

You had just enough time to get a few pictures finished before you needed to come back inside.  While Dean was outside getting his pictures with the guys, and ladies, you went to the library.  You could not believe your eyes, Rowena had worked her magic in here also.  It was no longer the library you knew, but a ballroom.  Gone were the bookcases, tables and chairs.  White Chairs were set up for the guests and a beautiful wedding arch where you would say your vows.  

“This is amazing Rowena, I can’t believe you did all this thank you!”

“You are more than welcome.  Alas I can’t take all the credit in here, your fiance made the arch as a surprise for you.”    

You couldn’t believe Dean had done that.  It was perfect.  The door opened and Jody came in to see where you were, so Dean wouldn’t see you when he came in.   She ushered him to the hall, then helped you up the stairs. When your pictures were done, she went inside and looked for Dean, to keep him out of the way.  Sam came over to talk to you.

“You look stunning, my brother is one lucky guy.  I’m glad you both came to senses.  I’m glad you decided to come back here.”

“I am too.  Mostly I’m thankful we got our Dean back.”  Sam gave you a hug as you both headed back inside.

Soon it was time for the ceremony to start.  You had asked Jody to walk you down the aisle, being the closest thing you had to a parent.  Dean actually had a tear in his eye when you reached him, and he told you how beautiful you looked. You told him how dashing he was.  The ceremony went much quicker than you imagined.  Both you and Dean reciting traditional vows.  When Cas pronounced you husband and wife Dean grabbed you to him in a longer kiss than you thought he would.  After you walked back down the aisle and people were getting up from their seats, Rowena changed the room to a different setting again.

  The white chairs were now around tables, a buffet line was set up that smelled delicious.  In the corner a beautiful wedding cake, with smaller circles surrounding it on the table.  Upon closer inspection they were mini pies.  You were going to need to hide some of those from Dean so he didn’t get sick.   This was incredible and more than you could imagine, you were going to owe her big for this.

You and Dean spent the afternoon and even talking with guests, dancing and enjoying the wonderful food Rowena provided.  When it came time to cut the cake, you told Dean if he made a mess it would be a long time before you made him another pie.  He took that warning to heart and did his best not to smear it on your face. You doing the same with the piece of pie you cut him.  Dean picked your first dance song, Aerosmith’s "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing."  He said he wasn’t missing anymore of your life together.   Most of your guests were crashing at the bunker tonight so it was one long party.  At one point you caught up to Sam.

“Think Rowena could have helped us with Dean a few months ago?”

“Probably, wish we had thought to ask her back then.” You nodded your agreement before going to find your new husband. 

You and Dean finally decided to call it a night and head back to your shared room for a little alone time.  There was something you wanted to share with Dean tonight.  Opening the door and turning back to pick you up Dean carried you in and placed you on the bed.  You were staying in the bunker tonight before heading off to your honeymoon.  Dean had actually rented a house on the beach, but far enough away from others you would have some privacy. 

“I missed you in my arms last night wife”

“I missed being held close to you, husband. I like being able to honestly call you that now.”

“I love hearing it.  I like the idea of filling those frames with pictures I actually remember.”

“Dean I have something for you.”

“Yeah, is it under your dress”

“Not in the way you're thinking.”

 Getting off the bed you went to your dresser and pulled out a gift wrapped box.  As you handed it to him, he told you he didn’t get you anything.  You told him he already did, and just open the box. He tore the paper off and when his eyes shot up to you when he removed the lid.  He looked at you and then back to what you had made for him in the box.

“Really… are you?.. Am I?”  With tears in his eyes he could finish his sentences.

“Yes, we are going to have a baby, you're going to be daddy.”  He grabbed you and pulled you in for a tight hug before he thought better of it and loosened his grip.  Leaning down his lips met yours in a slow sweet kiss.

“How far along are you?”

“Just about 6 weeks I found out this past week. Cas told me and I swore him to secrecy.”

“You know this means no more hunting for you right?”

“Yes, I kind of figured that.”

Dean leaned down to kiss you again.  It didn’t take long till you were working the buttons on his shirt and he was trying to figure out your dress.  You had to break apart to deal with clothes before coming back together and finishing your wedding night wrapped up in one another.  

Tags @flamencodiva​ @deanwanddamons​ @katehuntington​ @winchest09​ @emoryhemsworth​ @waywardbeanie​ @malfoysqueen14​ @talesmaniac89​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @superfanficnatural​ 

@fantasydevil2002​ @vicmc624​ @lilballofemotions @sandlee44​                       @multi-fan-lover

[gusu-emilu]

sometimes I forget (2/3)

chapter two: grieve what I happen to grieve

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

Summary: Wen Ning and Jiang Cheng travel to Dafan Mountain to find the cure to Lan Wangji’s fever. Their animosity results in a very strained partnership, which only becomes more complicated when Jiang Cheng develops the fever too. But along the way, they address the scars that haunt them and find something new in each other.

< Ch. 1 | Ch. 3 > | Art

Post-Canon, Rated T - read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

Wen Ning stood up. “I-I’d like to visit the memorial I made with A-Yuan. I’ll be back soon.”

Jiang Cheng grunted with indifference.

Wen Ning headed out, but he had only taken a few steps when he heard, “Wen Qionglin.”

He turned back to Jiang Cheng, who had now opened his eyes.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Take care of yourself,” Wen Ning said. “That’s what you should do.”

They fell silent for a few moments, staring at each other.

Reluctantly, Jiang Cheng reached out to receive Sandu. “Fine. I won’t fly.” He turned abruptly and strode down the forest path.

Walking the rest of the way did not cost too much time. The village on Dafan Mountain was closer than they realized.

At first, Jiang Cheng’s only noticeable symptoms of the Four-Sunsets Flu were a slight temperature and haggard breathing. But by the time they reached the foot of the mountain, Jiang Cheng’s skin was slick with sweat, his hands shook, his knees gave out.

They still had a tall summit to climb. Jiang Cheng was not strong enough for it.

Knowing Jiang Cheng would be too stubborn to agree to wait behind, Wen Ning said, “Let me carry you.”

Jiang Cheng pressed his sword into the dirt like a cane, his limbs wobbling. Beads of sweat appeared at his temples. “I’d sooner die than let you carry me twice in one night.”

This did not offend Wen Ning. Nothing much out of people’s mouths did anymore. Yet, he realized, his usual desensitization was not why this time, he didn’t mind the harsh words.

It was because behind all the spite, there was humor in Jiang Cheng’s voice. Dark and bitter, but still humor.

Wen Ning did not know what to do with that.

“It’s morning now,” he found himself saying. “So it doesn’t count.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed and started up the mountain trail. He struggled after just a few steps, his legs uncooperative, his brow knitted.

Wen Ning watched from below, waiting for him to give up.

He was soon forced to a stop. Jiang Cheng clutched the mountain terrace on the side of the trail and hunched over, his breath unsteady. He shot a glare down at Wen Ning that looked like he wanted to hurl rocks at him.

“Will you agree?” Wen Ning said as he easily scaled the slope.

“Just get it over with.”

Instead of carrying Jiang Cheng bridal style like before, this time Wen Ning carried him on his back. A piggyback ride did not have the chance of eye contact. Less awkward.

But this was an even more vivid reminder of the night he rescued Jiang Cheng from Lotus Pier. This was exactly how Wen Ning had carried him.

The pressure of Jiang Cheng’s weight was different—partly because Jiang Cheng was much older now, partly because everything felt different as a fierce corpse—but the sensation was still too similar to be comfortable.

They reached the summit.

Hazy orange-blue light of the morning’s earliest hours crept through the sky and cloaked the village. The Dafan Wen residence was a phantom of its former self, abandoned and decaying. Raiders had scrounged through it multiple times over the years.

Despite the village’s decline, Wen Ning knew these paths of caked yellow earth all too well. It was still the same home he had spent his childhood in.

How fitting, that at the beginning of Wei Wuxian’s second life, he and Wen Ning had reunited at this village. The place where everything had started for Wen Ning. The place where part of his soul was snatched by the Goddess Statue, leaving him spiritually distorted and unable to fully cultivate, and enabling Wen Ruohan to use him as collateral against his sister.

The place where years later he destroyed that same Goddess Statue at Wei Wuxian’s command. Felt the rust of catharsis at defeating his childhood monster.

The place where Wen Chao had turned Wen Ning’s entire family into puppets just to ambush Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Where the remnants of his clan were taken captive by the Jins, marched to Qiongqi Path for forced labor.

And now the village was dead.

Wen Ning had thought that constructing a memorial here with A-Yuan would finally grant him peace about his family.

It was foolish to have thought that. Nothing ever ends so easily.

“Are you going to put me down?” Jiang Cheng said.

Jiang Cheng had been purposely sagging his weight for the last half minute, Wen Ning realized.

“Sorry.” Wen Ning released him.

Jiang Cheng held his forehead in his hand and swayed back and forth.

“Can you stand?”

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng snapped, despite how he leaned onto the wall of a house and then sank to the ground. His face flushed pink.

“W-W-Wait here.” Wen Ning hurried down the dusty road of the village.

“Where are you going? Wen Qionglin!”

As Wen Ning turned the corner, he stumbled a bit at the sound of his courtesy name.

Jiang Cheng had not called him ‘Ghost General.’

It felt strange. But not unpleasant.

Wen Ning rummaged through the village for any trace of herb satchels or bottles of tonic that might have been left behind. The Dafan Wen Clan’s medicine worked better and faster than any other. He could find something to get Jiang Cheng back on his feet before they hunted for the final cure to the Four-Sunsets Flu.

But it was a slim chance that anything would be left. Thieves had stripped the buildings bare. They had even stolen the tattered red curtains that used to hang over the doorways.

Wen Ning regretted not going through the village when he visited with A-Yuan, to recover what few items remained. Instead, he had avoided the village and only gone to his clan’s burial grounds.

Somehow, it had been easier to visit the graves. Those were supposed to be lifeless. His home was not.

He sped up his search. He did not want to spend any more time in these empty houses.

In one of the elders’ huts, he found a secret stash of medicine in the wall. He hugged it all into his arms, hoping that he wouldn’t break anything, and ran back outside to where Jiang Cheng lay limp against a wall. He was farther down the street than where Wen Ning had left him. He must have tried to follow Wen Ning and not gotten far before falling back down.

Wen Ning squatted down and dumped the medical supplies in front of Jiang Cheng. A jumble of bottles, vials, and jars rolled in the dry yellow dirt.

“What is all that?” Even when collapsed from fever and exhaustion, Jiang Cheng still managed to channel enough sass into his voice for a man and a half. He wrinkled his nose. “It smells awful.”

Wen Ning had no sense of smell as a fierce corpse, so this was new information. Although it didn’t especially matter to him if Jiang Cheng disliked the scent.

Rearranging the bottles, Wen Ning said, “I might be able to give you some temporary treatment.”

“What’s the point when the cure is here? Don’t waste our time.” Jiang Cheng eyed the bottles suspiciously as Wen Ning lifted them one by one to decipher the faded labels. “How do you know those aren’t rotten? You’re going to poison me.”

“They keep for a long time.” When Jiang Cheng scowled more, Wen Ning said, “It might take a while to find the cure. So I’d like Jiang Wanyin to have some strength back before we start searching.”

“What does it matter to you?”

Wen Ning looked up from the bottles. “You shouldn’t come on this journey and then make me do all the work.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Fine, then. Whatever it takes for me to not be your patient any longer.”

He was surprisingly cooperative as Wen Ning held out wrinkled old herbs and a vial of bitter fluid. He took the medicine without a complaint, other than a few coughs and a disgusted grimace.

Several minutes later, some of the redness left his cheeks, and he was able to stand. “You better not have poisoned me,” he muttered as he brushed dust off his robes. “Where do we find the cure?”

“The remedy hasn’t been needed for centuries. All I remember from my family’s story is something about an ice-blue flower that blooms on this mountain at night. But I’ve never seen it.”

“That’s it?” Jiang Cheng yelled. Having regained his strength, his voice had also regained its volume. “We came all the way here and that’s all you have to go on?”

You could’ve asked before deciding if it was worth it to come, Wen Ning thought. But what he said was, “We have to check if any ancient texts were left behind. They might have the answers.”

“Shouldn’t you already know if there are records left? Didn’t you come here with that Lan boy?” he said, as if he didn’t know Lan Sizhui’s name. “What kind of descendant doesn’t guard the relics of his clan?”

Wen Ning winced at this. Jiang Cheng had an unmatched skill of firing shots of criticism posed as questions. But masked or not, his words cut just as sharp.

Back then, Jiang Cheng had lost everything. He had rebuilt Yunmeng from the ground up. Fought for the Jiang Clan, clawing its way back to power, leaving his people in want of nothing but an heir.

What had Wen Ning done for his clan but let it die?

Was the pain of their loss not equal? After Jiang Cheng’s parents were murdered and his city was burnt to cinders, he still had the strength to create something from the ashes. Was Wen Ning too weak to even lay eyes on the ashes that remained of his own clan?

Jiang Cheng cleared his throat. The sound brought Wen Ning back to the present.

No, he decided. Their situations had not been equal.

Wen Ning did not have the foothold that Jiang Cheng had. For years he was chained up by the Jins, tormented and experimented on. Stripped of his consciousness by nails shoved in his head. Even if he had the freedom to try to rebuild, there had been no foundation left. His clan had been wiped out.

Why would he want to create something from ashes as dead as he was, when there was life elsewhere?

“A-Yuan,” he found himself saying.

He did not look at Jiang Cheng, but he felt the man’s gaze boring into him.

“A-Yuan is my clan now. And A-Yuan has been granted a new life with the Lans.”

He did not dare voice it, but to himself, he said, Wei Wuxian is one of mine as well.

When he turned to Jiang Cheng, the man was staring at the ground, his eyes frail and downcast. “I…”

His fingers shifted in his clenched fists, as if he were channeling whatever he had to say into his hands—perhaps into Zidian—instead of the air. Then he set his jaw and marched down the narrow street, leaving Wen Ning behind.

* * *

They scavenged through the village until noon, searching for ancient Wen texts. They stopped every hour for Wen Ning to prepare another dose of medicine for Jiang Cheng. The treatment kept him upright, but each dose was less effective as his condition worsened.

They did not have much time. Two sunsets, and the fever would reach its peak.

They overturned the few pieces of furniture left in the buildings and gouged every crack in the walls. All they found were a few keepsakes—a necklace, a burlap sack, a compass—that Wen Ning set aside so he would not have to imagine the faces of the people they had once belonged to.

Nothing remained of the Dafan Wen Clan’s medical literature.

Now Wen Ning and Jiang Cheng stood in the dusty street, baking under the hot sun, feeling as hopeless and bleak as the ghost town. Jiang Cheng’s face was bright red. His hands were trembling slightly. The midday heat was not helping his fever.

Panting, he retreated into the shade of one of the houses. “I thought Wei Wuxian said we would find the cure here.” It was meant to sound accusatory, but most of the bite had been sapped out of his voice.

“We will,” said Wen Ning. “The ice flower grows somewhere hidden on this mountain. I just don’t know where it is or how to use it.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He shook his head disapprovingly for a few moments. Then, “What about the cave?”

“The Goddess Statue’s shrine?”

He nodded.

“I think it will be empty. But we can try.” Wen Ning started on the path to the cave. He looked back when Jiang Cheng didn’t follow.

Jiang Cheng still leaned against the wall, avoiding eye contact.

“…Do you need me to carry you?”

Jiang Cheng did not answer, so Wen Ning took it as a yes. He heaved Jiang Cheng onto his back and headed for the cave.

It was strange to see the shrine with no Goddess Statue. As much as Wen Ning hated the goddess that stole part of his soul and killed his father, he wished that she still loomed over the cave floor, frozen in her haunted dance. At least that would be something on Dafan Mountain that wasn’t gone.

Wen Ning let Jiang Cheng rest against one of the rock formations beside the shrine as he searched the cave. There were a few offerings remaining from when the villagers at the foot of Dafan Mountain used to worship the goddess, but those had long since rotted away.

Having found nothing useful, Wen Ning wandered aimlessly around the cave, more to have something to do than to continue searching. He trailed a hand along the wall and wished that the stone beneath his hand felt real like it used to. It used to send a chill along his arm, giving him goosebumps. Now his body was just as cold as the stone, and he felt nothing.

If I don’t find the cure, will Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin die?

He tried not to think about it, but fear was eating away at him. He could not be responsible for more deaths. Especially not two people that Wei Wuxian loved.

But what hope was there?

A-Jie…I need your help…

If only Wen Qing had survived instead. She had always been smarter than Wen Ning, more perceptive than him. She would have known how to find the cure.

After a few more pointless circles around the cave, Wen Ning returned to Jiang Cheng.

“I don’t know what to do,” Wen Ning said.

Jiang Cheng looked up, his eyelids heavy. “You will.”

Wen Ning sat down front of Jiang Cheng, feeling hopeless.

And angry.

Resentful energy swirled inside him. He knew that it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t find the cure, and neither was it Jiang Cheng’s, but for some reason he wanted to hit both of them.

“I wish I knew what to do.”

“Do you want to get us killed?” Jiang Cheng yelled.

Wen Ning flinched backward. “W-W-What’s wrong?”

“You can’t make wishes here! That goddess has stolen the souls of people who made wishes in her presence!”

Wen Ning looked at the empty space behind the goddess’s former shrine.  “But her statue is destroyed. She isn’t here anymore.”

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust that. Her spirit could still be around.”

Her spirit…

Something clicked in Wen Ning’s mind. “What if she can still be summoned?”

“Even worse, then. That goddess is a nuisance.”

“We should summon her.”

Jiang Cheng looked at Wen Ning like he was crazy. “For what?”

But before Wen Ning could answer, Jiang Cheng had already turned his attention to the shrine. His brow softened. “You’re right…if her spirit is still here, she might be able to help us find the cure.”

Wen Ning scooted closer to Jiang Cheng. “Can you summon her?”

“Can I summon her? Your clan lived here. You should do it.”

“I…” Wen Ning stared at the ground. “I can’t. I’m not alive.”

“Oh.” Jiang Cheng frowned. There was regret in his voice. He dug his fingers into the stone wall as he tried to push himself up to stand. “Sometimes I forget.”

Wen Ning meant to go forward and help him, but instead he sat frozen in place, repeating Jiang Cheng’s words in his mind.

Sometimes I forget.

As hard as Wen Ning searched for sarcasm or disdain or malice, there was none. He had said it simply, sincerely.

With his cold, stiff body, and his empty eyes, and his skin streaked with black veins, who could forget that the Ghost General was not alive?

“A little help?” Jiang Cheng said.

“S-S-Sorry!” Wen Ning hurried to support Jiang Cheng as they approached the altar, his mind still spinning.

Jiang Cheng sank to his knees and pulled a stick of incense from a qiankun pouch in his robes. “Leave me be.” Once Wen Ning backed away, Jiang Cheng lit the flame as an offering and closed his eyes.

Wen Ning imagined the rich, musky fragrance of the incense that he could no longer smell.

Another reminder that he was, indeed, not alive.

And yet…

Sometimes I forget.

He stepped closer to Jiang Cheng.

The incense smoke snaked through the air in front of Jiang Cheng. His face, usually dour and strong-lined, was calm and soft as he fell into the trance to summon the goddess.

Everyone knew that Wen Ning was not alive.

The juniors, as much as they enjoyed his company, were careful to avoid his cold hands and the resentful energy that bound his body together. Once they had grown comfortable enough with him, they even started making playful jokes about his un-dead condition. The banter helped Wen Ning feel better about life as a fierce corpse. But it also continued to remind him that he was different now, and he could not change it.

Lan Wangji did not seem to mind his presence, but Wen Ning always felt like he was intruding on the Cloud Recesses, even though it was his new home.

Perhaps a few of his family members had accepted him as the same A-Ning they one knew, but they were all gone now.

And Wei Wuxian…

Although Wei Wuxian had done all he could to make Wen Ning feel human again, and asserted his humanity to anyone who questioned it, he had also transformed Wen Ning into his weapon. Into the Ghost General.

Wen Ning would have killed for Wei Wuxian. It had been his choice. And with one note of Chenqing, Wen Ning would kill again, if his friend needed him to.

But would that still be his choice?

Who could be controlled this way other than a fierce corpse?

So then how could Jiang Cheng, the man who had raged against anyone who dared speak the name of the Ghost General, who hated Wen Ning for making his nephew an orphan, who refused to let Wen Ning set foot in Lotus Pier—how could he so casually ‘forget’ what Wen Ning was?

Suddenly, Jiang Cheng gasped and jerked awake. His eyes were wide. Disbelieving.

“J-Jiang Wanyin?”

Jiang Cheng seemed to struggle for words. He turned his head toward Wen Ning. He almost looked like he felt guilty about something.

“Go outside.”

“What…what happened?”

“Go.”

Wen Ning obeyed and hurried out of the cave. He looked over his shoulder at Jiang Cheng and saw him remove a small tan pouch from his robes.

What is he doing?

Wen Ning decided that it was best to respect Jiang Cheng’s demand for privacy. Anything to get them closer to the cure.

He found a comfortable place to sit and played with a handful of pebbles as he waited, rolling them through his fingers, wondering if the sensation felt a bit more defined than usual.

Several minutes later, there was a scuffing sound. He glanced up, expecting to see a standing figure, but had to redirect his eyes downward to where Jiang Cheng was crawling on the ground at the mouth of the cave.

Wen Ning jumped up. He helped Jiang Cheng to his feet, holding him upright. “Did you summon the goddess?”

A peculiar expression appeared on Jiang Cheng’s face. He shifted his jaw in discomfort, his dark eyes darting away. “I summoned something.”

“What was it? Does it know how to find the cure?”

“The Ever-Frozen Flower grows in the center of the western forest. Its nectar is the cure. It only blooms for a few moments at the coldest point of the night, and we need to harvest its nectar while its open.”

“Great! That’s it, then!”

Jiang Cheng nodded. He looked a bit happier than before, but still troubled by something.

Wen Ning noted that Jiang Cheng did not tell him what he had summoned.

Well, that was less important. They would have hours to wait until night when the blossom opened, so Wen Ning had time to ask again later.

This evening would be the second-to-last sunset before the fever fully consumed its victims. They had found a lead just in time.

“There’s hope,” Wen Ning said. “Thank you, Jiang Wanyin.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “It was your idea.”

“But I wouldn’t have been able to do it. I’m…it’s good that you came.”

Jiang Cheng leaned away, which didn’t get him very far as Wen Ning’s arm was wrapped around his torso. “Er. Right. Let’s get out of the sun.”

His fever had already gotten hotter. He radiated heat so strongly that even Wen Ning felt it as he held the man’s shaking body.

It had been a long time since Wen Ning had this much physical contact with someone. Especially someone so…warm.

“R-Right.” Wen Ning guided him back into the shadows of the cave.

Wen Ning prepared another dose of medicine, taking his time now that there was no rush to rummage through the village or find clues. They had their answer. They just needed to get the timing perfect to harvest the Ever-Frozen Flower’s nectar. Wen Ning felt lighter now, relieved that a cure was in sight.

“Here.” He held out the medicine to Jiang Cheng, who was all but melting from the fever by now.

He swallowed it immediately. “Thank you.”

Wen Ning shifted his weight as he kneeled in front of Jiang Cheng. Something felt off.

Since when did we start thanking each other for things?

“There’s only one dose left,” Wen Ning said. “There wasn’t much to begin with. I can get more medicine later.”

Jiang Cheng looked better already. “At least this sunset isn’t the last one. We have a full night to get the cure.” He rested the back of his head on the cave wall and closed his eyes. “Let’s hope whoever named this Four-Sunsets Flu didn’t get excited and overcount.”

Suddenly Wen Ning was laughing.

Jiang Cheng peeked at Wen Ning with half-open eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up. “You should know better than to laugh at a dead man.”

“You aren’t dead.”

“I sure feel like it.” His shoulders relaxed as he leaned into the wall more.

“…Jiang Wanyin?”

“What?”

Wen Ning stood up. “I-I’d like to visit the memorial I made with A-Yuan. I’ll be back soon.”

Jiang Cheng grunted with indifference.

Wen Ning headed out, but he had only taken a few steps when he heard, “Wen Qionglin.”

He turned back to Jiang Cheng, who had now opened his eyes.

“I’ll come with you.”

Wen Ning could only stare at him in disbelief.

He wants to visit my clan’s burial grounds? Is the flu affecting his mind too?

Then he realized that Jiang Cheng was staring at him, and he should have responded by now. “Oh—Oh, you should rest. It’s hot outside.”

“If you’d prefer to go alone, that’s fine.”

Wen Ning gently clasped his hands together. “No…that’s not what I meant.”

After a few moments, Jiang Cheng raised an arm, indicating for Wen Ning to help him up.

What a strange sight. The Jiang Clan Leader reduced to a feverish puddle, waiting to be picked up by a dead person he despised, to go visit more dead people. Wen Ning could’ve burst into laughter again.

* * *

With Wen Ning’s arm strapped around Jiang Cheng’s torso, they bowed in front of the memorial together, slightly out of sync.

The memorial that Wen Ning and A-Yuan had built was not too large. It was a carved stone that sat to the side of the older memorials in the Dafan Wen burial grounds. Simple and rudimentary, but crafted with care. Wen Ning could not imagine it any other way. Their branch of the Wen Clan had not been one for ostentation.

The bodies of Wen Ning’s family were not here. He did not even know if the Jin Clan had given them a proper burial. It filled him with rage to think about it.

The most he could do for his family’s spirits was to act like they were here. To hope that after he and A-Yuan honored them with the memorial, they had found their way home.

“A-Jie, it’s me. I hope you’ve been well.” Wen Ning’s throat felt dry. “A-Yuan has been growing up. He’s very happy with the Lans. You’d be proud of him.”

He pulled from his robes a small canister of dried fruit that he had packed before leaving for the journey, and placed the jar on the ground. “A-Jie, I b-b-brought apricots for you.” They had always been her favorite.

Suddenly Wen Ning felt heavy. The air was heavy, the sunlight was heavy.

Guilt struck him. He should have brought some of Uncle’s favorite liquor, and some rice cakes for Granny, and—

I miss you.

He should have been with them.

But now, how could he die?

What a cruel trick of fate. He was a walking reminder of what had become of the Dafan Wen, left behind to carry on their bloodline with no blood.

As he stood before the memorial, he felt phantom touches from years ago.

A hand in his.

He remembered lying in bed, just before falling asleep. Wen Qing held his hand. She made the bed tilt a little when she sat on the end of it, creating a tiny slope for Wen Ning to lean closer to her.

She loved music, but she was terrible at singing, so if Wen Ning wasn’t too sleepy he’d hum a song for her. It made soothing vibrations in his chest. Humming always felt the best when it was for his sister.

After he finished the song and began drifting off to sleep, Wen Qing squeezed his hand every so often, letting him know she was still there.

Then he remembered sitting on Granny’s lap. Feeling the subtle rocking of her body as she weaved red thread into a tassel she gave to Wen Ning. It was a charm for luck and protection. Wen Ning carried it with him everywhere.

He lost it three years later while exploring a forest. Granny had not been mad. She just weaved him another. By then, Wen Ning had grown too big to sit on her lap, so he sat at her feet instead to watch her weave, feeling warmth on his back from the small fire crackling behind him.

He didn’t know where that tassel from Granny was now.

He remembered Wen Qing’s hand on his forehead. Those gentle pats that she always gave him. Sometimes soft, sometimes chiding, but always loving. How she had to stand up on tip-toes to reach him once he got too tall.

A flash in his mind. He was overwhelmed with pain of the labor camp at Qiongqi Path. Blisters on his hands from chipping away the carvings of the Wen Clan to replace them with murals of the Jin Clan.

Hypocrites.

Broken bones in his legs when he didn’t obey. Agony that had only been bearable because he shared it with his family.

And then—a wooden spear through his chest. Ghosts that tore at him. Darkness and freezing cold.

Crinkly papers stuck all over him, and hard rock under his back. Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing’s breath on his neck as they pleaded for him to come back, and how desperately he wished he could.

The day he did wake up, nothing felt the same. Not even his family embracing him in celebration, or Wen Qing hugging him tighter than she ever had before.

But he had felt her tears of joy—warm droplets on his dead skin—and that made him feel a little more alive.

He wished that he could cry now. That he had tears to drop into the dirt below the memorial, and maybe his tears would make Wen Qing a little more alive.

A hand in his.

The day he and Wen Qing stood before Jinlintai, Wen Ning had given his sister’s hand one last squeeze.

Why couldn’t he squeeze his sister’s hand again, and let her know that even now, he was still here?

A-Jie, please come to your next life soon. I will search until I find you.

Jiang Cheng was trembling as Wen Ning held him.

He hadn't been shaking so much before. Had the hot sun made the fever worse?

“Why did she choose Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng said. His voice was quiet.

All Wen Ning could manage was a confused grunt in response.

“She gave her life for him.”

The shaking stopped.

“I should’ve been the one to do that!”

Wen Ning did not know how to react. Who would have expected that at his own family’s memorial, it would not be he who cried out, but the man who let them die? Jiang Cheng had feelings for Wen Qing once, he suspected, but he never would have thought they ran this deep.

“Wei Wuxian had already given up so much to let us live in peace a little longer,” Wen Ning said quietly. “It was the least we could do in return.”

Jiang Cheng gave him a perplexed look, as if Wen Ning had said something offensive and out of place. Then his expression melted into unease and he quickly turned away, like he was afraid of Wen Ning discovering something in his eyes.

Then Wen Ning understood. He had been talking about Jiang Yanli.

Both of them were mourning their older sisters.

Wen Ning decided that it would be kinder to pretend he didn’t know Jiang Cheng’s true thoughts. “She did like you,” he said.

Jiang Cheng shifted, but didn’t respond.

“Although she wished that you stood up for us. We all did. But in a way, we understood. No one’s position was easy back then.”

Stillness. Only the numb feeling of Jiang Cheng in his arms.

“You had your clan to worry about. And there was…” Wen Ning trailed off. There had been Jiang Yanli for Jiang Cheng to worry about, but it was better not to say that.

Jiang Yanli had gotten married while the Wens lived at the Burial Mounds. She had visited them, given Wen Ning soup he couldn’t taste, but he appreciated that soup more than most meals he had when he was still alive.

When Jiang Yanli visited, she had even let him see her bridal dress.

And I killed her husband.

Her own death was just as terrible. It hadn’t been at Wen Ning’s hand, but it might as well have been, linked as his sins were with Wei Wuxian’s.

Jiang Yanli would not have died if Wen Ning had been able to control himself at Qiongqi Path.

And neither would have Wen Qing.

A-Jie...

A thought that Wen Ning had been pushing down rose to the surface of his mind.

Was Wei Wuxian’s life more important than Wen Qing’s?

She had warned Wen Ning to stay away from Wei Wuxian. Yet he had chased after the boy over and over, first only doing small things like stealing Wen Qing's medicine to give to him, but eventually bringing Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli to Yiling as fugitives, when his sister had never asked to save them.

At the Burial Mounds, Wen Ning had tried to convince her not to turn herself in to the Jins. She hadn't listened.

But it was Wen Ning who owed the most to Wei Wuxian. Wen Qing had made enough sacrifices.

It should have been Wen Ning who went to Jinlintai. Only Wen Ning.

I should’ve protected her.

Would things have really been different had Jiang Cheng protected the Wens? Would Wen Qing still be alive?

His mind drifted back to the memorial in front of him, to Jiang Cheng, who now felt a little more solid in his arms.

“It’s okay,” Wen Ning said. “Caring about my family too late is better than never.”

“Don’t act like it’s worth anything now,” Jiang Cheng said bitterly. “You shouldn’t be so quick with empty words like that.”

“I didn’t mean that I forgive you. I don’t.”

Jiang Cheng shrugged and looked away from the memorial.

Wen Ning stared at the jar of dried apricots on the ground. It was such an inadequate offering for his sister, but he knew she would be happy with them anyway. She had never asked as much of Wen Ning as she should have. “There are others who will forgive you no matter what.”

Jiang Cheng began trembling again. Perhaps he was still thinking about his family.

Or maybe this time, it was Wen Ning who was trembling. Their movements were starting to blend together the longer they stood in front of the memorial.

They were not friends. Even by a stretch, they could barely be called allies. But if they were together right now, then they should be together, shouldn’t they?

Wen Ning took Jiang Cheng’s hand and squeezed it.

Jiang Cheng glanced down at their interlaced hands.

Wen Ning was not meant to touch the living. Not even A-Yuan accepted his touch without a shiver. Yet this felt natural, like it was the only thing meant to happen right now.

“I miss my sister too,” Wen Ning said, deciding to stop pretending that he didn’t know Jiang Cheng was thinking about Jiang Yanli.

“Your sister…your sister was a good person,” Jiang Cheng said.

“So was yours.”

The sound of Jiang Cheng’s breath became uneven, then slowly steadied. “...So are you.”

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by liking, reblogging, and visiting me on AO3.

Ch. 3 >

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1  part 2  part 3  part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 belongs to this

“You never really thought about it, did you?”

Geralt lifted his head from the notebook he’d been reading; a wildly inaccurate but highly dramatic retelling of one of the time Geralt had been swallowed by a selkimore.

“Of course I thought about it.” He grumbled. “You don’t just jump into a monster’s mouth unprepared.”

Jaskier chuckled and set his quill aside, all the while hiding whatever he had written from Geralt’s searching eyes. He did that more and more often, lately.

“Unsheathing your sword and saying ‘Fuck it’ doesn’t count as preparation, love. But that’s not what I meant.” He hesitated. “I meant retirement. You really never thought about what it would mean for you, did you?”

Geralt grunted. “What does it mean to me then?”

Jaskier took off his glasses to rub his eyes, exhausted from staring at the tiny letters for so long. “Boredom. Obviously.”

“That’s not true. I have you.” Geralt lifted the book. “And I have your stories.”

Jaskier snorted, his lips twitching as though he were to comment on the fact that Geralt now sought out his stories, as he so often did.

“Good to know,” he said instead, putting his glasses back on. “Cause let me tell you, I’m bored out of my mind.” He took the book out of Geralt’s hands and thumbed through it, before snapping it shut. Jaskier frowned and put his glasses back on.  “Reading or writing just stories isn’t like the real thing. I miss doing things. At least while Sera was still here, I could feel like I wasn’t utterly useless.”

“You’re not.” At Jaskier’s doubtful look Geralt repeated it more firmly. “You are not. Without you I’d still be out there witchering every day, not knowing when the next time I get to sleep in an actual bed would be.”

“It’s sweet of you to say that.” Jaskier’s eyes softened, but he pressed his lips together before sighing in defeat. “That doesn’t change the fact that now you’re cooped up in here with nothing to do. You can only go on so many walks and listen to the ever same stories so many times. You never made plans for what you would do if you weren’t a witcher anymore.”

Geralt couldn’t supress the scoff. Of course he hadn’t made plans. It doesn’t do well for a witcher to plan for a future he could never have; not if it wasn’t a certainty he would even live to see the next day. That hadn’t kept him from silently wishing.

“You did, though, didn’t you? Make plans?”

Jaskier chuckled and waved his hand dismissively though the air. “Not really. I thought – that is to say, I had this silly little fantasy of becoming a gardener. But I didn’t really think there would ever come a time when I wouldn’t perform anymore.” He wiggled his fingers in front of Geralt’s face. “Look at them! I wouldn’t be able to tend to a garden with fingers like these anyway. Not that I ever would have fancied digging around in the dirt to begin with.”

“I could do it.” Geralt swallowed. “I’ve been covered in worse than just dirt. I might know much about plants apart from which ones I needed for my potions, but you know about flowers, don’t you? You have an eye for pretty things like that.”

Jaskier tensed, his hands sank slowly back into his lap and he stared at Geralt intently, almost hopefully. “What are you saying?”

“That it doesn’t have to be a silly fantasy. We could do it. Together.” Geralt shrugged, hoping it would hide the inexplicable nervousness that had settled in his bones. “Like you said, I don’t have much else to do anyway.”

--

Planting a garden from scratch was harder than Geralt had thought. He spent his days sweating, digging over the earth behind their cottage while Jaskier watched with a grin and an “Inspiration might strike me again, if I get to watch you like this more often from now on” on his lips.

The first patch of flowers they planted never got to bloom. Neither did the second or the third. Too little water. Too much water. The salty air was bad for those types of flowers. There was so much to learn, but Geralt felt himself grow less restless with this new task.

When their fourth seed finally grew into colourful blossoms, Jaskier beamed at him like he had gifted him the moon. Jaskier plucked the first flower, a delicate white thing, and held it up for Geralt, before kissing him softly.

“Thank you, dearest.”

Geralt smiled into the next kiss, drawing back just enough to be able to say “This flower is just as much yours as it is mine.”

More often than not, he found Jaskier hunched over a book about flowers. Whenever he looked up he would tell Geralt with shining eyes about some new flower fact he had learned. It didn’t matter that he might forget all about it in the morning. Jaskier didn’t need to remember every little thing in order to tell Geralt what flowers would go well together. It didn’t matter that his hands were shaky or that his eyes were bad. Making things beautiful was something so inherently Jaskier, that he didn’t need any of the other things.

On the mornings of each market day, Jaskier spent hours arranging bouquets, caressing the petals like a lover. There was a skip in his step, though Geralt had to steady him, on their way into town and once they had set up their stall, Geralt got to watch Jaskier spread his arms and praise their flowers with the same enthusiasm with which he used to announce his newest ballads. His words drew people near, looking at their flowers with real interest.

Warmth blossomed in Geralt’s chest. He could see it in those people’s eyes: they didn’t just stop and stare out of pity for an old man and a retired witcher littered with scars. They were genuinely drawn in by what Jaskier was saying. He had found his voice again.

When they sold their first bouquet, Geralt felt the same rush of excitement that he could feel emanating from Jaskier. That day they didn’t make it back home, before they fell into each other’s arms laughing and with racing heart. Kissing and whispering sweet nothing into each other’s ears.

Geralt hadn’t exactly made a fortune with his occasional hunts, but it had been enough that they wouldn’t have to worry about coin for a while. It was a different kind of relief Geralt felt, knowing that Jaskier didn’t think himself useless anymore, now that he was able to contribute to their income.

That is, when he wasn’t giving roses away for free. It was hard to tell whether Jaskier just plainly forgot that they were supposed to get coin for their flowers, or if it was just in his nature to hand them out. It didn’t matter either way. They could afford to give away some flowers. Especially if the payment for it was Jaskier’s happiness.

Geralt pretended not to notice, averting his face and needlessly rearranging their flowers, whenever Jaskier spotted someone who he thought looked like they could use a flower to brighten their day. He was always right, of course. His flowers, gifted with the words “A pretty rose for an even prettier person” never failed to earn him a beaming smile. However big the other person’s smiles were, they were nothing compared to Jaskier’s soft ones when he saw how happy he was still able to make people.

Nothing could beat Jaskier’s expression when he saw a nervous young man propose to his love with one of the bouquets Jaskier had poured so much love into. Nothing, except, when a year later, the young couple came by their stall again, this time carrying a baby girl in their arms.

“Piwonia,“ the husband said softly, while his partner cooed at their daughter. “After the flowers I used to propose.”

Jaskier’s eyes filled with proud tears, when to Geralt’s surprise, he was offered to hold the baby. Jaskier nudged him in the ribs, shaking him out of his stupor.

“Hello Piwonia,” Geralt said softly, if a bit awkwardly, while the girl reached out to play with his hair. “You’re going to be wonderful. All the people who are named after flowers are.”

Saying the words to a stranger’s baby felt uncomfortable, but it was worth it for the look on Jaskier’s face.

“You are wonderful too, you know,” Jaskier said when they closed up their stall for the day and Jaskier put one of the leftover flowers behind Geralt’s hair. “I love you. Please never forget.”

Geralt swallowed thickly, leaning into Jaskier’s hand as it caressed his cheek. “I won’t forget. If … I will remember for the both of us.”

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 5//

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4) (Chapter 5) (Chapter 6) (Chapter 7) (Chapter 8) (Chapter 9) (Chapter 10)

(Tags: @thron3ofbooks @df3ndyr @courtofjurdan @art-e-mis @herondamnn @the-third-me @im-still-trying-here @emikadreams @paytin77)

It was all I could do to keep from bursting into joyous tears as Madja announced that I was ten weeks along in my pregnancy. Upon revealing that my suspicions were true, she completed a thorough examination. She determined that since I was in the early stages, that was the cause of lingering sickness and fatigue. Unfortunately, those symptoms would continue until I was about halfway along; where most females felt the best and most of the unlikeable symptoms eased a bit. I was also surprised to learn that a fae pregnancy lasts five weeks longer than a human’s, but it made sense on a larger scale. As powerful immortal beings, we needed more time in the womb to develop.

After her examination, she prescribed a few prenatal herbal teas that I would need to drink in order to aid in the baby’s growth. I smiled at the word, brushing my fingertips along my abdomen again—knowing this would become a new habit for me, and for Rhys. A baby, our baby, growing strong inside of me as Madja promised. He would be as strong as his father, the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, and with my powers combined…

My smile faltered as I realized what this meant.

Years ago, Rhys confided in me about his concern over any potential offspring he might have, afraid they would be hunted and sought after by his enemies. If his children inherited his abilities alone, they would be just as powerful. What did that threat mean now with my blood mixed in?

Cursebreaker. Cauldron-blessed. The first ever High Lady in Prythian, who inherited a drop of power from all seven of the High Lords after being resurrected.

What powers would my child inherit from me? Combined with Rhys’s, our child’s strength would surpass both of ours alone; which meant the same for all the other High Lords of Prythian. We had alliances now, but how many of those would change after they learned about my son? After they saw a fraction of their power in him, in combination with Rhysand’s? My mind began to race and breathing became difficult as I looked down at my stomach, my fingers gripping my tunic in panic. Would he be in danger? Who were we close enough with to know that they would never consider such a thing? What if they came after him before he was born? Would they target me? I had to do something, but what if there was nothing I could do?

I had to protect him—my baby.

Protect, protect, protect.

“My lady,” a gentle voice interrupted the rising chaos in my mind, even gentler hands gripping my shoulders and I saw the healer’s dark eyes meet mine as she leveled a look at me.

I became aware of my ragged breathing, hunched back and tense shoulders, trembling. Her delicate, wrinkled hands moved from my shoulders to either side of my face. A blue aura illuminated those hands as they touched my face, and slowly I calmed. Slowly, my shoulders relaxed and I slid my eyes closed as my breaths evened out, a few tears escaping past my lids.

After a few seconds of that peace, Madja slowly let go of my face and straightened, “You mustn’t be afraid, my lady. Your child will be a very powerful high fae, but you are surrounded by friends—family. The uncertainty the future brings may be frightening, but there is also joy in it,” she said gently as she handed me a handkerchief. “That is what you must focus on right now. The joy in a healthy and developing baby.”

I sniffed as I dabbed at my eyes, nodding in agreement “Thank you Madja. I just felt so overwhelmed for a minute,” I lamented.

“Oh, I see this reaction more often than you would believe. First time mothers have many fears, and you will be no different. Just remember the joy in it,” she reassured.

She was right, I couldn’t allow the fear to consume me. I wouldn’t let it control me or take away from this moment of happiness. This baby, our son, was a miracle. Fae children were difficult to conceive, but Rhys and I had done it. We were going to have a baby; over half a millennia later one would be born into the Night Court’s ruling family—my family. He would be cherished by our Inner Circle, and loved by the people of Velaris; just as they loved Rhys. My heart swelled as I pictured what the moment of joy would look like on his face when I told him; how those violet eyes would brighten and sparkle like the stars and how he would grin. I wanted to paint that moment more than anything, and now after a decade of waiting, I finally would.

“Shall I call the High Lord in for the good news?” she asked as she began packing up her bag of supplies.

“Oh no, please don’t tell him yet,” I urged and she raised an amused brow at me as I flushed, “I want to surprise him...tomorrow at Starfall.”

She nodded her understanding, “I see,” she said as she finished packing and grabbed my hands, squeezing them lightly. “The High Lord will be thrilled, my lady,” she said, and the genuine delight in her voice caused my eyes to burn.

She laughed heartily at the silver lining my eyes, “Expect more of that. Your hormones will cause plenty of surges in your emotions,” she explained empathetically.

I grimaced, “In other words, I’ll be an emotional mess.”

She laughed again and patted my hands, “All completely normal. For now, drink that brew of herbs I gave you three times a day, get plenty of rest, and I will be back next week to check your progress.”

I nodded and walked her to the door of my bedroom, “Thank you Madja,” I said.

“You’re welcome my lady,” she said sweetly before leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I touched my stomach tentatively, knowing underneath layers of skin and muscle my child was growing—safely. He was finally real; a manifestation of the love Rhys and I had for each other. So far, only the healer and I knew of his existence, and soon Rhysand would know as well. For the moment, I caressed my still flat stomach and cherished this little time we had alone.

XXX

The hours leading up to our Starfall celebration would be torturous.

Once I emerged from my room and the healer left, everyone was eager to hear her diagnosis of my condition. I did my best to reassure them all that I was perfectly fine, and simply needed more time to recover from my previous illness. Not a complete lie, but I knew they were all unconvinced—especially my mate. I immediately knew that keeping up a façade would be difficult, but luckily, I had plenty of experience with masks of deception. Years in the Night Court with occasional appearances in the Court of Nightmares, and serving as High Lady would certainly assist me in hiding my pregnancy for at least the next twenty-four hours or so.

Later, after we turned in for the night, Rhys begged for a detailed account of Madja’s official diagnosis. I again had to convince him that I was all right, which was technically true. I was pregnant, not sick; so aside from my body working hard to grow a high fae baby, I was fine. An hour into him trying to pry me for more information, I finally managed to silence him by pushing him onto the bed and straddling his hips. This morning however, was more of a struggle. Madja warned me that the fatigue would linger throughout the next several months of my pregnancy, but I soon realized it was going to be an uphill battle to force myself from bed, let alone try and convince my mate that I was still on the road to recovery.

Thankfully, Starfall was finally here; one of our rare days off, and I could use it to my advantage. It had been a while since we spent a day alone together; in the weeks that followed since his return from the Illyrian mountains, we fell back into our regular routine with our schedules as High Lord and Lady. Despite our initial reunion and the brief mating frenzy renewed, which caused us to sneak away from time to time throughout the day, we still attended to our responsibilities. But today was our holiday, and a year from now our child would be here to celebrate his first Starfall. Soon it would no longer be just the two of us, my sisters and our Inner Circle; soon there would be an infant for us to raise and love, so I wanted to continue to take advantage of our time alone while we still had it.

I convinced Rhys to let us spend the morning in bed together, where we took our time worshipping each other's bodies, ate a hearty breakfast and lounged together well into the afternoon. By lunchtime, I felt my energy renew and we enjoyed our lunch in the gardens before we parted to finalize last minute details for the party. Traditionally, that meant Mor and I attended to any directions Elain might have for us and the Illyrians did...well whatever they liked to do before a party.

“They’re probably at Rita’s right now having drinks,” Mor wondered aloud as she and I rearranged the refreshments table in the grand hall.

I stepped back to review my work, and shrugged, “Maybe, but there’s plenty of drinks here, so that doesn’t make much sense,” I reasoned.

“Neither does ‘I’m getting over a cold, I promise,’” she mocked.

I glared at her, but she threw her head back with a laugh, “Don’t look so serious Feyre, whatever secret you have is safe with me.”

I bristled, moving to fuss with a flower arrangement by the table, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said as casually as I could.

“I’ve been keeping a secret for most of my existence, Feyre, I think that makes me an expert,” she said.

I paused and looked her way, “Mor-” I began but she held a hand up to stop me.

“Like I said, it's safe with me,” she said and a look of understanding silently passed between us before she turned to the next task Elain set out for her.

Maybe she did already know, and maybe she didn’t. Either way, I believed that she wouldn’t reveal it to Rhys or anyone else for that matter. I took a step back again to examine the room, happy with the decorations Elain meticulously had installed every year. Sparkling bowls of fae lights lit the room in a warm glow, allowing the white marble floors and moonstone columns to illuminate naturally. The delicate chiffon curtains adorning the windowless arched walls were decorated with tiny sparkles of fae light, a design Elain created herself, and accentuated the varying shades of cream, ivory and silver flower arrangements spread out throughout the room. They framed the horizon perfectly and opened up to the expansive veranda that led right into the gardens, allowing guests to move in and out of the estate easily and a perfect view of the spirits' journey across the night sky as we all danced. It was initially my idea to host the people of Velaris in the grand hall, remembering that these were the kind of memories I wanted to make in our new home.

I touched my stomach briefly when Mor wasn’t looking. What would he look like in a year? He would be too small to run around and try to disturb any decorations, so perhaps I would walk him around the estate and show off all the adornments before Rhys and I would put him to bed. We’d no doubt be exhausted, but happy. Maybe we’d celebrate Starfall privately in our suite, just the three of us. I felt that glimmer in the pit of my stomach and I smiled. Would you like that, little one? I thought to myself, wondering if he could hear me.

“It’s perfect!” Elain cheered as she and Nesta walked into the room.

I quickly moved my hand from my stomach as I turned to face them, but not fast enough for Nesta not to take notice. Thankfully, she only raised a perfectly arched brow at me, “Shouldn’t you be getting ready? Your guests will be arriving shortly,” she reminded me.

I nodded, “I was just about to leave,” I said as I looked over their attire.

Elain wore a delicate soft pink strapless A-line gown with a glitter ombre falling from her bust line down to the floor; a braid crowning the top of her head with the rest of her hair flowing just past her shoulders. Nesta, as conservative as ever, wore a long-sleeved gown in a similar fashion, only in a deep violet with a more subtle glittering effect. Her hair was pulled back in a loosely braided bun, a few loose strands of curls framing her face. Despite her controlled face and aloof attitude, I was glad Nesta still joined us after Cassian all but dragged her here for our first celebration in the estate years ago.

“Nuala and Cerridwen are waiting for you in your suite, Feyre. You go get dressed, and I’ll greet everyone, don’t worry,” Elain said sweetly, brushing her hands over her gown when she realized I was looking, silently asking for my approval.

“Just as she does every year,” Nesta interjected as I offered Elain a nod of assent.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and began walking out, “I’ll be back with Rhys before it starts,” I said and made my way back up to my suite.

As Nuala and Cerridwen began my dressing routine, I began to play different scenarios of the speech I would give Rhys when I announced my pregnancy. Only to realize I didn’t really have a speech at all, and began scrambling for one. As memorable as I wanted this moment to be, I was sincerely lacking in creativity and eloquence. I sighed in defeat as I stood before the mirror, checking over my appearance—the same blue-white liquid starlight gown I adorned every year, and my hair swept away from my face with the same diamond studded combs I wore on my first Starfall. In an attempt to make tonight more memorable for Rhys, I wanted to recreate our first celebration together; I asked the shadowed-twins to style me the same way they had that night.

After dismissing themselves, I ran tentative fingers along my abdomen again before inhaling a deep and anxious breath. “Let’s go tell your father,” I said quietly, resigned with the fact that I would just have to wing whatever speech I would give Rhys for the news.

XXX

An hour into the party, after mingling with our friends and guests, the estate’s lights dimmed naturally and everyone began pooling out into the veranda as the star-spirits began their glittering descent. The sky was soon decorated with the spirits twirling and sparkling forms as the guests cheered with raised champagne glasses.

“Raise a glass, my love,” Rhys purred in my ear as he stepped up behind me, his chest brushing against my back as he offered the glass before me.

I hesitated, knowing it probably wasn’t wise to drink now that I knew I was expecting, but took the glass anyway before turning to face him, “Let’s go to our balcony,” I said as I straightened the collar of his traditional black jacket, tracing over the silver-lined pattern on his lapels lightly.

“Now?” He asked with his smug feline grin, “Usually we stay at least an hour after the dancing’s begun.”

“I know, but,” I paused, chewing over what to say next, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Something you can’t ask me around our guests? He asked through the bond, his feline grin turning into a teasing one

I rolled my eyes before brushing past him and striding down the hall, not bothering to look back to make sure he was coming. Well?

“Oh, I’m right behind you Feyre darling,” he purred in my ear again as his hand brushed over the small of my back, walking in step with me to the hall leading to our balcony.

“As you should be,” I said haughtily.

His dark chuckle reverberated through me, my stomach fluttering as I fought a smile and we stepped onto the balcony together. I walked up to the railing, setting my champagne glass aside and stared up at the sky as the star-spirits continued to sparkle and dance. Rhys’s fingers brushed up and down my spine softly as he watched with me, both of us in a comfortable silence. I watched from the corner of my eye as the stars illuminated his handsome face, a warm smile on his lips and I reached a hand down to hold his.

He turned that smile to me, “What did you want to ask me, my love?”

My heart skipped a beat as a question I was genuinely curious about popped into my mind, “What’s the first memory you have of Starfall?” I asked.

“That’s what you dragged me out here in the cold for?” He asked with a smirk, moving to stand behind me as he slid his arms around my waist and rested his chin atop the crown of my head.

I leaned into his embrace, perching my arms on his. I really do want to know

His sigh was peaceful as he contemplated, searching his memory as we continued to watch the sparkling display. Should I show you or do you want me to tell you?

“Tell me,” I answered quietly. My mind too tangled a mess to allow myself into his without the possibility of revealing my secret prematurely.

His arms tightened around me slightly as he smiled into my hair, “I was five years old. My mother and father brought me to the House of Wind, as they did every year. It was the first I managed to stay awake long enough to actually see the star-spirits,” he explained.

Gentle swells of music began to play behind us, and he swayed us from side to side smoothly. “It was years before they began to drift apart, so their relationship was strong. I remember it was the first time I realized how much they actually loved each other; for a time at least. I used to wonder how honest their love actually was, and my mind would always drift back to the memories of them dancing together on Starfall to remind me. It was also the night my mother announced she was pregnant with my sister.

“We were on the balcony at the House of Wind, watching the star shower. I was sitting on my father's shoulders, pointing out every spirit I saw. I was completely in awe of them. I think seeing my reaction made my mother cry, and when my father asked her what was wrong, she said to him ‘I can’t wait for our next child to look at the stars the way he does.’ The look on his face; the genuine elation in his eyes was enough to convince me that, for at least a part of my childhood, they had real love for each other.”

My eyes burned and my throat thickened as he relayed his memories, holding me close as we continued to sway together as the music continued to play. I moved to squeeze his hands lightly, his arms still wrapped around me from behind.

“That’s a beautiful memory, Rhys,” I whispered, my tears still threatening to spill.

He moved to bury his face in the crook of my neck, planting a kiss there as he breathed a peaceful sigh through his nose; still moving us along to the music, “Beautiful as it may be, my favorite Starfall memory will always be the first we shared together Feyre darling,” he whispered back.

I couldn’t help the few tears that fell as I closed my eyes with a smile, squeezing his hands a little harder. Words failed me in that moment and I opened my eyes again, both of our gazes turning to the sky as a large sprite glittered close to us. I gasped as the star-spirits began vaulting across the sky in greater numbers. They decorated the horizon in an endless dance—like liquid starlight sparkling above us as they danced and twirled. I heard the excited cheers of our guests on the other side of the estate and grinned. Mor was right, this year the spirits returned in vast amounts, unlike I ever imagined or thought possible.

A thought for a thought, Feyre darling?

I smiled and grabbed his hands, moving them from my waist and resting them on my abdomen right as that glimmer pulsed through it. “I’m thinking, I can’t wait for our baby to look at the stars the way you do,” I said.

Rhys stiffened at my words and I turned in his arms, making sure his hands stayed on my stomach as my eyes met his, my eyes burning again “I’m pregnant, Rhys.”

His eyes widened and looked down at where our hands rested, as though he might see the evidence now that I said the words aloud. A second later he dropped to one knee before me, eye level with our joined hands as he caressed my stomach fondly.

His eyes, now lined with silver, met mine again, “You’re pregnant?” He choked out.

I nodded with a sob, my words failing me once again and he sucked in a breath as he looked at my abdomen again. “My son, the son you showed me on your birthday, is growing inside of you...now?” He asked, his throat thick.

I sobbed again, a wet laugh escaping as I nodded, “That’s what pregnant means,” I rasped.

I heard his own strangled sob before he shot up to his feet, pulling me into an embrace and lifting me off the ground as he spun me around, chanting my name over and over again. “FeyreFeyreFeyre,” he sobbed in my hair.

I laughed and sobbed and cried all at once, my arms wrapping around his shoulders as he planted me back onto the ground and held onto my waist. His forehead rested against mine and I brought my hands up to brush his tears away while my own shamelessly poured down my cheeks.

“When I first noticed how different your scent was, I thought it was possible, but I didn’t want to say anything and get our hopes up,” he explained as he brought his hands up to wipe my tears away as well.

“You were suspicious this whole time?” I sniffed with a laugh.

“You’re my mate, I knew something was going on, but you didn’t even seem to realize it so I didn’t say anything,” he said, thumbs running over my cheeks as I held his wrists gently.

I smiled, “To be fair, I didn’t catch on until yesterday, after I fainted. I can’t believe I was so dense,” I laughed in disbelief.

He shook his head, returning his hands and gaze to my stomach “You weren’t...neither of us saw it coming,” he said softly.

“We tried for so long Rhys,” I whispered, my hands coming to rest on his chest.

He caressed my stomach again, “We’re going to have a baby,” he swallowed and his violet eyes met mine. “I love you beyond measure, Feyre. You’ve given me more than I could have ever dreamed of, more than I could possibly deserve, and now,” he dropped to one knee, again surveying my stomach as he continued, “I can’t wait to meet the son you’re blessing me with.”

I sobbed again and wrapped my arms around him as he leaned in to place a kiss on my abdomen. He stayed there for a minute before rising again, slipping his arms around my waist and capturing my lips with his. I kissed him back deeply, holding him close as we resumed moving to the music—dancing slowly as the stars continued their whirling journey beyond the horizon. Our brows pressed together as we swayed, and I draped my arms over his shoulders as his hands held my waist.

After today, this better be your new favorite Starfall memory, I said down the bond.

His answering smile was mischievous. Until next year, when I can dance with you on one arm and my son on the other.

My heart tightened at the thought, and I kissed him again. To the stars who listen, Rhys.

To the dreams that are answered, Feyre.

[brutal-out-here]

I just spent like 2 hours rearranging my garden/fence in Animal Crossing.... This game is going to be the end of me

I also then had to watch Bianca just flat out walk through my flowers 🙃

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Unraveling at the Seams Pt 16

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Alex Høgh Andersen/OFC, Henry Cavill/OFC Warnings: Language, Sexual Innuendo, Possible NSFW Rating: M Length: Multi Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: fingers crossed all the tags work today. 

thank you @flowers-in-your-hayr​​​​ for the header :D

Catch Up Here

Packing up their life had come with frustration and tears, in the past. Mostly from Nell, a few from Ivan, and then there was Henry. This time the only tears, so far, had come from the amounts of laughter that Ivan would induce. Once his room was nearly ready to go, the essentials remaining, Henry had convinced his son to help him start on the rest of the house. Nell had enough on her plate, packing was the least they could do.

Hour three of their morning packing, Kal and Ivan were growing restless. A sign that they needed to get out and have a good run around. A trip to the park allowing both of them to enjoy the sun was exactly the cure.

A few kids climbed on the play structure, shouting and calling to one another. Ivan recognized one or two kids from his soon to be previous school, though he didn't bother to play with them. Keeping to his dad and Kal. He'd spent time with his friends, the ones who mattered, when Henry had allowed him another sleepover with Leo and Sam.

Stoic in his actions, Ivan had thought he'd hid his tears well. Racing up the stairs and hiding in his room when his friends had gone home. Henry had done his best to hold it all together, reassuring Ivan that things would be fine and once they got settled, they would video chat his friends as much as possible.

Waving at a girl, a few inches taller and probably a year or two older, Ivan blushed and turned back to throw the ball for Kal. His actions not going unnoticed by Henry, who had been in the middle of sending Nell a photo of Ivan and Kal.

“A friend from school?” Henry stood a few feet from Ivan, waiting to intercept the ball from Kal. He'd noticed Ivan shyly letting the same girl pet Kal a few days ago.

“Uh, no. Not really. She was a peer monitor, in my class, for reading.” Ivan explained.

“Why don't you go over and say hello?”

“Nah, it's okay. She's with Kayla and I don't want to.” Shaking his head, Ivan frowned when Kal blew by him with the ball still in his mouth. “Kal, drop it. Kal!” he clapped calling the dog.  Trying to use the same deep tone his dad would. Useless.

Henry rolled his eyes, kids.

“Kal,” Henry whistled, lowering his voice to show Kal it was time to knock it off and bring the back the ball.

Ivan sighed, rubbing his hands on his shorts. Maybe nobody saw that. Silly dog.

“Dad, what do you do when you like a girl?”

A knowing smirk, Henry checked to make sure the path was clear before launching the ball and telling Kal to go get it. “What do I do? Or in general?”

“Both?”

“Well, if it were me, I'd walk over and say hi. Ask how her day was. If she had a good summer, compliment her dress. Maybe tell her a joke.” Groaning, Ivan made a suddenly disgusted face. “What is it?”

“Dad, please, never tell a girl a joke. Your jokes are terrible.”

“Hey, I will have you know my jokes are fine. It worked when I asked your mum out.”

“Mum's jokes are bad, too.” Ivan laughed at the shocked expression on his dad's face. “Jordan said Alex pestered mum until she agreed. I pester her, but she always tells me no.” He frowned.

“I don't think the pestering was the same type.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Scratching his head, Ivan let go of the dating topic. Kal slid to a stop at Ivan's side, dropping his ball and panting. Flopping to the cool grass, the big dog yawned and rested his head on his paws. “I think Kal wants to go home.”

Kal had impeccable timing, for which Henry had never been more thankful.

“I think we've worn him out, haven't we bear?” Henry stooped to collect the ball and give Kal a well deserved scratch under the chin. “He'll have loads of time to rest, once we get moved.”

“Do you think Kal would want to live with mum?”

“What do you mean?”

“She's going to be alone, maybe he could live with her? I think she'd like it,” Ivan lowered his voice, leaning in to his dad,  “and he would keep her safe.”

“I think your mum can keep herself fairly safe, but it is awfully generous of you to offer her company.” Henry ran his hand over the back of his neck, “Kal is an awful lot of work.”

Ivan shrugged, “So am I. Ms. Inglewood said so, but mum keeps me.”

“Let me talk to your mum about it, but I think Kal will probably come with us.” Henry smiled giving Kal another scratch as he leaned down to put on the dog's leash. “Speaking of mum, we need to stop in and pick up her gift.”

After days of agonizing searches, according to Ivan, they had found the perfect gift for his mum. He was proud of his purchase and couldn't wait to give it to her. Henry had told him that she was coming over this afternoon to help pack, the perfect time to give her the special present.

Unknowingly, Nell had picked her own present. She was going to be shocked, Ivan hoped she would love it.

Taking the morning to organize and rearrange a few things in the studio, per request, Nell was happy to go home. Even if it meant more packing. Since she hadn't been on set, she hadn't saw Alex in the last two days. Odd not having somebody interrupting her day, while she tried to work. Well, it was what it. Whatever it was, it was over and they were both free to move on and do as they pleased.

Armed with her favourite coffee,  two okay three brownie cookies– thank you Sophie, along enough tape and paper to wrap a life time of items Nell headed to her room to begin purging and packing her closet. Henry had neatly packed his things this morning to keep them from getting in the mess that would be tossed around the room by dinner time.

Thankful for his initiative. Nell pulled out a large suitcase, and a handful of hangers getting to work. Thirty or forty minutes in felt like a lifetime, keep on the bed. Discard on the floor by the black dresser. Packing the suitcase with some winter clothing, Nell groaned when her phone rang.

“Hi, mom.” She answered with a grunt.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, I'm fine. What's new?”

Pleasantries and informal community gossip, from both ends, out of the way Evelyn began to dive into the finer details of life. Nell listened as her mother went on about this and that, bringing her up to date with the family. Stuffing the last item into the large suitcase, Nell huffed in triumph.

“Sadie and Dave are expecting, again.” Evelyn delivered the joyful news. Her oldest daughter had so much on the go, if it was up to Sadie the baby would be two and she'd still never get around to telling her little sister.

“Oh, wow.” Nell furrowed her brow, tongue between her teeth, trying to zip her suitcase.

Ivan would be a wreck the next few months, stressing whether his new cousin would dethrone him as the only boy. He took his place with great pride.

“Is that all you have to say?” Evelyn chastised her youngest daughter. “I tell you some good news and all I get from you is sarcasm?”

Short of sitting on the suitcase, Nell sighed, shifting her phone and rolling her eyes. “No, mom. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way. I meant oh! Wow! Good for them! Yay, they must be so excited.” She lifted her voice, faking her best enthusiasm.

“Really, Janelle. You're incorrigible.”  

“I'm sorry, really, but Sadie having another baby isn't on my list of priorities right now.” Rubbing her hand against her forehead, Nell braced herself for the lecture.

The sigh on the other end of the phone told her it was coming. 5. she waited, 4. Nell shook her head 3...2 -

“I know that you have a lot going on.” 1. “It wouldn't kill you to think of somebody else's happiness for two seconds. I expect you to at least send her a nice card. One that you've put some thought into.”

“She's my sister, of course I'll send her a nice card. I was planning to send her a nice gift too, or would that be too much like being nice?” Nell scoffed, “Mom, I'm happy for her. Really, I am. It's just...” she pinched the bridge  of her nose. “Ivan's moving in with Henry and I'm heading to Hungary to work. We're trying to find our own balance and things here are crazy.”

Silence, followed by a slight hitch in Evelyn's breath. Nell sat on the side of the bed, glaring at the offending suitcase. She would conquer that beast.

“Ivan is moving in with Henry, when? Why?”

So Henry hadn't said anything. For once he had left something for Nell to report to her mother. There was a first time for everything.

“They're leaving next week. I decided that it would be best, if Ivan was with Henry for a while. It may make moving easier. You know how he hates to move.”

“What about the new job Henry's taking? He won't have time for Ivan, too. Are you sure this is the right thing, Nelly?”

“Yes, I am.” Sitting straighter, Nell lifted her chin in confidence. “Henry and Ivan are on board, it's good to go. I'll be there, too. Well, not there there, but I'll be in Budapest if they need me and it's only as long as Ivan wants. He's free to move houses however he pleases.”

“You took the job with Henry, then?”

“I never said anything about my new job,” Nell frowned. Fucking Henry.

“Henry mentioned it, back when he told me that he was going there to work. He asked if it would be too overbearing and desperate, if he offered you the job. He said he wanted the best person for the job and you were the only person he could think of. I told him to go with his gut. Nothing more.” Evelyn's tone was softer, as she explained her role in all of this. “I'm happy that you took it. It's a great job and I know you'll so, so well.”

Biting her bottom lip, Nell sat silent for a moment. As much as she wanted to be mad at Henry for giving away her news, how could she argue with a compliment like that?

“Thanks, mom.”

Inhaling deeply, Nell could practically hear her mother smile. “Your father and I have never been to Hungary. We did France, Germany, Austria, and Switzerland one year though. It was right before we found out we were having your brother and sister. Gorgeous countries.”

“Once we're settled and things are running smooth, I am sure Henry and Ivan would love to have you.”

“I'm sure they would, but what about you?”

“Not that I don't want you, but I suspect Henry will have a bigger space. I mean, he's got Ivan and Kal. Plus I'm just the lady making sure he's dressed on screen. I'll be lucky to get a one room with a cupboard to stick Ivan in when he comes over.” Nell smirked, laughing slightly.

“Go on with ya, Nelly. Sticking that poor boy in the cupboard.” Evelyn laughed along with her daughter.

“Yeah, you're right. He's nearly too tall.”

“We miss him, you know. We miss you, too. Once things are settled, I do want to come see you. I know it's hard to get home right now.” Evelyn settled the jokes, turning on her serious mothering side.

“I'm going to try and come home for Christmas. I don't know what Ivan will want to do, but you could always come over for his birthday. He'd love that.”

“I'll talk to your father and maybe we will come surprise him. As for Christmas, we'll talk about that when it gets closer.” Evelyn concluded, telling Nell that she would talk with her later. Sending her love and to make sure Ivan gave her a call, sometimes soon.

Packing and purging, Nell was into a rhythm by the time Henry showed up. In the bedroom, Nell was placed in the middle of the floor, a box on one side and items to be packed on the other. Her closet nearly empty, she had a large pile of clothing by the dresser ready to be sent off to good will. Boxes and two suitcases sitting in the closet, where there had once been hanging clothes.

“Wow, you have a lot packed.” Henry whistled taking a look around the room. “I'm impressed.”

“No sense wasting time.” Nell shrugged tucking another wrapped trinket in the box. She'd made the decision to ship and store most of their belongings in London. She had a storage locker there, which would soon be restocked and left while she and Ivan went on their next adventure.

“I couldn't agree more, but you could have waited. I don't mind helping.” Henry grabbed the roll of paper, cutting off a few pieces to help pack.

“Ah well, I decided that I needed to do something, keep my mind busy.”

“How so?” Henry sat on his knees, taking a pause from his new job.

“Life. Things.” Shrugging, Nell took the next item to be wrapped from the pile. “I talked to my mom, this afternoon.”

“How are things with your parents?” Henry hadn't spoke to them, beyond asking Walt for help with dinner.

“My sister is having another baby,” Nell made conversation.

“Huh, good for them.”

“I suppose.” Nell shrugged. “Mom and dad want to come over for Ivan's birthday, as well.”

“That would be fantastic. I was thinking of asking mum and dad to come visit around then.”

“We could have a small birthday for him. He'd like that. Of course grandparents aren't the same as kids, but it will be nice.”

“I'm sure he'll have some new mates in no time. We can have a Sunday tea for family. Maybe a Saturday afternoon for friends?”

“Sounds great.”

Reaching for the tape, Nell held the box shut, while Henry laid a few strips of the packing tape across the top. Since he had briefly chatted with her earlier in the day, her mood had shifted.

“Mom said that you told her about the job. How you wanted to ask me.”

“I did,” Henry confessed. “I wanted to make sure I wasn't crazy in asking.”

“Why did you really ask me, Henry?” Staring at the tape in her hands, Nell blinked hard.

Sitting back, Henry rubbed his chin, a light stubble beginning to grow. “I wanted the best person for the job. I know that you won't admit it, but you're every bit the geek I am and I wanted someone who I could trust to get every detail right.”

Rolling her eyes, Nell cleared her throat, the tape still the most fascinating thing in the world. “Projects like this have insane resources, I doubt you needed me.”

“Maybe I wanted you?” Henry cocked his head, his brow knit as he searched for some kind of justification. “Nell, I have told you before, you are the right person for the job. No hidden agenda. You're good at what you do, I can trust you, and this has potential to be more than one job. What is so wrong, with surrounding myself in people who are excellent at what they do?”

Shifting around, Nell swung her legs out from under her, extending the distance between her and Henry. Curling her toes, she looked at the pale pink polish. Wiggling her toes at Henry, she smirked.

“I can't believe you asked my mom.”

“I happen to respect her opinion.” Henry grinned. Tapping the top of her right foot, he moved to sit cross legged on the floor. A nearly impossible feat given how big his damn legs were. “More than once I have asked your mother for advice.”

“She is good at giving it straight and she does adore you.” Nell moved her foot away from Henry, his fingers absentmindedly stroking over the top, lightly up her ankle.

“Are you happy?” Turning to look at Nell face on, Henry asked the question.

“Why wouldn't I be happy? I mean, there isn't anything for me to be unhappy about.”  Nell sat on the floor, scanning the things that still needed to be boxed and ready to move. A break wouldn't hurt. “Are you happy?”

“Sometimes.” Henry confessed. “Do you ever wonder, if we'd stayed...”

“Don't. No. Please, don't do that.” Nell shook her head. She was not in the right frame of mind to play this game. Henry turned his head, blinking a few times, he scrunched up his face. “I think about it more than I should and we don't need to argue, not today.”

“That is a fair point.” Henry agreed. Blowing out a breath, he puffed out his cheeks, tapping his thighs in an anxious manner.

“If it makes any difference,” Nell paused, picking up a photo frame to wrap, “I have a failed relationship because  of us.”

Henry had several. It wasn't a competition.

“Alex thought that, never mind.”

“Was Alex really a relationship?” Arching his brow, Henry pursed his lips. “I mean, it wasn't nothing, but was it really all that?”

“Yes. Maybe. I don't know.” Nell's shoulders sagged in defeat. “Part of his reason for it being over, was because he thinks you and I are still in love.” She laughed lightly. “How insane does that sound?”

“Huh,” followed by a subdued laugh, Henry reached for the next empty box dragging it closer.

Wrapping and packing this and that, Henry didn't continue the conversation. Silently, he did his job, allowing himself to process whatever other issues would have risen, if they had continued.

Some day they would sit and have a very long, very tough, very emotion filled discussion. Today was not that day.

“When we're done here, Ivan has something he wants you to see. By the way. He and Kal went over to hang out with Sophie.” Henry broke the silence after several moments of packing without a word.

“Why don't you run over and get them, I can finish this.” Nell smiled weakly.

The air in the room was lifted, the unspoken thoughts and feelings vanished with Henry. Cleaning up the pile of boxes, tape, and various packing materials Nell dusted her hands off on her pants. She hadn't noticed the time, sending Henry to collect Ivan and Kal had been a better idea than known.

A short visit with Ivan and Nell would be off to her hotel, surely Henry and Ivan would want her to stay for dinner, which is why she had come up with the excuse that she had some work to do and wanted to get back before it was too late.

Downstairs the door opened and chaos entered.

“Mum, momma, mum.” Ivan chanted rushing into the house.

“I'm coming,” Nell called from the stairs.

Barely off the bottom step, Ivan rushed her.

“Hi.” he wrapped his arms around Nell's waist.

“Well hello, Wild boy.” Nell smiled hugging him to her side. “How was your day?”

“It was good. Dad and I went to the park and then we went to get this,” Ivan took the bag Henry had been holding. Fishing out the neatly wrapped box, he extended it to his mother.

“This is from you?” Raising her brow, Nell took the box from Ivan, who was nodding eagerly.

“I picked it myself. In case you miss me. I didn't want you to be sad. Open it.”

Nell was going to miss the whirlwind of energy that her son brought everywhere. Thankfully they would be in the same city and she could see him, whenever she wanted.

“Aren't you sweet? Okay,” Nell smiled, gently pulling the bow off of the brightly coloured box. “Ivan.” she cooed, revealing the horizontal hanging bar necklace. The same one she had mentioned liking shortly before her birthday, then again before Mother's Day.

“Read it, read it.” Ivan urged.

“Love, Ivan.” Nell read the words engraved across the front of the white gold bar.

“I wrote that and then the lady put it on the necklace.” He bounced in place, like a rocket ship ready to launch. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, wild boy.”

“I wanted to get you a car, but dad said you didn't need an Aston Martin. So we got you this.”

“Thank you and your dad is absolutely right, I love this way more than a car.” Nell kissed the top of his head. “I love you, way more than anything.”

“Dad, too?” Ivan wiggled his way out of his mother's hug. Looking up, blinking at his mom, he looked quickly to Henry.

A deer in the headlights, Henry shook his head.

“Dad and Kal, both.”

Glancing over his shoulder at Henry, Ivan smiled, his eyes bright. His silent “told ya so.” more than evident.

@shannygoatgruff @funmadnessandbadassvikings @kawennote09 @smutgoblin  @nickysurfer28 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @lif3snotouttogetyou@akamaiden @angelaiswriting @peaceisadirtyword @titty-teetee @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @ilvebeenabad @naaladareia @tephi101 @sdcyumyum @unacceptabletatertots @imgoldielikehawn  @smolasianwinterbean  @capitanostella  @bloodyivar   @normanallthewayforever   @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme  @imyourliquor-youremypoison @nikky-the-writer   @seremedyxiii @laketaj24  @deleteidentity @tornupandbored  @hoeghfabulous  @ateliefloresdaprimavera @mydarlingwhim   @kenzieam   @captstefanbrandt @jar-of-love @angelswannawearmyredshooz @manuugxlvis   @lostinmythoughs  @ivars-snowflake   @lisinfleur  @nothingeverdies @fumblingthroughchaos @pebblesz892  @nelson-and-murdock   @bluearchersstuff  @itsspecial-itsnotforeveryone  @ivarlothbroks @badassbaker @cris101071 @fucktrucks @ohjules  @angelic-kisses13 @marthasantos95  @hows-my-hair @omgshuddupmeg @moviegirl50 @havenoffandoms @gearhead66 @happydaysandersen @rekdreams-fandom @lovemylife2618  @mrsadrianraines @supernaturalvikingwhore @heavenly1927 @zoe-rachel-crisp @blogandreea11 @shileen91 @geekandbooknerd @mzliterarydreamer​ @youbloodymadgenius @ainatirb-j @carlya65 @sawendel @sinflowersugar​ @magic-and-the-macabre​ @artemiseamoon​ @vicmackeybullshxt​ @flowerthug​ @henchry​  @littlefreya​ @mitzwinchester​ @lostinthoughtsandfeelings​ @h-e-a-v-y-l-e-a-t-h-e-r​ @dogshemp​  @mytbel0st​ @peakygroupie​ @magdelen69​ @s-ravenall​  @viking-raider​ @sciapod​ @intototaloblivion​ @hcfavoritegal​ @didiintheblog​ @daniig95​ @badwolf-in-the-impala​ @mariahill2001​ @charlieferret​ @michelle-1185​ @henryfanfics101​ @agniavateira​ @oqueequesentes-borboletas​ @mis-lil-red​ @anndreaae​ @dearlybelovedluke​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​ @tinychemicals​ @mary-ann84​ @townmoondaltwistle​ @buckysgoldenheart​ @thethirstyarchive​ @meowpurrbooks​  @hell1129-blog​ @nuns-and-roses​ @vikingsbifrost​ @comboboo​ @onlyhenrys​ @obsessedwithcavill​ @hnryycvll​ @lebguardians​ @newfanhasenteredthechat​ @leilabeaux​ @cherrybloomn​

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[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

One Hundred Days - Good Omens Fic

Another fic for @bingokisses - Part 1 fills the prompt “Back of the Head kiss/Knees Brushing under the Table.” For once, just some nice easy fluff, little bit of anxiety, and happy ending (in part 2). Also available on AO3!

Part 1: The First Fifty Days

The first night at the South Downs cottage, Aziraphale cooked dinner while Crowley finished setting things up on the upper floor. It had been ages since he’d cooked anything that wasn’t a pastry, but pasta was simple enough, and salad, and…well, rather more dinner rolls than two beings needed, but he’d had more time than expected.

They ate and talked for hours, neither quite believing that they had done it, that they were in their place. Their home. Sometimes, Aziraphale would hold Crowley’s eyes a little too long and need to look away, waiting for his heart to settle down again.

He kept glancing around, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. That they were exposed, that someone was watching, that something was about to happen, though he couldn’t say what. But no – only the long wooden table, the stone fireplace, the steps leading upstairs, dark carpet on pale wood.

He shivered anyway.

“Alright, Angel?”

Breathe, Aziraphale told himself and took another sip of wine. All night, his feet and his knees had brushed Crowley’s under the table. It was daring, and thrilling, and more than a little terrifying.

“Perfectly fine, Crowley.” The bread rolls had gone cool hours ago, but Aziraphale reached for one anyway, tugging at it with his fingers. “I was wondering what…what you…planned to do? Once we’re all unpacked and such?”

They should have discussed it more. Wasn’t that what humans did? Spend weeks and months talking about what sort of home they want, what sort of life, dreaming of what moving in together will be like. Making sure their dreams matched up, their expectations.

They didn’t buy cottages – in the middle of a forest, no less, half a mile from the nearest village – without considering questions of…of hobbies, and use of space and…and living arrangements. They certainly didn’t take such a step without…defining their relationships.

Three weeks. Six thousand years and then some of dancing around certain emotions, certain thoughts, and somehow Aziraphale had thought three weeks was enough time to plan such a drastic change?

“The garden.” Crowley nodded towards the window, but the sun had gone down and all either of them could see was his reflection. “Plenty needs to be cleared out. Maybe lay a new path. And the planting – not a lot of options for fall blooms, but some of the best spring flowers should be planted now.”

“Where would you start?”

Crowley tapped his fingers on the table. “Have to see what that garden shop in the village has. Tulip bulbs for certain, they need time to settle in before the cold. Daffodils or geraniums. Scilla, crocus, maybe fritillaria. Snowdrops, I think.”

“That all sounds…” Aziraphale glanced at the potted plants in the windows and the corners, the remnants of Crowley’s flat. All were tall, lush, and unvaryingly green. “Sounds very colourful.”

“Thinking of experimenting.” Crowley shrugged. “It’s a challenge. They need different soils, different amounts of sunlight, different watering schedules. And you always have to be thinking about the next season, and the next.”

“Seems like a great deal of work.”

“Only if the flowers try to be disobedient brats.” Crowley shifted his fork around his empty plate. “Might get some more trees, too. S’a good time to plant saplings.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale smiled just a little. “Apple trees?”

“Well…maybe,” Crowley grudgingly admitted, with that particular frown that was also a sort of smile. “Pears, too.”

“It would be nice to have some fresh fruit next fall.”

“Nah. Takes years for the trees to be ready, maybe a decade.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale glanced out the window now himself, trying to remember what the garden looked like. They really should have spent more time preparing, studying, learning the ins and outs of this cottage. A few days of feverishly sketched plans over bottles of wine. Hardly anything at all. “Well. I suppose I’ll be buying my fruit from the market, then. A few trees might be nice, eventually, though. If you’re willing to put in the work.”

“Nmmmh.” Crowley arched his back until it popped. “Speaking of hard manual labor, I think it’s bedtime.”

Aziraphale’s head whipped back around. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Crowley pushed to his feet, “I’ve been moving two-stone boxes of books all day and we’re not even half done. You want to order me around again tomorrow, I need some sleep first.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s stomach turned to ice. His eyes flicked to the stairs, remembering how he’d rushed down them to start on dinner that afternoon. “Oh, I – I – I, you know, I still have to – to clean all the dishes and – and pots and pans – there’s so much to do…”

The tall, dark form rounded the table quicker than he expected, and Aziraphale tensed – but Crowley merely stepped behind his chair and gently kissed the back of his head. “Take your time, Aziraphale.”

“I…” He shredded the bread roll in his hands. “I…think you…you’ll regret saying that.”

“Never. I mean it.” One more kiss, quick pressure on the back of his head. “Take all the time you need.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Good night, Angel.”

The stairs creaked under his feet as he went up without another word.

On the second night, Aziraphale served mushroom risotto. It wasn’t the only thing he’d cooked that day – he’d been secluded in the kitchen since before Crowley rose, trying every challenging recipe he could think of. The bins were filled with burnt croissants and raw beef and a baked Alaska that had gone horribly wrong.

“You planning to cook that much every day?” was all Crowley asked, as they settled back in their seats after dinner. “You could probably feed the whole village with all that.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale glanced guiltily at the kitchen. “I suppose…I mean, it certainly fills the time, doesn’t it?”

Crowley tossed his head, the way he did when he was thinking, and his growing hair swirled around him in a red cloud. “I mean, yes, I suppose it does. But. Is that what you want? To fill time?”

“I’m not sure what else there is to do,” Aziraphale said. “Not much of a theater scene out here, no museums, no restaurants, no customers.”

“Do you miss the city?” He asked it a little too fast, and Aziraphale’s stomach clenched with even more guilt.

“No, dear, of course not. I just…well, I’ve been there so long…I’ve rather forgotten what there is to do out in the country. But I know I must keep myself busy.”

“Only if you like.” Crowley turned his plate. “We should be done with the big items tomorrow. I’ll be able to start the garden and…just, do whatever makes you happy, alright?”

They continued for hours. They seemed to have run out of the excitement of yesterday’s conversation, and now alternated between awkward chatter and pauses so long, Aziraphale feared they’d run out of things to talk about and would remain silent forever.

Finally, Crowley stood. “Better get some sleep,” he said, stretching.

“Oh! Is it – is it really that late?” Aziraphale glanced at the clock in a panic. “Oh, drat, there was, you know, so much more I meant to do today.” Crowley started walking around the table. “I – I – I mean, as you said, I wasted quite a good deal of food, a few miracles ought to put it all back into its original state and – and perhaps I can donate—”

Crowley paused behind his chair, and kissed the back of his head. Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to memorise it, the feel of Crowley’s lips and breath stirring his hair. They hadn’t really decided if their new partnership would involve kissing, or hand holding, or…other things of that nature. They’d done a few anxious experiments, made rather more assumptions and…never really articulated anything.

But this…Aziraphale thought he might like this.

“Good night, Angel.” A quick shoulder squeeze, and Crowley headed up, stairs creaking under every step.

 On the fifth night, Aziraphale stopped making excuses. It was starting to feel silly, as Crowley never acknowledged them anyway. When Crowley rose from the table, he simply said, “Pleasant dreams, my dear.”

“Always.” A quick kiss to the back of the head. “Good night, Angel.”

 By the tenth night, nearly everything had been unpacked and put into some semblance of order.

They’d spent two hours rearranging Aziraphale’s armchairs, carrying them up and down the stairs as he decided which would go in the study, which in the living room. When Aziraphale was satisfied, Crowley had gone outside, leaving him to rearrange his books in peace.

Aziraphale soon discovered that, with the window open, he could hear the sound of footsteps in the garden, of spade into earth, of a grumbling, threatening lecture delivered to each sapling before it was lowered into its new permanent spot. It was a comfortable sort of background noise, and Aziraphale smiled as he worked.

There was a second door on the upper floor, across the hall from his study. Aziraphale did his best not to glance at it all throughout the day.

After supper, they moved into the sitting room, Crowley sprawling on the sofa, Aziraphale comfortable in his favorite armchair. They talked, glanced at each other, smiled. Crowley played with his mobile phone while Aziraphale flipped idly through a book.

“How was the village?” Aziraphale wondered, since Crowley had finally made it out to the plant shop.

“S’alright. They’ve got a bakery you’d like. And the market.”

“Mmmm.” They’d visited a thousand villages and towns together through the years, yet somehow the thought of walking together through this one in particular made Aziraphale feel cold.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He wasn’t sure when that might be.

They sat in silence for a little while longer. At least Aziraphale no longer worried it would last forever.

When the demon abruptly stood up, Aziraphale’s fingers only twitched a little, curling around the pages of his book. “Well, that’s it for me tonight.”

“Of course.” He stared fixedly at the page. “Have a good rest.”

“I will.” A kiss on top of the head, almost absent in its familiarity. “Good night, Angel.”

 On the twenty-third night, Aziraphale waited for the Good night, Angel, then grabbed Crowley’s hand, a little too fast, perhaps. Studied it. Crowley had been in the garden all day, and the dirt was still there in the beds of his nails, his hair probably thick with sweat. Aziraphale rolled Crowley’s hand over, studying the lines, the shapes of his fingers, the length of his palm.

Finally, he gave it a squeeze. “Good night, Crowley.”

Perhaps there was something more he should do. Kiss the knuckles. Brush them against his cheek. Something.

But it all seemed so…much.

Every night, then, he simply gave Crowley’s hand a squeeze, and received a smile in return.

The thirty-second night, they returned to the cottage late. The weather had been just right for a walk through the woods, which had turned into a walk to the village, followed by dinner at the little restaurant, and ultimately Aziraphale trading recipes with the chef over a glass of wine.

Crowley had waited patiently, almost-smiling, and they’d finally started the walk back under the stars.

“Did you have fun?” Crowley asked, walking beside him, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling between them. “The walk? The village?”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale conceded. “I must try this squash au vin recipe soon. And it is…rather pleasant out here.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale was suddenly very aware of the forest, the brilliant stars, and his proximity to Crowley. “Hmmm. But I’d like to get back and finish reading, if you don’t mind. Rather a lot of lost...reading time.”

“Yeah.” Crowley tucked his loose hand into his pocket.

Aziraphale didn’t read, though, when they returned. He held a book on his lap as they sipped wine, talking about places they’d visited through the years. Then Crowley mentioned that time they’d run into each other at a performance by Mozart – one bottle of wine turned into three – and a great deal of reminiscing ensued.

When, more than a little after midnight, Crowley finally stood to head upstairs, he paused to give Aziraphale’s forehead a clumsy kiss. “Night, Angel.”

Aziraphale gave his hand an easy squeeze, and they smiled at each other without restraint. “Good night, dear.”

 On the forty-eighth night, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and didn’t let go.

He wasn’t sure why. They had a rhythm now, a pattern, something sustainable.

Almost sustainable.

Aziraphale still never went upstairs after dark, still never looked at the door across from his study.

On some level, he knew what he needed to do.

They both waited, countless seconds, for the other to speak. But Aziraphale had lost his voice, and Crowley’s expression was as masked behind the glasses as it had been for many centuries.

The cottage was utterly silent, except for the ticking of the clock.

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale swallowed. “Good night, dear.”

“Good night, Angel,” Crowley said for the second time, and Aziraphale finally relinquished his hand, heart racing.

But on the fiftieth night, fingers wrapped tightly around Crowley’s, on the fiftieth night, Aziraphale stood up, on the fiftieth night he let Crowley lead him up the stairs. He trailed slightly behind, hand clutching the bannister as they ascended, noticing how much heavier the creaks were under his own feet.

At the top of the stairs, Crowley turned right, away from the study, and pushed open the other door, the one Aziraphale could never quite bring himself to walk through, and—

The bedroom was just as they’d arranged it, fifty days before. Heavy red curtains, cream area rug over dark wood, bed in the center of one wall, an end table on either side.

The tartan pillow still lay at a skewed angle, exactly where Aziraphale had dropped it when the sudden panic took him, the sudden realisation of what they were doing, and it was all too much, too fast, and good lord, here he was again, what was he thinking?

Crowley led him to the left side of the bed, the side nearest the door, with black pillowcases and the down duvet slightly rumpled. Pulled his glasses off, and at the first sight of golden eyes, Aziraphale pulled back, eyes slamming shut, hand clenching, seizing up. Crowley snapped his fingers—

Then, for a long time, nothing happened.

Aziraphale finally, cautiously opened his eyes, to find Crowley in black pyjamas, watching him.

When Aziraphale nearly met his gaze, Crowley half-smiled, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Angel.”

Crowley dropped his hand and climbed under the duvet.

But Aziraphale stood stock still. Now that he was here what was he supposed to do? Fifty days and nights, he should have had a plan but here he was, still just as afraid as the day they’d arrived.

Crowley’s voice, a little rough, with that curious burr in it: “S’alright, Aziraphale. Take your time.”

“But…But it’s already been…” He looked around the room, the one room they’d discussed all night in his bookshop, all the papers they needed to buy their cottage piled on the desk between them. The room they’d breathlessly planned, whispers escaping uncertain lips and bright red faces.

It certainly looked as though it had been planned by two drunken fools with no idea what to do with a cottage, the most atrociously mismatched combination of colours and styles.

But it was all here. The little shelf to hold his favorite books, the electric kettle for if he wanted tea in the night. The overstuffed rocking chairs by the largest window, overlooking the corner of the garden with the little duck pond. The planters lining the rest of the windows, filled with sweet-smelling herbs. The record player, Crowley’s awful music already organised in the stand below it while Aziraphale’s awaited him in a box nearby.

It was a jumble, a mess, it was everything that represented their life together.

And he wanted this life. He truly did. But it had all come too quickly, too suddenly, he wasn’t ready—

“Aziraphale.” Their eyes finally met. “Don’t worry. Take all the time you need.”

He hung his head, burning with shame. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” He could feel Crowley watching him, but didn’t dare look up. “I…I mean, look. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

After several more breaths, Aziraphale gathered his courage, stepped forward, and pulled the duvet up to Crowley’s chin. Bent down, lips hovering just shy of Crowley’s forehead, his breath stirring crimson strands. “Good night, dear.” His courage broke, and he fled the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Good night, Angel,” muffled but still as gentle as ever.

--

Part 2 to be posted on Wednesday. If you enjoyed, please drop a comment on AO3!

[oumaheroes]

Earthbound 2/?

Summary:

Centuries after humanity fled a dying Earth and found sanctuary in the stars, the planet has healed enough to support mankind once more. For some, there is something more than curiosity; memories from another life whisper history in familiar voices, calling them home.

 'He closes his eyes and thinks about blue flowers and large statues of stone, of ships and red coats flapping over a green meadow.'

Part 1

Part 3

AO3

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                  Chapter 2: Journey to Neverland

Morning comes, and Alfred finds himself huddled on the floor of a toilet stall. He was fine up till very recently, having spent the previous night occupied with travelling to where his ship was docked via his dome's rather old shuttle bus. The covers of the seat of the bus had been cracked with age and Alfred had absent mindedly picked at the stuffing whilst he watched his childhood home zip by in a blur of dusty yellow before slipping away into the distance. The Earth-bound ship, his new home for now, was very different in comparison to anything he'd ever seen on the planet before, all bold, sleek lines of monochrome with bright lights and shiny windows that hadn't yet been smeared opaque by the atmosphere. It was exciting, it was different; it was like a dream coming true because there in front of him had been something which represented a future, a very large representation of the possibilities he could find.

He queued up to board and was assigned his room all within the space of a hour and Alfred had quickly unpacked with a frenzy of excitement in his small room. His room mate, a small, quiet man called Kiku, had watched the sudden chaos with an unreadable expression from the bunk he'd retreated to with a book after he had introduced himself. For Alfred, that was all easy. That was all doing something, there was a plan and it needed action and Alfred lost himself in the motions.

But then he'd run out of things to do. Kiku had watched him from the corner of his eye as Alfred grew progressively more anxious, rearranging his things, standing up to stare out of the window, sitting down to his laptop, getting up again, all whilst the feeling of panic took root and bloomed in his chest. It was now, with an empty task list and hours to wait before take off, that Alfred suddenly understood what exactly it was he had just done and was in the process of doing.

He had excused himself for a walk but hadn't got far before all of his anxiety came to a head and he needed to get away from all of the people, away from the windows where he could see the landscape he'd soon be leaving behind without knowing if he'd ever see it again and away from the exits and doors, most of all, because he was half scared that he'd just walk out of one.

He chose the first bathroom he came to and squashed himself on the floors in a stall, pillowing his head in his arms as he squeezed, and still squeezes, his knees in a desperate attempt to calm down and rationalise.

Breathe.

He extracts an arm from where it is hooked under his knee and glances at his watch. It is 10.38am. By now, he should be at work. By now, his parents would be up and assume he is where he is supposed to be, at work now themselves. It took him five hours to get to the ship, so he has until 12pm to board a bus back and get home before them, to pretend that nothing had happened. He has until 12pm before whatever choice he makes becomes the only one he has left. If his parents were to find out, if they were to know where he plans on going or if his job were to get wind of what he is doing then he doesn't think there will be any chance of fixing it completely. His boss and colleagues would consider him a flight risk and which would ruin his chances at moving up the career ladder, his parents would be broken hearted that he had thought about leaving in the first place, not even adding on the hurt that he didn't plan on saying goodbye, and he knows that if he goes home to talk about it with them he'd be talked out of it instantly. He doesn't even think that he'd put up much of a fight.

Alfred buries his face back into his knees and bites on his cheeks, not hard enough to draw blood or cause any real pain but enough for him to focus on. What was he doing? Was he really going to throw his whole life away, all of what he'd built and all of what he could have, just like this? On a whim? Because that's what this is, a whim, and he knows it. What if there is nothing waiting for him on earth, what if there isn't anyone who wants him to work in history, what if he can't settle in or make friends or get enough money together to try again; is it worth the risk?

He hears the door to the bathroom open and he stills, breathing slowly through his mouth before carefully going to uncurl himself and move to the toilet where his feet won't be seen.

He's too late. The footsteps of the other person stop on front of the mirrors over the sinks but they quickly start moving again, towards where he's hiding. The footsteps slow down before coming to a stop in front of his door and Alfred watches as the person shifts their weight from one foot to the other, as if they're deciding what to do.

'Hello?' They say in a soft, tentative voice. Alfred knows it's stupid, because the other person, a young man by the sounds of it, obviously knows that he's here, but for a second he thinks that maybe if he doesn't say anything they won't notice him.

'Um, are you okay?' Still Alfred doesn't answer and watches as the person outside his door shifts to the other foot.

'Do you need me to get anyone, or anything?'

'No,' he surprises himself by answering and without his self-control his voice catches before he's able to stop it. He forces himself to speak again, more normally, 'I'll be alright, but thanks! Just ah... just needed to get away for a bit.'

'Cool uh, okay. Me too, you know? It's a lot to think about.'

It's hard to keep up a conversation when one of the participants in locked in a toilet but the other man has that small wobble in his voice that Alfred is trying to cover up in his own and he realises that this guy isn't going to go away any time soon. So, legs beginning to cramp anyway, he shakily gets to his feet and unlocks the door.

The other man is his height and seems to be his age, with shoulder length, wavy blond hair and large round glasses perched on his nose. They're slipping, and he pushes them up as Alfred emerges.

He gives a small smile. 'Hey, glad you're alright. I didn't know whether to disturb you or not, if I'm honest.'

Alfred shakes his and sticks out his hand for the other to take. 'Nah, I'm glad that you did. I was talking myself round in circles in there.'

The man takes it and gives it a quick shake. 'I know the feeling, bit crazy this, eh? I'm Matthew.'

'Alfred.'

Matthew nods at him. 'Nice to meet you. You here with anyone?'

He obviously doesn't mean the bathroom and Alfred swallows the hot flash of loneliness and regret that makes itself known in his throat. 'Nope, all alone! You?'

Matthew ducks his head and shifts his feet again. 'Same.'

'Do you...' Alfred pauses, uncertain if he wants to hear the answer, but he heard the wobble in Matthew's voice and he must be Alfred's age; he must be worried about similar things to what Alfred is so he presses on, 'Can I ask you something kinda personal? Do you think we're doing the right thing, leaving here? I mean it's a long way away and everything and it's not like there's an easy way back.'

Matthew blinks at him and takes a long breath in before answering with a voice filled with unexpected finality. 'Yeah. I mean, I don't know what your reasons are, of course, or what you're giving up, but-' He stares at the spot between Alfred's eyes and continues, 'but we're going to Earth, even if it goes horribly wrong or we don't get what we're going there for, it's Earth, isn't it? It's worth a try.'

It's what Alfred wanted to hear, it's the validation of his selfishness that he needed but it doesn't quite soothe his concerns as much as he had hoped.

Matthew must have noticed, because he tries again, sounding slightly panicked, 'I'm sure you'll be fine though, whatever happens! I mean, I'm going there because I'm hoping to work with all of the animals they've got; my parents warned me that they won't care about that and will probably put me to work on a farm or something but as long as you're fit to work they're not gonna turn us away, right?'

Alfred fights down the euphoric glee trying to become a grin on his face and instead says, 'Yeah, but farms have animals too, right?'

Matthew laughs. 'I bet I'll get trodden to death by a cow.'

Alfred claps him on the back. 'Hey, that sounds like a great way to go! Don't worry, man, I'll write home for you and say it was a elephant, or something. You know, keep your street cred up.'

Matthew rolls his eyes and grins at him. As he jabbers about the elephants that used to live on Earth before the Fall, later on in one of the canteens on their deck where they go for lunch, Alfred notices the clock hit 12 and feels nothing but excitement.

He'll be fine.

……………………………………………………………………

Peter is twelve, and the trip is finally coming to an end. It's been so many years, here on the ship, that if not for the books and videos he sees in school he would have forgotten how the domes and living stations from his home planet looked, now far far away. He thought that he was prepared for the sight of Earth, their species' old home world, he's seen so many photos of it that all he needs to do is hear the name to have it brought up in his mind, as detailed and as clear as anything he's seen with his own eyes. But, nothing could have prepared him for the real thing.

He is sitting in the corridor outside his living quarters. Mum and Dad are arguing, again, and he doesn't really want to be in there right now because he knows that as soon as they see him they'll pretend that nothing's the matter and he thinks that that's probably worse. With a sigh, he gets up, floor too hard to actually sit on for long periods, and goes for a wander around his 'neighbourhood'. As he passes doors of the others living here he wonders what kind of families live inside them: a mum and her kids, an elderly couple, someone young looking for something new, or maybe they're just like him, dragged here because their planet couldn't support them and they took a chance at building something better. A split family with barely anything to their name hurtling towards an unknown utopia.

It's been hard to get news of Earth and of the colony they'll be joining, when their ship stops only to refuel itself, but apparently it's going well. This is a comfort, at least, because not much else is these days. Some people live on space stations or spaceships and nothing else and although Peter finds an odd sort of comfort being surrounded by metal his parents, and many others, do not. Fights and spats amongst the passengers and crew have been increasing in the last few months, especially once everyone knew that they were getting close to the end of the flight. The ship they're on isn't even that small, so maybe it's not cabin fever after all and more impatience that drives the tempers high and tolerance down.

As he gets to a plaza of sorts, (the town square, as it is affectionately known,) he notices a huddle of people clambering over each other to reach and get a look out of the large, expansive windows there. Deciding against trying to force his way through the excited mass he goes forward and off to the side of the huddle to a smaller porthole and gazes out curiously.

What he sees is spellbinding, unlike anything he has ever seen before. It is not difficult to understand what is so interesting. Amongst the glittering, never-ending stars lies the Earth, shining bright and blue and all of a sudden Peter forgets how to breathe. It's blue, more blue than it ever was in the photos from his school books, there are swirls and blurs of greens and browns and whites mixed in all together but there is blue blue blue. In no picture did it ever look like this, earth was brown and dead and dry, this wasn't Earth. This wasn't the home humans had ruined, this wasn't what they had left behind. This, this couldn't be Earth, couldn't be his new home because there was so much water and-

Peter is jostled, another boy has pushed him away from the window where he had pressed his face close to the glass to see -his breath still mists the glass- but now he can only see the inky blackness of space from behind the boy's head and so he ducks away from the crowd of bodies and goes off in search of his parents, heart pounding furiously in his ears.

……………………………………………………………………

Francis, and the people he is with, are the first who will arrive on Earth. Their ship will get there the fastest and thus all aboard will be trained in a skill necessary to facilitate the setting up and maintenance of the first colony, distinct from the research bases already dotted about there. His mother must have known, because every adult he encounters are all young and healthy with intelligence and passion. There seems to be a entry requirement, because there are people from other planets besides his own that share the same qualities and all see to be formally trained, in one way or another. For the first time, he is grateful for his drafting.

Francis is happy to learn that he can pick what he wants to learn, out of the options that are available to him, and he chooses geology. The study of the soil and its chemistry isn't what he ever foresaw himself doing, but it seems to fit, somehow. As he learns about the tectonic movements of the earth, how the structure of the planet operates and how this in turn can affect and be affected by the weather, he feels like he's becoming a part of something once more. There is a goal at last, a purpose, and though he still feels as though there's something missing from his life the feeling is lessened by simply working past it; there is something to focus on.

It is lessened more so, maybe, by Arthur. Arthur is the unfortunate man assigned to share Francis' room, sleeping in the bunk above his, and specialising in agriculture. He wants to see the sea, has always wanted to see the sea, and when he talks about the oceans and cliffs and the rocking of far away waves Francis feels a part of himself become alive and real. Despite the nonchalance he coats it in, there is passion in Arthur's voice, there is a drive and a yearning which Francis recognises as one he used to share and to see it reflecting from Arthur's eyes makes his own burn with a longing he can't understand or explain. There is a tugging deep in his stomach and he starts to gaze out of the windows in anticipation, Arthur's voice drifting around his head to settle between his ears.

When Francis is twenty six, they finally get there. The stations below are set up on a nice bit of land close to the sea but also to a freshwater river too; there's fertile fields and dense forests with lots of wild-life and wild fruits and vegetables. He knows all of this before they're allowed down because that's all part of the training and survival lessons they're given. Each member must be capable of pulling their weight in areas other than their specialisation and Francis is now well versed on which plants he can eat and which he can't, how to make simple animal traps and how to catch a fish.

He feels ready to go and is excited to finally get to work and see these fields, seas and forests for himself, excited to see so much that he's only heard about and seen in pictures. And though he says otherwise, Arthur is just as excited, Francis knows, because anytime anything to do with Earth is mentioned he sits a little straighter, comes a little closer, and opens himself up a little bit more to get as much information as he can.

'Do you ever think,' Francis asks him one night, 'about where we're landing?'

Arthur turns over in the bunk above him and the metal creaks under his weight. 'What on earth are you talking about.'

'We're landing on what was once a country,' Francis explains, 'it once had people who had a language and a culture and a history. It's not just land, it was once a place that humans long ago spoke about.'

Arthur offers no further input, so Francis continues. 'It could have been someone's favourite place to go on holiday, or it could have been a small village where children grew up and played, or it could have been the site of a terrible battle from long long ago.'

'It probably was the site of a battle, at least once.' Arthur mutters from his bed.

Francis ignores him. 'It seems like a shame. Whatever is there will be built on by us; it's almost as if we're destroying its history.'

'We're not destroying it,' Arthur's voice is quiet but speaks volumes; he's thought about this before, 'we're adding to it. We're just another story for it to keep.'

Francis laughs and calls him sentimental but regrets it when Arthur throws a well aimed pillow at him.

'Shut it! Now, give that back.'

'No.'

'Francis! Give. it. back.'

'Why? You threw it at me, I did not take it from you.'

'For fuck sake, you utter waste of a human.' He's clambering down and once Francis sees his toes on the rungs of the ladder he rolls onto his belly, trapping the pillow beneath him. Arthur tugs on his shoulder and succeeds in rolling Francis back over but before he can do much else Francis grabs him and pulls him down to the bed. Arthur gives an undignified squawk, his head hits one of the metal frames and he tumbles gracelessly onto Francis' lap.

Francis can't help but laugh. 'Oh Arthur I'm sorry, are you-' but he's stopped by Arthur punching him in the eye, hard, and then there's one of their neighbours hammering on the wall next to Francis' ear, bellowing for them to shut the fuck up already because it's 1 am and some people plan on trying to sleep tonight.

They are taken down in the shuttle the next day in the afternoon. They're not allowed outside yet, they need to adjust to the planet's gravity and get used to the micro bacteria in the air, so they are housed in the Arrivals' building and assigned a room to sleep in for the time being. Francis has a black eye and Arthur has an egg-sized lump on his forehead but they're both too busy staring out of the window at the dazzling sunshine to complain that they've been put together, again.

……………………………………………………………………

Ludwig disappeared with Gilbert two days after his attack. Thanks to his illness though, they both easily convinced their parents that they'd rather stay home than making the trip to their grandparents' house and so they saw them off with ease, Gilbert trying not to grin and Ludwig trying not to give them away with how much he was sweating. As soon as they were alone he and his brother went to their rooms and packed a bag, Ludwig agonising over the situation with himself the whole time. When the day came a still wobbly Ludwig was bundled in his brother's transport pod and they both travelled to their boarding dock. It was so easy to leave.

Maybe that's what Ludwig is hurt most about. Neither parent seemed to care that he couldn't make it to his grandparents', neither parents called to check in one them whilst they were away. They probably wouldn't know anything was wrong until they returned, a few days too late to stop them.

Despite the ease of everything else, the trip itself is horrible. Ludwig's body, having only barely adjusted to his own ship's gravity systems, now finds itself thrust upon a different one and is rebelling angrily against him. The attacks are more frequent now than ever, leaving him unable to work at anything for long before another one knocks him back to bed. Today is one such day, he curls up in his bunk and tries not to complain or let his brother know how bad he feels; Gilbert does enough for him already.

He must have fallen into a daze, because he wakes up in a panic to the sounds of Gilbert kicking the door open and flinging his work bag against the wall with a thud. He tries to sit up but the world pitches alarmingly, so for the good of both of them and the state of their floor he lays back down gingerly. 'Bad day?'

Gilbert snorts and flops down on the floor to tug off his boots. 'I'll fucking say, there was massive electrical surge in one of the computers and it fucked up at least a third of people's personal systems on the ship.'

Ludwig clucks his tongue in sympathy and looks his brother over with concern. Despite looking harried he doesn't seem too worse for wear, but he works far too much in order to support them both and it's tiring him out. However, someone needs to pay for their keep and it sure as hell can't be Ludwig at the moment.

Gilbert catches him staring and glares at him, knowing what he's thinking about. They've been down that particular road before and despite how guilty Ludwig feels he can't get further than simply mentioning the topic before Gilbert either walks away or throws something at him to get him to shut up. The guilt sits on Ludwig like a stone, pushing down on his chest. His brother had a life, had a future, and he gave it all way to become this, an engineer's whipping boy for a brother who can't even sit up most of the time let alone pull his own weight. Useless.

Gilbert throws a boot at his head and Ludwig yelps. 'Get rid of that look from your face, I'm doing this because I want to, ya hear?'

Ludwig nods, because that's what his brother wants him to do.

'Good. Besides, it wouldn't have been half as bad if the head engineer wasn't such a dick. Rumour is that there's a boy genius on board we picked up at the last stop but when ol' Stevie went to get him to help the boy turned him down.' Gilbert gives a scoff. 'He's got balls, whoever he is. Either that or he's an idiot. Besides, if they'd let me have a look at it I could've probably done it.'

Ludwig rolls his eyes but refrains from saying anything further. He leaves Gilbert to undress and unwind in silence, only speaking to him again once he's sure his brother has relaxed enough.

'What if nothing changes, when we get to Earth.'

Gilbert, from where he's sprawled himself in their chair, visibly stiffens. He's obviously considered this too, then. Maybe the possibility has been on his mind just as much as it's been praying on Ludwig's. How could it not? 'It will.'

'But-'

'It will!' Gilbert has clenched his e-tab tighter, Ludwig can see the whites of his knuckles from here. 'It will, so there's no point worrying about it.'

Ludwig breathes deeply. 'It's something we've got to think about.' He says gently. If not for him, for what Gilbert will do next.

Gilbert curls his lip and refuses to look up. He prods his tab awake with more force than is needed. 'No, it's not. If it don't work, if you still can't do anything more than roll about, then at least you'll be better off than home.'

'I might be, but what about you?'

'What about me?' Finally, Gilbert looks up and he's furious. Gilbert is very free with his emotions, but never has anything negative been directed towards Ludwig before and it startles him. 'You think I was happy back there? Just because I was strong enough for them? Well you're just as fucking stupid as they were if that's so.' He stands up, crosses the room and starts to pull on his boots again.

'Gilbert-'

'You were wasting away there.' Gilbert's voice cuts though Ludwig like a knife because it's the truth, no matter how much he tries to deny it. 'They were happy to let you die if that's what it came to and I somehow was supposed to not care about that. It was fine, right? As long as they had one of us. But that meant I had to be everything, Lud. I had to be both of us and both of us had to be fucking perfect.'

Gilbert looks at him, curled up pathetically in bed and shakes his head at him, face unreadable. 'What kind of life is that?'

Boots on he wrenches open the door and walks out with a bang, leaving Ludwig mortified. How selfish of him.