#NO ONE LET ME GET BEHIND A WHEEL FOR TEN BUSINESS DAYS

[quick-catton]

HEY GUYS IF YOU NEED ME I'LL BE OUT BACK IF YOU HEAR GUNSHOTS DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT

[dilfl0v3rss]

WAIT CS I HAVE AN IDEA-

Y/n sneaks out to a party that she don’t have no business in going and ony catches her when she get home and fuck ha shit upp Like he always doo

AWWWW SHIT NAAAAAAA. I LIKE WHERE THIS IS GOINGGGGG.😩😩😩

party pooper

cw: gun violence

word count: 2.1k

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

you were thinking about this party all week, having an outfit and everything picked so you didn’t have anything to worry about the day of. ony knew you were going out tonight, but you kind of left out the fact that you were going to the trenches to shake ass at a party. he still ended up finding out anyways, telling you to stay your ass home, but who tf want to do that.

he wasn’t supposed to be home until late so you figured you could just sneak out and be back by the time he got home. so that’s exactly what you did. your friend was outside your house by ten and you got right tf up outta there, skirt riding up your ass as you ran to the car in excitement. “bitchhh you ready?” sasha yelled, hands gripping the steering wheel as she shook in excitement.

“nah i’m actually shakin in my boots. if this man find out i think he might kill me furreal.” you and sasha were basically in the same predicament, going to this party without the approval of your boyfriends. “who give a fuck? we live right now and we’ll die laterrrr.” you giggled, nodding your head in agreement as you turned up the music and sung along for the rest of the journey.

the party was jumping. there was bitches shaking ass (including you), niggas selling drugs, and good music playing so loud that it could be heard down the block. you and sasha got comfortable real quick and we’re honestly having the most fun you’ve had in awhile. “this is your song girl you can’t let these hoes outdo youuu!!” sasha yelled as the intro to freak hoe by speaker knockerz began to play. you made your way to the middle of the floor swaying side to side until the beat dropped.

ass shaking in circles as you leaned over and held onto sasha’s arms for support. everyone’s eyes gravitated towards you as you continued moving to the song, that was until three loud gunshots were heard. bodies began to scatter everywhere as the entire party got ruined. people were jumping out of windows and running in random peoples cars just to get away from the cause of the deadly sound.

you and sasha finally made it to her car. pissed that your fun was ruined. “Y/N! bring your ass over here, NOW!!” your body froze as you listened to the familiar voice. while you was too busy being hardheaded and living it up at a party you shouldn’t be at, you didn’t think to try to at least be lowkey. ony and connie were chilling at their trap house when he looked one of his friend’s story. there you were, shaking ass for the whole world to see, skirt practically on your stomach as you gave everyone a show.

“man ima kill this girl” connie looked at his friend in concern before bubbling with the same anger as he watched the video replay on his phone. “i know that’s not my girl in the back. yea we out.” connie grumbled, pointing at sasha who was right behind you recoding as well. with that the two of them sped to the party, guns hidden securely on their waists as they walked inside.

ony didn’t plan on shooting it up, he actually was just gon calmly grab you up outta there for your safety because this is a bad area you were in. he looked around the house until his eyes landed on the center of a big circle of people. once he registered the sight in front of him he could help but reach right for his gun. your boyfriend was nowhere near insecure. he knew it was your body and that you had every right to shake some ass if you wanted, but the sight of the men around you made him sick.

cameras out, zooming closer and closer to your more private areas as you were obliviously dancing along to your favorite song. in no time his gun was out and there were three bullets let off in the ceiling. ony watched the people scatter as he waited inside for the house to be empty. him and connie stood on the porch, watching you stand next to sasha while she scrambled in her bag for her keys.

“m’not playin wit you girl. come over here now or it’s just gon be worse for you at home.” your legs moved slowly as you thought of an excuse as to why you were here. before you knew it, you were face to face with his heavy breathing chest, instantly making you revert your eyes to the ground. “unt uhh look at me mama. ian down there.” his strong hand wrapped around your throat, forcing your head to shoot upwards towards his face.

“here’s what’s gon happen. you gon get in the car, quietly. ion wanna here no crying or whining during this whole ride or ima add it on to the lesson ima teach you when we get home, understand?” his voice was low and menacing as he stared into your eyes, face drained of any emotion. “o-okay.” your lungs filled with air as ony let go of your neck, nodding towards his car.

you sat in the passenger seat scared shitless as you watched him give the guy that threw the party a stack of cash, probably for the damage he caused, before dapping connie up and saying goodnight to sasha. he got in the car quietly, not sparing you a single glacé before driving the two of you home. the ride was completely silent like he wanted. any excuses you thought of were quickly swallowed as well as the urge to cry.

you didn’t even notice when you got home until you felt your door open. “let’s go.” ony mumbled. he walked you to the living room, manspreading on the couch while you stared down at him. “m’really really really so-” he sucked his teeth before throwing you over hip lap. skirt already so short that his brown eyes got a good view of your soaked panties. warm palm caressing your ass as he spoke. “what’d i tell you baby?”

the smoothness of his voice made you shiver. “why you shakin’? ian spank you yet.” a chuckle rumbled from ony’s chest as he listened intently for your reply. “m’scared.” you were terrified. usually when you’d get in trouble your boyfriend would lecture you and make a big fuss so his calmness was very foreign to you.

“good.” a hard smack was brought to your ass causing the pending tears in your eyes to begin to fall. your hands instantly flew to cover your burning skin, sheliding them from his rough palms. “you know why ian want you over there right?” he grabbed both of your hands into his singular one, ignoring your whimpers. “b-because it’s n-not sa-“

“because it’s not fucking safe, that’s right. a nigga could’ve put sum in your drink or snatched you up. that’s the shit that be happening at parties like that and instead of being my good girl and listening to me, you decided to be. a. brat.” three more strikes were made to your ass. each harder than the last as you thrashed around on his thighs. “m-m’sorry papa.”

your tears created a small wet patch to form on the couch. you honestly didn’t mean to make him worry so much. it was just that you haven’t gotten to go out in awhile and wanted to finally have some fun. the wet patch went unnoticed until your cheek was smushed into it. ony removed himself from under you, positioning his body behind your before pushing your back down. “yea i bet you are baby. hold onto that pillow right there.”

head nodding towards the cushion as he untied the strings of his sweatpants. you gushed at the sight of his print through his grey briefs, moaning out loud as you thought of how good he was going to feel. “look straight mama. this a punishment, not a reward.” you obeyed, gripping the pillow tightly as you prepared yourself for the stinging stretch of his dick.

“be g-gentle daddy.” you mumbled as ony gripped both of your asscheeks, pulling your panties to the side and squeezing them as he spreader them apart. “be obedient.” he trusted his full length into you, giving you no time to prepare as he began pounding you into the cushion of the couch. “oouuu fuck mama. you always so tight.” ony groaned, hand flat on your back as his other delivered many slaps on your ass.

you outstretched your arm, pushing at his stomach for him to ease up. “p-pleaseeee aahhgg. jus take a little out daddyyyy.” whining as you were already trying to run from him. ony grabbed the bottom of your shirt, pulling your ass all the way back to him to the point where you were flush against his stomach. “stop running and take this shit. and move your fucking hand. barely even started yet.” he slapped your hand away, continuing to pound into you.

all eight inches of him curving just right in your pussy. as you got more used to his size, your heat grew wetter as the constant friction. moans began flying from your mouth left and right making you tighten round him. “there you go mama. takin me like a good girl.” his hips began snapping into you harder, making it more difficult for you to take him. “ahh w-wait a little bit daddy. s’too biggg.”

ignoring you, ony thrusted into you harder, pushing your back down lower so he could reach that spongy spot deep inside you. your stomach brushed against the couch as your body jolted. “unt uhh baby where’s the big girl that like t’sneak out, huh? where’s the girl that like to go out and shake her ass in a skimpy lil skirt while her man is worried sick about her?” where she at?”

wetness trickling down your thighs as you kept your death grip on the pillow. “s-she said she’s ahh s-sorry. m’sorryyyy daddyyy.” ony halted his trusts, giving you a hard slap on your ass and tightening his grip on your shirt. “mhmm throw that ass back princess. make it up to daddy.” his strong arm started you off by pulling you back and forth by your shirt before letting you do it on your own. ass clapping repeatedly as you twerked on his dick.

his brown eyes rolling as he felt you clench tighter around him. you continued working yourself on his shaft, chasing your upcoming orgasm. “d-daddy?”you were met with nothing but his hips fucking you back as he stared at where the two of you were connected. he was hypnotized by your body. “baby?” his head snapped up towards yours, shaking himself out of his thoughts before replying. “y-yea pretty? ahh fuck.” he breathed.

“i’m r-really sorry. i d-didn’t mean to make y-you worry, honest. i-i jus wanted t’go have funn, and when you told me the day of that i wasn’t allowed i g-got a little upset. i wont g-go over there e-ever again i swearrrr.” you began pushing yourself back harder as you held eye contact. ony’s resolve weakened as he felt his blood begin rushing to his dick, signaling to him he was going to cum if he didn’t get in control quickly.

ony’s hand tangled in your hair before pulling you up to his chest, arm wrapping around your middle as he kissed up and down your neck. his long tongue licked a stripe behind your ear before whispering dirty words to you. “mhmm. m’not finna say it’s okay ‘cause it’s not, but i forgive you mama. now keep making daddy feel good and i’ll give you this nut. how dat sound?” his teeth closed around your ear, gold girls pinching the skin. “y-yes please.”

the both of you moved on one accord, fucking each other dumb as you reached your climax’s. body growing weak and legs shaking as your thick cream rushed down his shaft. ony easily held you up, continuing to use you as his personal fleshlight. “ughh fuck baby m’finna cum.” his pace quickened, hips pistoning into you as you screamed from the overstimulation. he gave you one final trust before kissing you to keep you quiet, moaning into your mouth as his hot ropes flowed into your walls.

the two of you stayed like that for awhile, giving each other light kisses as you panted in each others mouths. “lemme get the water ready mama. we needa take a bath.”

[fallinginvictus]

I may be a day or two early for wip wednesday but I absolutely need to know what happens next in ur time loop fic of Andrew

WIP Wednesday Andrew and Aaron Time Loop AU [part 2/4]

Part 1

on ao3 I would tag this as "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings" so if you need to know more because you think there might be something that could trigger you, let me know and I'll let you know

He feels frantic as he drives on now familiar roads, his thoughts swirling in his brain and bouncing inside his skulls, unable to tell where one begins and the other ends, unable to make sense of the nightmare that he has found himself trapped in. Cars race past him as his thoughts race in his brain, images of Aaron's cold and pale body flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinks, the coldness of his brother's hand and the stillness of his chest something that will never stop haunting him for as long as he lives.

“What? Is something wrong?” Aaron asks as soon as he picks up the phone, worry clear in his tired voice.

Andrew's breaths get lost in his lungs, unable to find their way out. 

Aaron is alive. 

Aaron is alive again.

“Andrew?”

“I'm going to stay with you for a while,” is everything that he manages to say, his voice quieter than he intends it to be, his hands squeezing the steering wheel until they turn white.

“What? Why? Did something happen?” Aaron asks and Andrew wants to scream at him. 

“No,” he says. “I'm already on my way.”

“Andrew,” Aaron sighs. “For how long? Don't you have games and practice?”

“I hurt my wrist so I can't play for two weeks.”

“You can't stay with me. I have plans.”

“What plans?” he asks, wondering how many times Aaron has lied to them before, how many other times has he pretended to be busy while his only plan was that of getting high.

“With my friends.”

“You don't have friends. I'll be there in a few hours. Bye.”

He doesn't give Aaron any time to reply, any time to protest, before hanging up, Aaron's voice making his head spin, his blood boil. 

He wants to hug his brother, he wants to feel his chest move, his heart beat, his blood flowing through his veins. He wants to touch Aaron's skin and feel nothing but warmth. He wants to look him in the eyes and see them shine. 

He wants his brother to never be dead again.

♤♤

He sits outside of Aaron's locked door, the clock inside of his head ticking and ticking, each second that passes feeling like a lifetime spent in hell, wondering if the call is going to come anyways, wondering if Aaron is already dead. More than once he wants to drive back to the hospital where Aaron died, where Aaron will die. More than once he takes his phone out of his pocket and dials Aaron's number without ever calling him.

It's ten minutes past three in the afternoon when Andrew's phone rings where it's sitting on the floor by his side. Andrew's breath gets caught in his throat, his whole body tensing at the sound until his every muscle aches and screams, begging to be released, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

But when his eyes finally find the courage to look down at the bright screen by his side, it is Aaron's name that meets his eyes and not the hospital's number (a number that had now been printed inside of Andrew's brain and that he would never be able to forget.)

“What,” he says flatly as soon as he picks up the phone, his muscles still tense, his heart still racing.

“Are you really waiting for me?” Aaron asks in a tentative tone that Andrew can't decipher. Finally Andrew starts to relax, Aaron's quiet voice like sweet honey washing over him.

He hums in reply.

“I'm- I'm almost there. Wait for me,” Aaron says as the words rush out of his mouth and stumble all over each other.

“I've been waiting for almost two hours so you better be quick,” Andrew replies, unable to deny to himself just how much he longs to finally see his brother alive. 

Andrew had long since learnt to keep his emotions trapped inside of his ribcage. Some would oftentimes run away from him, slip through the cracks, escape from their perfectly built prison: in the morning with Neil's peaceful face resting by his side, the brighg sun shining on him, his hair messy, his face puffy, a soft smile on his lips; in the night with Neil's flushed body under his, his warm hands gently placed on his shoulders, his soft moans filling the quiet room.

But it had been a long time since his emotions had come crashing against his chest, threatening to split his ribcage open, uncovering his most safely guarded secrets. He had forgotten how much it hurt, how raw and vulnerable it made him feel.

“Hey,” Aaron says breathlessly, breaking the silence and coming to stand in front of a motionless Andrew.

Andrew just stares at him blankly, taking notice of every single thing that is Aaron, of every aspect of him, every detail. Aaron looks tired, Andrew notices, his skin is pale, ink spilled under his bloodshot eyes but his pupils are normal, he looks rail-thin, his collar bones heavily pronounced. 

Andrew says nothing as his brain reminds him of the list of “Common Physical Signs of Drug Usage” that he had read once on the library's computer when he was fifteen.

“You ambush me like this and you are not even going to say hi?” Aaron asks as he opens the door, but there is no strength in his voice, no malice in his words.

“Hi,” he says as he walks inside the now familiar house, his eyes falling back on the family picture displayed in the living room.

“Give me a second,” Aaron says before running inside his room and closing the door behind himself, probably trying to tidy up the mess that Andrew had already seen.

He sits on the couch, unable to come up with a plan of action, with a strategy. He had already asked Aaron before if he had relapsed and Aaron had denied it. Would he ever tell Andrew the truth if he asked? 

“So,” Aaron says as he walks out of his room with a black trash bag. Andrew just looks at him. “Are you going to tell me why you decided to crash at my house for who knows how long?”

“Am I not allowed to want to spend some time with my dearest brother?” he asks with a sweet and ostensibly fake smile on his lips, trying not to think just how much truth was actually hidden in those words.

Aaron scoffs at him, “Sure, because you totally just wanted to spend some time with me,” he says and something in his voice makes Andrew pause. He just stares at him, his brows furrowed, trying to figure out something that he knows is standing right in front of him and yet he cannot seem to be able grasp.

There's a tense silence for a few seconds as Andrew just stares at his brother, at the way air fills his lungs, as the way his chest moves.

“Fine,” Aaron breaks first. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, as if he's dealing with a troublesome kid. “Fine. You don't have to tell me now. Just- Are you okay? It's nothing bad, right?”

Andrew is taken aback by the concern in his voice before anger fills his vision. No nothing too bad, he wants to say. My own fucking brother died. No biggie.

“No, nothing too bad,” he says between clenched teeth.

♤♤

They spend the rest of the afternoon playing on Aaron's old PS2, the same one that he has owned longer than Andrew has known him. It was quiet and comfortable and Andrew could tell there was something else going on inside of his brother's mind, something that was clouding his brain, making his moves sloppy, his attention fragmented.

“Do you feel like you are going to relapse?” Andrew asks. “Don't lie to me.”

“Where does that even coming from? Fuck-” Aarons scoffs as he misses a jumps and falls down a cliff.

“Do you?”

“No? Not more than usual,” he says distractedly, his whole attention on the game in front of him. 

You used today and you died, Andrew almost says. Stop fucking lying.

“If you feel like using again, just tell me,” is all that comes out of his mouth, his eyes landing on Aaron's focused face. “Promise.”

“Sure,” Aaron says, his eyes never leaving the TV screen.

“Promise,” he repeats loudly.

“I- I promise,” Aaron says, his eyes finally meeting Andrew's.

Andrew knows it won't be enough. Aaron had lied before and he would have no qualms in lying again, in breaking a promise. But he found it difficult to worry when Aaron was sitting right by his side, their shoulders brushing against each other, Aaron's warmth washing over him.

It's 7 pm when Andrew silently gets up from the couch and heads towards the kitchen with the intention of preparing them dinner.

“What the fuck Aaron.”

“What?” Aaron says from the living room, the sound of the game almost drowning his quiet voice.

“Why the fuck is you fridge completely empty?”

“Oh,” Aaron says, turning off the game.

Andrew waits for a second, then two, expecting to receive an actual reply from his brother but getting only silence in return.

“We can go grocery shopping tomorrow,” Andrew says, sitting back down on the couch, his hand grazing Aaron's shoulder. “Let's just order take out for today.”

Aaron nods as Andrew takes his phone out of his pocket to order take-out but notices a couple of unread messages from Neil.

To: 0 Neil:

I'm going to stay with Aaron for a while

From: 0 Neil:

is everything okay?

To: 0 Neil:

I'm here to figure it out

Dinner is quiet, just like the rest of the afternoon had been quiet. Aaron's gaze never leaves his food, his eyes unfocused, his mind full of thoughts that Andrew isn't able to read. 

If only he could jump inside of Aaron's head and search through his brain, Andrew thinks, maybe then he would find the answers he's looking for, maybe then he would find the right questions.

He used to think of Aaron as someone easy to read, his goals and ambitions prosaic. He always thought he knew what Aaron wanted, what he longed for. Every action Aaron took and every comment he made used to be something Andrew could decipher and understand. And yet, now that he's standing in front of him, he wonders if he ever really knew Aaron at all, if this whole time he had been reading Aaron's signals all wrong.

“Why don't you have any friends?” he asks, his eyes scanning Aaron's face for a reaction, for a sign.

Aaron's pauses for a second, his eyes focused on his food, “Of course I have friends,” he says, his eyes meeting Andrew's. “Why would you think that I don't have any friends?”

Aaron's face doesn't betray him, his eyes seem truthful and his voice doesn't shake. If Andrew hadn't known better, he would've believed him, he would've fallen for his lie. How many times, he wonders, has Aaron lied straight to his face? How many times has he tricked Andrew before?

I can tell when you're lying to me, he used to tell Aaron. Now he wonders if he ever really could.

“Don't lie to me,” Andrew says, his voice cold, his gaze unforgiving.

“I'm not-”

“Don't lie to me,” he says again, his gaze just a little softer.

“How would you even know,” Aaron muebles as he puts more food in his mouth with his brows furrowed and an uncharacteristic pout on his lips.

In the past, Andrew would've pushed. In the past, Aaron would've been colder. 

“What's going on with you,” the words leave Andrew's mouth without his permission.

“I just-” Aaron says before shaking his head, something that Andrew can't read flashing in his eyes. “I'm tired. I'm going to bed now.”

Andrew can't do anything but watch as Aaron retreats back to his room and closes the door behind himself with a soft click. He sighs as he drops his head on the couch and stares at the white ceiling feeling lost and confused. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do. 

He doesn't know how to save Aaron from himself.

♧♧

The first week passes quickly, Aaron spending most of his days at the hospital and his evenings locked in his room studying while Andrew is left alone with his own thoughts and fears, images of his dead brother spinning like a carousel inside of his brain. 

Every night he wakes up from nightmares, his body numb and damp with sweat, Aaron's cold body flashing behind his eyes. 

Every night, he sofly opens Aaron's bedroom door and stares at his brother as he sleeps, at the way his chest rises and falls, at his pink skin and slightly flushed cheeks.

He's alive, he tells himself, over and over again. And yet he can still remember when Aaron hadn't been alive.

♧♧

“We should do things together,” Andrew tells Aaron one morning while he's still lying on the couch after having spent a whole night googling “How to make sure your brother doesn't relapse again”. 

“What?”

“Make a list of things that you want to do and we'll do them.”

“Why?” Aaron asks, walking out of the kitchen.

“You don't want to?” Andrew replies, tilting his head.

“You always have a reason for things.”

“If you don't want to-”

“I do,” Aaron interrupts him, his eyes wide.

“Then make the list and give it to me when you get home this evening.”

“I just don’t- Fine,” Aaron says with a sigh as he heads for the door. He stops there for a second, his hand on the handle and his bag over his shoulder. 

“What,” Andrew says as he takes his phone from the coffee table.

Aaron just furrows his brows and shakes his head, “Bye,” is all that comes out of his mouth before leaving the apartment.

Androw looks at the closed door, his heart racing like it does every time Aaron leaves his sight. He can feel little ants crawling under his skin and he knows that's where they'll stay until he'll see Aaron, alive and breathing, again.

♤♤

That evening Aaron comes back later than usual. Fourteen minutes later, to be exact.

Andrew is pacing the length of the living room when he hears the jingle of Aaron's keys as he pushes them in the lock. A few seconds later, Aaron walks inside the house and throws his coat on the hanger as if nothing is wrong.

“You're late,” Andrew says between gritted teeth as he stalks towards Aaron.

“What?” Aaron asks in confusion and bends down to untie his shoes.

“If you come home late you have to text and let me know.”

“I'm not even that late, just a few minutes and-”

“Fourteen.”

“What?”

“Not a few minutes. Fourteen minutes.”

Aaron sighs as he stands back up, confusion written all over his face. 

Fourteen minutes of Andrew picturing Aaron's cold body in a back alley, on a white hospital bed, in a closet, in the middle of an empty street. 

Fourteen minutes of Andrew picturing Aaron's vacant eyes staring at the sky, his pale skin tinted blue with death, his chest unmoving, his heart still.

Fourteen minutes of Andrew recalling Aaron's cold fingers in his hand, his icy forehead under his lips.

Fourteen minutes of waiting for his phone to ring, for the Doctor’s voice to inform him that his brother had died.

“I'm sorry,” Aaron says but it comes out as a question.

“Whatever,” Andrew replies before leaving a confused Aaron at the door and locking himself in the bathroom.

“Tell me something,” he says on the phone, his arms tightly wrapped around his legs as he sits in the corner between the sink and the wall.

He doesn't listen as Neil talks about his day, about practice, about anything and everything that comes to his mind. He lets Neil's calm and soothing voice wash over him, until it seeps into his brain, into his bones. Until breathing doesn't hurt anymore and the ants have left his body.

“Why won't you tell me what's wrong?” Neil asks on the other line, his voice full of worry.

“Aaron,” he says, his brother's name burning his lips as it leaves his mouth.

“Is he sick?”

“I just need to make sure he doesn't do something stupid and accidentally kills himself in the process.”

“You think he's going to?”

“I know he is.”

“Alright,” Neil says with a sigh. “But you have to promise me something.”

Andrew humms.

“Don't hurt yourself while trying to help him.”

Andrew stays silent for a second. There is nothing that he wouldn't be willing to do if it means saving Aaron from his fate, “I can't promise that.”

“Andrew-”

“He's my brother, Neil.”

“Does he even want to be? He just left you and Nicky and never looked back. Why would you put your mental well being at risk after all of your hard work for someone who wouldn't do the same for you?”

“That's not how it works.”

“What?” Neil asks.

“This is not a deal or a transaction. I'm helping him because I don't want him to be dead, not because I want him to do the same for me, not because I want him to give me something back,” he takes a deep breath and shakes his head even if Neil can't see him. “I just don't want him to be dead.”

“Fine just- just be careful and call me when you need to.”

“I will.”

A knock on the door interrupts Neil in the middle of a sentence, “I made dinner,” Aaron's soft voice comes from the other side when Ansrew doesn't reply. 

“I have to go,” he says.

“Call me,” Neil replies before hanging up.

They eat dinner quietly on the couch, the sound of Aaron chewing something crunchy loud in the silent room.

"If you still want I have the list” Aaron says with downcast eyes.

“Then get it,” he replies after another long silence.

Andrew watches as Aaron rushes towards his bedroom, his bowl hastily placed on the coffee table.

Why are you so different, he wants to ask but doesn't.

“Here,” Aaron says a few seconds later as he hands him a wrinkled piece of lined paper, Aaron's elegant handwriting filling the page.

Andrew just nods at the paper and places it on the sofa by his side.

“You're not going to look at it?”

“I'm eating,” Andrew replies.

Aaron nods, his lower lip trapped between his teeth, a dot of blood staining his skin.

“Stop that and eat,” Andrew says, tapping Aaron's chin with his finger.

For a second it looks like Aaron is going to say something but before anything can come spilling out of his mouth, Aaron shakes his head and goes back to his dinner.

♧♧

“We're going for a picnic,” he tells Aaron on Wednesday, a week and a day after Aaron's death.

“What?” Aaron asks as he looks away from the open book on his lap.

“It's in your list, isn't it?” 

“I mean, yeah but-”

“You have an hour to get ready. Chop chop.”

The sun is high in the sky by the time they reach the park. It's still a little cold outside, the air a little chilly, the sun a little weak.

“This is so nice,” Aaron says as he fiddles with the hem of the table cloth that Andrew had placed on the ground. There is a smile that Aaron is trying to hide on lips and it makes the ants under Andrew's skin disappear for a second.

“I always saw families having picnics when I was in primary school,” he tells Andrew as he bites the tuna, mayo and lettuce sandwich they had bought at the café near that park. “It would be better if Nicky were here too.”

Andrew just hums in reply.

“What's your favourite sandwich?” Aaron asks, trying to fill the silence.

“Probably-”

“Wait,” Aaron interrupts him. “I'll try to guess.”

Andrew looks at him a little puzzled as Aaron furrows his brows, a look of deep concentration painted on his face.

“I've got it,” he says after a few seconds, a crumb of white bread falling from the corner of his mouth. “Pulled pork with BBQ sauce.”

Andrew just nods.

“Now you,” Aaron says as he takes another bite from his sandwich.

“Me what?”

“Guess my favourite,” Aaron says, sounding a little too excited, his smile too bright.

“It's not that hard to guess. It's the same as mine. It's what we always got from highschool to college.”

“Mine is meatballs,” Aaron says quietly as he takes another bite of his sandwich.

“Since when?” Andrew asks. It had been years since the two of them had last eaten a sandwich together. Andrew can't help but to wonder what more he missed in Aaron's life.

“Since I was seven and a guy from school gave me a piece of his because I didn't have anything to eat,” Aaron says calmly without looking at Andrew. “I hate BBQ sauce.”

“But we always for pulled pork and BBQ,” Andrew says. It was their favourite, they would always eat it together for dinner after school.

Aaron just shrugs, “It was your favourite,” he says.

“But you-” Andrew begins but is interrupted by a ball landing on his leg.

“I'm so sorry,” a kid shouts as he runs towards them with his brother behind him. “We are so sorry. It was an accident.”

“It's fine, no one got hurt,” Aaron says, picking up the red ball and giving it back to the kid. “Just be more careful next time.”

“Oh my god it's clones,” the smaller child says while hiding behind his brother. “Like in star wars.”

“It's twins you idiot,” the older brother reprimands him as they run away. 

♧♧

When Aaron gets back home on Thursday's evening at 9:45, he looks tired and upset. His shoulders are hunched, his movements slow, his eyes never once lift from the floor.

“What's wrong?” Andrew asks from where he's sitting on the couch.

“Just a bad day at work,” Aaron replies, his voice so low Andrew has to strain to hear him.

“Come,” he says, patting the couch.

“I just want to-”

“Come,” Andrew says again.

Aaron trudges towards the couch and Andrew can see a little tremor in his hands. He looks for signs of drug use but comes up empty.

“Speak,” he says as soon as Aaron is sitting on the couch by his side, his chin resting on his knees as he hugs his legs to his chest, his dirty shoes on the couch.

Aaron opens his mouth but no words leave his lips, just a shaky breath.

“It's okay,” he says as he watches the tremble in Aaron's lips. “Take a deep breath.”

Aaron shakes his head, his eyes wet, “I told his brother it was going to be fine but I-” a dry sob breaks Aaron���s sentence right in the middle. “It was just a little kid and it wasn't even- it really wasn't-”

“It's okay, Aaron,” he says even if he knows it's not.

“And his brother was just there alone and I told him- Andrew I told him that it would- that it would be fine,” there are tears running down his reddened cheeks.

“Can I touch you?” Andrew asks and waits for Aaron to nod his permission before taking Aaron's hand into his own. “You did what you could.”

Aaron closes his eyes for a second, “Can you-” he shakes his head.

“Can I what?”

“Nothing. It was silly.”

“Tell me,” Andrew says. “I'll decide if it's silly.”

A pause and then, “Can you sleep in my bed tonight?”

There is a longer pause, silence fills the room as Andrew thinks it over.

“I told you it was silly,” Aaron says, his eyes now open. “Forget about it.”

Andrew stays quiet for another second, “We can,” he says.

He waits for Aaron's breathing to go back to normal, for the tears to stop flowing down his cheeks, for the tremor in his hands to subside, and then he helps his brother back on his feet and towards his room. Aaron's legs are still shaky, his hold on Andrew's hand tight.

“I'll go wash up,” Aaron says, taking his pyjamas from where he had thrown it that morning and heading for the bathroom.

Andrew sits on the side of Aaron's bed as he waits, scanning the room. He finds it to be more tidy than it had been when Aaron had died, but still disorganised and messy.

“Why is it so messy?” he asks when Aaron walks back into the room. “You always used to keep everything tidy and in perfect order.”

“I just-” Aaron shakes his head and lets the sentence die. Andrew looks at him.

“Come on then,” he pulls down the covers and lies under them. He had missed sleeping in a real bed.

“You don't have to,” Aaron says standing in front of the bed.

“I know,” Ansrew replies. “It's my choice. Just don't touch me.”

“I won't,” his brother reassures him before climbing on the bed.

They lie in silence for a while, Andrew on his back, Aaron on his side, his eyes trained on Andrew.

“You're staring at me,” he says as he looks at Aaron from the corner of his eye.

“When I was a kid,” Aaron whispers as if he were sharing a secret. “I always wanted a brother to share everything with.”

Andrew hums in reply.

“I wanted to build a fort with covers and cushions that only me and my brother could enter. Our secret place where we would always be safe and never lonely.”

Andrew turns on his side and looks at his brother in the quiet dark.

“Goodnight Aaron,” he says, placing his hand on top of Aaron's.

“Goodnight Andrew.”

♧♧

“We are going to the market,” he tells Aaron Friday morning as soon as Aaron leaves his room

“I need to be at the hospital at 1 pm,” Aaron replies.

Andrew nods, “We're leaving in an hour.”

Andrew had never been to a farmers market before nor had he ever wanted to go to a farmers market.

“This is so fun,” Aaron is saying as Andrew tries to dodge the crowd of people that is flowing around him. “Look.”

Andrew isn't sure what Aaron is pointing at, nor does he care that much. The crowd is overwhelming, people constantly bumping into him and touching his body.

They walk around for a while, Aaron pointing to flowers and plants, fruits and vegetables as if he were in a museum instead of a street market.

“Did you know that to make just one pound of honey it takes 2 million flowers?” Aaron asks as they walk past a stand of honey. “Do you like honey?”

“What?” Andrew asks, distracted by a woman who bumped into him.

“You like sweets, so I was wondering if you like honey.”

“I don't know. Never tried.”

“Oh then I should totally buy you some. Come on,” Aaron says walking towards the honey vendor.

“Do you like honey?” Andrew asks as they wait for their turn.

“It's not really something you can eat spoonfuls of or you'll get sick, but I like it.”

They sit on a bench away from the crowd as soon as they buy the honey.

“Here, taste,” Aaron says, scooping some honey on the wooden spoon the vendor had given them.

Honey is sticky and sweet and it makes Andrew's throat burn a little because of the overwhelming sweetness.

“You don't like it?” Aaron asks with a little frown on his face.

Andrew shakes his head.

“Sorry,” Aaron mutters while closing the honey lid.

“What are you apologising for?”

“I thought you would have liked it,” Aaron shrugs.

Andrew just stares at him confused, his face blank.

“It's whatever,” Aaron says as he gets back up on his feet. “We should go home.”

Andrew watches as Aaron throws the jar of honey in the first street bin they find while they head towards Andrew's car.

♧♧

“Neil's playing today,” Aaron says on Sunday as Andrew is cooking dinner.

“Yeah,” Andrew replies because he noticed Aaron hates not receiving a reply.

“Do you want to watch the game?” he asks but then immediately turns on the TV without waiting for Andrew's reply.

When he goes into the living room with their dinner (Aaron's favourite italian pasta), the game has already started and Aaron is comfortably sitting on the couch with his legs crossed, a fluffy blue blanket around his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Aaron says with a smile, taking one of the plates from Andrew's outstretched hand and placing it on his legs. “It just started so you didn't miss much.”

It surprises Andrew how much Aaron talks during the game, how much he notices about the players and their plays, how much he knows about Andrew's team.

“Yeah, he's been doing that the whole season. He really needs to work on that.”

“You've been keeping up with the championship?” Andrew asks.

“Not really, I just watch the games where you, Kevin or Matt play.”

Andrew purses his lips as a mix of emotions explode in his chest. He wants to dig deeper, to ask why. Aaron never showed up for the foxes reunions at Wymack’s place, he cut all contact with everyone, he never once showed any interest in anyone, any will to be their friend. 

Andrew wonders when had Aaron stopped making sense. He wonders if Aaron had ever made sense in the first place at all or if Andrew had made up a version of his brother in his head that had never once been real.

They spend the rest of the evening watching the game, a little smile on Aaron's lips as his hands flail around when he tries to explain sometimes to Andrew.

Could it have always been this easy? He wonders. Did Aaron have to die twice for them to finally spend time together like normal people?

Maybe, Andrew thinks, maybe everything can be fixed.

♧♧

“We are going to the zoo,” he tells Aaron on Monday morning while Aaron is still lying in his bed.

“What?” he asks, his voice low and full of sleep.

“Get ready, we're leaving in an hour.”

Andrew hates the zoo. It's boring and uninteresting. He doesn't care about where any of the animals came from nor from what they had been saved. It's cold and cloudy and the tips of his fingers are frozen. But the zoo was on Aaron's list and it seems to be working perfectly as a distraction: Aaron keeps speed-walking from one enclosure to the next, reading out facts that he seems to find interesting and cool. 

“And this one was saved after hunters shot him down and he lost his ability to fly,” Aaron says after three long and excruciating hours of walking around the zoo surrounded by screaming children and annoying adults. “Isn't that so heartwarming?”

“Heartwarming?” he asks, focusing on the sad little bird sitting in the middle of a huge green field.

“Someone found him when he was just about to die and decided that he was worthy of being saved. They took care of him and gave him a new home.”

“He's a bird who can't fly. Alone in a huge field. It would've been more merciful to just let him die. What kind of life is this?” 

He can feel Aaron's gaze on him as he looks at the bird but when he turns towards him, Aaron's eyes are back on the bird. He doesn't look excited anymore, his gaze soft and sad, something that Andrew can't decipher in his expression.

“It's almost lunch time,” Aaron says, looking away from the bird. “We should go home.”

♧♧

“Next time you are the one who has to visit,” Andrew says on Tuesday morning as he packs his bag. “We should also invite Nicky,” he adds.

“Sure,” Aaron says but there is something strange behind his eyes.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, just- I'm just very very tired,” Aaron says, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You are not feeling like you're going to relapse, right?” Andrew asks, staring right into Aaron's eyes.

“What? No. No I don't,” Aaron replies, his eyebrows knitted together. 

“Promise.”

“I promise,” Aaron says lightly.

“This is very serious Aaron. Promise me you won't touch any type of drug for any reason.”

“Andrew. I promise I won't touch any type of drug. Unless I'm administering it to a patient. Good?”

“Good.”

“Can I- Nothing,” Aaron says with a shake of his head.

“Tell me.”

“It's silly. Forget about it.”

“I'll decide if it's silly,” Andrew says.

“Can I hug you goodbye?”

Andrew is silent for a second. He can't remember ever hugging Aaron in his life. Not once.

“Yes,” he says.

Aaron moves slowly towards him, as if walking towards an easily spooked animal, afraid that I'll run away. When he's finally standing in front of Andrew, he carefully lifts his arms and places them around Andrew's neck, his cheek resting on his brother's shoulder. Andrew can feel Aaron’s warm breaths on his neck, his brother's heartbeat pounding on his body where their chests are touching. 

Aaron is alive. His brother is still alive.

He tightens his hold around Aaron's waist. He had never hugged his brother before, he thinks again. In two other lives Aaron had died without ever getting to hug his brother. 

Andrew could've gone his whole life without ever getting to share something as trivial and mundane as a hug between brothers.

♧♧

It's Tuesday, the twenty-second of May at six in the afternoon when Andrew's phone rings, the soft voice of a doctor on the other side, the words coming out of her mouth venomous and wrong, lies that Andrew can't comprehend, can't accept.

“That's impossible,” he says getting up from his couch. “Aaron promised he wouldn't touch any drugs. He promised me.”

Aaron promised. He had promised.

“Drugs?” the Doctor asks. “I'm really sorry for the misunderstanding Mr. Minyard but Doctor Minyard's cause of death isn't drug related.”

“What? He didn't overdose?”

“No, Sir. Your brother he- he I'm so sorry. He jumped off a bridge. I'm so sorry.”

Aaron had always claimed that he didn't feel like he was going to relapse. Why hadn't Andrew believed him.

He had been asking the wrong question the whole time. He had tried to solve the wrong problem.

Can I hug you goodbye? Aaron had asked a few hours ago.

Yes, Andrew had replied.

[watchmegetobsessed]

SECRET RECIPE

A/N: its out last sunday fic of fanficmas! still working on the second christmas fic, i got into a bit of a delay but im hoping to finish it on time!

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

SUMMARY: Christmas time brings some worries and surprises and of course lots of love in the life of Nan and Harry.

MORE FROM THE NAN&HARRY UNIVERSE

This fic is part of ❄️ FANFICmas 2022 ❄️ Read more about fanficmas here!

 Harry’s in the middle of recording a verse for a new song he’s been working on for the past days when the music cuts off and he looks at the technician through the window with a confused expression.

“What happened?” he asks, pulling the headphones off. Jim, the technician presses a button and speaks into the mic that carries sound into the booth.

“Man, your phone is blowing up.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just call them back,” he shrugs.

“It’s Y/N. She’s called like six times in the past two minutes.”

His stomach churns.

He’s fast to exit the booth, fetching his phone from one of the seats. You know he’s at the studio and wouldn’t call if it wasn’t an emergency.

“Let’s take five,” he says, unlocking his phone and opening his call log, seeing all the missed calls from you. Jim knows it’s his cue to leave, he walks out without a word as Harry dials your number, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

“Harry!” you answer out of breath.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m on my way to the hospital.”

“What? Are you okay?”

“Harry, it’s not me, it’s Nan,” you let out a shaky breath.

“I’m on my way,” he says, packing up his things immediately.

Jim doesn’t fuss when Harry ends the session early. He jumps into his car and you tell him what happened as he heads to the hospital as well. Nan apparently went on a date and out of all the activities she could have done with her date, she went skating.

“What was she thinking?!” he snaps, smacking his hand against the steering wheel when he has to stop at a red light.

“I just arrived, how far are you?”

“Ten minutes away.”

“Alright, meet you here.”

Harry soon arrives at the hospital and parks his car down in a frenzy, rushing inside. The nurse behind the desk recognizes him right away, but before she could start fangirling, you come up to him running.

“Hey! There you are,” you exhale, hugging him tight.

“How is she?”

“She fractured her hip, can you believe it?”

“For real, I love her more than anything, but sometimes she can act like a child,” he shakes his head in disapproval.

Walking down the hallways you stop at room 102 and Harry follows you inside. Nan is right there, lying in bed, chatting with the nurse, already telling her about recipes and gardening.

“I promise you Sweetheart, that’s the key to the perfect banana bread!” she explains and her face lights up when she sees the two of you flood into the room. “Harry! So good to see you!”

“Nan, what did you do?” he questions right away, ignoring the way the nurse blushes upon seeing him before walking out of the room.

“Oh, nothing crazy, don’t worry about me!”

“Skating at your age is actually crazy, Nan,” you shake your head, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, careful not to hurt her.”

“Aye, watch your mouth!” she wiggles a finger at you, but you just roll your eyes at her.

“Let’s start at the very beginning. You were on a date?!” Harry gawks at her, standing over you. Most of his worry is gone, seeing Nan be her usual sweet but sassy self.

“Oh, we’re not talking about that,” Nan waves around, but there’s no way Harry will just drop it like that.

“No, no, no, you’re not getting away with it! You didn’t tell us! Who was he anyway?”

“It’s none of your business! I’m a big girl!” she jokes.

“Yes, but going on a date is something you share with your family, don’t you think?” you ask, giving her hand a squeeze. “You demanded to know everything about my first date with Harry, it’s not fair you keep things like this from us!”

“Frank’s daughter works at the flower shop on Ernest Road. I’ve run into him several times before and we’ve had some pleasant conversations. He asked me out and I said yes, that’s it,” she shrugs, fixing her hair just to avoid looking at you or Harry.

“And you didn’t have a better idea than skating? Nan, you have to be careful!”

“I used to be a great skater in high school!” she protests like a little kid, Harry needs to bite a smile back.

“Oh my God,” you pinch the bride of your nose. “I’m gonna get you something to drink. Harry, stay with her so she doesn’t go skydiving or something,” you mumble as you walk out of the room.

“I’m kind of offended, Nan,” Harry places a hand over his chest, stepping closer to her bed. “I thought I was your guy.”

“Oh, Harry!” she sighs. “You know you’re my number one,” she chuckles, a slight blush tinting her cheeks that just makes Harry even more confident about himself.

“Apparently Frank took my place!” he scoffs dramatically. “I need to meet him, Nan. I’m not gonna let him just steal you away like that, I have to make sure you’re in good hands!”

“Please, don’t act like I’m getting engaged!” she chuckles. “It was just a date!”

“Yeah, but then more dates come and next thing we know you’re walking down the aisle!”

Nan lets out a belly laugh that soon turns into a wince and Harry instantly regrets joking around.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” she assures him when he moves to check her. “Harry, I’m just looking for some company, I won’t remarry.”

“I know,” his gaze softens, sitting down to the edge of her bed. “And I want you to have fun, but you need to be more careful. You’re sturdy, but not indestructible, okay?”

“I know,” she sighs. “Just wanted to have some fun like when I was younger.”

“We’ll find another way that doesn’t include fractured hips,” he smirks at her.

Harry has been MIA for hours. It’s not unusual when he’s at the studio, but you know for a fact he has the day off, so why isn’t he answering your texts?

You keep wondering as your work day drags by and when you finally head home, you try to call him again. It rings and rings and you’re starting to get anxious that something might have happened to him. When you think it will go unanswered the ringing finally breaks and a familiar voice answers, but it doesn’t belong to your fiancé.

“Y/N? Hi!” Nan’s upbeat voice welcomes you and relief washes over you.

“Nan? Would you mind telling where my man is?” you chuckle as you get into the car. The phone connects and the answer comes through the speakers.

“Oh, he is just up on my roof!” she says as if it wasn’t a big deal at all.

“What?” you chuckle in disbelief. “Why?”

“He’s helping me decorate! Showed up here this morning, he’s been doing all the work all day!”

“Oh God, of course he did,” you chuckle.

It’s been a week since Nan’s skating accident and she’s been miserable because she can’t get around like she usually does. She has someone from the family checking up on her every day and a nurse comes by in the morning and in the night too, but you all know how much she hates to be in need of help. You keep telling her it’s just temporary, she’s been having a great recovery, but she needs to be more patient with herself.

Harry must have wanted to make her feel better, she’s been moping about not being able to decorate like she usually does, so your fiancé probably took matters into his own hands.

Without thinking twice, you head over to Nan’s place to check up on both of them. When you arrive, you’re glad to see all the décor Nan whips out every year. Lights are running along the edge of the roof, huge candy canes are peeking out of the ground in the garden up front and garlands are snaking up the columns of the front porch. And the last touch? Santa’s sleigh is on the roof, Nan’s favorite décor every kid adores around the neighborhood.

You knock on the front door with a goofy grin, looking at the snowman ornament hanging on it. The door flies open and you’re met with your lover.

“Hey there,” he smirks and pulling you inside he greets you with a big kiss on your cold lips.

“Hi! Nan said you’ve turned into her little elf for the day,” you chuckle, enjoying the warmth inside as Harry takes your coat.

“I did the best I could,” he smirks shyly.

“Y/N! Hi!” Nan cheers from her armchair, her cane resting against the side of it. Before she could try to push herself up to greet you, which for sure she plans to, you rush over and plant a smooching kiss to her cheek, stopping her from moving.

“Stay, Nan. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve had a great day with Harry. Did you see the décor outside?” she beams.

“I did, looks great,” you smile at her.

Harry makes some tea and the three of you sit by the fireplace. Nan is obviously happy to have company and you’re glad to be spending time with her. She really scared you with her little accident earlier, she got lucky, it could have turned out to be way worse.

“Alright, you two head home and be together,” she sighs, checking the time and seeing how late it has gotten.

“We’re happy to be here, Nan,” Harry smiles, taking her empty mug and heading to the kitchen to clean up.

“Y/N, give me that box over there,” she gestures at a little wooden box on the shelves next to the fireplace. You obey and hand her the box, watching her dig into the stack of papers inside. “Here, this is for you,” she hands one over and you take it, scanning over it curiously.

“What’s thi— Oh. This is… This is your secret recipe. Your gingersnap cookies…”

“I want you to have it.”

“But why? You haven’t given it to any of my cousins yet,” you look at her with wide eyes.

This recipe comes from Nan’s grandma, so it’s been in the family for a long time. Every woman eventually gets it, your mom has it too, but she can only pass it on to the generation coming after you, that’s the rule. Nan hasn’t passed it on to anyone and you and your cousins have been wondering who’ll get it first.

She chose you. Though you would have sworn your cousin Riley would be the first, she is the first who got pregnant and now has two kids.

“Because what you and Harry have reminds me the most of what I had with Steven. Riley’s husband would have never spent the day here, climbing on my roof and hanging ornaments. And Lydia… God, I’m afraid she will never settle!” she chuckles, bringing up your female cousins. “You two… are something truly special and soon you’ll finally get married. I want you to know how to make it by the time you’ll have babies.”

You can’t help the tear that rolls down your cheek as you lean closer and give her a hug.

“Thank you, Nan,” you whisper, kissing her cheek right when Harry walks back in. He looks startled to see you crying.

“Woah, did I miss something?” he cautiously asks, but you just shake your head chuckling.

“Everything is perfect, don’t worry,” Nan smiles up at him. You give Harry a look that tells him to just drop it and so he nods.

The nurse arrives to help Nan get ready for bed when you leave and you hug her just a few moments longer than you usually do before walking out.

“Are you sure everything is alright?” Harry asks when you’re home, standing side by side in the bathroom, doing your usual night time routine.

“Nan gave me her gingersnap cookie recipe,” you say with a smile as you brush your hair, looking at him from the mirror. For a moment, he rakes his mind to figure out what it means and when he does, his eyes go wide.

“Oh! You’re the first one then!” he beams at you proudly.

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “She said that what we have reminds her of what she had with Pa.”

“That’s very sweet,” he smiles, brushing a hand across your back, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“She also brought up us having babies, I think she is getting impatient,” you add with a little laugh as you turn around and lean against the sink to face him.

“Wow, she can never have enough!” he grins. “I got comments on proposing to you for months and now that we have the date reserved she found something else to poke me about!”

“She’s not rushing us, you know. Just wants to see us become parents.”

“Soon,” he smiles and stepping closer his hands find your waist. “First, let’s make us official. Then we can move on to baby making.”

“So… that’s the plan?” you tilt your head to the side.

“Is it not?”

“I don’t know,” you chew your bottom lip.

“Y/N? Want to share something with me?” He takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, making you look him in the eyes.

“I was just thinking… We’re getting married in February. It’s not that far away, maybe we could… start trying sooner? It might not happen right away and if it does, it wouldn’t even show at the wedding…”

For some reason you feel so nervous about proposing your idea. You’ve talked about trying for a baby next year, you’re very much on the same page so even if he says no for now, you’d definitely start in a few months. You just figured that maybe you could start sooner.

Harry gently cradles your face in his hands, a tiny smile tugging on the edges of his mouth.

“So… we should just drop the pills, hm?”

“Y-Yeah. I mean, only if you’re okay with it. We don’t have to if you—“

He presses his lips to your lips, melting away your nervousness instantly as he kisses you softly but passionately.

“I’m more than okay, Y/N. I know you’re it for me, we don’t have to wait for a certain date to start trying.”

You can’t stop your growing smile as you look up at him.

“Okay. No more pills then,” you bite into your bottom lip.

“And a lot of baby making,” he smirks cockily, sweeping off your feet and carrying you into the bedroom. You’re a giggling mess as he throws you to the mattress, but they soon die down when he gets on top of you, occupying your lips with something much more exciting.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[illylli]

Good Times for a Change (Pt. 1) | Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

→ All it takes is a twenty-minute car ride for Eddie to start crushing on you.

→ 2.5k words: eddie’s POV, the overachiever x metalhead dynamic i always tend to write, eddie basically being max’s new (much healthier) older brother, reader being a sweetheart and eddie is just instantly awooga heart-eyes

→ a/n: sorry i’ve been away so long! work has been crazy and i haven’t had a spare moment to write :’( i will get back onto finishing up ‘bite my tongue’ and some other fics i have planned as soon as i can x

♫ mood: ‘please, please, please, let me get what i want’ by the smiths

part two

“Shit, shit! Piece of shit.”

Eddie’s knuckles were taut white as he shoved the key further than it would go, receiving nothing but a sputtering engine in response. He burst with a shout, slapping his hands down on the weathered steering wheel, his hair jerking as he raged in the driver’s seat.

This had to be a sign. An ill-omen that he was destined to be stuck in this hellish loop, repeating senior year for eternity. The first day back to good ole Hawkins High, and he was going to be late because his trusty gal decided to go frigid on him.

Despite being at it for a solid ten minutes, enough that he was panicking now, Eddie refused to give up, shoving the creaky door open and rounding on the hood. Did he have any idea what he was doing as he hoisted it up? Nope. But he was damn sure going to fiddle with everything at least once to see if it made any difference.

His eyes flitted between the front door of the trailer and the over-complicated metal innards of the van. He could wake Wayne up; he’d know for sure what to do. But as quickly as the thought entered his head, he shook it out. He wasn’t going to interrupt his uncle’s well-deserved rest for something he could figure out himself.

He always figured things out, in the end.

This time, though, it seemed he wouldn’t need to.

A cream Porsche 911 rolled forward, windows down, allowing a Smiths song to swirl in the air. Eddie scrunched his nose at the sound, turning around to bear witness to the way you, bright-eyed behind your round sunglasses, popped out and half-jogged up to the Mayfield family’s home, knocking thrice and bouncing on the heels of your shiny black boots as you waited.  

Eddie only realised he had gone slack-jawed when the emerging Max gave him an annoyed glare as she exited. Her arm was immediately linked in yours as you turned back to your car, a flurry of words bubbling from your perfectly-poised lips. You couldn’t be more opposite to the redhead, who sulked all the way to the passenger side, waiting with crossed arms as you opened the door for her.

It was then, as you were shutting the door gently, that your eyes peered up over the lenses of your glasses and caught Eddie Munson leaning over his van engine, staring at you.

He felt his cheeks flush stupidly as he quickly brought his eyes back down, hoping you wouldn’t say anything, but knowing you would.

The preppy now-senior who was always voted ‘most likely to exceed’ in every yearbook didn’t belong in a dump like this. Though Eddie’s curiosity wouldn’t take him as far to ask you why.

“Gimme a sec,” You told Max with a tap to the roof of your car, before Eddie heard the gravel beneath your boots crunching as you made your way over to him.

Eddie got to looking busy, fidgeting with the cap on one of the compartments, his fingers staining with grease as he twirled it off.

“Need a hand?” You asked sweetly, and though Eddie didn’t mean to let it slip, he huffed in amusement at the thought of little miss perfect getting her hands dirty.

“No I’ve uh,” he gave a tight grin, pulling at another mystery part of the engine, “I’ve got it, sweetheart.”

You bristled at the term, unsure if it was used genuinely or with condescending intent. “Right,” you nodded, glancing down at his hands, “I’ve just never seen someone use a dipstick to measure engine coolant.” You bent over, tapping on the side of the semi-transparent container. “You can see the levels marked right here; in case you didn’t know.”

Eddie heard snickering, his gaze darting over to your car where Max was hanging out of the window, laughing at him. He hadn’t seen his neighbour smile, let alone hear her laugh before. He wasn’t sure if being the cause of her amusement should make his embarrassment grow or lessen.

“Leave the dipstick alone,” Max called, “He’s going to make us late.”  

You rolled your eyes with your back turned to her, though you wore an endeared smile, and it eased Eddie. Your first shared joke, and he wasn’t even sure you knew his name.

You brought your manicured hands to your hips. “Edward Munson, right?” You asked, as if reading his thoughts.

He winced slightly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Eddie’s fine. Or dipstick, as lovingly dubbed by my nefarious neighbour.” He said that last part over your shoulder, and Max threw up a middle finger.

“Well, Eddie,” you tested his name, “Are you going to play mechanic all day, or do you want a lift to school?”

Eddie sighed, closing the van’s hood. That meant you remembered the fact that his name hadn’t been amongst those called out on graduation day last year. Shame crawled up his throat and he swallowed it down as usual.

He lingered for a second, letting The Smiths serenade his decision as he retrieved his backpack from the van before locking it up.

“I’m all yours.”  

With a content nod you lead him to your car, and only then did he realise it only had 2 doors. Max eyed Eddie as you bent over, pulling the driver’s seat forward. He widened his eyes at her, a response to her silent dare, but also a tactic to stop his gaze from slipping to the bare back of your thighs and up higher, where your skirt hem danced just below your-

“Eddie!”

His eyes snapped back to Max’s bright blue then away to the treeline, coughing awkwardly as you straightened, motioning for him to climb into the backseat. When he didn’t immediately go for it, you frowned up at him, then back to Max.

“Everything okay?”

Max narrowed her eyes at the young man. “I’m fine.”

“Peachy,” Eddie muttered, smiling to himself as Max scoffed. He clambered, with effort, into the backseat, his knees almost coming up to his chest in the tiny car. Max made a point to push her seat back all the way, cramping him further as she gave herself a lot more leg room than she needed.

“Comfortable, Mayfield?” Eddie grumbled.

“Yup,” She bit back, putting her feet up on the dash, which you quickly swatted down.

“Seatbelt,” You instructed, pushing your seat back into position, mercifully giving Eddie extra room to stretch out behind you. He had to hunch over, otherwise his head would be against the low roof.

Morrissey was pleading, “Let me, let me, let me” as you put the car into drive, circling around, driving past Eddie’s van and along the dirt road to exit the trailer park.

You drove with the windows down, and as you picked up speed, turning onto the paved road, Max opened the glove compartment, riffling through your collection of cassettes.

Eddie wasn’t hopeful, but he popped his head between the front seats, scrutinising if you had anything good. The Cure, Bowie, Cocteau Twins; not exactly his taste, but at least you weren’t totally hopeless.

“Check my bag,” you told Max, pointing to the back. She rounded on Eddie, frowning at him with her hand outstretched. He looked left then right, muttering a curse as he realised the sage green bag had been squashed under his reeboks.

Max waited impatiently as he pulled it up, unzipping it before handing it to the girl. He’d gotten a glimpse into your life in that split second: lipstick, a couple dollars, and a whiff of maddening perfume surrounding a small package wrapped in butcher’s paper.

As soon as Max laid eyes on the contents her annoyance faded to curiosity. You nodded, encouraging her as she picked up the small box.

She tore into it, unwrapping a tape with a purple cover.

“Kate Bush?”

You smiled, eyes still on the road. Eddie watched the exchange through the rear-view mirror as he relaxed into the soft leather seat.

“She got me through my freshman year. She’ll get you through yours.” You reached over and tugged on her braid, and she shoved your hand away, but a small smile stayed on her lips.

Max switched out The Smiths for her gift, and though it definitely was not something he’d be caught dead listening to, Eddie couldn’t help but feel his soul warm every time he got to witness someone fall in love for the first time. Max sat back, her glassy eyes wide and reminiscing as she turned her head and watched the trees fly by, the music sinking into her.

Eddie wanted to ask how the hell a senior with an express ticket to an Ivy League college had come to befriend his sulky young neighbour, but he knew better than to interrupt the listening session, a comfortable silence falling as you appreciated the record.

He took the time to admire the way your delicate pearl bracelet swayed each time you shifted gears, your handling of the car so smooth he could barely feel it each time. The realisation finally struck him that he, Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, was getting chauffeured by the most well-liked person of the school.

And no, popularity had nothing to do with it. You were far from ‘popular’; those who were envied and unapproachable. You were the people person: a rare mix of agreeable and adaptable that made absolutely everyone at the very least neutral to your presence. You could pick any table to sit at during lunch, strike up a conversation with anyone, be it teacher or student, and have them smiling the whole way through.

Hell, you’d managed to squeeze a few out of Mayfield, despite her usual stormy disposition.

As the previous song ended, Eddie spoke into the silence before the next began, his hands wrapping around the seat on either side of your head.

“You make this a habit?” He asked, “A shuttle for the wicked?”

You peered at him through the rear view, humour sparkling in your eyes. “This is a one-off for you, Munson. I only promised Max my wheels for the school year.”

“Why is that, I wonder?” He mused mischievously, turning his attention to the younger girl, “You got some juicy dirt on the future valedictorian?”

“Oh, of course,” Max turned in her seat, facing Eddie through the gap in the headrest, over-enthusiastic, “She sells drugs to kids and failed senior year twice.”

“Har har,” Eddie fell back into the leather, wearing a tight-lipped smile, “Great joke.”

“The greatest joke of all is in the backseat wearing his shirt inside out,” She muttered, turning back to the front.

“Hey,” you warned, but your tone was gentle. Max faced out the window again, and your eyes caught Eddie’s in the mirror. “She’s right, though.”

His heart sunk.

“Your shirt’s inside out.”

He looked down, uttered an “Oh,” just as you pulled into the car park.

“Wait,” you told Max, her hand on the door handle. “Did your mom pack you lunch?”

“No,” She replied, as if it were a fact of life.

You pulled your bag onto your lap, retrieving a lunchbox with a faded wonder woman adorning the front. “I didn’t know what you like, so I made one ham and one turkey. There’s also a fudge brownie in there. Just bring back whatever you don’t eat.”

Max frowned as you passed the box to her, caught off guard.

“Thanks,” she murmured before leaving without so much as a goodbye to Eddie.

“Have a good day!” You yelled out the window, “I’ll meet you back here at three.”

She nodded before sliding her headphones onto her ears.

“Is the big juicy secret that you’re actually her mom?”

Eddie’s voice made you jump, and you remembered he was still in the back.

He reached forward, leaving a teasing pinch to your arm. “Are you secretly like, forty-five, but super good at doing your makeup, or something?”

“Or something,” You retorted, pulling the passenger seat all the way forward to give him a way out.

Instead of leaving, he pulled his shirt over his head, flipping it the right way out. He glanced up, catching you looking at his chest, then looking away when you noticed.

Eddie chuckled as he shrugged the shirt back on. “Wouldn’t want to make a bad first impression, right?”

“More like third impression.”

“Hey, third time’s the charm, don’t they say?” He leaned forward to go, but paused, his guitar-pick necklace dangling in your face. “Mommy dearest didn’t pack my lunch, either, y’know.”

You laughed, shoving him. “I’m not a charity worker. You can eat from the cafeteria like all the other neglected kids.”

He felt it then. What everyone else must have, when in your presence. The distinct magnetism that came with this easy flow, like you’d been friends for years, when in reality you’d only officially become acquainted twenty minutes ago. He didn’t want to leave.

“I’m guessing I won’t see you there?”

You looked up at him, and he wondered if everyone felt their heart stop when you looked at them like that.

“You might.”

He chuckled, “How does this work? Do I chant your name three times into the boy’s bathroom mirror and you show up at my lunch table?”

“Or you could just save me a seat and I’ll come find you.”

He wasn’t sure what was happening in his chest, but the ricochet of his heart’s pounding made his breath quiver.

“Alright.”

You weren’t flirting with him. You were not flirting. You were just being nice. You were like this to everyone.

Eddie was trying to get it through his thick skull, but no matter how many times he told himself, he couldn’t believe it. Especially not when you hurried out to meet him at the passenger side to offer him your hand as he climbed out, your free one landing gently on his head to make sure he didn’t bump it on the way out.

“Your hair’s really soft,” you complimented.

“You too,” he stammered, “Uh, I mean, it looks-“ He reached out, pushing a stray lock behind your ear, then immediately regretting doing it without asking. “Mhmm. Yes. Confirmed.”

What was happening to him? His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. A betrayal of his own body that worsened when he realised he hadn’t let go of your hand.

“Shit. Sorry.”

As he let go, a group of jocks passed by, subtlety lost on them as they glared at him.

“Thanks for the ride,” Eddie said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, “Anyway. See you at lunch. Maybe.” He backed up, feeling the tension in his chest lighten slightly the further he got away, “If you’re not there by second bell I’ll start chanting.”

You tittered. “You’re really not doing anything to quell the satanist rumours, are you?”

“That’s what I’ve got you for, angel,” he winked.

→ message me to be added to the taglist for this character → comments & reblogs are super appreciated as it encourages me to post more → please do not repost any of the writing in this post, thank you!

tags: @andperset​ @1a-ma1a-su3rt3​

[mandy-asimp]

Shut up and Dance!

Aaron Hotchner x fem! Reader.

No warnings (shocker I feel)

Just something slight

Hailey and Jack don't exsist for this

Heavily influenced by this songs

"Nah, listen. I want me a man who's going to give me everything. I want to be worshipped. I want to be adored. I want to be his every waking thought. Like I want him to think of cheating and then knowing how dumb that would be," Y/n sat at the dinner table.

"So you want a fictional man?" Emily came to the table, sitting on the same side as Y/n. The two blondes across sharing a look.

"Listen, finding the right man takes time. I didn't meet will till our late twenties. You still have time. Plus me and Will aren't even married." The blonde sighed. "I mean honestly, I get it's about finding the time, but I don't know if he's planning to propose ever."

"Kevin hasn't even asked me to be his girlfriend." Penelope huffed. "It's so obvious I want to be dating, but every time we go out and there's an opening, he misses it."

Emily took a sip of her drink with a smile, "told you, you're looking for a fictional man."

Y/n gave a head shake and let her head hang in defeat. "One day, there will be a man. But until then I'll be your single gal."

"Cheers to that!" Emily raised her glass. Listening as the others laughed and met her glass. Everyone downing the small fruity drinks. "And hey think about it, if you don't find someone, I'm sure Hotch would humor you!"

The joke made a small smile appear, "that's just wrong." Was all Y/n said. Thankful for when their phones dinged with a case. "So much for a break. This is what, the fifth case with no real break?"

"Serial killers never respect our time." Penelope frowned.

Each three down a twenty and got into their cars. Driving back to the bureau in a line, following Emily.

Once they got there, they started the debrief. "Sorry to call you all back. I know we haven't gotten a chance to breathe yet but let's keep focus." Hotch had walked in, the folders in hand before passing them around and taking his seat next to Y/n.

"Right so, this is Delilah Pence. She and three other woman were found with several stab wounds to their torsos. They have bruises from being physically abused." He began covering what he had memorized.

Reid furrowed his brows, "what makes this were we need to cover it?"

That's when the photos were revealed. "Oh...is that..." JJ and Emily were closely examining the pictures together.

Y/n looked over to Hotch, personally finding the M.O to be a bit obvious. "I'd say it's a woman or an insecure man."

"Either or, wheels up in thirty." He dismissed, hoping that would give everyone time to get their go-bags together.

~~~

The case was over within a week, but it was still tiring. Everyone was helping pack up the files and papers.

"I don't know about you guys, but I could use a night out. Really just release all of the work that's been building up." Y/n put the box on the table, watching as Penelope scribbled a name onto the cardboard.

The sheriff had walked in, "There's a good club in town. They're usually packed on Friday nights but I'm sure I could make some arrangements. A thank you. They're know for dancing though." She offered, taking it as a yes as everyone's face lit up. She nodded and left, making her phone call.

"Let's run back to the hotel rooms and change before, get a fresh feeling." Derek smirked while grabbing his coat and leading everyone out.

By ten, the team was at a nice table and on their fifth round.

"Oh this is such a good song!" Penelope geeked before dragging everyone to the floor. Hotch and Rossi somehow managing to stay behind.

Hotch hadn't really drank much, knowing she only would drink half of her drinks, he finished the rest. "So when are you gonna propose to her?" Rossi peaked interest in the two's relationship.

"We've been busy for a few weeks. We also always wanted to make sure we were stable before making any big commitments." He explained, his eyes never leaving her.

Rossi smiled slightly, "and now? What's the excuse? You're both stable financially, you're both still young. What if she wants kids? You're at the perfect age you two."

"Maybe soon. I have a ring, she sketched it in high school. It's crazy to think we went to same high school but met in college." He began to think of how Y/n and him met.

Rossi bobbed his head, "yes I've heard very lightly of this story. From both perspectives."

Hotch cracked a smile. "She loves telling it. She tells it better as well. She'd be a great mother with how she can tell a story." He felt a tug at his heart at the thought.

Y/n, the mother of his kids. A little family. He knew she wanted kids, she talked about it for years. Her eyes always sparkling with how she planned her future.

"She's good for you Aaron." Rossi finalized before going to order a few shots of whiskey. Not taking more than ten minutes to get back.

He had ordered a few for whoever came back to the table. Not being surprised when it was Y/n and Reid who came back.

"Genius, you're definitely taking a shot. It'll help warm up your body." Y/n giggled in her tipsy state. "I'll take one with you."

Reid was going to pass the deal, but he figured...one can't hurt right? "Fine."

And they both shot back the dark liquor and both made a face. Earning laughs from the other four as they came back to the table as well.

"Tired already?" Hotch joked as they all took their seats again.

The song had switched over, and Y/n concealed her excitement. Wanting to wait for the perfect moment before whisking Aaron away to the dance floor. Pleased when he hadn't noticed the song.

"No, we just saw a party of shots and wanted to get in on it." Emily pointed to the shots that were empty.

"Plus when someone couldn't keep up with us on the floor," Derek pointed towards Y/n. Making fun of how she was the first one to walk off.

Aaron smiled a bit more, "you're holding back?" He glanced over to Y/n who was already looking at him. Mischief in her eyes as she grabbed his arm and rushed him to the floor.

"Shut up and dance with me," she laughed as they easily fell into the song. Dancing like they did when they were young.

Meanwhile the team was abso-fucking-lutely baffled. "For how long?" Penelope almost screamed to Rossi. Growing a bit more upset when the man just took a sip of his drink.

And for the song they watched as the two danced around as if they weren't being watched. Watching as their boss laughed once the song ended.

"When they come back, you ask no questions. Let them just be open tonight on their terms." Rossi pointed to the children. "Especially you," he looked to Garcia.

"Oh, come on Rossi! They kept a little secret and we wanna know more, what's the harm?" Derek tried to reason, only getting a disapproving head shake in return. "Well drop it for now! But they better know they have a long list of questions, she's never even posted anything to give us a hint. And she post a lot."

"Maybe it's new?" Reid shrugged the idea out. The conversation dropped as they watched you both leave hand in hand. "Maybe it's not. Where do you think they're going?"

"I bet we'll find out in the morning." Emily wiggled her eyebrows and shimmied her shoulders. "I can't believe it still. Just before the case she was taking about being single!"

JJ stared at the table as she thought. Realizing there was only one glass between the two the entire night and nobody noticed. "They shared drinks all night..." she pointed out. Making everyone count the drinks.

"So we know they're sneaky, that means this could've been happening." Penelope frowned, desperate for more information.

Derek suddenly thought. "Do they live together?"

"Are you serious?!" Penelope shot her head over to Rossi, praying he'd let this one detail up.

He shook his head again, "if I buy the another round will you all drop it?"

They agreed and their night went on. While Aaron and Y/n walked through the city and took in the light.

She held on his arm, stealing his warmth as they moved. Her mind thinking of how this is what she waited for. To be walking with the love of her life at night. The violin player in the park leading them to an even beautifuler sight.

Aaron couldn't help how she made him feel. It was almost instinct to spin her around and slowly dance around.

Y/n let out a few laughs at the actions. "Let me record so I can show our kids one day." She had smiled through the sentence. Propping the phone up against her bag and hitting record.

And they continued to dance. Aaron could tell she wanted to kiss him right there, but she was fighting against it. She had to pick between kissing him or enjoying the dance a little longer. "You're holding back." Would bring her back to the reality of it all.

Her smile would grow instantly at him. "Shut up and dance with me," she would respond and they would dance. Moving together with each note and laughing.

Once the player ended, Y/n moved to get cash for them. Dropping a ten into the case and turning back to...Aaron?

He was on one knee and fidgeting with a black box. "I love you beyond words." He started.

"Yes." Y/n choked out. Feeling to euphoric to even let him get everything out. Listening as he let out that carefree laugh. The one that speaks nothing bad could happen.

"I want you to be the mother of our kids, my forever. Since the dance in college. You grabbed my arm and I could only think about you being my destiny. I didn't let you go from there on out. Marry me?" He grinned as she bobbed her head. Accepting the ring and pulling him into a long, tearful, kiss.

She sniffled, "does this mean I get my big wedding? And we can also tell the team? And we can have the dream nursery?" She looked up at him. Feeling so love and happy.

Aaron nodded, "all our dreams are in our hands now. And I think they're waiting for a post of where we went." He reminded her of the bar, watching as her eyes went wide.

"I love you," she sighed. Feeling so content with life.

"I love you too," he leaned down to place a peck to her lips. "Penelope is going to be furious."

She chuckled, then thought about it, then full belly laughed. Even while grabbing her purse and phone, she was laughing. "I'll send her the video before posting it," she planned. "Let's just enjoy what time we have."

~~~

Awhile had passed, and the two had sent out their invitations to family, but wanted to give the team their invites in creative ways. Especially with the wedding only a week away.

The two had managed to plan everything else out and still keep their relationship quiet. Had played it like they were only a month dating when the team found out.

They first started with Rossi. Y/n had went into his office first. "Hey you know how to tell if jewelry's real or not right? I mean I can I just want a second opinion." She held out her hand to Rossi. Showing the ring off and he just laughed.

"It was the night at the bar wasn't it?" He sat up to really take in the ring. Just then Aaron came in. "You did well; so when's the wedding?" The invite got slid over, both smiling. "I think I can get something together by then. Does Strauss know?"

"We got the entire day covered. If any case appears, it's redirected for a short time." Aaron informed. "You just have to show up."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, congrats." He stood up. Exchanging kisses to both their cheeks.

Their next person was Reid. Who was with JJ at the time. They figured giving them both theirs wouldn't hurt.

Only Y/n did this one. "Someone looks happy." JJ felt her own smile form. That looks was familiar, and before y/n could even get it out, JJ already knew. She began to geek before the invitation was placed down.

"Wait, but didn't you two just start dating like six months ago?" Reid read over the paper. Enjoying how well put together it was.

Y/n bit her lip. "Listen. We met in college, and by my second year and his graduating year, we started dating." She confessed, trying to not laugh at how the jaws hit the floor. "Shhh! We haven't told Derek, Penelope, or Emily yet. But just know the day is already covered for us."

And they agreed to be there, talking about it even after she left them to continue the spread the invite.

It wasn't until the late lunch she went out with the two. Sitting across from them in the booth she could only smile. The entire time, she just had this smile they couldn't decipher.

"Alright listen, you've been smiling all lunch. So what is it? You and boss man finally said 'I love you'?" He made kissy noises. Gaining a laugh from Emily.

Y/n said nothing, instead she slid two even lips over with a straight face. It was hard as the two became mildly confused. They asked a few times what this was but once realizing they had to open it, they were shocked.

"But..." Emily looked up, eyes widening at the sight of the engend ring. "Holy shit! Boss man must really love you!"

Y/n was back to smiling again, "since college" was all she whispered. Her eyes shinning while looking at the ring. She couldn't help the scream of excitement, "I'm getting married!" She cried out. The restaurant laughing at her excitement.

Derek furrowed his brows while looking at the ring. "So you've been keeping him a secret?" He scoffed, really not knowing how they pulled it off. "How were you that sneaky?"

She winked and went back to eating. "We already have the day converted for everyone. It's gonna be good, promise."

The three talked a little more about the topic before heading back. Being greeted by an unhappy tech analysis.

"I would've liked an invite!" She stomped off. Feeling left out from the fun. She mumbled things to herself as Y/n followed. Letting it all out once the door closed. "I mean honestly! You guys are on cases together and I only get so much time with you all-"

"Penelope, I have something for you." Y/n cut her off. The pink envelop in hand now. "It's just something slight, nothing too extreme."

The blonde turned, almost glaring at the envelop. "It better be good. Not inviting me to lunch..." she shook her head as she opened it. There was a silence as she read over the car. "What?"

"Surprise!" Y/n shook her hands. The ring catching the attention. Her hand was yanked, "and another thing since we're laying out everything, it hasn't been six months. It's been seven years."

"Are you serious?" Penelope felt her mouth just hang open. "This is less than a week away, what about taking time off? What am I supposed to wear? Who's your bridesmaid?!"

"All of that is covered. We talked to Strauss awhile back when we had a date planned. And as for you, I was hoping as my best friend, you would be my bridesmaid? I have a dress picked and it's been tailored, but all you have to do-"

"Yes!" She screamed. Giving a home crushing hug. "But I swear to it if you get pregnant and don't tell me, we will be having issues." Her threat was serious and you knew it. But she pulled back and looked you in the eyes. "You're getting married."

"I'm getting married." Y/n repeated, a wide grin on her face as they jumped up and down.

~

Y/n stood behind the door. This was it. She couldn't help but beam. Glowing with severe happiness and an overwhelming sense of joy.

The music began and the doors opened. And she let one foot lead one after the other. She could hear gasps as she came down but she only saw one man. Her Aaron. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes before she even made it down.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." the wedding officiants voice faded out as she and Aaron held a silent conversation.

Both coming back once it was time for the vows. "Aaron?" He handed over the floor.

She watched the tall man unfold his paper. "I knew from the first day we met you were going to be the one. You had saw me sitting there at the dance and a song had come on. It was fairly new at the time, but I could tell you knew that it would never get old. You ran over, grabbed my arms and pulled me to the dance floor and just started dancing around me. I was confused at first, shocked a bit more. How could someone be so care free in this world? You then stopped dancing and I made the joke you were holding back, and your response was something I never would forget." His voice wavered a bit as he looked up into her eyes. Knowing this was right. "You had said, shut up and dance with me. I swore in that moment that I would do anything to make you happy. I'm lucky it was you who kissed me first otherwise I would've dodged around it forever."

She laughed at this, "you missed every opportunity," her laugh was soggy. Tears snuck down her face the entire time.

Aaron shook his head with a smile, "even if I did, we got to where we wanted to be. I stand here today, with you, my best friend, the love of my life, the mother to my children one day, and mostly, my wife."

"Now Y/n," the mic was handed over.

She unfolded the paper, "The day I pictured finding my forever actually happened in the workplace. Where I would've found someone whose schedule lines with mine. And we would have all the time together. But then I met you in college. And I remember when you had said I was holding back, and I couldn't contain the adrenaline and just hopped you wouldn't think I was weird. Also because I was watching you for the entire night praying no girl would walk up to you before I could get the courage. After that night, we had seen each other almost everywhere. We got to talking and I thought, man. This man. You weren't like anyone I ever met."

"It was the beginning of college," he reminded. Laughing a little at the scoff and mumble.

"Yeah, but still. My freshman year I went quiet to focus on the basics, but by the second year I found you. My motivation, the one that kept pushing through to be a lawyer. We build each other up in the best ways. We kept each other going when we needed it the most and by the time we made it to the FBI , our life was set together for the best. Then it took you longer to still propose, but besides all that. You did. My love. My heart. My man. My husband. The father of my kids, I love you beyond what I can write. Also because I ran out of space, quite literally squeezing this, but I'm overwhelmed with love for you." She finished, wiping away tears carefully. Mumbling a thank you once Aaron handed her his handkerchief.

~

"Do you Aaron Hotchner, take Y/n L/n, in sickness and in health, to be you lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."

"And do you, Y/n L/n, take Aaron Hotchner, in sickness and in health, to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

"Them by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Cheers erupted as he did so. The two officially becoming Mr. and Mrs. Hotchner.

~

Everyone was on the dance floor now. Enjoying the company of each other and celebrating the newly weds. That's when the song came on again.

Aaron was over with his family as Y/n was talking with the team. But she was quick to leave them and run to find her husband.

Spotting him from the crowd already looking for her. Her toothy smile showed as she ran and grabbed his arm. Suddenly the room was just them.

They danced around each other as the music played. Getting closer once it slowed a bit more. "You're holding back," he looked lovingly down to her.

Her eyes twinkled with the same love. Tears came to her eyes, "shut up and dance with me," she whispered to him.

They shared one more kiss before the room came back to join them in dancing. Laughter filled the room almost instantly.

It was everything the couple had hoped for.

[jesssssssssica]

ten things i hate about you! j.b

one. i hate the way you talk to me.

i hate when his voice raises and the words that he spits out at me. his tone is always aggressive after a match win or lose and i can’t deal with it. does he want me to change?

i don’t even let out a word, i’ve learnt that the words are more malicious if i attempt to calm him, but he shouts at me none the less, barking orders at me left, right and centre. it’s horrible and i hate it.

i hate the way he talks to me.

two. i hate the way you cut your hair

it looks stupid. i much prefer how it once was and the fact he pays someone to cut it that awfully, makes me laugh.

he tries to make himself look cool and maybe he does but to me he doesn’t. he just looks stupid.

i hate his hair.

three. i hate the way you drive my car

i should be happy when he offers to drive my car and be my own personal chauffeur but i’m not.

nine times out of ten i open my door and feel ill when we get to our destination. my heart always races whenever he drives it’s almost like i’m expecting an incident on the road.

it’s like i await the day i die in that car with him behind the wheel.

it’s the day i’ll finally be able to say “i told you so” with a smug smile on my face.

i hate the way he drives my car.

four. i hate it when you stare

he can’t pull his eyes away from me. his eyes are almost pulled to me from me making the slightest of movement and does not pull away until he’s sure that i’m okay.

i don’t get though why i am under such high surveillance. it’s not like in the 30 seconds that he’s not looking at me i will die or hurt myself.

it’s strange and it’s annoying.

is my life that amazing that he needs to watch?

i don’t think so.

i hate the way he stares at me.

five. i hate your big dumb combat football boots

they’re loud.

i can hear them everywhere. it’s like they’ve traumatised me so much that it’s engraved in my mind. i can hear them in my dreams nightmares.

i like the colours though. the neon. it makes me laugh if i see them as he’s running about the field. but other than that, i hate your big dumb football boots

six. i hate you so much it makes me sick

he make me so nauseous. the habits he has and the way he is makes me always question why i’m with him.

i can’t help it.

it’s just strange about what makes me this way.

maybe it’s the way you speak that makes my tummy feel as if it’s about to throw up and that there’s some mutant baby kicking about in there, but i don’t know.

one thing i do know though is, i hate you so much it makes me sick.

seven. i hate the way you’re always right

it’s like i can never win. in the arguments we have i’m always the one that has to back down and realise that im in the wrong.

no fair.

and it doesn’t help that when i realise i’m the one that’s wrong, his face is always there, stupid smug smirk taking over his face.

it’s cute.

but i’m to busy trying to find one single connection to the fact that i’m right. i never can.

i hate the way you’re always right.

eight. i hate it when you lie

i know when he’s lying. when he says he’s not been out but i can smell the alcohol on his breathe.

does he really think i’m that naive?

it’s not anything that big to me but all the little lies he tells are starting to form into one giant pile of lies that are starting to make me angry.

a relationship is built on truth and the fact he can’t do that makes me sick.

why can’t he be truthful?

if he’s lying about this then what else would he lie about.

it makes me worry.

i hate it when you lie.

nine. i hate it when you make me laugh

when he makes me laugh, it’s always the kind that will leave you struggling to breathe afterwards.

he makes me laugh like no one else does, and i don’t know why.

his jokes are mediocre at best and yet im laughing as if he’s a comedian that’s performing at a stand up show, which even then wouldn’t have me nearly falling onto the fall and holding onto my stomach.

then the stupid mutant baby returns, moving about in my stomach whenever i laugh.

it’s strange and i hate it.

i hate the way you make me laugh.

ten. i hate it when you’re not around

i hate it when i’m all alone.

loneliness is one of the worst things people can experience in their lives.

when he goes away for work i’m left in a giant home.

i can only talk to the walls that surround me and not him.

it’s strange how much you miss someone and you don’t even find out until their gone.

i mean why should i care so much about him?

why does it matter?

it’s not like i miss him and his stupid smile and his stupid jokes and his stupid face and his stupid everything.

i admit i hate when you’re not around

but most of all i hate the way i don’t hate you, not even close… not even a little bit… not even at all.

[t-lostinworlds]

hi lovely t!! congrats on ur lovely lil celly <3 how about “Wanna, like– I mean, if you’re not busy… We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?” with stevie? i think you’d make it super cute! lots of love 🫶🏼

A/N: hi bby!! and thank u 🥺💗 i'm sorry this took a lil longer but i hope you like it @stevestummy !!!

steve harrington x fem!reader | wc: 1.3k | dustin's a menace & dorky/shy steve has a crush <3 | prompt in bold!

"This is borderline stalking."

"It's not stalking."

"Uh, borderline, it is," Dustin continued. "No normal or sane person goes to the same café two times a day, six times a week just to get a glimpse of some girl—"

"She's not some girl!"

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," Dustin gasped exaggeratedly, hand on his chest. "The girl you pathetically have an obvious crush on since this café opened—which would make that three weeks of stalking, by the way—and who you've been daydreaming to be your wife and the mother of your kids even though you haven't had a conversation apart from you telling her your same boring coffee order because you can't even ask her number let alone ask her out!"

"My coffee order is not boring," Steve grumbled, cheeks hot because Dustin's rant was still filled with truth…unfortunately.

All because of you.

You who made his heart race and his legs feel like jelly the first time you locked eyes. You who made his brain a jumbled mess, any coherent words lodged in his throat that he was only able to stutter out the first coffee order that came to mind—on more than one occasion that made you believe it was his usual—or else he would've made an even bigger fool of himself by simply staring at you.

Now, Steve wasn't a believer in love at first sight, but this sure did feel close enough.

"What happened to your game King Steve?"

He groaned, head thumping against the steering wheel. "Jesus, man, I get it—"

"Do you really think she's dumb enough to buy your excuses that you're just showing your friends the new café by bringing a different person, mostly kids not your age, every single time you come here?" Dustin babbled on. "You're so obvious about it already! So just ask her out!"

"What do you think I'm doing here!"

"Stalking!" Dustin argued which earned him a glare. "What? You're in your car, waiting for her to clock in because you want her to be the one to take your order instead of sitting inside like a normal person because you don't want to make it obvious that you are waiting for her only as if parking your car in front of the establishment for the past ten minutes without getting out isn't a giant red flag!"

Steve blinked. "What did I ever do to you?"

Dustin took a few deep breaths before smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just hungry, man, I haven't eaten lunch and I can smell their croissants every time the door opens."

Steve sighed, checking his watch.

"Come on. She should be here any minute now."

He internally cringed.

Maybe it did seem like he was stalking you when he even knew when you usually clocked in at certain times of the week.

In his defense, he'd been here plenty of times and it took some trial and error. Once he figured out roughly what your schedule was, it simply became a routine. He didn't go out of his way to steal your timetable and memorized it like some serial killer.

"Yeah, that's not creepy," Dustin grimaced. "Not creepy at all."

"I'll buy you anything you want if you don't embarrass me once we're inside," Steve gritted as he got out of the car. "If not, you're paying for yourself."

Dustin grinned toothily. "Deal."

•••

Steve's fingers were tapping on the wooden countertop as his eyes flickered between the menu and the 'employees only' door.

Your co-worker was behind the counter but didn't make an effort to go over to where they sat on the stools, much to Dustin's dismay. It was almost as if she knew that Steve wanted it to be you who'd take his order. 

His face warmed at the thought.

One that was definitely proven right when she shot him a knowing wink as she disappeared into the back and announced the end of her shift, his palms sweating as he watched the closed door in anticipation

Steve's heart jumped out of his chest and landed on the palm of your hand when you walked in.

Your eyes immediately found his, your irises twinkling and oh so fucking beautiful, smile sweet and warm that turned his brain to mush and all he could think about was: pretty pretty pretty.

Steve struggled to pick his jaw off the floor as he tried to return your grin without looking too much like a lovesick fool.

He knew he failed miserably at that.

Painfully and so downright obvious when he gawked at you, adoration filling his bones at the way you listened attentively to Dustin as he listed all the pastries he wanted to try like they were free—well, Steve supposed since he offered to pay for it all, it kind of was.

"Hey, Steve," you greeted cheerily, beaming. "The usual?"

"H-Hi! and yeah–yes…please," he said, smiling timidly, cheeks flushed, heart skipping when you giggled. It took Dustin kicking his foot to stop him from staring at you for a couple of minutes more. Gathering his sanity, his courage, his breath, his everything, he cleared his throat, "So, uh, do you wanna—uhm…burger? Maybe fries? Milkshakes too!"

"Steve, we don't serve those here," you chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in your eyes, tone teasing. "I thought you knew that already? Being a regular and all."

"No, no, no, it's uh, I meant—" Steve took a deep breath, and he swore he was having a fever because of how hot his body felt. "Wanna, like—I mean, if you’re not busy…We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?"

"Well, I think I've had enough of coffee," you said, face scrunching in the most adorable of ways as you waved around you, the smell of freshly roasted beans strong in the air. "And it's way past lunch already."

Steve's heart fell into his stomach.

"Oh."

This was it. You were letting him down gently. You probably realized just how fucking creepy he'd been acting coming here all the time and—

"How about dinner this Friday night?"

"Yes!" he squeaked, his face burning red. He saw Dustin bury his face in his hands, muttering about how painful this was to watch. Steve ignored him as he turned back to you. "I mean, yeah, I'm free Friday…any time—for you, yeah."

"Cool," you giggled, and Steve swore if he'd hear that angelic sound one more time, he was going to ask you to marry him. You scribbled something on your notepad, your smile shy yet bright as you ripped the paper and handed it to him. "Here's my number. You can pick me up at seven."

"O-Okay," he choked out, cheeks hot and hurting as his grin grew wider. "I will."

Then, you leaned over the counter and kissed his cheek and Steve swore his heart stopped beating, brown eyes wide, jaw hanging, awestruck and dazed as you took his breath away. 

"It's a date," you whispered, fingers resting under his chin to close his mouth, winking before you made your way toward the door. He tried to fight off his frown when he immediately missed your touch, craving more. "I'll be back. I promised Dustin over here to get him one of the freshly baked croissants in the oven."

"Thanks, Y/N!" Dustin chuckled, waving excitedly.

"Fucking slap me," Steve breathed out once you were out of earshot, flinching when a palm hit the back of his head. He glared at his friend. "It was rhetorical!"

"I can't believe that worked," Dustin groaned. "That was so fucking bad."

Steve rolled his eyes, grinning smugly as he waved the paper you gave him. "I still got her number, didn't I?

"Technically, she gave it to you, idiot. You didn't do shit but ask for burgers and fries in a place that serves coffee and pastries. You've got nothing to be smug about."

Steve couldn't even find himself to be embarrassed about it. He was too high on life, his cheek still tingling from where your lips had touched his skin, your sweet scent still lingering in the air that nothing could ever bring him back down.

"I'm still getting the girl."

"Yeah, with your serial killer stalker strategy"

"Shut up."

⤷ t's february frolicking celebration

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[angelsanarchy]

Fever Dreams: Mike x Y/N One Shot Series PRT 04

Tagging: @icarus-star @chainsawgvtsfvck @romanroyapoligist @liquidsmoothdomme @madamemaximoff06 @drazenka @blacksoul-27 @444rockstargf @kappasbbgirl @luzclarita57 @tempt-ress

Y/n is sitting at the desk inside the garage. It was a fairly quiet day and Leff was sitting in the office with his feet on the desk, talking on the phone to someone making new import deals. Sicky came busting through the door so hard, it hit the wall.

"I've fucking had it! I'm done babysitting this kid. He's been complaining nonstop all fucking day and I'm going to kill him." Sicky threw his hands up and Mike came in behind him shaking his head.

"Did you do all the drop offs?" Y/n looked at her watch and Sicky growled.

"No because princess over here has to stop every ten minutes to piss or get cigarettes or jerk off." Sicky looked back at him.

"I had to piss twice and it's not my fault these places are smoke free. This is fucking New York. That's stupid." Mike argued.

"I can't handle it Y/n. You take over or I'm going to skin the kid." Sicky lowered his voice so only Y/n could hear him knowing that threatening Leff's blood loud enough for him to hear would always be a no no. She stood up from the desk and chuckled.

"You remember this the next time I have to do a shipment at the bar." Y/n put a gun in her ankle holster and grabbed her jacket off the hook.

"Come on loverboy." Y/n grabbed the collar of Mike's leather jacket and he gave Sicky the finger.

"Do you care if I smoke in your car?" Mike asked hopeful.

"You can smoke in my car but to answer your question earlier, you can't smoke at client's establishments unless they offer you a smoke. It's disrespectful. These are business partners and when we enter their home turf, they have the advantage. We must show respect to keep business relations on the up and up." Y/n explained as Mike lit his cigarette.

"I fucking hate this job. Honestly, I almost wish Leff would have left me to figure my own shit out. At least that way I wouldn't be stuck being his little bitch delivery boy." He blew smoke out of the cracked window.

"What would you rather be doing?" Y/n asked honestly and Mike looked over at her to see if she was being serious.

"If I tell you, you can't laugh." Mike said making Y/n smile.

"If you say male stripper or rancher, I'm going to laugh." She warned making him chuckle.

"I want to be a musician. Start a band and get the hell out of here. The music scene in New York is dead unless you're a rapper or making a techno pop set in someone's basement rave." Mike explained.

"Musician? Do you play an instrument or are you a singer?" She asked. Mike could see she was genuinely interested in his answers and he tried to hide his blush.

"I play guitar but I definitely would need a singer. I'm not much of a vocalist." Mike took another puff from his cigarette and ashed it out the window.

"Well you could absolutely find a singer in New York but you'll want to go South if you want to get any sort of band off the ground. Everyone knows Texas is where aspiring musicians go." Y/n pulled up to a stop light and looked at him.

"What's your sound? Despite the cowboy look, the leather daddy that accompanies it gives hard rock or grungey alternative." Mike had to laugh out loud.

"Did you just call me a leather daddy?" He asked furrowing his brows.

"Shut up, don't act like you don't love when I give you pet names." She teased from behind the steering wheel. He noticed something he hadn't really noticed before. She had a tattoo on her neck behind her ear. When she smiled wide, he could see a little black rose etched into the skin.

"If only you would take me up on my offer to use them with less clothing and more privacy." Mike flirted making her shake her head at him, putting her hand out to take his cigarette and take a puff. He watched her suck the smoke into her mouth, let it out of her nose and back out again.

Every thing she did turned him on in the weirdest way.

"Get some furniture first and we'll revisit naked hangouts." She teased. Mike took that as a promise and motivation to get a couch.

"How do you know so much about the music scene in Texas?" Mike asked curiously.

"I used to work at a night club. A lot of guys would come through and tell me their life stories and dreams of making it big but what they don't realize is New York is more for performing arts. Classical musicians and acting are on the rise but places like Austin are where all the big music producers pick and choose people to throw together to make an album. Plus the food is superior." Mike kept his eyes on her.

"The night club...were you a-"

"Yes Mike, I used to be a dancer so if you have any stripper jokes, keep in mind that I'm currently behind the wheel and you aren't wearing a seat belt." She glanced over at him.

"I mean we're literally pushing drugs and weapons. I don't think being a stripper is some sort of classless gig. We're clearly doing a lot worse." He shook the duffel bag.

"You aren't wrong." Y/n pulled up to the drop location and put the car in park.

"Besides, Sicky said you own a bar now so that's cool." Mike added making her grin at him.

"You're talking to Sicky about me huh?" She teases and he rolls his eyes.

"Shut up." He finished off his cigarette before getting out of the car and when Y/n handed him the duffel she held onto it.

"Hey, this shit is only as temporary as you want it to be. You want out, you have to find something that will get you out and keep you straight. All Leff needs is reassurance that you'll be able to take care of yourself. That's all he wants." She said sincerely.

"I'll keep that in mind while I'm peddling this cocaine to a biker gang." Mike said making Y/n scrunch her nose.

"Sicky's right, you're being a princess." Y/n teased making Mike take the bag from her and give her a mocking middle finger. She smiled giving him one back and watched his back as he knocked on the door. She moved her gun from her ankle holster to her lap and watched him carefully.

He didn't know it but Y/n was already willing to kill for him if she had to.

[matthewtkachuk]

nothing kills you slower than letting someone go - matthew tkachuk

Your first Christmas in Calgary without Matthew proves to be more dramatic than you’d imagined

pairing: matthew tkachuk x reader

warnings: angst angst angst, a shitty breakup, shitting on the calgary transit system and also the weather, tumblr user matthewtkachuk finally taking on the matthew tkachuk florida trade

word count: 3.1k

happy (early) birthday c, i love you so so so so sos ososos os much you deserve the absolute fucking world and i would kill anyone for you, all you have to do is ask. big thank u to @antoineroussel as always for proofreading, even if i decline her changes 50% of the time.

@ryngrvs bingo spaces used: exes to lovers, "you're killing me", argument scene, unresolved angst, forced proximity

“You’re killing me.”

It’s spoken by the head of curls poking out from beneath the cream duvet that may or may not be attached to your boyfriend. He’s enjoying the perks of a rare day off, while you’re stumbling around the bright room getting ready for work at the ass crack of dawn. 

“I’m sorry, Matty, I’ll turn the light off as soon as I finish getting dressed.” 

“Or you could stop getting dressed and come back to bed,” is his muffled reply. He stretches with a loud groan, peeking out at you from beneath the covers for a moment before dramatically squeezing his eyes shut and covering his head once more. 

“Would that I could, baby. Would that I could,” you tell him, tossing on a shirt from your large walk-in closet and finally, mercifully, turning off the light. It’s a short walk back over to the bed where you unceremoniously yank the covers away in order to give him a short but sweet kiss goodbye. “Love you, see you later.” 

His responding ‘I love you’ sounds more like a promise than a parroting of your own words back at you. 

Life in Calgary is good, perfect even one might say. Just you, Matty, a cute apartment with a good view—what more could a girl ask for? Except for maybe a milder winter and a physical confirmation and representation of the future you think you’re heading toward. 

Six months later, at his brother’s engagement party, Matt is traded to the opposite side of the continent  and you’re moving into the spare bedroom of your friend’s apartment. Your view? The brick of the building next door and the shambles of a life you’d no longer get to lead. 

-

Calgary’s always been cold, but it’s even colder without Matthew to warm your bed or your apartment or your life. Apparently the mid-December cold snap has temperatures dropping below that of even the North and South Poles. Once upon a time that would mean extended mornings together in bed, warm and cozy under covers until you would successfully guilt trip him into giving you a ride to work. 

These days you have to wake up a full hour earlier than you used to in order to take the notoriously unreliable Calgary transit system, shivering in the uncovered bus shelter while you wait and wait and wait for a bus that may never come, and cursing your manager for being the ultimate boomer, afraid of letting his staff work from home.

It’s one of those days when your bus is a full half an hour late and the windchill could best be described as ‘fucking cold’ when you get an unexpected text message. 

Busy?

It’s Annika, Elias’s newly minted fiance if instagram is to be believed, and one of the girls you had been closest to when you’d existed within the stratosphere that was the Calgary Flames. It’s unexpected but not unwelcome or unrealistic, seeing as she’s checked on you here and there in the months since your split.

No, but yes and also kind of in a pickle...

Ten minutes later, there’s still no sign of your bus, but a different mode of transportation presents itself in your old friend behind the wheel of an SUV.

Your shoulders are shivering and your teeth are chattering and you’re 99% sure your lips are blue when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the window reflection before climbing in.

“You’re an absolute lifesaver Ann,” you gush the moment you’re situated in the passenger seat, pleasantly surprised when the seat warmer is already warm and toasty beneath your ass.

“What are friends for, right?” she gleefully replies, signaling before turning back onto the icy street. 

Christmas music plays lightly through the car radio, filling the silences between the two of you catching up on the past few months. 

It’s pleasant and warm—so, so incredibly warm thank God—which should have been an indication that a bomb was about to be thrown your way. 

“Come to our Christmas party,” Annika blurts out with a complete and uncharacteristic lack of poise. You’re ready to tell her all about the multitude of ways that’s a bad idea when she continues, “Just listen...”

It takes a lot to convince you that a Christmas Party being hosted at the house she owned with Elias is how you want to spend your valuable free time. Partially it’s the promise of free booze, partially it’s the way your chest aches when you think of all the friends you lost when your relationship went to shit, but mostly it’s the assurance that it’s neither the Official nor Unofficial Flames Christmas party and it won’t be just players and their significant others present. 

That, and the fact that Annika went out of her way to pick you up in the freezing cold at seven thirty in the morning and give you a ride when Calgary Transit had let you down so spectacularly. 

You let her talk and don’t give her an answer until she’s dropping you off in front of work.

“So, will you come?”

“Of course I’ll come, thanks for the ride, Ann.”

The wide smile on her face should make your frozen heart melt a little, but you’re too busy focusing on the dread you feel deep in your stomach.

-

You knew it was going to be a bad day when even your gimmicky weather app told you it was so cold you were better off staying at home.

But you’ve spent enough time sitting at home, staring at your four walls and wishing for a better outcome. Besides, you’re not going to let anyone down, especially not after knowing the pain of the ultimate let down that was Matthew Tkachuk and everything he’d promised you and then failed to deliver. 

The only one you’re impressing is yourself these days, which is your justification for the thirty minute long shower where you let a hair mask soak into your ends and exfoliate your entire body despite being under no pretenses that anyone but you would benefit from it.

And okay maybe the thought of ending up in the background of someone’s Insta story is motivation enough for you to spend that extra bit of time on your hair and makeup, and to choose the jeans that make your ass look great and the shirt that does the same for your tits. It’s a secret that will remain between you and Anastasia Beverly Hills. 

A loud cheer is sounded when you walk through the front door of the Lindholm home after a short Uber ride.

“You and Matthew broke up, not us,” Elias tells you after pulling you in for a big bear hug. It takes everything you have in you to not give into the wobbling of your lower lip at his words. Maybe it wasn’t fair to avoid this world and everything that came with it for fear that it would prevent your broken heart from mending itself piece by piece. These were good people who you cared for and who cared for you in return, people who only had your best interests at heart. 

“I promise I’ll quit hiding in Chrissy’s apartment,” you reply quietly before letting Annika lead you away to introduce you to some of the new faces around the room. 

Ashley Kadri is every bit as glamorous and kind as your friend talked her up to be, and her husband is much of the same, letting you gush about how amazing his cup run with the Avs had been last season. 

You can take the girl out of the hockey relationship, but you can’t take the hockey out of the girl.

It’s all going well and reminding you of how much you used to love being a part of this world when it predictably goes to hell again.

Securing another drink means walking past the front door to head towards the kitchen, and you can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing that it’s here, away from prying eyes, that you run into the last person you expected to see in Calgary ever again outside of a game situation. 

“What are you doing here?” Matthew asks, stunned by the mere presence of you in his former teammate but forever friend’s home. 

“What am I doing here? Me? What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap back angrily, but even you’re not sure exactly what you mean by ‘here’. Canada? Calgary? Lindy’s entryway? Your fragile, shattered heart?

Torn between bursting into tears and strangling the man in front of you, you’re saved from the decision by Elias appearing out of nowhere with a robust “Chucky!”

Annika’s guilty face behind her fiance tells you Matthew’s arrival is not unwelcome nor unexpected.

“I need a drink,” you whisper quietly, ignoring Annika’s attempts to gain your attention. 

Much like he hadn’t when he left, you don’t spare Matthew a second glance as you leave.

You’re not sure if it’s a cruel twist of fate, or the result of your not-so-kind-hearted friends’ meddling that has you sitting next to Matthew at dinner. He spends most of it trying to get your attention, but you focus on Jacob and talking his and his girlfriend’s ears off about her pregnancy. 

At some point between stuffing your face with mashed potatoes and none-too-gracefully reaching over Matthew to grab seconds to avoid having to engage in conversation with him, his leg brushes yours. The sensation has your skin feeling like it’s on fire through your jeans, and you react accordingly, flinching away like you’ve been burned. 

Later, you’re sat in a circle with a group of Annika’s friends, listening to them drone on and on about some great opportunity that, for some reason you can’t quite put your finger on, has you imagining the shape of a triangle. 

Realizing you’re going to need more alcohol to get through the conversation, you excuse yourself and run right into the very person you’ve been avoiding all night. 

If you were stronger, less heartbroken still, you would look him right in his eyes and dismiss him without much more than a callous, offhanded comment of his name. You’re not, and you are, and so you just stare up at him, feeling as though all of the oxygen in the room has been sucked out. 

He manages to say your name though, and the sound of it is so bittersweet on his tongue. Equal parts sounding like it belongs there, and like it should never be spoken by him again. 

“Can we get out of here? Talk?”

Annika’s friends are staring with far too much interest, not even pretending like they’re not eavesdropping and so you storm away to a much quieter spot down the hallway.

Spinning on him, you say, “I didn’t drive, and I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Please? I really want to clear the air, and I can’t do it with all of my former teammates breathing down my neck.” He seems sincere enough, even if the very sight of him has your body breaking out into a nervous sweat, and you’re pretty sure you feel the beginning of an allergic hives reaction breaking out along your arms.

“You should have thought of that before you ambushed me at their party.”

“I didn’t know you were going to be here, I promise. Lindy invited me, and I couldn’t just turn him down.” 

You know the feeling well, not wanting to let Annika down was seventy five percent of the reason you were here tonight, too. Something about the way that makes you feel has you agreeing, “Fine.”

“If you really want, we can take separate Ubers,” he offers, and you realize the notion is ridiculous, but you still consider it for half a second before you sigh so deeply you feel it in your bones before rattling off your new address. He looks shocked, and you realize when he opens the app on his phone, the old address is still saved as Home.

“You didn’t think I could afford the condo after you left did you? I can't even afford to live by myself, Matthew,” you snap at him.

“I didn’t realize—“

“Yeah there’s a lot you didn’t realize, Matthew.”

The full name moniker that slips from your mouth slices right through his bravado as he viscerally winces. 

Your ride comes quickly, but the actual ride itself seems to take an entire hour as the blue Toyota Camry with the Flames license plate weaves in and out of traffic. It makes you wonder if the car really belongs to Carl, your Uber driver, as he casually has a conversation with Matthew without any fuss.

Normally, you go out of your way to make others feel appreciated, but you can’t even find it within yourself to thank Carl when he pulls up at your apartment, simply jumping out from the car before it’s even fully parked.

Matthew takes in his surroundings carefully, critically, as he looks at discarded needles on the ground in front of you and the gang sign graffiti a few buildings down from yours. It makes you angry—no, makes you furious—as you watch him judge your surroundings. As if he had any reason to care about where you rested your head at night anymore.

You still don’t say anything though. Just let that anger stew and simmer, bubbling below the surface as you buzz into the lobby and then up the elevator. 

“You wanted to talk? Talk.” You cross your arms and glare at him, impatiently and involuntarily tapping your foot on the cheap laminate flooring.

He looks lost, panicked, like he didn’t think he would even make it this far. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t know what to say?” You’re in disbelief, truly. He shows up in your city, at a party you’re at, and demands to speak with you privately at your apartment and he can’t think of a single thing to fucking say to you? “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” he says, elaborating further when your look of disbelief only grows. “Seeing you again. I didn’t think it would be like this.”

“You made it like this! You left me behind like I was nothing, like we were nothing.”

He winces as the truth leaves your lips. “I know, and I’ve regretted it ever since. From the moment the door shut behind me for the last time, I’ve regretted it.”

“Then why? Why did you do it? Why did you leave me?” The feeling brewing in your chest can’t be pinned down to just one emotion; it’s sadness and anger and hurt, but it’s something else too. Something you can’t put your finger on but it burns like cheap whiskey down your throat. 

“I couldn’t ask you to leave Calgary, everything you have is here.”

That’s it? That’s his excuse? Deciding for the both of you what was important to you, what you would want? 

“I fucking hate Calgary! It’s so fucking cold and it snows all the time and you’re not there anymore!” 

He’s on you in a second, cold hands curved around your jaw and hot mouth on yours. Your back hits the wall, and you think a picture frame falls, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Gripping and pulling him closer, your hands can’t settle on a place, roaming and feeling, re-committing every curve, every sharp edge of his body to memory.

It’s a mess of teeth and tongue, whining and panting and a thrumming need until his mouth breaks free of yours, trailing down your neck.

You come back into yourself then, back into the harsh memory of his packed bags and his back as he walked away from you and everything you had to offer. “Stop…Stop!” You push him off of you. There’s barely any effort put into it on your part, but he flies off of you like you had herculean strength. 

One of his hands is tangled in the hair atop his head, while the fingers of the other are pressed to his lips as if in disbelief. 

“I’m sorry, I-”

“What? It was a mistake? An accident? I don’t want to fucking hear it! What is wrong with you?” It takes everything in your power to keep the tears from falling, though you’re sure your watery gaze betrays you. Your arms are wrapped around you, almost as if you could physically hold your broken pieces together. 

“I’m just sorry,” he replies, resigned in a way you can’t ever quite remember him being. “I’m just sorry and I miss you so fucking much.”

You laugh then, loud and cruel and sharp. “Apology not accepted.”

He says your name, quiet and wounded, almost like a prayer, a plea.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you reply, “You didn’t even ask me to come with you.”

“Would you have?”

“Yes.”

“Would you come with me now?”

“Absolutely not.”

He looks shocked then. Like it’s inconceivable that you’re not willing to drop everything for him, five months after he left you behind without so much as a second glance. Like he thought he could just show up in Calgary, at Elias’ party, like nothing was wrong and you would follow him back like a lost puppy. 

The day after your breakup? Absolutely. The week after? Maybe. But you had five months to learn to be okay without the man standing in front of you, and no shitty apology or burning kiss was going to change that. 

“Calgary may be cold and miserable, but it’s predictable. I know exactly what to expect—fucking cold from October to May, and a little less cold for the rest of the year. You? I have no idea what you’ll do next. And that used to excite me, used to make me think you were just passionate. But now I don’t trust you, and I don’t think I ever could.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“I think you should go.” When he doesn’t even blink, your mouth twists into a horrible grimace as you lose control of yourself and the floodgates holding back your tears burst. “Fucking leave! You’re killing me here, Matty.”

You’ll never know if it was the tears or the nickname you let slip past your lips, but he leaves. And you’re not sure you’ve made the right choice, but he made the wrong one first and you’ll never forget that.

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Age Of Consent [part nine]

Summary: Dustin’s older sister thinks Eddie Munson could be a bad influence on her younger brother due to their history. Can he change her mind?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Henderson!Reader

Word Count: 1,708

What you’ll find in this series: big angst, wholesome fluff, sexual content, drug use, tobacco use, alcohol use, and a lot of profanity. This is a slow burn- buckle up, buttercup.

A/N: Internal screaming for y'all to read this one.

Read Part Eight

It had been three weeks.

For the most part, your life had seemingly fallen back into place.

One of the girls from work was on maternity leave, so you were picking up all of her shifts to make some extra cash and keep yourself busy. It had helped somewhat in keeping Eddie off of your mind. It took Dustin a few days, but he eventually got the memo that under no circumstance did you even want to hear the name Eddie Munson ever again.

You had been hanging out with Robin and Steve more often, which was nice. The best part was that, with them, you didn't even need to remind them to not ask about it- they just knew. Despite the fact that you weren't big on having company other than yourself, you really had begun looking forward to movie night with them, and sometimes after work you would all grab pizza from Antonio's.

"Y/N!" You heard your boss call from behind the counter. "Phone call on line one!"

You furrowed your brows and sat down your price gun before heading over to the cash registers.

"Hello?" You asked, answering the phone.

"Do you think you could give me and Mike a ride home tonight?"

"Dustin," you replied flatly. It was Thursday, the typical day for a certain after-school activity. "I know what you're doing, I'm not stupid."

"I'm not doing anything, Y/N," he replied. "Mom has bingo tonight, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler are taking Holly to the movies, we asked Steve but he's working, and Nancy said no. We've asked everyone, come on, please!"

"Okay, I'll come and pick you dweebs up. But, listen to me very clearly, Dustin, I don't care what your precious little Dungeon Master says, you are in my car by 8:00 PM or I will dethrone him, do you understand me?"

"Yep, totally understand, thanks sis!"

You heard the phone click and rolled your eyes before placing the phone back on the hook. You sighed, knowing that you should just make them walk or bike home, but it was cold and it had been raining all day. Your mother would never forgive you if precious Dustin got sick because you forced him to find his own way home in the rain.

By the time you got home, your mother was already gone to bingo. There was a note on the refrigerator reminding you that there were leftovers and that she would be home by 9:00. You pulled the cold dish of lasagna out of the fridge and cut yourself a small piece before placing it into the microwave. It was only a few minutes past 5:00, which meant you had a few hours to kill.

Around 8:00, you went ahead and left for the school, just in case the club had conceded earlier than normal- you didn't want to leave those little shits out in the rain without a ride. Parked under a street lamp in the parking lot of Hawkins High, you waited, getting through a few chapters of your novel.

When the clock hit nine, you closed your book and tossed it up on the dashboard. You craned your neck to look over at the double doors, fingers impatiently tapping on the steering wheel as you did not see any nerdy kids exiting the building.

"Five more minutes," you whispered to yourself wanting to be fair.

But five minutes came and went, then ten, then twenty.

You threw open the car door and slammed it shut behind you; annoyed, pissed, and ready to cause a fucking scene. You rounded the corners of the hallways, damp shoes squeaking with each step you took towards that God-forsaken classroom.

"Alright you fuckin' losers, let's go." You came through the door only to be met with silence. The room was empty, save for Eddie who was sitting on top of the table where he usually had the game set up. "Where's Dustin and Mike?"

"They got a ride with Lucas after school," he replied as he slid off of the table. You scoffed. Another set-up. "Look, can we please- just talk to me, hear me out."

"I don't want to talk to you, Eddie." You inhaled a sharp breath and exhaled slow. "I want to get over you."

"I was studying," was his reply.

"What?"

"I was studying," he repeated. "That day in the woods with Kelly. I was out there studying to get some peace and quiet. And yes, she wanted some pot for a party she was having, but I stopped bringing it with me." He was closing the gap between you. "I'm doing everything that I can to get out of here so that you and I-" he took your hands and placed them on his chest. "All I care about is being with you and not fucking it up again."

"Eddie," you said sternly as you pulled your hands back. "I don't care what you were doing. I knew this was a bad idea and I'm done playing this game. I just want to move on from this, okay?"

You turned and began to head out of the classroom but Eddie's voice stopped you. "But you can't move on, can you?"

No. Fuck.

You didn't answer, just stood there for a moment with your back to him before you had the courage to take a step out of the classroom. You didn't turn back to look at him, didn't say anything else, just left. Once again. Just like the first time you had seen him again after two years. And just like then, you should have never been here. If you had only listened to yourself the first time.

It was starting to rain again when you got to the parking lot. It wasn't pouring, but it was drizzling and your breath could be seen in the air. It was dark, the two dim street lamps didn't provide much light as you hurried to your car to not catch pneumonia.

"Hey!" You heard from behind you, the doors to the school slamming open. You stopped, just then reaching your car, and turned around, ready for another argument. "You know, the last few times that we were in this situation I just let you walk away, and last time I stood there in that fucking room and I told myself that I should go after you, and I didn't. I tell myself every time and every time I end up regretting it."

"Eddie, what are you-"

"I knew you were going to try-" He pointed a finger in your direction as he continued to stomp towards you. "I knew you were going to try and walk away. And why? It's because you expect me to just let you, isn't it?" He was closing in quickly and before you realized what was happening he was standing directly in front of you- hands on either side of your face. "Yeah, that's not happening this time."

He kissed you with all of the regrets that he had been holding in for two years. You could feel his heart like a hammer in his chest as he pulled you into him. Your lips and tongue moved in tandem, dancing with a partner they could never forget. No matter how hard you tried, there was no escaping that you loved him. You had always been in love with him.

Breathless, you pulled away; looking up at him with his doe eyes- hair damp from the drizzling rain, the water droplets illuminated in the light like a goddamn halo.

"I didn't come after you at graduation because I didn't deserve you," he said quietly. You went to speak but he continued. "No, I know I didn't. It's a goddamn fact. I was selfish. I pushed you away. But now? Fuck, if I wouldn't do anything for you. I mean, you say 'jump', and I'm- I'm nosediving off that goddamn cliff."

"And I meant what I said about counting the fucking days- every day- for two years. You were burned in my goddamn head. Everywhere I looked, you were there; sitting in the library, the hallway between classes, waiting for me at the picnic table outside of the fucking trailer." He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. "But you weren't there, you were just-" he tapped the side of his head. "In here."

"Now you- you gave me a chance to show you that I was different- that I wasn't the same, stupid kid." He said. "And I know I succeeded. You want to know how I know?" You raised an eyebrow. "Because you ran. You ran, and you did it because you're scared. You're so fucking scared of love. Well, guess what, sweetheart? So is everyone else! I'm standing here, scared shitless and still confessing my fucking love for you like some goddamn idiot."

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?" He said as he geared up for the disappointment.

"You're right."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You're right," you said once again a little louder this time. "I love you."

"Hold on," a smile crept to his lips as he cupped his hand behind his ear. "Can you say that one more time, I'm hard of hearing- all those years playing in a metal band, you know." He joked.

"Eddie Munson," you announced loudly. "You are right and I fucking love you!"

"Oh, I knew that!" He was grinning ear to ear. "Did you guys know that?" He jokingly looked around at the empty parking lot. "Everyone knew that, babe."

You gave him a light shove, but he pulled you back into him just as quick; his lips enveloping yours once more.

"Just say it one more time," He asked softly.

"I love you."

"Oh," his lips mumbled against yours. "I don't mean to keep bringing up the past, but I'm pretty sure the last time I saw you, you said you were coming to visit your boyfriend for lunch." His smile was uncontainable.

"Yes," you rolled your eyes. "That is what I said, please don't make me regret it."

"Not a chance in the world, sweetheart." He replied with a sweet kiss. "You're mine for good now."

Tags (closed):

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[ladykailitha]

In the Midnight Hour Part 11

And now we get to the healing and the ending. There are 13 parts in total. I am currently working on a Valentine’s day fic, but after that I fully plan to get back to the other two WIPs.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10  

*

Steve woke up first. He saw Dustin and Wayne looking down at him, relief flooding every inch of their bodies.

“Is everyone okay?” he rasped.

Wayne let out a watery chuckle. “Eddie’s still in surgery. They’re trying to save his fingers and vocal cords. The bite on his throat was the deepest and whatever it was that happened when you changed him back, caused a lot of damage. He has two gashes on his back from where the wings were and tips of his fingers were broken.”

Steve let out a distressed cry. “What if he can’t play guitar or sing ever again? It would kill him.”

Dustin and Wayne shared a glance. They both had similar thoughts.

“He’s alive,” Wayne assured him. “That’s the important part right now. Don’t worry about anything else.

Just then Eddie was wheeled back into the room. He was on his side and they could see the heavy bandages on his throat, back and fingers.

The surgeon came in behind the nurses wheeling Eddie in. As the nurses began to hook Eddie up to the machines, the doctor came up to Wayne.

“If you’d step with me out into the hallway,” the doctor began, “I’ll go over with you how the surgery went.”

Wayne looked at Steve and Dustin and shook his head. “They’re Eddie’s family, too. You can say whatever you want in front of them.”

The doctor eyed Steve skeptically. He could believe that Dustin could be a younger brother, but everyone knew who Steve Harrington was. Not because of his family, but by how much time he had spent in that hospital in the last three years.

The doctor met Wayne’s steely gaze head on, but folded first. It wasn’t any of his business if Wayne Munson declared him family.

“Right,” the doctor began. “The surgeries on his back and fingers went fine. The gashes were clean, as were the breaks on his fingers. He should get full range of motion back in his hands in no time at all.”

All three of them let out a sigh of relief.

“And his throat?” Steve asked timidly.

“That’s the hard part,” the doctor said. “We won’t know how successful we were until he wakes up. We did everything we could, the best that we could. All we can do now is wait.”

A nurse came up to him with a different file and the doctor traded Eddie’s file for the new one.

“And since you’re awake, now, Mr Harrington,” the doctor said coldly, “we should talk about your injuries.”

Steve winced. “What’s the prognosis, doc?”

“You are a modern miracle,” the doctor said flatly. “You should, for all intents and purposes, be dead.”

Wayne and Dustin looked over at Steve in shock.

“Let’s see,” the doctor said lifting up the first page and flipping through what looked to be several pages of x-rays and other medical jargon. “The gash on your chest and stomach is infected and we are currently pumping you with enough antibiotics to knock out a horse and yet...” He waved to Steve’s wakefulness.

Steve blushed.

“We reopened them and sewed them shut properly so that they will heal correctly,” the doctor continued, giving Steve the stink-eye. “You had a lot of minor abrasions that didn’t require stitches, but they have been cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged.”

“That’s good then,” Dustin said feeling relieved.

“Oh all that’s fine,” the doctor intoned. “It was the CT scan of his head, that really stumped every neurologist and neurosurgeon that looked at it. Son, are you aware how many concussions you’ve had?”

Steve looked up and began to count on his fingers when he started running out of fingers on the one hand the doctor stopped him, waving his hands dramatically.

“Enough!” the doctor cried. “One is too many, Mr Harrington! You have had more concussions than the average professional football player in ten years of playing, in the last four years.”

Steve dropped his head and hunched his shoulders. “I know.”

“You going to have to start seeing a neurologist and taking medications for your migraines and other head related issues. I’ve set up for hearing and eye tests in the next couple of days and then going forward you will have to take those tests every six months to make sure we catch any problems that may crop up due to the trauma.”

Steve nodded. Wayne took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“We’ll get through this,” he murmured.

“Hell, yeah,” Dustin said.

“Just one more thing,” the doctor said. “You’re parents were notified as next of kin.”

Steve and Wayne shared a nervous glance.

“They could not be reached,” the doctor continued, “so I had an orderly try and run them down.”

Steve grimaced. “They hadn’t called in awhile,” he admitted shyly.

“He was able to track them to New York where they had been living for the last two years,” the doctor said.

Steve’s eyes went wide as he leaned forward. “Excuse me? Living?”

The doctor nodded. “Your journalist friend did some further research, and found that they had listed the house in Hawkins as their secondary home.”

Steve’s lip quivered and he bit it to fight back the tears. “Why? Why didn’t they say something?”

The doctor shook his head. “Your friend is looking into it, but there is some suggestion they have even signed the house you currently reside over to you a year ago.”

“What?!” Dustin screeched. “A year ago!”

Steve frowned. “I‒I vaguely remembering getting something in the mail after the mall burned down, but I was so out of it...”

“The people currently paying for your care have told me to inform you that they are taking care of everything and to just relax,” the doctor said, sound sympathetic for the first time. “Rest up, Mr Harrington. It looks as though you have a long road ahead of you.”

The doctor left leaving behind a stunned trio.

“I haven’t gotten anything from them in over a year,” Steve said, as he choked back a sob. “I was getting really worried when I couldn’t reach them. I thought something had happened to them. Maybe that would have been better than to be completely abandoned and discarded like an ill-fitting sweater.”

“We’ll get this sorted out,” Wayne said. “I’ll talk to Owens and find out what’s being done. And by the time you’re out of here, it’ll be all sorted.”

He stood up and gave Steve’s shoulder a squeeze. He walked over to Eddie’s bed side and knelt down so they were face to face. “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I don’t know if you can hear me right now, but I need to know how much I love you and that you have to wake up. Not for me, though I wouldn’t mind. Steve’s going to need you now more than ever.”

He smoothed Eddie hair and brushed it gently out of his face. He kissed Eddie’s forehead and stood back up.

“Dustin, let me know if anything changes with Eddie,” he said turning to the younger boy. “And Steve, make sure if you need anything you let someone know right away.”

Steve nodded. He looked down at his hands and sighed. “There is one thing, sir.”

Wayne smiled softly. “What’s that?”

“Can‒can the two beds be brought closer together?” he asked shyly.

“I can ask.”

Steve gulped. “Thanks.”

“Take care,” Wayne murmured.

*

The two beds were pushed closer together. Just far enough apart that a nurse could squeeze through to look at Eddie’s machines and make adjustments as needed.

On the third day, Eddie opened his eyes.

“Wayne...” he whisper shouted getting the man’s attention.

Wayne’s eyes snapped to Eddie’s now opened eyes. “Eddie!” He jumped up and tapped the nurse call button. “Hang on, son. I’ve got nurses on the way.”

Eddie nodded.

The nurses came pouring in and made adjustments, got Eddie some water, and lifted the bed to a more upright position. They made sure he was comfortable before they left him alone.

“What’s wrong with my voice?” Eddie asked.

Wayne smiled sadly. “We don’t know. The doctors did everything they could. You could get it back, but it will take time.”

Eddie’s hand went up to his throat. “And if I don’t get back?”

“Then we learn sign language,” Steve said. “And you’ll still be able to talk a mile a minute, if not faster, being able to use your hands.”

“But‒” Eddie whispered. D&D, his band. Sign language was great for every day, but what about the things he loved...

Steve reached out and grabbed his hand. “We’ll figure it out.”

Eddie looked into Steve’s eyes and found hope there. “Okay...”

“In the mean time,” Wayne said pulling out pad of paper and a pen. “Use this to keep you from hurting your throat further.”

Eddie nodded, taking them both in one hand so he wouldn’t have to let go of Steve’s hand.

“Maybe for D&D, if you end up not being able to speak,” Steve said with a grin, “I’ll be your interpreter. That will really freak out your club.”

Eddie let out a little wheeze and then in big bold letters wrote with the pen in his fist like a toddler, “DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH!!!!!!!”

The doctor chose that moment to come in. “Mr Munson, it’s good to see you awake.”

Eddie smiled and waved.

“I’m sure by now you have noticed your voice is rough at the moment,” the doctor continued.

Eddie rolled his eyes and wrote: “It’s not just rough, it’s fucking gone!”

The doctor frowned and got out a pen light to look at Eddie’s throat. “Everything seems fine. It’s most likely due to non-use. I will get a speech therapist in here by later today and see if we can get you back to your chatty self in no time at all.”

Steve was practically bouncing in his bed. “You see, Eddie? Everything’s going to be just fine!”

Eddie blushed.

Wayne stood up. “I’m going to go let everyone know you’re awake.”

Eddie waved and Steve smiled.

Eddie let his hair fall in front of his face and wrote: “You kissed me.”

Steve laughed. “I did tell you I wanted to weeks ago.”

Eddie shoved his hair into his mouth. “I felt your love for me down there.”

Steve’s smile turned fond. “Yeah. Did you know about your uncle’s powers?”

Eddie shook his head and wrote: “Not really. Suspected something might be up when he always seemed able to suss out my moods, but no.”

“The only ones that seemed to understand what he was, was El and Will,” Steve said. “The two munchkins you haven’t met yet.”

Eddie’s shoulders shook, indicating his silent laughter. “Just how many children do you have?”

“All total?” Steve asked with a grin. “Seven. Just don’t tell their parents.” He winked at Eddie.

Eddie turned the page, having already filled the first one. “Seven? How the hell did you get seven kids? Did you kidnap them?”

Steve laughed. “No. The original four were Lucas, Will, Mike, and Dustin. Then El got added. Then Max and Erica the following year.”

“That’s a lot,” Eddie wrote.

“I would do anything for them,” Steve said softly.

“How did you know to use Wayne’s powers to make Vecna vulnerable?” Eddie wrote after a moment or two.

Steve grinned. “It was something your uncle said actually.”

“What’s that?” Wayne asked from the doorway.

Eddie wrote: “Hey that’s what I was going to say write!”

Wayne chuckled and moved to sit back down in the chair he vacated.

“You said that if you didn’t have a tight grasp on your powers that you would probably floor Hawkins with your love for Eddie,” Steve explained.

“And if I could do that without control,” Wayne agreed, “imagine what I could do with it completely controlled. You did a good job, son.”

Steve blushed. “I had help. You, El, Hopper, Eddie...” He glanced over at the other boy and then ducked his head.

“Yes, but you were able to put all the pieces together and come up with a plan,” Wayne said.

“You make me sound like Capt. Hannibal from ‘A-Team’,” Steve said shyly.

Wayne laughed. “You would be a fan of that one.” He clapped Eddie’s shoulder gently. “Rest up, everyone wants to see you.”

Eddie nodded. He couldn’t believe Steve had actually done it. Killed Vecna, destroyed the Upside Down, and saved him. His own personal hero. And as he closed his eyes, he dreamed of a life he never thought he could ever have.

Part 12  Part 13

Tag List:  @swimmingbirdrunningrock @panicatthediaz @renaissan-vvitch@grtwdsmwhr  @chaoticlovingdreamer  @savory-babby @thequeenrainacorn @anzelsilver @estrellami-1 @steddieassheg0es @currently-steddiebrainrot @gregre369 @steddie-there @clumsywriter @babbler1202

[the-butch-of-blaviken]

Aiden/Lambert/Keira, modern au, pure fluff, sharing food (890 words)

something silly and self-indulgent written for a discord server prompt

It’s a hot summer day and they’d thought going to the beach on their day off was a good idea – and it would have been, had not about a billion other people had the same idea.

Lambert has not been to the beach since he was eleven years old and Vesemir took him and his brothers to the beach on one of those rare, blessed week-ends where he didn’t work. Lambert remembers splashing around in the water and daring his brothers to see who could hold his breath the longest underwater. The ice cream cart had wobbled over to their spot and the three of them had turned to Vesemir with eyes like war orphans’. “Absolutely not,” Vesemir had said without looking up from his crosswords. 

Turns out splashing around in the water all day was good enough for eleven-year-olds but he feels a little self-conscious about it now, and besides, kids and middle-aged dads in khaki bathing shorts standing perfectly still knee-deep in water with their hands on their hips are already taking up all the space.

Aiden does manage to lure him to deeper waters and for a moment they’re busy racing each other, shamelessly cheating by catching the other’s foot and tickling him or grabbing each other by the leg and dragging him underwater, but it rapidly gets old and after an hour and a half, they’re back on dry land. Keira complains that they’re kicking up sand and dripping all over her like dogs after a bath, but she still makes room for them under her parasol. After that, it gets rather dull and Lambert starts feeling like seasoned meat on a barbecue grill. As a matter of fact, all three of them are sweating profusely, even Keira, who somehow still manages to look like a Barbie straight out of the box.

When the ice cream cart wheels past their spot, they all share a look.

“Let’s share an ice cream,” Aiden suggests.

“They only come in cones.”

“Yeah, and? It’s romantic,” he replies, grinning.

Keira scoffs. “It’s disgusting and unsanitary is what it is.”

“We’ve done more unsanitary stuff than this.”

“What kind of argument is that?” She turns to Lambert, looking for support.

He just shrugs. “I don’t feel like getting ice cream just for me.” He still kind of wants the ice cream, though.

She stares at him over the brim of her thick-rimmed sunglasses for a moment before capitulating, sighing. She fishes a ten-florin bill out of her wallet and holds it out between her index and middle fingers for Aiden to take. He snatches it and gives her a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, mom.”

She slaps his ass on his way up. Lambert hides his smile behind a hand when Aiden yelps. He probably would have done the same.

They each choose a perfume: strawberry for Keira, chocolate mint for Lambert and peanut butter for Aiden. The ice cream starts melting before they’ve even sat back down on their towel, running down the cone in a glorious pink, green and brown mess.

Keira gets the first taste. After that, they pass the cone around in turns: Aiden makes a point of taking comically long licks whenever he can. It takes Keira and Lambert a while to notice, but when they do, Aiden has to sit out two of his turns to compensate. He looks at them like a kicked puppy while they enjoy their ice cream with overzealous noises of enjoyment until the mother of a nearby family glares at them.

Ice cream is running down their fingers in creamy, sticky streaks and it tastes everything Lambert thought ice cream from the ice cream cart would taste: cheap, too sugary and delicious.

In the end, Aiden sinks his teeth into the ice cream, raising exclamations of protest and indignation.

“Oh, Aiden, no!”

“You’re really bad at sharing,” Lambert says and he and Keira laugh when Aiden winces like someone who’s got a bad case of brain freeze.

“You guys just needed to eat faster,” Aiden replies when he’s recovered. “It’s survival of the fittest out here.” He holds out the remains of the ice cream to Keira.

“Oh no, you can keep it now. And don’t look so proud of yourself. You’re doing the dishes tonight.”

Aiden smiles, baring his teeth. “Worth it.”

“Terrible man.” She doesn’t bother keeping the fondness from her voice.

Later, Lambert takes Keira’s hand in his as they walk back to the car and Aiden slings an arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t touch me, I’m all gross and sweaty,” she warns him and he presses himself against her side, squishing his cheek against hers. She groans. “Dishes duty today and tomorrow.”

He laughs. Nothing gets to him.

They hiss as they settle into their seats, fake leather burning every inch of exposed skin.

“Am I the only one thinking the beach is kind of overrated?” Lambert says, brushing sand from between his toes. Keira smiles at him in the rearview mirror.

“Too many kids, man,” Aiden complains as he adjusts his hair with his fingers in the little mirror inside the sun visor.

“Let’s stay home next time.”

Keira drives them away and Lambert rests his head against the car door, swearing he can still feel the waves as he drifts to sleep.

[corneliastreetapartment]

Only You

Masterlist for this fic

Chapter 1 : Who the hell is Damon Bradley?

In a dimly lit living room, bathed in the silver glow of a summer moon, the scene unfolds. The moonlight spills through a window, casting an ethereal glow on the surroundings.

A pair of candles cast a warm light upon old family photos. These photos capture weddings from generations past—brides in pristine white gowns, their youthful grooms standing proudly beside them, frozen in time. Two voices emerge.

Regulus, an earnest voice, breaks the silence, his tone filled with admonition.

"Stop pushing it. You're not supposed to force it. You're supposed to just let it happen," he chides.

Sirius, a voice exuding a hint of impatience, responds in defense.

"I'm not pushing it; you're pushing it."

Regulus counters, his voice growing firmer.

"I am not."

A moment of silence descends until Regulus's voice breaks it again.

"You're pushing it again."

Sirius sighs in exasperation.

"Well, hurry up. My foot's falling asleep."

Regulus playfully accuses his mother in the next room.

"Mo-mmm. Sirius is pushing it. Mom?"

From the adjoining room, Mom's voice offers advice.

"Sirius, don't push it."

They are playing with a Ouija board. To clarify, the players are Regulus, a stubborn  eleven-year-old, and his older brother Sirius, an even more stubborn boy, aged ten.

Sirius, now defending himself, asserts

"I'M NOT PUSHING IT."

Regulus, seemingly undistracted, says "Wait. I have to write this down."

An annoyed groan escapes Sirius as Regulus grabs a piece of paper and begins scribbling a series of letters.

Regulus's voice, still busy writing, continues with a sense of wonder.

"Aunt Druella told me everybody has a soulmate."

Regulus's voice shifts, conveying determination.

"But most people never find theirs, most people settle. I'm never gonna settle."

Regulus looks up at the summer moon, now obscured by passing clouds.

"This way I'll know the name of the Woman I'm supposed to wait for."

The Ouija board's planchette continues to move around, stopping at various letters that Regulus carefully records.

Sirius, ever the skeptic, raises a perplexing scenario.

"Yeah, but what if she lived a billion, trillion years ago? Like, what if she was a caveman, and now she’s dead?"

Regulus dismisses his brother's idea with a touch of impatience.

"Don't be stupid, Sirius. If She’s my destiny, then obviously, she has to be alive."

Another letter on the board.

"Yeah, but what if She doesn't live here? Like, what if She’s a cannibal in New Guinea or something?"

Regulus asserts his belief.

"If I live here, then she lives here. Fate wouldn't make a mistake like that."

After a pause and another letter, Sirius continues his questioning, adopting the role of the devil's advocate.

"Yeah, but... but, Regulus, what if she does live here, and one day you just walk past her on the street? I mean, you don't hear her name, you don't get a chance to introduce yourselves. You practically bump straight into each other, but you never even know it?"

Regulus, resolute, declares with certainty.

"We'll KNOW."

Sirius, conceding, replies with a hint of sarcasm.

"Okaaaaayyyy."

As the planchette on the Ouija board comes to a halt, Regulus writes down the final letter. The moon reemerges from behind the clouds, casting a bright white beam of light onto the name revealed on the board.

Regulus, his voice now barely a whisper, utters the name with awe.

"Damon Bradley."

Regulus looks up, completely spellbound.

Regulus Is confused at the fact that its a man whereas Sirius isn't very much confused at all. He’s know for a while now, much long ago about himself.

"He’s the one?" regulus questions to himself, confused

A beat of silence follows, broken by Sirius's sarcastic comment.

"Goodie. Can I ask about the Series now?"

---

THREE YEARS LATER.

Amidst the cacophony of a local carnival, with whirling lights and the raucous laughter of attendees, the scene unfolds.

Up on the towering ferris wheel, a group of junior high school boys distinguish themselves by gleefully hurling water balloons down at the carnival-goers. Among these mischievous participants is Lucius Malfoy.

Clustered in front of the booth "MADAME DIVINA'S FORTUNE TELLING BOOTH" with a sign that reads "Know Your Fate" are a group of junior high school students.

Among the girls, Regulus, stands out. His cousin, Andy, prods another girl playfully.

"Go on, go on... She wants to know if she's gonna marry Rodolphus."

The girl in question, Bellatrix, vehemently denies the suggestion.

"I do not. I'm not gonna marry Rodolphus. He doesn't even have a car."

Emmeline Vance chimes in, offering her perspective.

"But he's got pretty eyes. That means your kids would have pretty eyes. You can always get a car later, but you can't always find pretty eyes. You gotta think ahead."

Dorcas interjects with financial wisdom.

"Who cares about pretty eyes, Emmeline? I'm telling you, stocks, bonds, real estate—that's what you wanna look for in a man."

Pandora, a thoughtful voice, contributes her own views.

"My mom told me you gotta want the same things out of life. Have the same values, be able to communicate."

The girls collectively look at Pandora, puzzled.

Pandora quickly backpedals.

"I'm just telling you what she said."

The girls continue to regard her with bemusement.

"It's not like I believed her or anything..."

Regulus, standing nearby, offers his own perspective when asked by Andy.

"I think you're all wrong."

Andy, intrigued, probes further.

"What do you think the most important thing is, Regulus?"

Regulus, without a hint of doubt, states his belief firmly.

"True love. I believe there's one special person out there who's meant for each of us. And when your eyes meet, it'll be magic, and you'll both know it instantly."

everyone rolls their eyes at Regulus's romantic notion.

Regulus turns to his cousin who’s more like a best friend to him, Narcissa, seeking her opinion.

"Don't you think so, Narcissa?"

Narcissa, seemingly disinterested, gazes at the ground as she replies.

"I don't know, I guess I never really thought about it... Is Lucius Malfoy here?"

Regulus, realizing she's not particularly invested in the conversation, responds nonchalantly.

"Yeah, he's around somewhere."

Above them, Lucius Malfoy carefully aims and launches a water balloon that hurtles towards the group, hitting the ground with a resounding SPLAT. The group scream in surprise.

---

Inside of Madame Divina's fortune-telling booth.Tthrough a beaded curtain, is a disheveled older woman, MADAME DIVINA, engrossed in a copy of "Scientific American."

Suddenly, there's a loud KNOCK at the back door, and Regulus startles.

Madame Divina, flustered, quickly hides the magazine in a drawer and places a bowling ball, the kind with iridescent swirls, on a central opening in the table. She positions it to conceal the three holes and turns on a flashlight above it, creating the illusion of a crystal ball.

Outside, the girl everyone thinks will marry Rodolphus appears nervous.

"But what if she tells me something bad? I don't want to hear anything bad..."

Narcissa tries to reassure her.

"They never tell you anything bad. Nobody'd ever go to them if they did."

The door to the booth creaks open, and Madame Divina's imposing figure casts a shadow over the girls. They look up, apprehensive.

Bellatrix, pointing at Narcissa, deflects responsibility.

"She did."

Narcissa, pointing at Bellatrix, does the same.

"She did."

A standoff ensues until Regulus, ever the peacemaker, takes the blame.

"I did."

Regulus looks at his friends, shrugs, and enters the booth past the beaded curtain, taking a seat.

Madame Divina inquires.

"What's your name?"

"Regulus."

Madame Divina proceeds to light a candle, setting an ambiance for the session.

"What do you wanna know, Regulus?"

Regulus, feeling the gravity of the moment, replies hesitantly.

"Um, just basic destiny stuff, I guess. But—I don't want to hear anything bad. If that's okay."

Madame Divina begins laying out a series of tarot cards. Suddenly, there's a loud KNOCK at the back door, and Regulus jumps in his seat.

Madame Divina attributes it to spirits and continues laying out cards.

Regulus, now nervously eying the cards, sees his friend Narcissa peeking in through the beads.

Narcissa, mouthing words and pointing, asks if that's a bowling ball. Regulus doesn't understand, so Narcissa mimes a bowling motion with her arm. Regulus shrugs, still bewildered. From outside, we overhear...

"Hey, Narcissa. Lucius Malfoy wants you," says a boy's voice.

Lucius Malfoy, defending himself, chimes in, "I do not."

Narcissa grins, ducks out of the booth, and leaves Madame Divina's gaze on Regulus, who remains captivated by the cards.

Madame Divina, now deeply engrossed in her act, sits up straight and closes her eyes. She reaches for the bowling ball, carefully positioning it to hide the holes, and flicks on a flashlight above it, creating the illusion of a crystal ball.

"Spirits," she mutters.

Regulus watches as she lays down a few more cards.

Regulus, still nervous, leans forward. Madame Divina seems to be in a trance.

Madame Divina, straining for clarity, starts to reveal something important.

"Something is coming to me. I'm getting... a name."

Regulus leans in even closer, eager to hear more.

"This name is very important to you... Da-- David. No-- no..."

A faint breeze wafts through the room, causing the candle to flicker.

"Damon."

Regulus's heart skips a beat as he listens intently.

Madame Divina, eyes wide with intensity, continues.

"His name is... Damon Bradley."

It's the same name Regulus had found on the Ouija board.

Regulus, overwhelmed, mutters in disbelief.

"Omigod. Omigod."

He gets up from his seat, feeling the need to leave.

Madame Divina seizes Regulus's hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"Just a minute—"

Regulus freezes, his curiosity piqued.

Madame Divina pulls him closer and imparts a solemn message, making it clear that this is not part of her act—it's genuine advice.

"The truth is, no matter what the cards say, you make your own destiny. Don't wait for it to come to you. You understand?"

Regulus nods, still in a state of shock.

"Can I be excused now?" he asks.

Madame Divina lets him go but not before delivering one last piece of wisdom.

"Your destiny's two dollars."

Regulus quickly pulls out two bills and drops them on the table, then rushes for the exit. But Madame Divina stops him once more.

"Hey—"

She leans in, pulling Regulus closer. This time, it's a personal, heartfelt message, not a performance.

"The truth is, no matter what the cards say, you make your own destiny. Don't wait for it to come to you. You understand?"

Regulus nods, still processing the profound encounter.

Madame Divina lets him go, and Regulus, still in a daze, hurriedly exits the booth.

Twenty years had passed since that fateful Saturday night, and the memories of that evening still lingered in the minds of those who were there. Mitzi Gaynor's voice filled the room as she sang, the shower mimicking the sound of pouring rain. "SOUTH PACIFIC" played on the television screen, casting a nostalgic atmosphere.

In the dimly lit apartment, three individuals sat together, sharing a big Saturday night. Chocolate adorned the table, setting the mood. The first person was Regulus, an attractive and somewhat dreamy adult. His apartment walls were adorned with reproductions of famous works featuring themes like Rodin's "The Kiss" and Botticelli's "Birth of Venus." He idly plucked petals from a bouquet of flowers on the table.

Next to him was Narcissa, his cousin and childhood friend, now a frustrated housewife. She clipped coupons from the newspaper as they watched TV. And finally, there was Andy, a woman with big hair and a good heart, a staunch feminist. 

As the movie cut to a commercial break, Andy began to speak her mind.

"I'm just saying I think it would be a good idea," she said.

Narcissa responded dubiously, "Date police..."

Andy persisted, "Yes. A guy who says he's gonna call, then doesn't, ought to get slapped with a citation, that's all."

Regulus glanced at Narcissa, clearly used to Andy's unique perspectives.

"Anyway," Andy continued, "like I said, I've given it a lot of thought and I've finally narrowed it down." After a pause, she added, "A heterosexual with a job."

Regulus chimed in, "Well, I don't think it's asking too much to want to feel it in my head and my heart and my body and my soul all at the same time, and to have that feeling to be mutual. Pass the M&Ms, please."

Regulus's cousins groaned, having heard this type of conversation before. Narcissa handed over the candy.

"Not as long as you're not hoping to find it on planet Earth," Andy quipped.

Narcissa chimed in, "Andy's right, Regulus. You've got to start being more practical. Do you know what the statistics are, the marriage odds for women your age?"

Regulus was dismissive, saying, "I don't believe in statistics."

Narcissa retorted, "You're an accountant for crying out loud."

Regulus gestured with his palms, as if making a point with his silence.

Narcissa pressed further, "What about that guy you work with, Mike what's-his-name?"

Regulus shook his head, "No. He smokes. And Mom doesn't know I'm half gay, or else I'm kicked out."

Narcissa persisted, "How about the other one? His friend."

Regulus replied, "Just moved in with his girlfriend. And also hello, Mom??"

Narcissa, undeterred, added cheerfully, "How about that guy at the bank?"

Regulus popped another M&M into his mouth, saying, "Scientologist. I feel like you're not hearing me at all."

Narcissa deflated, "Oh."

After a beat, she tried another approach, "So, you've got to be a little flexible. Look at Lucius and me. Lucius's not perfect, neither am I. But we work it out. We're not unrealistic in our expectations, and we have each other." She set down her scissors.

Regulus, still resistant, responded, "Don't tell me Oprah did a show--"

Andy interjected, "Yeah, I saw that. Like on Let's Make A Deal. You've got the Amana freezer and you can keep it, or risk it on what's behind Door Number Three. Which usually turns out to be a donkey."

Regulus looked at Narcissa, seemingly missing the metaphorical point.

"I don't have an Amana freezer," he quipped.

Narcissa explained, "It's a metaphor. It's women who always think there's something unknown out there that's going to be better than what's in front of them. And instead, wind up with nothing."

Regulus maintained his stance, "Metaphorically, I still don't have an Amana freezer."

Narcissa continued, "I think if you're honest with yourself, you'll admit you've had a chance at a number of Amana appliances in your lifetime."

Regulus knew there was some truth in what she said, but he didn't want to admit it. Just then, the phone rang, providing him with a momentary escape from the conversation.

"Hello? Hi, Lucius," Regulus answered the phone. "Yeah, she's here. Hold on." He turned to Narcissa and informed her, "It's your husband."

In Lucius's kitchen, Lucius himself was at the table, munching on the last crumbs of a bag of potato chips and watching television. He spoke to Narcissa over the phone, "Narcissa, you're still there? I thought you'd be on your way home by now."

Narcissa replied, "You miss me?"

Lucius hesitated, then replied, "Uh, yeah. Sure." He seemed a bit forlorn as he gazed into the refrigerator. "Honey, did you forget the guys are coming over tonight?"

Narcissa inquired, "No, why?"

Lucius, helpless, explained, "Well, there's nothing here to eat."

Back in Regulus's living room, the movie continued in the background as they heard Narcissa's side of the conversation. The receiver slammed down, and Narcissa returned to the room. "Is everything okay?" Regulus asked.

Narcissa responded, annoyed, "Yes. You know all the shrinks on Donahue say that all those love songs about 'some enchanted evening' are just a cruel hoax that feeds people's fantasies."

Regulus, a little plaintive, replied, "But somebody wrote those songs."

Narcissa retorted, "So, what's your point?"

Regulus explained, "Just that they came out of somebody's experience is all."

Narcissa didn't seem convinced, "No, Regulus. They came out of somebody's imagination."

Outside Regulus's apartment door, the hallways were silent, and a slight, nondescript girl passed by and entered her apartment. She greeted them, "How's it going?"

Regulus replied, "Pretty well, Emma. How about you?"

Emma responded, "Can't complain," and closed her door. Narcissa glanced at Regulus, who shook his head.

Regulus clarified, "No."

Narcissa pressed, "Is she married?"

Regulus answered, "No."

Narcissa continued, "Is she gay?"

Regulus admitted, "I don't know. I don't think so."

Narcissa pushed, "So?"

Regulus finally explained, "So, she's not my type." After a brief pause, he added, "Let me walk you to the elevator."

As they walked, Narcissa continued her inquiry, "What does she do?"

Regulus admitted, "I don't know, Narcissa."

Narcissa and Andy both asked in unison, "She's a doctor?"

Regulus clarified, "Look, there's no chemistry there, okay? There's no... thrill."

Narcissa challenged him, " 'Thrills'? That's what you're waiting for? You know how long that lasts? Besides, how do you know? Have you ever been out with her?"

Regulus conceded, "No. She's never asked me."

Narcissa suggested, "Why don't you ask her?"

Regulus responded, "Why should I ask someone out who I don't want to go out with in the first place?"

Narcissa pointed out, "If you've never been out with her, how do you know you don't want to go out with her?"

Andy chimed in, "I thought she was kinda cute..."

Regulus sighed, and as the elevator doors finally opened, he looked at Narcissa, who said, "Take a chance, Regulus... None of us is getting any younger."

Regulus returned to his apartment, replaying the evening's events in his mind. The answering machine light blinked, indicating a new message. Regulus played it as he prepared for bed.

The voice on the answering machine was familiar. "Hi, honey. It's Mom. I just wanted to apologize if I upset you at brunch today."

Regulus couldn't help but react with amusement, muttering to himself in front of the bathroom mirror, "If you upset me at brunch today?"

The voice on the machine corrected itself, "For upsetting you at brunch today. Now, you know I don't think you're a failure. And if you never get married, that's perfectly fine with your father and me."

As Regulus applied eye cream, he couldn't help but scrutinize the lines around his eyes.

The message continued, "Of course you're not a freak. You're right, plenty of people aren't married. The woman who cuts my hair isn't married. Hey... maybe you tw--" Then, another voice in the background interrupted, "She's gay." The mother amended her statement, "Oh. Never mind. Anyway, if you want to spend the rest of your life alone, well, that's your choice. And I respect it. I just want you to be happy, that's all." Finally, the father added, "Don't be gay like your brother, Regulus."

The answering machine message ended, and Regulus was left pondering his family's views on his life choices. He climbed into bed and reached for the light switch but then hesitated, recalling something. He got up and walked over to his dresser, where a daily calendar lay. He tore off the top page, crumpled it into a ball, and dropped it into the wastebasket.

With that symbolic act, he turned out the light and settled into bed, the events of the night still echoing in his mind.

On the cusp of sleep, Regulus found himself in a dream, surrounded by a vast audience dressed in absurd costumes. He, too, was dressed as a chicken. His mother appeared as an octopus, Narcissa and Lucius as Siamese twins, and Andy as a radish. Monty Hall, the game show host, approached Regulus.

"So, which one is it gonna be, Regulus? Will it be... Door Number One?"

Emma, the podiatrist, peeked out from behind Door Number One and waved. The crowd erupted in excitement.

Monty Hall continued, "Door Number Two?"

A distinct braying of a donkey could be heard from behind Door Number Two.

Monty Hall posed the final option, "Or Door Number Three?"

The audience chanted, "Take Emma! Take Emma!" as Monty sensuously ran his arm along Door Number One.

Nervously, Regulus asked, "Door Number Three?"

The crowd was disappointed, and the curtains parted to reveal a shriveled old crone covered in cobwebs, bearing an unsettling resemblance to Regulus. The crowd booed.

Regulus jolted awake in his bed, sweating and filled with a sense of foreboding.

The next morning, Regulus left his apartment and headed down the hallway, carrying a wastebasket filled with crumpled pages. He opened the garbage chute but lost control, causing the crumpled balls to scatter across the floor. As he stood there, unsure of what to do, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"You need some help?"

Regulus looked up to see Emma, the podiatrist, standing there, offering assistance.

Regulus suddenly blurts out

“I do “

CC SPEAKS: OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS, FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DONT KNOW THIS IS A JEGULUS REWRITE OF THE MOVIE ONLY YOU WITH ROBERT DOWNEY JR. i adoreee that movie

[imakemywings]

For @domaystic day 27! Yes I know it’s August

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Feanor, Nerdanel, + the kiddos

Summary: Just getting to the campsite is its own adventure.

AO3 | Pillowfort

_____________________________________________________

“Take the exit.”

           “What?”

           “The exit.”

           “Yes, I heard what you said,” Nerdanel said, as though she were speaking to a particularly dim dog. “There is no upcoming exit.” She waved along the right side of the freeway.

           “There, on the left,” Fëanor replied, pointing.

           “Left?” Nerdanel screeched. “Exit left? You’re mentioning that now?”

           “It’s just five lanes, we have time,” Fëanor said.

           “I can see the exit right there!”

           From the back of the car came the same thumping that had been ongoing for the last ten minutes as Curufin bounced a rubber ball off the wall of the car, finally resulting in Maedhros craning around in his seat to snap:

           “Curvo! Stop that, Ammë is trying to drive!”

           “Atar, will you skip this song?” Caranthir asked, to no response from the front seats as the van passed quickly through two lanes and began to gain on a third.

           “We can make it,” Fëanor said. Nerdanel clenched her hands around the steering wheel.  In the back, Amrod had grabbed the rubber ball from Curufin and was tossing it to Amras over Curufin, a game which was abruptly ended by Curufin swatting the ball out of the air and sending it rolling under the seat of Maglor, who remained as oblivious to this as everything else, glued to his phone in a way that could only suggest prolonged contact with his latest romantic target.

           “We’re going to die in this car,” said Celegorm, not sounding terribly disturbed by the possibility. He slouched down in his seat, stretching to put a foot on either side of Maedhros’ head on the back of his seat.

           “Atar, will you skip this song?” Caranthir asked again.

           “Tyelko, put your feet down,” said Maedhros. Celegorm wiggled his toes, and Maedhros jabbed the arch of his foot with a fingernail, which was rewarded with their withdrawal.

           “One more lane!” Fëanor exclaimed. “Come on, you’re so close!”

           “You are a terrible navigator,” Nerdanel replied, jerking on the steering wheel and sending them sailing into the next lane and directly over into the exit, to vigorous honking from someone behind them. Nerdanel swore colorfully at the honker, turning back to do it, at which point Fëanor put a hand on the steering wheel to make sure they stayed on the road proper.

           “There, I told you we’d make it,” Fëanor said when Nerdanel was facing front again and they were zipping down the highway.

           “No thanks to these assholes who won’t let me in,” she grumbled.

           “Atar, can we eat soon?” Celegorm asked.

           “We left, like, twenty minutes ago,” Maglor said.

           “You have snacks back there,” Fëanor said. “Eat your apples.” Celegorm groaned the groan of wishing they could hit a fast food drive-thru instead, but eventually he did go for the Tupperware with the apples in it. “We are going to be on the road for at least three hours before there is any stopping for food.” Judging by the noise in the car, no one was especially satisfied with this proclamation.

           Fëanor continued to combat the rising demands for a lunch stop for the better part of two and a half hours before they pulled off the highway and his progeny exploded out of the car as if they had just been released by would-be kidnappers. They took up three tables on the patio and Amrod and Amras took the chance to experiment with how many French fries they could stuff up their noses, which did not stop them from then eating the fries in question. Maedhros busied himself with chastising Caranthir and Curufin for climbing on the fence until Nerdanel demanded he sit down and stop trying to be a third parent. She allowed Caranthir and Curufin to continue climbing for exactly two minutes before she took over telling them to get off the fence.

           Corralling the seven of them back into the car took twenty minutes, ten of which involved trying to track down Caranthir, who emerged with a different toy than the one which had come with his meal, and also with an additional five dollars.

           “Hey. Hey, Kano. Look at this,” Celegorm said as they navigated back to the highway. Knowing it was not going to be worth his time, but thinking that shutting Celegorm up might be worth it, Maglor turned over the seat to look at his brother.

           “What?” he said.

           Celegorm used Caranthir’s toy to shoot its projectile with impressive speed at Maglor, who he had intended to hit in the forehead. However, the figurine’s fist lost steam and only hit Maglor in the chest.

           “Hey, Tyelko, watch this,” said Maglor, and reached back into the second row of seats to wrench the toy out of Celegorm’s hand and throw it under Nerdanel’s seat.

           “Aw, come on,” Celegorm whined.

           “That was mine!” Caranthir exclaimed. “Thanks a lot!” He kicked Celegorm in the calf, which devolved into a squabble broken up by Maedhros snapping at them to stop being so immature.

           “Alright!” Fëanor announced. “I’m putting on the audiobook, so all of you can be quiet and listen. You might learn something.” All hope that this might be something genuinely entertaining died a quick death when what started to play was A History of Metallurgic Symbolism of Noldorin Royalty. The worst part was that, with nothing else to do, they found themselves actually listening along.

           Interruptions were remarkably few, which possibly had to do with Fëanor glaring at anyone who talked over the book, until his phone buzzed and he exclaimed:

           “Who has used up seventy-five percent of our data?! It’s the fifth of the month!”

           “Kano,” said Maedhros, Celegorm, and Caranthir at the same time.

           “He’s streaming music,” Maedhros added.

           “Kanafinwë!”

           “Atar,” Maglor whined in response, flashing a glare at his brothers. “There’s nothing to do in here!”

           “Listen to the book!” Fëanor said. “You are forbidden from using any more data on this trip.”

           “But Atar—!”

           “No buts!” Maglor groaned as if he had been shot and melted in his seat, his earbuds drooping despondently down on the floor beside him.

           “Thanks a lot, Tyelko,” he hissed. Celegorm stuck his tongue out.

           By the time the audiobook was wrapping up volume one, they had pulled off the main highway and were on a far less well-paved road with only the occasional fruit stand or branching dirt road along the sides.

           “Psst. Tyelko.” Amrod kicked the back of his seat as gently as could be managed.

           “Knock it off,” grunted Celegorm without opening his eyes.

           “We want to fly this kite,” Amrod said. “But my window is stuck.”

           “You busted it,” Celegorm reminded him in case he had forgotten, shifting his arms folded over his chest.

           “Yours opens,” Amrod said. “Will you stick the kite out for us?” Celegorm’s eyes cracked open and he glanced towards the rearmost seat.

           “What’ll you give me for it?” he asked.

           “This Jolly Rancher?” Amras offered.

           “What flavor is it?”

           “Red,” said Amras.

           “Is that cherry or watermelon?” Celegorm asked. “Check it.”

           “Cherry,” Amras reported. Celegorm snatched it out of his hand, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.

           “Kay. What else?” The twins were silent. “Come on, didn’t you guys go to a party yesterday?” he asked. “What’s Telvo got?”

           “Blue raspberry,” said Amrod.

           “Give me that. What else?”

           “We don’t have anything else,” Amras whined. “Come on, Tyelko!”

           “Give me your toy from earlier,” said Celegorm. “What’s Curvo got?”

           “Nothing, I’m not involved in this,” said Curufin, a scowl on his childishly round face so Celegorm knew he disapproved both of this plan and of these demands of bribery.

           “Alright, alright, fine. Give me the stupid kite.” Eagerly, Amrod passed the bright pink kite up to Celegorm, who rolled down the window. “You holding on?” he asked.

           “Yes!” chorused the twins in a hush.

           “Okay, here it goes.” He launched it, whereupon it was immediately seized by the wind, jerking the string taut and making both twins shout and laugh at their success.

           “Fëanáro. Fëanáro, what is in the rearview mirror?” said Nerdanel.

           “What the f—fire tongs?” He quickly rolled down the window to look back at whatever was following them, then traced the line back into his own car. “Turcafinwë! What are you doing?” Sometimes, Fëanor asked this question in a very engaged way, wanting to see what his children were working on and hear the logic of their thinking. Other times, he asked in a way that suggested you should immediately stop whatever you were doing. This was one of the latter times.

           “I’m not doing anything,” said Celegorm.

           “Get that kite inside and shut the window,” Fëanor said, and so the twins’ dearly-bought venture was quickly ended. “Entertain yourselves some other way. Morifinwë and Kanafinwë are managing.”

           Maglor and Caranthir had been passing a piece of paper back and forth for the better part of twenty minutes.

           “What are you writing on that?” Maedhros asked, if only for a brief break from nodding along to Fëanor’s audiobook.

           “It’s art,” said Maglor.

           “Not if Moryo is part of it,” said Celegorm.

           “Shut up,” Caranthir said.

           “I guess it’s almost done,” said Maglor. “Shall we display it?” Caranthir didn’t protest, so Maglor snapped open the notebook paper. “Viola! It’s Fingolfin.”

           Even Maedhros couldn’t disguise his snort of laughter, although he quickly followed with: “That’s really immature, Kano.”

           “Hey, Atya, look,” said Kanafinwë, passing it forward. “It’s Uncle Fingolfin.”

           “We should put this on the fridge,” said Fëanor with a laugh as he examined the artless sketch. “Is that lightning? Nicely done, Kanafinwë.”

           “Moryo helped.”

           “You too, Morifinwë.”

           “Kiss ass,” whispered Celegorm, too low for either of the three in the backseat to promptly announce to mom and dad that the word "ass" had been overheard. Maglor stuck his tongue out, and Caranthir quickly copied him. With one magnum opus for the car ride completed, Maglor went back to his phone and Caranthir to staring out the window, distantly listening to volume two of Fëanor’s audiobook. Eventually, Caranthir was so disenchanted with this that he dug his undone math homework out of his backpack to occupy himself with instead.

They went on in such a fashion, until as the car was puttering down a curving road between a thin wood on one side and an open field on the other, a sharp pop! exploded in the car, followed by the acrid tang of smoke and the sound of Caranthir shrieking and flailing. This was presumably the reason the van suddenly swerved off the road into the grass, with Fëanor grabbing onto the handle above the window to shout:

           “Blessed fucking Elbereth, Nerdanel!”

           “Who is shooting at the car!” she screamed in reply, while Maglor wailed incoherently, doubled over in his seat, and Celegorm, equally incoherent, grabbed Maedhros’ shoulders from behind and shook him with an effort to impart something of urgency, which may have just been terror. Maedhros craned his view back through the smoky air, trying to see if he needed to launch himself into the backseat for something.

           The twins were making some noise in the back and Fëanor jerked around through the haze of smoke to ensure that all seven of them were still in the car.

           “What are you doing back there?” he bellowed. Maglor lifted his head with tears in his eyes, and Caranthir immediately began jabbing a finger in the direction of the backseat and insisting it wasn’t him and also that something had hit him in the back of the head.

           “Are you bleeding?” Nerdanel demanded as the car lurched to a halt.

           Fëanor looked back at Maedhros and Maglor, who turned to look back at Celegorm and Caranthir, who turned to the backseat, where Curufin pointed at Amrod and said,

           “He set something off!”

           “I followed the instructions!” Amrod protested. “It said to point it away from your face and I did!”

           At the same time as this protestation, Maglor was demanding in a very high-pitched tone to know what was wrong with them.

           “You pointed it at my head!” Caranthir snarled, lunging towards the backseat before Fëanor ordered him to stop. Fumbling with his seatbelt buckle for a moment, he got out of the car while Nerdanel appeared to be attempting once again the “calming” breathing technique Eärwen had been trying to impart on her for the last several years. Fëanor opened the side door and held his hand out so that Amrod could drop into it whatever had just been loosed in the car.

           “If I die on this trip, I am writing all of you out of my will,” Maglor said.

           “Oh no, we’ll miss out on your collection of modified sheet music,” Maedhros said, unable to resist rolling his eyes.

           “This is a firework,” Fëanor exclaimed after examining the lightly smoking thing in his hand, snapping his attention back up to the twins.

           “Nuh-uh, we didn’t light anything on fire!” Amros said.

           “It’s a party popper, Atar,” Maedhros said. “They must have gotten it in the party favor bags.”

           “And you thought setting this off in the car was a good idea?” Feanor’s gaze nailed his youngest to the backseat. Amrod shuffled his feet and hunched his shoulders as though to indicate he no longer thought it had been a good idea.

           “This is your fault,” Nerdanel said from the front seat, where her heart had yet to return to a healthy pace, and she began to think it never would.

           “My fault!” Fëanor exclaimed.

           “Who else in this blasted country would have given me children that set off fireworks in the car?” Fëanor, speechless at this treacherous slander out of the left field, blustered for a reply.

           The words I would never have��! burned on his tongue, but he knew he could not convincingly make this argument to an elleth who knew he had once set them off in his father’s garage and caused a great deal more damage than Amrod just had.

           “We’re never going to make it before nightfall at this rate,” he declared at last, throwing the spent popper back into the car. He turned back towards the twins on a second thought. “Give me those party favor bags. And any other things that smoke you might have. The rest of you, too!” Reluctantly, they emptied their bags and Fëanor shoved a pile of plastic junk into the glovebox while Celegorm and Caranthir pulled confetti out of their hair.

           Fëanor leaned over and murmured something in Nerdanel’s ear, and without another word they exchanged places.

           “That was really irresponsible of you,” Maedhros said to the twins as Fëanor reversed the car out of the field it was in back towards the road. “You could have gotten people hurt. Ammë could have wrecked the car.”

           “Do you hear that?” Maglor demanded. “We could have all died.”

           “Maitimo, that’s enough,” Nerdanel sighed, sliding down in her seat. “As I’ve told you, they have two parents already. They don’t need three. You too, Makalaurë.”

           They made it back onto the road and Fëanor headed the van on towards the campsite. Nerdanel put down the passenger seat window to enjoy a small breeze and close her eyes a moment. Curufin settled for entertaining the twins by making them guess in which of his fists he had hidden a coin. Caranthir had given up on his math homework and was stowing it away in his backpack.

           It was at this moment that Celegorm, with a better view of Maglor’s phone in the low light, shouted, “Kano is sexting!”

           “He’s what?” Fëanor yelped in reply, very nearly jerking the car off the road again.

           “I am not!” Maglor exclaimed, quickly darkening his phone screen as Maedhros shot him an I told you so look.

           “Sexting!” Amros shrieked with the delight of a child who had no idea what the conversation as about. He was roundly ignored.

           “Yes you are, I can see the word ‘panties’ right there!” Celegorm declared triumphantly. The twins screamed with laughter about this particular word, and even humorless Curufin was stuffing a fist in his mouth trying to keep from laughing.

           “Alright, phones,” Nerdanel said, thrusting her hand blindly into the back seat area.

           “But Ammë—!” Nerdanel’s fingers twitched demandingly, and Maglor, with a nasty look at Celegorm, put his phone in her hand, followed by Maedhros, Celegorm, and Caranthir, who were the only others old enough to have one.

           “Amuse yourselves otherwise,” she said.

            “We need to talk about this sexting,” Fëanor said, glancing at Nerdanel as if half-expecting to be blamed for this turn of events as well.

           “Not now, Fëanáro,” said Nerdanel.

           “He is entirely too young for that.”

           “What are we supposed to do now?” Maglor sulked, resting an elbow on the window sill.

           “Play I Spy,” Nerdanel said mercilessly.

           “We’re talking about it later, Kanafinwë.” Maglor groaned as if he had been kicked in the ribs.

           “I spy something,” Celegorm said.

           “Shut up, Tyelko,” said Maglor.

           “I spy something red and shiny.”

           “The car lights?” asked Curufin.

           “Nope.”

           “Is it…Ammë’s book?” asked Amrod.

           “You aren’t really going to play this, are you?” Maglor asked.

           “No. I mean like, really bright. Super shiny.”

           “Is it Russandol?” asked Caranthir with a hint of a smirk.

           “Bingo.” That cracked a laugh out of Maglor, and the twins too, who bounced in their seats and cried, “Copper-top! Copper-top!”

           “That’s a lot coming from two other redheads,” Maglor pointed out to them, which did not deter them in the slightest. Older, they might argue their hair was darker and therefore not as noticeable as Maedhros’, but for now, hypocrisy did not concern them.

           Maedhros rolled his eyes, as if the force of it could stop his brothers from their stupid game. To think he was missing Fingon’s party for this was almost too agonizingly unfair to contemplate.

           “Okay, my turn,” Maglor said. “I spy something like a fiery beacon in the distance…like a glowing sunset on a flat horizon…like the nose of a clown with a cold…”

           “Okay, write your next poem in silence,” Maedhros said while Celegorm cackled and Caranthir grinned at him.

           “This could be my magnum opus, Nelyo,” Maglor insisted. “Just give me a minute…I spy something like an abandoned firetruck in a dump parking lot…”

           “I spy someone who’s getting a talk from Atar once the tent is set up,” Maedhros replied.

           “Hey!”

           Nerdanel, recognizing this sound as only the average chaos of the family, closed her eyes for a moment, the cool wind soothing against her cheeks. After a moment, she felt Fëanor’s hand slide into hers and squeeze lightly. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth and she squeezed back.

           “Hey! I think I see it up ahead!”

           Fëanor’s hand withdrew back to the steering wheel.

           “Nelyafinwë, I want you on tent duty,” he said. “Kanafinwë and Turcafinwë can go pick up the firewood. Morifinwë, help Nelyafinwë with the tent. Pityafinwë and Telufinwë, make sure all the food and drinks are intact. And Curufinwë can help me with the campfire. Are you ready?”

           “Yes, Atar!” chorused from the back. Nerdanel’s smile grew and she leaned her cheek against the seatbelt. Yes, there was a reason they kept going on these trips—it just took her until they arrived to remember it sometimes.

[rjalker]

The Chapter Ends, a Novelet of Latter Years, by Poul Anderson.

8,736 words. This story and its illustration are in the Public Domain.

Published in 1954

= = =

"No," said the old man.

"But you don't realize what it means," said Jorun. "You don't know what you're saying."

The old man, Kormt of Huerdar, Gerlaug's son, and Speaker for Solis Township, shook his head till the long, grizzled locks swirled around his wide shoulders. "I have thought it through," he said. His voice was deep and slow and implacable. "You gave me five years to think about it. And my answer is no."

Jorun felt a weariness rise within him. It had been like this for days now, weeks, and it was like trying to knock down a mountain. You beat on its rocky flanks till your hands were bloody, and still the mountain stood there, sunlight on its high snow-fields and in the forests that rustled up its slopes, and it did not really notice you. You were a brief thin buzz between two long nights, but the mountain was forever.

"You haven't thought at all," he said with a rudeness born of exhaustion. "You've only reacted unthinkingly to a dead symbol. It's not a human reaction, even, it's a verbal reflex."

(Read-more was here)

Kormt's eyes, meshed in crow's-feet, were serene and steady under the thick gray brows. He smiled a little in his long beard, but made no other reply. Had he simply let the insult glide off him, or had he not understood it at all? There was no real talking to these peasants; too many millennia lay between, and you couldn't shout across that gulf.

"Well," said Jorun, "the ships will be here tomorrow or the next day, and it'll take another day or so to get all your people aboard. You have that long to decide, but after that it'll be too late. Think about it, I beg of you. As for me, I'll be too busy to argue further."

"You are a good man," said Kormt, "and a wise one in your fashion. But you are blind. There is something dead inside you."

He waved one huge gnarled hand. "Look around you, Jorun of Fulkhis. This is Earth. This is the old home of all humankind. You cannot go off and forget it. Man cannot do so. It is in him, in his blood and bones and soul; he will carry Earth within him forever."

Jorun's eyes traveled along the arc of the hand. He stood on the edge of the town. Behind him were its houses—low, white, half-timbered, roofed with thatch or red tile, smoke rising from the chimneys; carved galleries overhung the narrow, cobbled, crazily-twisting streets; he heard the noise of wheels and wooden clogs, the shouts of children at play. Beyond that were trees and the incredible ruined walls of Sol City. In front of him, the wooded hills were cleared and a gentle landscape of neat fields and orchards rolled down toward the distant glitter of the sea: scattered farm buildings, drowsy cattle, winding gravel roads, fence-walls of ancient marble and granite, all dreaming under the sun.

He drew a deep breath. It was pungent in his nostrils. It smelled of leaf-mould, plowed earth baking in the warmth, summery trees and gardens, a remote ocean odor of salt and kelp and fish. He thought that no two planets ever had quite the same smell, and that none was as rich as Terra's.

"This is a fair world," he said slowly.

"It is the only one," said Kormt. "Man came from here; and to this, in the end, he must return."

"I wonder—" Jorun sighed. "Take me; not one atom of my body was from this soil before I landed. My people lived on Fulkhis for ages, and changed to meet its conditions. They would not be happy on Terra."

"The atoms are nothing," said Kormt. "It is the form which matters, and that was given to you by Earth."

Jorun studied him for a moment. Kormt was like most of this planet's ten million or so people—a dark, stocky folk, though there were more blond and red-haired throwbacks here than in the rest of the Galaxy. He was old for a primitive untreated by medical science—he must be almost two hundred years old—but his back was straight, and his stride firm. The coarse, jut-nosed face held an odd strength. Jorun was nearing his thousandth birthday, but couldn't help feeling like a child in Kormt's presence.

That didn't make sense. These few dwellers on Terra were a backward and impoverished race of peasants and handicraftsmen; they were ignorant and unadventurous; they had been static for more thousands of years than anyone knew. What could they have to say to the ancient and mighty civilization which had almost forgotten their little planet?

Kormt looked at the declining sun. "I must go now," he said. "There are the evening chores to do. I will be in town tonight if you should wish to see me."

"I probably will," said Jorun. "There's a lot to do, readying the evacuation, and you're a big help."

The old man bowed with grave courtesy, turned, and walked off down the road. He wore the common costume of Terran men, as archaic in style as in its woven-fabric material: hat, jacket, loose trousers, a long staff in his hand. Contrasting the drab blue of Kormt's dress, Jorun's vivid tunic of shifting rainbow hues was like a flame.

The psychotechnician sighed again, watching him go. He liked the old fellow. It would be criminal to leave him here alone, but the law forbade force—physical or mental—and the Integrator on Corazuno wasn't going to care whether or not one aged man stayed behind. The job was to get the race off Terra.

A lovely world. Jorun's thin mobile features, pale-skinned and large-eyed, turned around the horizon. A fair world we came from.

There were more beautiful planets in the Galaxy's swarming myriads—the indigo world-ocean of Loa, jeweled with islands; the heaven-defying mountains of Sharang; the sky of Jareb, that seemed to drip light—oh, many and many, but there was only one Earth.

Jorun remembered his first sight of this world, hanging free in space to watch it after the gruelling ten-day run, thirty thousand light-years, from Corazuno. It was blue as it turned before his eyes, a burnished turquoise shield blazoned with the living green and brown of its lands, and the poles were crowned with a flimmering haze of aurora. The belts that streaked its face and blurred the continents were cloud, wind and water and the gray rush of rain, like a benediction from heaven. Beyond the planet hung its moon, a scarred golden crescent, and he had wondered how many generations of men had looked up to it, or watched its light like a broken bridge across moving waters. Against the enormous cold of the sky—utter black out to the distant coils of the nebulae, thronging with a million frosty points of diamond-hard blaze that were the stars—Earth had stood as a sign of haven. To Jorun, who came from Galactic center and its uncountable hosts of suns, heaven was bare, this was the outer fringe where the stars thinned away toward hideous immensity. He had shivered a little, drawn the envelope of air and warmth closer about him, with a convulsive movement. The silence drummed in his head. Then he streaked for the north-pole rendezvous of his group.

Well, he thought now, we have a pretty routine job. The first expedition here, five years ago, prepared the natives for the fact they'd have to go. Our party simply has to organize these docile peasants in time for the ships. But it had meant a lot of hard work, and he was tired. It would be good to finish the job and get back home.

Or would it?

He thought of flying with Zarek, his team-mate, from the rendezvous to this area assigned as theirs. Plains like oceans of grass, wind-rippled, darkened with the herds of wild cattle whose hoofbeats were a thunder in the earth; forests, hundreds of kilometers of old and mighty trees, rivers piercing them in a long steel gleam; lakes where fish leaped; spilling sunshine like warm rain, radiance so bright it hurt his eyes, cloud-shadows swift across the land. It had all been empty of man, but still there was a vitality here which was almost frightening to Jorun. His own grim world of moors and crags and spin-drift seas was a miser beside this; here life covered the earth, filled the oceans, and made the heavens clangerous around him. He wondered if the driving energy within man, the force which had raised him to the stars, made him half-god and half-demon, if that was a legacy of Terra.

Well—man had changed; over the thousands of years, natural and controlled adaptation had fitted him to the worlds he had colonized, and most of his many races could not now feel at home here. Jorun thought of his own party: round, amber-skinned Chuli from a tropic world, complaining bitterly about the cold and dryness; gay young Cluthe, gangling and bulge-chested; sophisticated Taliuvenna of the flowing dark hair and the lustrous eyes—no, to them Earth was only one more planet, out of thousands they had seen in their long lives.

And I'm a sentimental fool.

He could have willed the vague regret out of his trained nervous system, but he didn't want to. This was the last time human eyes would ever look on Earth, and somehow Jorun felt that it should be more to him than just another psychotechnic job.

"Hello, good sir."

He turned at the voice and forced his tired lips into a friendly smile. "Hello, Julith," he said. It was a wise policy to learn the names of the townspeople, at least, and she was a great-great-granddaughter of the Speaker.

She was some thirteen or fourteen years old, a freckle-faced child with a shy smile, and steady green eyes. There was a certain awkward grace about her, and she seemed more imaginative than most of her stolid race. She curtsied quaintly for him, her bare foot reaching out under the long smock which was daily female dress here.

"Are you busy, good sir?" she asked.

"Well, not too much," said Jorun. He was glad of a chance to talk; it silenced his thoughts. "What can I do for you?"

"I wondered—" She hesitated, then, breathlessly: "I wonder if you could give me a lift down to the beach? Only for an hour or two. It's too far to walk there before I have to be home, and I can't borrow a car, or even a horse. If it won't be any trouble, sir."

"Mmmm—shouldn't you be at home now? Isn't there milking and so on to do?"

"Oh, I don't live on a farm, good sir. My father is a baker."

"Yes, yes, so he is. I should have remembered." Jorun considered for an instant. There was enough to do in town, and it wasn't fair for him to play hooky while Zarek worked alone. "Why do you want to go to the beach, Julith?"

"We'll be busy packing up," she said. "Starting tomorrow, I guess. This is my last chance to see it."

Jorun's mouth twisted a little. "All right," he said; "I'll take you."

"You are very kind, good sir," she said gravely.

He didn't reply, but held out his arm, and she clasped it with one hand while her other arm gripped his waist. The generator inside his skull responded to his will, reaching out and clawing itself to the fabric of forces and energies which was physical space. They rose quietly, and went so slowly seaward that he didn't have to raise a wind-screen.

[Image description start: A black and white illustration of Jorun flying with his arms held out above him, with Julith holding him around the chest as they fly over a beach with tall rocky cliffs circling it. Jorun has short dark hair and a long sleeved shirt, Julith has longer dark hair and is wearing a dress with long sleeves. Image description end.]

"Will we be able to fly like this when we get to the stars?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not, Julith," he said. "You see, the people of my civilization are born this way. Thousands of years ago, men learned how to control the great basic forces of the cosmos with only a small bit of energy. Finally they used artificial mutation—that is, they changed themselves, slowly, over many generations, until their brains grew a new part that could generate this controlling force. We can now even, fly between the stars, by this power. But your people don't have that brain, so we had to build spaceships to take you away."

"I see," she said.

"Your great-great-great-grandchildren can be like us, if your people want to be changed thus," he said.

"They didn't want to change before," she answered. "I don't think they'll do it now, even in their new home." Her voice held no bitterness; it was an acceptance.

Privately, Jorun doubted it. The psychic shock of this uprooting would be bound to destroy the old traditions of the Terrans; it would not take many centuries before they were culturally assimilated by Galactic civilization.

Assimilated—nice euphemism. Why not just say—eaten?

They landed on the beach. It was broad and white, running in dunes from the thin, harsh, salt-streaked grass to the roar and tumble of surf. The sun was low over the watery horizon, filling the damp, blowing air with gold. Jorun could almost look directly at its huge disc.

He sat down. The sand gritted tinily under him, and the wind rumpled his hair and filled his nostrils with its sharp wet smell. He picked up a conch and turned it over in his fingers, wondering at the intricate architecture of it.

"If you hold it to your ear," said Julith, "you can hear the sea." Her childish voice was curiously tender around the rough syllables of Earth's language.

He nodded and obeyed her hint. It was only the small pulse of blood within him—you heard the same thing out in the great hollow silence of space—but it did sing of restless immensities, wind and foam, and the long waves marching under the moon.

"I have two of them myself," said Julith. "I want them so I can always remember this beach. And my children and their children will hold them, too, and hear our sea talking." She folded his fingers around the shell. "You keep this one for yourself."

"Thank you," he said. "I will." The combers rolled in, booming and spouting against the land. The Terrans called them the horses of God. A thin cloud in the west was turning rose and gold.

"Are there oceans on our new planet?" asked Julith.

"Yes," he said. "It's the most Earth-like world we could find that wasn't already inhabited. You'll be happy there."

But the trees and grasses, the soil and the fruits thereof, the beasts of the field and the birds of the air and the fish of the waters beneath, form and color, smell and sound, taste and texture, everything is different. Is alien. The difference is small, subtle, but it is the abyss of two billion years of separate evolution, and no other world can ever quite be Earth.

Julith looked straight at him with solemn eyes. "Are you folk afraid of Hulduvians?" she asked.

"Why, no," he said. "Of course not."

"Then why are you giving Earth to them?" It was a soft question, but it trembled just a little.

"I thought all your people understood the reason by now," said Jorun. "Civilization—the civilization of man and his nonhuman allies—has moved inward, toward the great star-clusters of Galactic center. This part of space means nothing to us any more; it's almost a desert. You haven't seen starlight till you've been by Sagittarius. Now the Hulduvians are another civilization. They are not the least bit like us; they live on big, poisonous worlds like Jupiter and Saturn. I think they would seem like pretty nice monsters if they weren't so alien to us that neither side can really understand the other. They use the cosmic energies too, but in a different way—and their way interferes with ours just as ours interferes with theirs. Different brains, you see.

"Anyway, it was decided that the two civilizations would get along best by just staying away from each other. If they divided up the Galaxy between them, there would be no interference; it would be too far from one civilization to the other. The Hulduvians were, really, very nice about it. They're willing to take the outer rim, even if there are fewer stars, and let us have the center.

"So by the agreement, we've got to have all men and manlike beings out of their territory before they come to settle it, just as they'll move out of ours. Their colonists won't be coming to Jupiter and Saturn for centuries yet; but even so, we have to clear the Sirius Sector now, because there'll be a lot of work to do elsewhere. Fortunately, there are only a few people living in this whole part of space. The Sirius Sector has been an isolated, primi—ah—quiet region since the First Empire fell, fifty thousand years ago."

Julith's voice rose a little. "But those people are us!"

"And the folk of Alpha Centauri and Procyon and Sirius and—oh, hundreds of other stars. Yet all of you together are only one tiny drop in the quadrillions of the Galaxy. Don't you see, Julith, you have to move for the good of all of us?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I know all that."

She got up, shaking herself. "Let's go swimming."

Jorun smiled and shook his head. "No, I'll wait for you if you want to go."

She nodded and ran off down the beach, sheltering behind a dune to put on a bathing-suit. The Terrans had a nudity taboo, in spite of the mild interglacial climate; typical primitive irrationality. Jorun lay back, folding his arms behind his head, and looked up at the darkening sky. The evening star twinkled forth, low and white on the dusk-blue horizon. Venus—or was it Mercury? He wasn't sure. He wished he knew more about the early history of the Solar System, the first men to ride their thunderous rockets out to die on unknown hell-worlds—the first clumsy steps toward the stars. He could look it up in the archives of Corazuno, but he knew he never would. Too much else to do, too much to remember. Probably less than one percent of mankind's throngs even knew where Earth was, today—though, for a while, it had been quite a tourist-center. But that was perhaps thirty thousand years ago.

Because this world, out of all the billions, has certain physical characteristics, he thought, my race has made them into standards. Our basic units of length and time and acceleration, our comparisons by which we classify the swarming planets of the Galaxy, they all go back ultimately to Earth. We bear that unspoken memorial to our birthplace within our whole civilization, and will bear it forever. But has she given us more than that? Are our own selves, bodies and minds and dreams, are they also the children of Earth?

Now he was thinking like Kormt, stubborn old Kormt who clung with such a blind strength to this land simply because it was his. When you considered all the races of this wander-footed species—how many of them there were, how many kinds of man between the stars! And yet they all walked upright; they all had two eyes and a nose between and a mouth below; they were all cells of that great and ancient culture which had begun here, eons past, with the first hairy half-man who kindled a fire against night. If Earth had not had darkness and cold and prowling beasts, oxygen and cellulose and flint, that culture might never have gestated.

I'm getting unlogical. Too tired, nerves worn too thin, psychosomatic control slipping. Now Earth is becoming some obscure mother-symbol for me.

Or has she always been one, for the whole race of us?

A seagull cried harshly overhead and soared from view.

The sunset was smoldering away and dusk rose like fog out of the ground. Julith came running back to him, her face indistinct in the gloom. She was breathing hard, and he couldn't tell if the catch in her voice was laughter or weeping.

"I'd better be getting home," she said.

They flew slowly back. The town was a yellow twinkle of lights, warmth gleaming from windows across many empty kilometers. Jorun set the girl down outside her home.

"Thank you, good sir," she said, curtseying. "Won't you come in to dinner?"

"Well—"

The door opened, etching the girl black against the ruddiness inside. Jorun's luminous tunic made him like a torch in the dark. "Why, it's the star-man," said a woman's voice.

"I took your daughter for a swim," he explained. "I hope you don't mind."

"And if we did, what would it matter?" grumbled a bass tone. Jorun recognized Kormt; the old man must have come as a guest from his farm on the outskirts. "What could we do about it?"

"Now, Granther, that's no way to talk to the gentleman," said the woman. "He's been very kind. Won't you come eat with us, good sir?"

Jorun refused twice, in case they were only being polite, then accepted gladly enough. He was tired of cookery at the inn where he and Zarek boarded. "Thank you."

He entered, ducking under the low door. A single long, smoky-raftered room was kitchen, diningroom, and parlor; doors led off to the sleeping quarters. It was furnished with a clumsy elegance, skin rugs, oak wainscoting, carved pillars, glowing ornaments of hammered copper. A radium clock, which must be incredibly old, stood on the stone mantel, above a snapping fire; a chemical-powered gun, obviously of local manufacture, hung over it. Julith's parents, a plain, quiet peasant couple, conducted him to the end of the wooden table, while half a dozen children watched him with large eyes. The younger children were the only Terrans who seemed to find this removal an adventure.

The meal was good and plentiful: meat, vegetables, bread, beer, milk, ice cream, coffee, all of it from the farms hereabouts. There wasn't much trade between the few thousand communities of Earth; they were practically self-sufficient. The company ate in silence, as was the custom here. When they were finished, Jorun wanted to go, but it would have been rude to leave immediately. He went over to a chair by the fireplace, across from the one in which Kormt sprawled.

The old man took out a big-bowled pipe and began stuffing it. Shadows wove across his seamed brown face, his eyes were a gleam out of darkness. "I'll go down to City Hall with you soon," he said; "I imagine that's where the work is going on."

"Yes," said Jorun, "I can relieve Zarek at it. I'd appreciate it if you did come, good sir. Your influence is very steadying on these people."

"It should be," said Kormt. "I've been their Speaker for almost a hundred years. And my father Gerlaug was before me, and his father Kormt was before him." He took a brand from the fire and held it over his pipe, puffing hard, looking up at Jorun through tangled brows. "Who was your great-grandfather?"

"Why—I don't know. I imagine he's still alive somewhere, but—"

"I thought so. No marriage. No family. No home. No tradition." Kormt shook, his massive head, slowly, "I pity you Galactics!"

"Now please, good sir—" Damn it all, the old clodhopper could get as irritating as a faulty computer. "We have records that go back to before man left this planet. Records of everything. It is you who have forgotten."

Kormt smiled and puffed blue clouds at him. "That's not what I meant."

"Do you mean you think it is good for men to live a life that is unchanging, that is just the same from century to century—no new dreams, no new triumphs, always the same grubbing rounds of days? I cannot agree."

Jorun's mind flickered over history, trying to evaluate the basic motivations of his opponent. Partly cultural, partly biological, that must be it. Once Terra had been the center of the civilized universe. But the long migration starward, especially after the fall of the First Empire, drained off the most venturesome elements of the population. That drain went on for thousands of years. Sol was backward, ruined and impoverished by the remorseless price of empire, helpless before the storms of barbarian conquest that swept back and forth between the stars. Even after peace was restored, there was nothing to hold a young man or woman of vitality and imagination here—not when you could go toward Galactic center and join the new civilization building out there. Space-traffic came ever less frequently to Sol; old machines rusted away and were not replaced; best to get out while there was still time.

Eventually there was a fixed psychosomatic type, one which lived close to the land, in primitive changeless communities and isolated farmsteads—a type content to gain its simple needs by the labor of hand, horse, or an occasional battered engine. A culture grew up which increased that rigidity. So few had visited Earth in the last several thousand years—perhaps one outsider a century, stopping briefly off on his way to somewhere else—that there was no challenge or encouragement to alter. The Terrans didn't want more people, more machines, more anything; they wished only to remain as they were.

You couldn't call them stagnant. Their life was too healthy, their civilization too rich in its own way—folk art, folk music, ceremony, religion, the intimacy of family life which the Galactics had lost—for that term. But to one who flew between the streaming suns, it was a small existence.

Kormt's voice broke in on his reverie. "Dreams, triumphs, work, deeds, love and life and finally death and the long sleep in the earth," he said. "Why should we want to change them? They never grow old; they are new for each child that is born."

"Well," said Jorun, and stopped. You couldn't really answer that kind of logic. It wasn't logic at all, but something deeper.

"Well," he started over, after a while, "as you know, this evacuation was forced on us, too. We don't want to move you, but we must."

"Oh, yes," said Kormt. "You have been very nice about it. It would have been easier, in a way, if you'd come with fire and gun and chains for us, like the barbarians did long ago. We could have understood you better then."

"At best, it will be hard for your people," said Jorun. "It will be a shock, and they'll need leaders to guide them through it. You have a duty to help them out there, good sir."

"Maybe." Kormt blew a series of smoke rings at his youngest descendant, three years old, who crowed with laughter and climbed up on his knee. "But they'll manage."

"You can't seem to realize," said Jorun, "that you are the last man on Earth who refuses to go. You will be alone. For the rest of your life! We couldn't come back for you later under any circumstances, because there'll be Hulduvian colonies between Sol and Sagittarius which we would disturb in passage. You'll be alone, I say!"

Kormt shrugged. "I'm too old to change my ways; there can't be many years left me, anyway. I can live well, just off the food-stores that'll be left here." He ruffled the child's hair, but his face drew into a scowl. "Now, no more of that, good sir, if you please; I'm tired of this argument."

Jorun nodded and fell into the silence that held the rest. Terrans would sometimes sit for hours without talking, content to be in each other's nearness. He thought of Kormt, Gerlaug's son, last man on Earth, altogether alone, living alone and dying alone; and yet, he reflected, was that solitude any greater than the one in which all men dwelt all their days?

Presently the Speaker set the child down, knocked out his pipe, and rose. "Come, good sir," he said, reaching for his staff. "Let us go."

They walked side by side down the street, under the dim lamps and past the yellow windows. The cobbles gave back their footfalls in a dull clatter. Once in a while they passed someone else, a vague figure which bowed to Kormt. Only one did not notice them, an old woman who walked crying between the high walls.

"They say it is never night on your worlds," said Kormt.

Jorun threw him a sidelong glance. His face was a strong jutting of highlights from sliding shadow. "Some planets have been given luminous skies," said the technician, "and a few still have cities, too, where it is always light. But when every man can control the cosmic energies, there is no real reason for us to live together; most of us dwell far apart. There are very dark nights on my own world, and I cannot see any other home from my own—just the moors."

"It must be a strange life," said Kormt. "Belonging to no one."

They came out on the market-square, a broad paved space walled in by houses. There was a fountain in its middle, and a statue dug out of the ruins had been placed there. It was broken, one arm gone—but still the white slim figure of the dancing girl stood with youth and laughter, forever under the sky of Earth. Jorun knew that lovers were wont to meet here, and briefly, irrationally, he wondered how lonely the girl would be in all the millions of years to come.

The City Hall lay at the farther end of the square, big and dark, its eaves carved with dragons, and the gables topped with wing-spreading birds. It was an old building; nobody knew how many generations of men had gathered here. A long, patient line of folk stood outside it, shuffling in one by one to the registry desk; emerging, they went off quietly into the darkness, toward the temporary shelters erected for them.

Walking by the line, Jorun picked faces out of the shadows. There was a young mother holding a crying child, her head bent over it in a timeless pose, murmuring to soothe it. There was a mechanic, still sooty from his work, smiling wearily at some tired joke of the man behind him. There was a scowling, black-browed peasant who muttered a curse as Jorun went by; the rest seemed to accept their fate meekly enough. There was a priest, his head bowed, alone with his God. There was a younger man, his hands clenching and unclenching, big helpless hands, and Jorun heard him saying to someone else: "—if they could have waited till after harvest. I hate to let good grain stand in the field."

Jorun went into the main room, toward the desk at the head of the line. Hulking hairless Zarek was patiently questioning each of the hundreds who came hat in hand before him: name, age, sex, occupation, dependents, special needs or desires. He punches the answers out on the recorder machine, half a million lives were held in its electronic memory.

"Oh, there you are," his bass rumbled. "Where've you been?"

"I had to do some concy work," said Jorun. That was a private code term, among others: concy, conciliation, anything to make the evacuation go smoothly. "Sorry to be so late. I'll take over now."

"All right. I think we can wind the whole thing up by midnight." Zarek smiled at Kormt. "Glad you came, good sir. There are a few people I'd like you to talk to." He gestured at half a dozen seated in the rear of the room. Certain complaints were best handled by native leaders.

Kormt nodded and strode over to the folk. Jorun heard a man begin some long-winded explanation: he wanted to take his own plow along, he'd made it himself and there was no better plow in the universe, but the star-man said there wouldn't be room.

"They'll furnish us with all the stuff we need, son," said Kormt.

"But it's my plow!" said the man. His fingers twisted his cap.

Kormt sat down and began soothing him.

The head of the line waited a few meters off while Jorun took Zarek's place. "Been a long grind," said the latter. "About done now, though. And will I be glad to see the last of this planet!"

"I don't know," said Jorun. "It's a lovely world. I don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful one."

Zarek snorted. "Me for Thonnvar! I can't wait to sit on the terrace by the Scarlet Sea, fern-trees and red grass all around, a glass of oehl in my hand and the crystal geysers in front of me. You're a funny one, Jorun."

The Fulkhisian shrugged slender shoulders. Zarek clapped him on the back and went out for supper and sleep. Jorun beckoned to the next Terran and settled down to the long, almost mindless routine of registration. He was interrupted once by Kormt, who yawned mightily and bade him goodnight; otherwise it was a steady, half-conscious interval in which one anonymous face after another passed by. He was dimly surprised when the last one came up. This was a plump, cheerful, middle-aged fellow with small shrewd eyes, a little more colorfully dressed than the others. He gave his occupation as merchant—a minor tradesman, he explained, dealing in the little things it was more convenient for the peasants to buy than to manufacture themselves.

"I hope you haven't been waiting too long," said Jorun. Concy statement.

"Oh, no." The merchant grinned. "I knew those dumb farmers would be here for hours, so I just went to bed and got up half an hour ago, when it was about over."

"Clever." Jorun rose, sighed, and stretched. The big room was cavernously empty, its lights a harsh glare. It was very quiet here.

"Well, sir, I'm a middling smart chap, if I say it as shouldn't. And you know, I'd like to express my appreciation of all you're doing for us."

"Can't say we're doing much." Jorun locked the machine.

"Oh, the apple-knockers may not like it, but really, good sir, this hasn't been any place for a man of enterprise. It's dead. I'd have got out long ago if there'd been any transportation. Now, when we're getting back into civilization, there'll be some real opportunities. I'll make my pile inside of five years, you bet."

Jorun smiled, but there was a bleakness in him. What chance would this barbarian have even to get near the gigantic work of civilization—let alone comprehend it or take part in it. He hoped the little fellow wouldn't break his heart trying.

"Well," he said, "goodnight, and good luck to you."

"Goodnight, sir. We'll meet again, I trust."

Jorun switched off the lights and went out into the square. It was completely deserted. The moon was up now, almost full, and its cold radiance dimmed the lamps. He heard a dog howling far off. The dogs of Earth—such as weren't taken along—would be lonely, too.

Well, he thought, the job's over. Tomorrow, or the next day, the ships come.

He felt very tired, but didn't want to sleep, and willed himself back to alertness. There hadn't been much chance to inspect the ruins, and he felt it would be appropriate to see them by moonlight.

Rising into the air, he ghosted above roofs and trees until he came to the dead city. For a while he hovered in a sky like dark velvet, a faint breeze murmured around him, and he heard the remote noise of crickets and the sea. But stillness enveloped it all, there was no real sound.

Sol City, capital of the legendary First Empire, had been enormous. It must have sprawled over forty or fifty thousand square kilometers when it was in its prime, when it was the gay and wicked heart of human civilization and swollen with the lifeblood of the stars. And yet those who built it had been men of taste, they had sought out genius to create for them. The city was not a collection of buildings; it was a balanced whole, radiating from the mighty peaks of the central palace, through colonnades and parks and leaping skyways, out to the temple-like villas of the rulers. For all its monstrous size, it had been a fairy sight, a woven lace of polished metal and white, black, red stone, colored plastic, music and light—everywhere light.

Bombarded from space; sacked again and again by the barbarian hordes who swarmed maggot-like through the bones of the slain Empire; weathered, shaken by the slow sliding of Earth's crust; pried apart by patient, delicate roots; dug over by hundreds of generations of archaeologists, treasure-seekers, the idly curious; made a quarry of metal and stone for the ignorant peasants who finally huddled about it—still its empty walls and blind windows, crumbling arches and toppled pillars held a ghost of beauty and magnificence which was like a half-remembered dream. A dream the whole race had once had.

And now we're waking up.

Jorun moved silently over the ruins. Trees growing between tumbled blocks dappled them with moonlight and shadow; the marble was very white and fair against darkness. He hovered by a broken caryatid, marveling at its exquisite leaping litheness; that girl had borne tons of stone like a flower in her hair. Further on, across a street that was a lane of woods, beyond a park that was thick with forest, lay the nearly complete outline of a house. Only its rain-blurred walls stood, but he could trace the separate rooms: here a noble had entertained his friends, robes that were fluid rainbows, jewels dripping fire, swift cynical interplay of wits like sharpened swords rising above music and the clear sweet laughter of dancing-girls; here people whose flesh was now dust had slept and made love and lain side-by-side in darkness to watch the moving pageant of the city; here the slaves had lived and worked and sometimes wept; here the children had played their ageless games under willows, between banks of roses. Oh, it had been a hard and cruel time; it was well gone but it had lived. It had embodied man, all that was noble and splendid and evil and merely wistful in the race, and now its late children had forgotten.

A cat sprang up on one of the walls and flowed noiselessly along it, hunting. Jorun shook himself and flew toward the center of the city, the imperial palace. An owl hooted somewhere, and a bat fluttered out of his way like a small damned soul blackened by hellfire. He didn't raise a wind-screen, but let the air blow around him, the air of Earth.

The palace was almost completely wrecked, a mountain of heaped rocks, bare bones of "eternal" metal gnawed thin by steady ages of wind and rain and frost, but once it must have been gigantic. Men rarely built that big nowadays, they didn't need to; and the whole human spirit had changed, become ever more abstract, finding its treasures within itself. But there had been an elemental magnificence about early man and the works he raised to challenge the sky.

One tower still stood—a gutted shell, white under the stars, rising in a filigree of columns and arches which seemed impossibly airy, as if it were built of moonlight. Jorun settled on its broken upper balcony, dizzily high above the black-and-white fantasy of the ruins. A hawk flew shrieking from its nest, then there was silence.

No—wait—another yell, ringing down the star ways, a dark streak across the moon's face. "Hai-ah!" Jorun recognized the joyful shout of young Cluthe, rushing through heaven like a demon on a broomstick, and scowled in annoyance. He didn't want to be bothered now.

Well, they had as much right here as he. He repressed the emotion, and even managed a smile. After all, he would have liked to feel gay and reckless at times, but he had never been able to. Jorun was little older than Cluthe—a few centuries at most—but he came of a melancholy folk; he had been born old.

Another form pursued the first. As they neared, Jorun recognized Taliuvenna's supple outline. Those two had been teamed up for one of the African districts, but—

They sensed him and came wildly out of the sky to perch on the balcony railing and swing their legs above the heights. "How're you?" asked Cluthe. His lean face laughed in the moonlight. "Whoo-oo, what a flight!"

"I'm all right," said Jorun. "You through in your sector?"

"Uh-huh. So we thought we'd just duck over and look in here. Last chance anyone'll ever have to do some sight-seeing on Earth."

Taliuvenna's full lips drooped a bit as she looked over the ruins. She came from Yunith, one of the few planets where they still kept cities, and was as much a child of their soaring arrogance as Jorun of his hills and tundras and great empty seas. "I thought it would be bigger," she said.

"Well, they were building this fifty or sixty thousand years ago," said Cluthe. "Can't expect too much."

"There is good art left here," said Jorun. "Pieces which for one reason or another weren't carried off. But you have to look around for it."

"I've seen a lot of it already, in museums," said Taliuvenna. "Not bad."

"C'mon, Tally," cried Cluthe. He touched her shoulder and sprang into the air. "Tag! You're it!"

She screamed with laughter and shot off after him. They rushed across the wilderness, weaving in and out of empty windows and broken colonnades, and their shouts woke a clamor of echoes.

Jorun sighed. I'd better go to bed, he thought. It's late.

- - -

The spaceship was a steely pillar against a low gray sky. Now and then a fine rain would drizzle down, blurring it from sight; then that would end, and the ship's flanks would glisten as if they were polished. Clouds scudded overhead like flying smoke, and the wind was loud in the trees.

The line of Terrans moving slowly into the vessel seemed to go on forever. A couple of the ship's crew flew above them, throwing out a shield against the rain. They shuffled without much talk or expression, pushing carts filled with their little possessions. Jorun stood to one side, watching them go by, one face after another—scored and darkened by the sun of Earth, the winds of Earth, hands still grimy with the soil of Earth.

Well, he thought, there they go. They aren't being as emotional about it as I thought they would. I wonder if they really do care.

Julith went past with her parents. She saw him and darted from the line and curtsied before him.

"Goodbye, good sir," she said. Looking up, she showed him a small and serious face. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Well," he lied, "I might look in on you sometime."

"Please do! In a few years, maybe, when you can."

It takes many generations to raise a people like this to our standard. In a few years—to me—she'll be in her grave.

"I'm sure you'll be very happy," he said.

She gulped. "Yes," she said, so low he could barely hear her. "Yes, I know I will." She turned and ran back to her mother. The raindrops glistened in her hair.

Zarek came up behind Jorun. "I made a last-minute sweep of the whole area," he said. "Detected no sign of human life. So it's all taken care of, except your old man."

"Good," said Jorun tonelessly.

"I wish you could do something about him."

"So do I."

Zarek strolled off again.

A young man and woman, walking hand in hand, turned out of the line not far away and stood for a little while. A spaceman zoomed over to them. "Better get back," he warned. "You'll get rained on."

"That's what we wanted," said the young man.

The spaceman shrugged and resumed his hovering. Presently the couple re-entered the line.

The tail of the procession went by Jorun and the ship swallowed it fast. The rain fell harder, bouncing off his force-shield like silver spears. Lightning winked in the west, and he heard the distant exuberance of thunder.

Kormt came walking slowly toward him. Rain streamed off his clothes and matted his long gray hair and beard. His wooden shoes made a wet sound in the mud. Jorun extended the force-shield to cover him. "I hope you've changed your mind," said the Fulkhisian.

"No, I haven't," said Kormt. "I just stayed away till everybody was aboard. Don't like goodbyes."

"You don't know what you're doing," said Jorun for the—thousandth?—time. "It's plain madness to stay here alone."

"I told you I don't like goodbyes," said Kormt harshly.

"I have to go advise the captain of the ship," said Jorun. "You have maybe half an hour before she lifts. Nobody will laugh at you for changing your mind."

"I won't." Kormt smiled without warmth. "You people are the future, I guess. Why can't you leave the past alone? I'm the past." He looked toward the far hills, hidden by the noisy rain. "I like it here, Galactic. That should be enough for you."

"Well, then—" Jorun held out his hand in the archaic gesture of Earth. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye." Kormt took the hand with a brief, indifferent clasp. Then he turned and walked off toward the village. Jorun watched him till he was out of sight.

The technician paused in the air-lock door, looking over the gray landscape and the village from whose chimneys no smoke rose. Farewell, my mother, he thought. And then, surprising himself: Maybe Kormt is doing the right thing after all.

He entered the ship and the door closed behind him.

- - -

Toward evening, the clouds lifted and the sky showed a clear pale blue—as if it had been washed clean—and the grass and leaves glistened. Kormt came out of the house to watch the sunset. It was a good one, all flame and gold. A pity little Julith wasn't here to see it; she'd always liked sunsets. But Julith was so far away now that if she sent a call to him, calling with the speed of light, it would not come before he was dead.

Nothing would come to him. Not ever again.

He tamped his pipe with a horny thumb and lit it and drew a deep cloud into his lungs. Hands in pockets, he strolled down the wet streets. The sound of his clogs was unexpectedly loud.

Well, son, he thought, now you've got a whole world all to yourself, to do with just as you like. You're the richest man who ever lived.

There was no problem in keeping alive. Enough food of all kinds was stored in the town's freeze-vault to support a hundred men for the ten or twenty years remaining to him. But he'd want to stay busy. He could maybe keep three farms from going to seed—watch over fields and orchards and livestock, repair the buildings, dust and wash and light up in the evening. A man ought to keep busy.

He came to the end of the street, where it turned into a graveled road winding up toward a high hill, and followed that. Dusk was creeping over the fields, the sea was a metal streak very far away and a few early stars blinked forth. A wind was springing up, a soft murmurous wind that talked in the trees. But how quiet things were!

On top of the hill stood the chapel, a small steepled building of ancient stone. He let himself in the gate and walked around to the graveyard behind. There were many of the demure white tombstones—thousands of years of Solis Township men and women who had lived and worked and begotten, laughed and wept and died. Someone had put a wreath on one grave only this morning; it brushed against his leg as he went by. Tomorrow it would be withered, and weeds would start to grow. He'd have to tend the chapel yard, too. Only fitting.

He found his family plot and stood with feet spread apart, fists on hips, smoking and looking down at the markers Gerlaug Kormt's son, Tarna Huwan's daughter, these hundred years had they lain in the earth. Hello, Dad, hello, Mother. His fingers reached out and stroked the headstone of his wife. And so many of his children were here, too; sometimes he found it hard to believe that tall Gerlaug and laughing Stamm and shy, gentle Huwan were gone. He'd outlived too many people.

I had to stay, he thought. This is my land, I am of it and I couldn't go. Someone had to stay and keep the land, if only for a little while. I can give it ten more years before the forest comes and takes it.

Darkness grew around him. The woods beyond the hill loomed like a wall. Once he started violently, he thought he heard a child crying. No, only a bird. He cursed himself for the senseless pounding of his heart.

Gloomy place here, he thought. Better get back to the house.

He groped slowly out of the yard, toward the road. The stars were out now. Kormt looked up and thought he had never seen them so bright. Too bright; he didn't like it.

Go away, stars, he thought. You took my people, but I'm staying here. This is my land. He reached down to touch it, but the grass was cold and wet under his palm.

The gravel scrunched loudly as he walked, and the wind mumbled in the hedges, but there was no other sound. Not a voice called; not an engine turned; not a dog barked. No, he hadn't thought it would be so quiet.

And dark. No lights. Have to tend the street lamps himself—it was no fun, not being able to see the town from here, not being able to see anything except the stars. Should have remembered to bring a flashlight, but he was old and absentminded, and there was no one to remind him. When he died, there would be no one to hold his hands; no one to close his eyes and lay him in the earth—and the forests would grow in over the land and wild beasts would nuzzle his bones.

But I knew that. What of it? I'm tough enough to take it.

The stars flashed and flashed above him. Looking up, against his own will, Kormt saw how bright they were, how bright and quiet. And how very far away! He was seeing light that had left its home before he was born.

He stopped, sucking in his breath between his teeth. "No," he whispered.

This was his land. This was Earth, the home of man; it was his and he was its. This was the land, and not a single dust-mote, crazily reeling and spinning through an endlessness of dark and silence, cold and immensity. Earth could not be so alone!

The last man alive. The last man in all the world!

He screamed, then, and began to run. His feet clattered loud on the road; the small sound was quickly swallowed by silence, and he covered his face against the relentless blaze of the stars. But there was no place to run to, no place at all.