#and then when the inevitable happens it's horrible. but also you're so exhausted from the strain that you're mostly numb. and then you feel

[dingusships]

bigass vent over general life things

things in general are really not great i don't really have any optimism for the future or making a life for myself. like i don't really have any drive or ambition to look forward or work towards anything good/meaningful because as time goes on there are going to be really bad life events that i just don't think i can keep facing anymore. and theyre going to be worse. i'm just dragging along life solely on the basis that i was plopped here to just Exist and that's my task at hand that i'm reluctantly upholding. just exist until it's over

[strawglicks]

i genuinely cant believe how insecure and almost saddening graham's ending cutscene is. im so serious

Graham's IMMEDIATE reaction to losing is trying to project onto the toons. Instead of admitting defeat, he tries to twist the situation to make it seem like the toons are the ones who've lost the battle.

The fact that Graham cant handle any imperfections in the first place is horribly insecure. someone who's really confident in themselves should be able to admit their flaws and still be happy with themselves. But that's not the case with Graham. He can act confident all he wants, but he's really lying to himself if he can't accept his own flaws and imperfections.

This entire cutscene is Graham projecting his own embarrassment onto the toons. HE'S embarrassed to have lost his own battle. HE'S embarrassed to have gotten burnt out so fast. But he tries desperately to flip the situation to run away from his own shame.

This is a fat lie. Deadass.

I see people speculate abt this line and what his "other forms" could be, but nah he's just lying. Graham was giving his all in this fight, given by how exhausted he is at the end to the point of passing out. It's WHY he's ashamed to have lost, because he was genuinely trying his best and giving it all he had. Yet, he STILL didn't win and it destroys his pride. And in an attempt to save that pride, he lies about "just getting started".

More projecting onto the toons. Graham needs a breather himself, given how he literally faints at the end of his battle. But he can't even admit his own exhaustion or allow himself to be tired because he has this idea that he needs to be perfect. He's built his whole "brand" on being "perfect", so when those flaws start to inevitably show, it shatters this image he's created for himself AND others. He will inevitably be embarrassed and humiliated again and again, merely by his own flaws that he really doesn't NEED to be ashamed of. But he will be ashamed of them because of this "perfect" image he desperately wants to be. It's just self-destruction.

Despite his attempts to flip the situation and project onto the toons, he collapses at the end of his fight from exhaustion. Graham pushes himself to the maximum and then forbids himself from feeling tired, which. Golly! That's unhealthy.

This cutscene, more than reeking insecurity, is also just self-destructive. Graham refusing himself a break and working himself to exhaustion just to prove his worth is so unhealthy, not to mention twisted companies like Cogs. Inc WILL leech off this behavior in an employee and use it to keep them working nonstop. It happens a lot IRL when employees pride themselves on constant productivity because it's what jobs like to see. And those jobs will take advantage of those qualities to keep employees productive with little regard to said employees' health. Graham's pride is destroying him.

I never see people talk about how truly insecure or unhealthy Graham is. I'm all for sillies and poking fun at Graham, but real talk this is a really underrated aspect of his character, and something that should be explored when discussing how companies like Cogs Inc. hurts their employees. Jobs love workers like Graham, but that's. not necessarily a good thing. Esp when they love the workers bc of how hard they'll push themselves without taking breaks. It's an easy trap to fall into when you're trying to impress your employers, especially when you're desperate for a job. (and graham WAS desperate for this job, as seen in MOTM.)

anyway, heres a doodle i thought was fitting

[teddybeirin]

if you're falling from high enough it is not good to try and stick the landing, you can try and keep the destruction to only the parts of your body not vital for life, and when someone grabs hold of you sometimes it is better not to fight back but to go limp, be as heavy as you can be and fall - slip through their arms, and sometimes it is better not to try and swim upstream but to just hold your breath. the inevitable is i am going to be hurt again tomorrow, but i can keep the destruction contained, and i dont have to waste energy struggling when i can become deadweight and just try and come loose, and rather than drown myself trying to force things to go a way they are not going to go, i can work with things as they are.

since it is that the nightmare is coming true, i have to believe that the happy end to it will also be true, where i am okay. it is scary, though, because what even... it is just scary. i dont like it when yvette says things that are horrible and then they come true. it is scary that they knew when it should not have been possible to know - but then, if it is that we could know, then why could it not be that knowing would be enough to save us from it happening? it is too scary, all of it. i am going to be hurt again. i dont want it. i did my best, but it did not matter, i understand that the input and results are not so directly linked, but i feel like i must have missed something or other.. it would be easier to content myself with saying i brought this upon myself. i am going to be hurt again. the rent is raised, my mother was already planning on visiting, now they have the perfect reason to drag us back - cant pay the higher rent, could never let you go homeless of course, "everything will go back to the way it was". i am going to be hurt again, why was she even going to visit? she knows id never want to see her. that is probably why to begin with. why must the rent be raised? who even knows. it is not feasible, even if we could come up with the new amount in the less than a day's time til it is due, then there is again the next month.

the horrors are ever reliable in their horribleness. i didnt even fully unpack, i didnt trust things would truly be okay, now i am glad for my mistrust - the only reliable thing is that the world is unreliable and constantly everything changes. so beyond frustrating. i refuse to off myself about it, but i dont know how i am going to endure this again. i wish i could have anywhere else to go so i could say, "no, i wont be homeless, you no longer have an excuse to drag me back!" but there is nowhere else. beyond frustrating. i dont want to die. the exhaustion is hitting now, but it is not only in the body.

i am still grateful to have had this time to have been actually alive, and free of that hell, although it is currently going up in flames. it is not like it was particularly stable to begin with. but i wish it could have been. every moment has still been a precious gift. i really dont want this to be the end of it. it is pointless even to ask for help

[dreamhot]

okay this might be slightly random but I don’t really have someone to talk to about this and I just need to rant but it genuinely upsets me that people are pretending that sapnap punching a wall means he has anger issues because for a lot of people there’s more to it than what is essentially “white male rage”. my mental illnesses have essentially numbed my emotions so that now anger is one of the few things I actually can feel (when you don’t let yourself feel anything it will essentially all come out all at once and mostly as anger) and having these outbursts feels absolutely horrible and they are draining and exhausting and you are in danger of hurting yourself (and others if they are around) and idk where I’m going with this but I just feel like it’s very telling that this is coming from people who claim they care about destigmatising mental illness but then completely ignore the ugly sides of it that they can’t personally relate to

i was offline for most of the hole in the wall discourse (so to speak) so i wasn't around to see people's takes, but . i certainly saw ... some polarising opinions when i came back. i thought the original comment was a joke Anyway so when i saw sapnap's priv tweets having to explain himself, it was like seeing a shark fin on the horizon like oh boy i wonder what i'm missing rn

under a cut bc this is kinda long and mildly aimless

in any case, i think anger is an emotion that people will inevitably have Very different stances on, particularly bc it's one of the toughest emotions to manage (imo). it's so often repressed or ignored, and people aren't taught to deal with it in a healthy manner. sometimes it's the result of mental illness, as you mentioned, and sometimes it's just ... There. and i think it's not wholly unreasonable for people to be wary about violent outbursts (for what i hope are obvious reasons), but that wariness can coexist with understanding for /why/ the anger might be there, ykwim? suffice to say you can't just project a narrative onto someone else's emotions & demand they control their feelings in xyz way (assuming they're not hurting themselves or others ofc, not that 'control' is the answer there anyway, but yknow)

like. there's a dent in my wall from someone who kicked it when they were angry at me. that person was very mentally ill, and the kick was the result of a collection of stressors that got set off by something (innocuous but pissy) i did, but it was still scary. i'm not a remotely physically aggressive person, so that isn't how my anger manifests, and it can be frightening to see it happen around me. so like ... i get why they did it, and i'm sympathetic to the reasoning, but i'm still uncomfortable with it. i'm not certain if that falls under stigmatising, but i don't think it's necessarily ... an issue, as long as it doesn't become a demonising outlook, i suppose

it's also why the shit i saw like 'i would let him punch holes in my walls' made me feel so unnerved like man this isn't something cute to be joking about, no matter the reasoning behind it. but idk

sorry this was mostly just me rambling, but like. tl;dr anger is a tough emotion to grapple with, whether you're experiencing it or watching someone else express it, and i think we can be compassionate about its causes while still being mindful of our own comfort levels

[domesticmail]

personal under the cut, ykwim! tw depression, weight, self-harm, attempted suicide (take care of yourself!)

i started working out infrequently, which i guess doesn't really mean anything to anyone else but means EVERYTHING to me. by that i mean i've started climbing, which is weird and fun and everything i've ever wanted out of a hobby.

i'm not very good, which is amazing. feels fucking great for the first time ever. most of my childhood was characterized by the pressure of perfection, the endless, exhausting need to be the best above all else. it continued after i failed like a starving wolf at my heels, never letting me rest. life looked grim and bleak. if i couldn't be perfect, i would trip, fall into the snow, and be devoured alive. it felt inevitable and all-consuming. i woke up every morning, but my first breath felt accidental, as if i had just managed to slip into the next dawn physically unharmed. i went to school anxious, worried everyone who looked at me could see right through me to how insecure i was. they would know, somehow, magically, that i wasn't perfect, smart, or funny, but a freak. and once they saw that in me, i would be worth less than dirt to them.

much of this is the symptom of a greater issue. i was abused by my parents (physically, mentally) for most of my childhood. i've since reconciled with them, but i'm still processing a lot of what happened. if i wasn't perfectly obedient to my parents, i was a monster in their eyes. when i started to get bored in class and show signs i needed to be engaged with harder work, they took that as a sign to never stop pushing me towards being AMAZING at EVERYTHING.

and when i inevitably couldn't be amazing, they turned on me. they assumed i could choose to be perfect, i simply didn't want to out of a desire to rebel. this was very far from the truth - i was so exhausted and depressed by my inability to live up to their standards that i started self-harming. i thought about ending my life a lot, and at one point tried. my dad stopped looking at and acknowledging me except to yell at me for mistakes like leaving a bag in the pantry open or stacking the dishwasher incorrectly.

i wasn't allowed to leave or hang out with other people, except to go to school. i rarely saw or met other people's families. the few friends i had, i had to sneak out to see. if i dated someone i couldn't tell my parents. they controlled every aspect of my life. i wasn't allowed to have a phone.

it was horrible. i was painfully isolated, and never got the chance to try anything new or exciting, or explore any of my passions. i developed this paradigm that people are cruel to you when you fail (reinforced by what i saw in school).

this was hard to confront when i started climbing. really hard, actually. the physical aspect i struggled with a little, because i'm short and underweight. 5'3, <110 lbs. i'm also just so fucking weak.

the mental aspect is MUCH more difficult though imo. getting on the climb at all is accepting i might fail. putting my hands in a jam is trusting my body, and accepting it might fail me. that if i fall, it's because i failed.

and you do that in front of other people like it's nothing. rudy is inspiring to me for this reason exactly - he will fall and get back up a million times like it's nothing at all. i am his number one fan because it feels great to see someone so unafraid of failing. he moves through it like salmon swimming upstream, entirely uninterested in any forces against him.

the other day, i was talking to him about why i enjoy climbing. "because, all day, i sit there and hear this voice in my head that tells me i'm doing everything wrong, and that i'm going to fail," i told him. "and when i climb, it's doing the same thing, telling me i can't do it. but i'm proving it wrong when i'm on the rock. every second i can - "

"see, that's the thing," he interrupted me. "you're thinking you can't do it. when i climb? the thought that i can't do it doesn't even cross my mind. i'm not thinking about whether or not i can do it, i'm just going to get up there and try."

i was struck by that. fucking imagine living in this guy's brain! he has no fear, i'm convinced. and i love it! i wish i had that approach towards everything!

but i don't. i'm stuck with what i have, and honestly, i don't mind. i really do enjoy climbing because it feels like i'm actively proving that voice wrong every second i'm on the wall. if i can get myself up there and climb, feel connected to nature, alive and aware of my body, i feel infinitely more rewarded than not climbing at all.

i also feel strong! for the first time in my entire life, i feel actually strong! it's a strange and unknown but so so so welcome feeling. i love it.

(semi-related entirely silly: i have abs? AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA i never thought that would happen EVER omg. i can be a buff bi woman? LMFAO)

if you made it this far thanks so much! i hope you're having a great day. remember to take care of yourself, whatever that first step looks like for you <3

*also, on a different note, i no longer self-harm or have suicidal ideation. if you do, the US suicide hotline is 988 (English, Spanish); the Crisis Textline is 741 (text 'HOME' to 741). please know that you deserve to feel loved, happy, and safe, and please reach out to someone for help. it can make all the difference.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hello! Could you write headcanons about Arthur being jealous and possessive ? I love the " you're mine " thing, it makes me melt 😊

Hmm, I’d love it if I could hear him tell me I was his. I completely feel ya, Anon! 

Warnings: very light smut

As discusses in a previous head cannon, Arthur is naturally just a jealous person when he’s in a relationship. It doesn’t come from the fear that you’ll do anything. It’s rooted in his deep self doubt and hatred for himself. He never thought he’d be worthy of being in a relationship with someone as incredible as you. 

Of course, you’d never do anything to make him jealous on purpose, but sometimes it’s fun to tease him. Especially if you’re in the mood to go for a roll in the hay with him and he’s being stubborn about it (he likes playing hard to get sometimes). 

You don’t flirt with any of the guys in camp as there’s generally enough drama anyways (mostly stemmed from Dutch). Besides, you hate to lead on any of the other guys as most of them are genuinely sweet and passionate, plus you don’t feel that way towards any of them. 

Instead, you’ll sometimes flirt with a random Joe at the saloon. It’s best to do this when you and Arthur have argued recently. As good as your relationship is with him, arguments are inevitable. Plus this man is a pro at giving the cold shoulder. When he’s doing his best to ignore you while getting drinks or browsing the store, you’ll nonchalantly flirt with another  man there while giving Arthur the side eye. 

He knows you’re trying to rile him up, but he also knows he can play this game too and pretends not to care. There was one time, after a particularly heated argument, that sticks out in your mind. You fought over something that was really small and insignificant, but Grimshaw had been on you all day and Arthur had been sent out on multiple errands and came back just exhausted and cranky. Unfortunately, you both took your frustrations out on each other. Nothing physical happened, but words were said you both regretted. 

Arthur disappeared soon after the fight and you knew he’d go to the saloon to get trashed as it was his habit. You wandered away from the camp to slam your hatchet into a dead tree and work out the remaining frustrations. When you were worn out and no longer angry, you went to go find Arthur at the saloon. He wasn’t quite drunk, but he was well on his way. When you sat down to try and talk to him in a passive way, trying to remedy the situation, he completely ignored you. This didn’t surprise you. After all, he’s always been incredibly stubborn. So, in order to get his goat, you sauntered off and found a relatively decent fellow sitting at the poker table. He wore a nice suit and tie. Perhaps he was from the city. 

You introduced yourself to the man and immediately sat on his lap, your eyes flickering over to Arthur every few seconds. He saw how you were positioned of course, but he was still playing cold. You started to flirt with the rich man, rubbing his beard and licking your lips while you spoke to him. The man was completely flustered and the other men at the poker table teased him something horrible. 

After a few moments of teasing and flirting, you looked at the bar and saw Arthur was gone. You thought maybe you went too far with this. Had you put it into his mind that you didn’t want him anymore? Just as you were beginning to panic, the man you were sitting on leaned forward and whispered in your ear, “Why don’t we go to my room in the hotel across the road?” 

Before you could answer, you were thrown off his lap as someone picked him up. Looking up, you saw Arthur punching the man. One hit was all it took to knock him out. These damn city boys. The other men around the poker table ran off, not wanting to get involved. Arthur glared down at you but then offered you his hand. He pulled you close to him, holding on so tight it almost hurt. 

“How many times I gotta tell ya you’re mine?” he growled in your ear. It was clear he was still angry about the earlier argument, but not enough to ignore you. You smiled up at him, walking your fingers up his shirt. 

“Why don’t you show me I’m yours?” you purred. 

Without hesitating, he picked you up and paid for a room. There, you helped work out the last bit of frustrations. By the end of the last round, he growled in your ear. “Don’t ever forget that you’re mine as much as I’m yours. Forget again and I’m gonna have to keep doin’ this to ya.” 

Seeing as he made a complete mess of you and caused you to scream his name multiple times, you definitely didn’t have a problem with that. 

Thanks for sending this, anon! I guess this one traveled a bit more in the way of low honor Arthur, which is a first for me. 

[welllpthisishappening]

Idk if you're taking prompts, but if you ever feel compelled: the Blue Line cast reacting to Gritty.

Ok, ok, so you are either a genius or a mind-reader or possibly both because several months ago when Gritty was introduced to the world, I texted @optomisticgirl​ and I was like...I’m going to write about Gritty. And because she is lovely, she encouraged said writing. Only I am woefully bad at posting things in a timely fashion, so it’s just kind of languished in my docs. Until now! 

So here is approximately 6K worth of very tired new-mom Emma, supportive friends, a road trip in Philadelphia and this very specific goal. Also, if you guys have not encountered Gritty yet, let me introduce you:

LOOK AT HIS EYES! WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE. Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam.

“Ok, so, according to your list, we’ve only got the jerseys and the sticks left. Are they all game-worn though? That’s not...that’s not on the list.”Emma made a noise, not sure if it was an agreement or a disagreement or just the general sound of complete and utter exhaustion. She was having a difficult time keeping her head up. And her eyes open. Her eyes actually felt like they were falling down her face.

She was, at least, seventy-seven percent positive that wasn’t supposed to happen.

And, really, in the grand scheme of parenthood and the actual action of parenting in the middle of a season and a second-straight Cup defense, Emma knew a distinct lack of sleep was, more or less, part of the deal.

She also didn’t care.

Because her eyes seemed to have a distinct weight to them and Matt kept crying at regular twenty-minute intervals that appeared to be getting worse the longer they were stuck in Emma’s office. They were still stuck in Emma’s office.

“Em,” Mary Margaret muttered, voice quiet and cautious and that was probably because Emma hadn’t ever stopped making that noise.

She was just kind of grunting at this point.

She had no idea what to do to get her kid to stop crying. It had gotten worse since the game started.

“Are we losing?” Emma asked suddenly, and Mary Margaret’s eyes widened slightly. That was probably because they weren’t weighed down. Metaphorically, or whatever. Emma was far too tired to worry about the metaphors of it.

“No, no, I mean...not winning either, but I don’t think Arthur’s broken that many white boards. So, you know, grand scheme.”Emma made a different noise. She hoped it sounded more like a laugh than it felt. It kind of hurt, like it was lingering in the back of her throat or trying to scratch its way out and none of these things seemed particularly healthy.

“Grand scheme,” she echoed, eyes flitting towards the TV screen in the corner of her office.

They’d done road trips throughout the season – and none of them were particularly easy, but Emma was fairly certain she was still holding on to the majority of her sanity. She was at least confident her eyes weren’t actively trying to fall out of her face.

And she had help, a small army of people and in-laws who were more than happy to pick Matt up or bring Matt somewhere and Emma was fairly sure Merida was still reporting on her eating habits to Killian. It wasn’t easy, but it was ok, and Matt’s eyes seemed to actually light up every single time Killian came home which, in turn, did something incredibly specific to Emma’s entire soul.

This road trip, however, seemed intent on slowly, but surely killing her.

There were teething issues and sleeping issues and the kid seemed determined to to pull himself everywhere – knocking over everything in sight like some kind of six-month-old masquerading as Godzilla. He was still working on sitting up, but Emma had to admit even the attempt was impressive and Killian was convinced their son’s diction meant he was some kind of inevitable genius.

That genius kept him up and babbling for hours at a time.

Emma had no idea if the pile of jerseys behind her was game worn.

“If I fall asleep right here, right now, in front of you, is that going to super weird you out?” Emma asked, gaze flashing towards Mary Margaret. She shook her head.

“I’ve definitely seen you sleep in weirder places.”“Ah, yeah, that’s probably true.”

“That one time, senior year, when David had four finals in one day and you had that ridiculous...what was it...French?”Emma nodded. “French II. Because I needed a language requirement and they wouldn’t take my sports management electives instead.” “God, your dean was the worst.” “That’s an incredibly scathing insult, Reese’s.” “There are children present.” Emma’s laugh was weak at best and drifting dangerously close to depressing, eyelashes fluttering despite the sounds coming from her kid and the hockey game. “I think we’re starting to deal with some object permanence actually. He’s like...aware that I’m not going to disappear if I move away.” “He’s a genius, obviously.” “You and Killian should start some kind of campaign.” “Don’t actually suggest that around him,” Mary Margaret grinned, and she was already starting a new list. “He’d go on the record or shout it from center ice or something.” Emma hummed, not quite able to make any other noise when her heart was so busy doing whatever in her chest, but Mary Margaret was absolutely right and Killian would probably call Dorothy and get some kind of special edition of Sports Illustrated printed. And, honestly, she didn’t mean for the sigh to just fall out of her the way it did, but she’d apparently lost complete control of everything and she needed to find Kristoff.

He had to know about the jerseys.

“Hey, hey,” Mary Margaret said quickly, reaching out and tugging the pen Emma forgot she was holding out of her hand. “What’s going on with you? You know you look kind of pale.”“That’s not really the best way to start this.” “How much sleep would you say you’ve gotten on average in the last week?” “I don’t want to tell you that.” “Why?” Emma lifted her head, slowly and a little repentantly, which didn’t really make any sense because Mary Margaret was not her mother. She was the mother and she was, approximately, eighty-two percent positive she was messing it up.

Matt wouldn’t stop babbling and crying and Emma’s arms felt like they were going to fall off. It was because she kept having to pick him up. So he didn’t knock over merch for whatever Garden of Dreams event they were planning for.

She genuinely could not remember the name of the event.

“You could come back home with us,” Mary Margaret suggested. She’d never let go of Emma’s hand. “We’ve got that pop-up thing and--”“--David’s got to work tomorrow, Reese’s. You’ve got to work tomorrow. The kid wakes up, like, several times a night to scream at the moon or something.” “Did you just suggest your own kid was a werewolf?” “At this point I really don’t know.”

Mary Margaret scoffed and her smile felt a little placating, but Emma was so tired and so sure she was ruining everything that she almost didn’t care. She wanted to be placated. She wanted this road trip to be over.

She desperately wanted to find a children’s medicine that made sure her kid didn’t suffer in agony so he could, eventually, eat solid foods.

“You also have to work tomorrow,” Mary Margaret pointed out. “Just, you know...if we’re covering all our bases.”“You’re mixing up sports references.” “Playing a good shift? Does that even make sense?” Emma shrugged. “That question is way too in-depth for the amount of consistent sleep I’ve been getting. How important do you think it is to get to REM?”

“Incredibly.”“Yeah?” “Yeah,” Mary Margaret nodded. “So, uh, I’m going to say something, ok? And I want you to bite your actual tongue if you have to so you don’t interrupt me because I know you’re going to try and interrupt me.” “That’s actually kind of scathing, Reese’s.” “That’s an interruption.”

Emma mimed zipping her mouth shut, staring at Mary Margaret with something she hoped was as much sarcasm as one expression could contain, but she figured she kind of missed her mark when she had to lean back and move Matt in the swing they’d put him in once the game started.

He would have tried to walk into the TV otherwise, Emma was certain. Object permanence or something. And possibly how much he wanted to see his dad.

She absolutely hated road trips now.

“Alright,” Mary Margaret starts, nodding again like she’s psyching herself up for this particular brand of hope speech. “I know you were off after Matt was born and that was good and, you know, medically necessary, but have you considered...maybe using some of your personal days for stuff like this?”The silence in the room wasn’t really silent – Matt was still babbling and Emma could make out the dim sounds of the puck hitting the boards in Philadelphia and the commentary in the background. She blinked, licking her lips and she wasn’t exactly comfortable, one of her hands still twisted with Mary Margaret’s, while the other tried to move Matt in some kind of consistent rhythm. The babbling was quickly turning to something that sounded like the tell-tale sounds of a complete and utter meltdown.

Emma briefly considered joining him.

“Thoughts?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma tilted her head. “That doesn’t count as an interruption?”“I actually expected the sarcasm completely, so I’m not even turned off by that at all.” “What are you then?” “Worried about you and your distinct lack of REM sleep. And whatever horrible, no good, very bad things your mind is making you think because of that lack of REM.” Eventually, Emma was sure, Mary Margaret would stop being so impossibly good at reading her or knowing her or, possibly, just sharing a few of the same brain wavelengths. She hoped not.

Because those wavelengths made sure Mary Margaret stayed in the office that night – not bothering to ask, just sitting on the ground and tugging Emma’s list out of her hand with a practiced familiarity that defied decades.

“You should take this show on the road,” Emma muttered, working a quiet laugh and knowing smile out of Mary Margaret. “I bet you could make millions.”“Who would you get to babysit all the time, then?” “You don’t have to do that.” Mary Margaret squeezed her hand. “I want to. A whole line of people want to. Several professional hockey players are beating down metaphorical doors to want to.” “I’m not sure that last sentence made much sense,” Emma laughed, and it was still a little shaky and questionably watery, vision swimming a bit in front of her, but she took a deep breath and that felt like a step in the right direction.

“And I’m not sure you’re qualified to discuss sentence structure.” Emma rolled her eyes. “Honestly though,” Mary Margaret continued. “You don’t have to be some kind of superhero. I know you could be and usually are because, well--”“--You going to get sappy on me, Reese’s?” “Yes, don’t interrupt. I know you were worried about all of this and it happened suddenly and without much planning, and that’s not really your game, but…” She took a deep breath, shoulders heaving with the force of it and Emma didn’t think she imagined the slightly glossy look to her eyes. “You are doing an incredible job, Emma,” Mary Margaret said, no hint of anything except absolute and complete honesty in her voice. “I don’t know how you’re doing it.” “Was that last part a compliment?” “Of the highest order. Because you’re doing it all. That’s kind of where I'm going with this. I know you’re worried. But the crying is normal and the lack of sleep is normal and you could probably call the pediatrician about the teething thing if it’s freaking you out.” Emma let out a breath she didn’t realize she was hoarding, only slightly stunned by the mind reading going on in her office. Matt threw something. The game on TV got louder.

“I just…” Emma muttered, twisting her lips when the words got caught in the back of her throat. With the emotion. There was too much emotion. She was a mess.

“I know you do,” Mary Margaret promised. At some point she’d laced her fingers through Emma’s, thumb tapping just above the relatively-new laces sitting on her left wrist again. “Everyone does. And you are. The crying jags aside, that is the happiest and most loved kid in the entire National Hockey League.”“That’s definitely the marker we were going for.” Mary Margaret scoffed, shifting closer to Emma so she could wipe away a tear she hadn’t noticed either. “Don’t lie to my face like that, it’s not cool.”

Emma nodded, tugging her lips behind her teeth and trying to remember what any semblance of confidence looked like. Matt quieted for a moment, the sounds turning a bit closer to whimpers and that was, somehow, even worse. It made Emma’s body tense and her spine seemed to audibly snap back into place when she jerked around, eyebrows pulled low as her lungs desperately tried to get oxygen back to her brain.

“I know we’re not really doing that whole pronunciation thing yet, kid,” Emma said, pulling out of Mary Margaret’s and tugging Matt against her chest before she could remember all the reasons the websites told her she shouldn't. “But it’d be really great if we could fine tune what, exactly, has got you freaking out so much. Dad’s going to be home tonight.”

It didn’t work.

The sounds were still there – sinking into Emma’s skin and that same soul that never quite knew what to do with the idea that this was her life. She bobbed on her feet, rocking back and forth and trying to find a comfortable way to hold Matt and work her phone out of her back pocket at the same time.

That didn’t work either.

She was going to scream.

Or cry.

Or fall on the floor and sleep for several days.

Matt squirmed against her, tiny hands gripping her shirt and for a kid who seemed particularly interested with the National Hockey League he had a pretty good right kick, a move he appeared intent on perfecting by landing it in Emma’s liver.

“What if we just walked to Philadelphia?” she asked, directing the question more to Mary Margaret than Matt.

Mary Margaret smiled. “I don’t know if that entirely efficient. They’re already at the second intermission anyway and--”She didn’t finish the sentence, footsteps coming down the hall and a noise that might have been genuine laughter and not just exhaustion-induced insanity and Matt nearly flew out of Emma’s arms as soon as Ruby rounded the corner of the open doorway.

She was holding takeout bags. So was Henry. She’d brought Henry with her.

“Hey mini-Jones,” Ruby said, hardly breaking stride as she walked towards him. “You causing problems up here? We could hear you as soon as we got off the elevator.”“Not as soon as we got off the elevator,” Henry objected. “It took us at least a few steps before we heard him. Impressive lungs though.” Emma groaned. “You guys are all throwing out really horrible compliments.” “Aw, c’mon,” Mary Margaret sighed. She hadn’t gotten off the ground. “My compliment was good! And genuine!”

“Also,” Ruby added, moving some of the bags so she had a free hand to tug on the back of Matt’s onesie. “She managed to surreptitiously text me when it was becoming more and more obvious you guys were never getting out of here, so not only do I come with a plethora of promises that you’re the best mom this side of the Mississippi, but I’ve also got just a questionable amount of fried food to back up those claims.”“Do those go hand in hand?” Henry asked. He had to move a few piles of paper on Emma’s desk to find any open space, but there really was a ton of food and he kept smiling and maybe the Rangers would score in the third period.

That was almost optimistic.

Ruby shrugged. “I don’t know and I don't care. Emma’s too tired to be worried about my sentence structure anyway.”

“These are not the compliments I was promised,” Emma said, but she was tired and practically overflowing with sentimental thoughts and deep-rooted parental desires and maybe she’d take tomorrow off.

Merida probably knew what the event was called anyway.

“The compliment is that you’re some kind of super mom who’s really worried about totally normal teething schedules. Also you and Cap need to coordinate your worry a little better because Scarlet said--”“I’m sorry, are you gossiping about mine and Killian’s parenting with Scarlet?” Ruby didn’t quite glare, but it was almost like a scowl and Henry did try to turn his laugh into some other kind of noise. Mary Margaret was never going to get off the floor. “Give me a little credit, Em,” Ruby sighed. “Did you see the way Cap skated in Carolina?” “I watch the games, Ruby.” “Exactly. So we all know that no one in the Jones household is sleeping and you’re both absurd parents--”

“--In a way that is actually a compliment,” Henry added, flashing a smile when Emma’s eyes darted his direction.

“Again, exactly,” Ruby muttered. “But Cap could barely stay on the ice for more than thirty seconds and then they had the off day and now Arthur's breaking whiteboards in Philly and you have no idea what your event is called.”Emma blinked. “How do you know that?” “About the shifts or...because that’s kind of just basic math.” “That’s not really Emma’s strong suit either,” Mary Margaret muttered, shrugging when Emma gaped at her. “French II and that intro to stats we took sophomore year. Your academic downfall.”

“I passed both of those classes,” Emma said, and Henry wasn’t even trying to mask his laugh anymore.

“Ehh…”Emma rolled her eyes, but she didn’t really have a leg to stand on and she needed both of them if she was going to make sure the kid her in arms stayed there. “Is Scarlet worried about Killian’s sleeping habits? Is that what’s happening?” “Robin too,” Henry said, answering a question that wasn’t entirely directed at him. “He said Killian’s trying to murder mattresses.” “That’s impressive,” Ruby muttered. Emma didn’t object when she pulled Matt out of her hands, thankful for the lack of weight on her forearms and the no-longer present threat to a variety of internal organs. “The road trips are going to be garbage from here on out, Em,” she continued. “But we’re all still here and Cap’s destroying hotel furniture because he wants to be home that much and you’re way more organized than you honestly have any right to be and Mer said the jerseys were game-worn. Obviously.” “She didn’t say that second part,” Henry added.

Ruby waved a dismissive hand through the air. “That’s neither here nor there. So, we’ve brought the food, the third period’s about to start. Direct us, o fearless community relations leader. What has to be organized?”They weren’t quite a well-oiled machine – Matt was far too loud and squirmy for that and Emma’s legs didn’t entirely appreciate when she leapt up with five minutes left in the game, but she had some kind of sixth sense, or so Ruby proclaimed, and she might have actually fist pumped when Killian pulled his stick back.

It wasn’t the best shot in the world. It wasn’t even the best shot he’d taken all season. But it was a shot and there was a bit of power on it and her soul did something absurd again.

Mary Margaret’s breath caught. Loudly.

The Philadelphia defense hadn’t stood a chance, not really, and Killian hadn’t been sleeping much either, even when he was home, not really, but he still moved up the ice with a speed that was as ridiculous as attractive and Emma had clearly lost her mind. She wasn’t supposed to be attracted to an attribute of her husband’s game.

Her mind, however, did not care.

Her mind was moving as quickly as he was, a streak of blue up the ice and it was actually some kind of miracle the Philadelphia defender didn’t trip over his own skates. Robin’s pass slide between a pair of orange jerseys and around a stick that wasn’t entirely on the ice, the puck landing in front of Killian and he didn’t slow down when he pulled back. His hips barely moved, like he wasn’t even trying, and Henry mumbled something that sounded a hell of a lot like did that even go in behind Emma.

She nodded.

And the light went off.

She wasn’t sure what noise she made, but Killian spun around, back colliding with the nearest board in the Wells Fargo Center as his arm wrapped around Robin’s shoulders. They did something stupid, a shake of their heads and smiles obvious as the camera zoomed in and--

“Oh, they planned that,” Emma muttered, Ruby’s quiet hum of confusion barely audible when Matt started to make noise again. “They planned that,” she repeated. “The whole play. Did you see that? Robin didn’t even look up. He knew Killian was going to be there.”Emma turned back towards Henry, the smile on his face turning a little smug and a little knowing. “What do you know?” “That Robin was annoyed Killian was trying to pummel hotel mattresses into submission and demanded they discuss some kind of breakout on the power play if they were both going to get negative amounts of sleep.” “That last one verbatim?” He nodded. “It wasn’t a power play though.” “Guess Killian’s just that fast.” “Maybe he could walk back here,” Mary Margaret mumbled, and Matt was logging some pretty good mileage as he moved from person to person in an office filled with now-organized merch.

“I wouldn’t put it past him, actually.”Emma hummed or laughed or dissolved into those emotions that had been tugging at the back of her mind for the majority of the night, and she was almost confident they’d be able to get out of the Garden without anymore issues or concerns regarding her ability to parent, but that lasted less than a full second and the scream that came a few feet away echoed in between her ears.

That wasn’t biologically possible either.

“Oh my God,” she sighed, visibly deflating at Mary Margaret’s wide eyes and Ruby’s not-so-quiet gasp. Emma was going to comp the car she called. She was going to call out the next day. “What is happening here?”

She reached forward, pulling Matt back and wincing at several well-placed kicks. “What are we doing, kid? Did you not just see Dad score? That was a good goal! We’re probably going to win now. Aren’t we cool with winning?”“Ma ma ma ma ma maaaaaaaaa.”

The word got less and less pronounced the more Matt kept repeating it, twisting and turning and yanking on the ends of Emma’s hair and the front of her shirt. His legs flailed and his head dropped back and she was absolutely going to have the most impressive forearm muscles of anyone on the entire island of Manhattan.

“You know, I thought we were almost drifting close to actually falling asleep,” Ruby mused, trying without much success to rest her hand on Matt’s back. “Wishful thinking, I guess.”“Welcome to my world,” Emma mumbled. She shifted her weight between her feet, trying to work back towards the swing and the teething ring that was probably just lukewarm plastic at this point and they’d been doing so well. The road trip was going to end on a high note and she was going to be some kind of mother of the year with a husband whose speed on ice should probably get studied at some point.

That was such a weird sentence.

She was so goddamn tired.

And she didn’t know what to do next.

Emma muttered a string of increasingly absurd nonsense, trying to smile and not burst into tears, but that was proving more and more difficult and she was dimly aware of laughter coming from the TV.

“Oh shit,” Henry whispered, clicking his teeth when Mary Margaret made some kind of reproachful noise. “No, no, no, just...ok, don’t tell Gina I said that, but, listen, Emma, turn around. Don’t let Mattie look at the TV.”That was not the string of words she expected. At all.

“What?”“Where’s your remote?” “What?” Henry growled, his whole head rolling in frustration, and that wasn’t right either. There were takeout containers everywhere. One of them crunched under his feet when he moved, darting towards the TV with his hand already out and Emma was worried he was going to punch through the actual screen.

And that was when she saw it.

“What the hell is that thing?” Emma demanded, gesturing wildly towards the ice in Philadelphia and the furry, orange monstrosity shooting t-shirts out of an air-powered gun. “Oh my God, why are his eyes moving like that?”She expected Ruby to laugh even less than she expected Henry to swear. Maybe she’d just walk home. Screw the car. “Gritty?” Ruby asked, and Emma could not come up with a single word to respond to that.

The stupid thing was trying to dance on the ice. Matt cried louder.

“What is a Gritty?” Emma shouted, Henry still making ridiculous noises because her TV was state of the art or something and there were no buttons on the actual thing. “Ok, ok, Mattie, Mattie, we’ve got to breathe kid, the absolutely terrifying monster is not going to come out of the TV and attack us.”

“Should we be referring to him as a monster?” Mary Margaret asked. She grabbed the jersey on top of the closest pile, throwing it over the TV screen and it didn’t really cover everything, but it was at least a start and Emma was kind of terrified of Gritty.

Whatever that actually was.

“He’s a mascot,” Ruby reasoned. “I mean...we’ve all seen mascots before, right?”Emma shook her head, disbelief in her gaze. “We don’t have a mascot. Oh my God, Reese’s, do you think he was crying about this asshole the whole game?”

“I think that seems entirely possible,” Mary Margaret said, a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth.

“This is not funny!”

“I mean…”“It’s not!”

“It’s a little funny,” Henry admitted. He was still trying to find the remote, but the game was almost over and Emma figured even terrifying, demon mascots had to get off the ice when there was a faceoff to take. “How have you never seen Gritty before, he was like...a cultural phenomenon.”“Can we please stop referring to him by his name? That is a man in a suit. An absolutely terrifying, shouldn’t exist suit.” “He’s been around for months, Em,” Ruby said. “All season. Oh.” “Oh. Oh, what?” “And you were worried you weren’t super Mom.” Emma didn’t respond immediately, but she tilted her head and tried not to covet that title too much. She wondered how quickly the entire New York Rangers could get out of Philadelphia. “Where are you going with this?” “They announced the mascot right before the start of the regular season,” Ruby grinned. “Henry’s right. He was all over the news and late night and social media because, you know--” “--He’s terrifying?”

“It’s the eyes, I think. If he didn’t have googly eyes, it wouldn’t be an issue.”“What does this have to do with my parenting skills?” “More like you becoming a parent,” Mary Margaret corrected. “I think you were a little preoccupied with, you know, giving birth to be worried about Philadelphia mascots that never should have existed.” “Wow, that’s harsh, M’s,” Henry muttered, still kind of laughing and he grinned when Emma’s head snapped his direction. “But also true.” “See,” Ruby crowed. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Em. If anything, you’re saving mini-Jones’ mental stability from the get because you made sure he wasn’t aware of a world where Gritty existed. And you totally went into complete Mom mode as soon as Henry said.” Emma wasn’t sure she was actually capable of blushing at this point – her capillaries or whatever were probably too exhausted, but she had never been very good at science either and Matt had finally stopped crying.

Mary Margaret’s eyes were distinctly glossy again.

“It’s ok,” Emma whispered, tightening her hold on Matt slightly and he didn’t squirm at all. He might have burrowed further into her chest. “You’re ok, I promise.”

And she didn’t walk back uptown, both Mary Margaret and Ruby scandalized at even the notion. She sat in the back of a town car instead, a sleeping baby next to her, a quiet that, somehow, made it easier to breathe. Mary Margaret helped her carry everything upstairs.

Emma didn’t plan on falling asleep, but her eyes had other ideas and she didn’t hear the lock click back in place, startling on the couch when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

He grinned at her.

“Hey,” Killian muttered, crouching in front of her and brushing the hair away from her eyes. “You can’t possibly be comfortable.”“I don’t know that I could actually move, honestly.” “I’m not sure that’s much better.” “Nice shot.” “It was an experiment.” “Yeah, I figured,” Emma said, and she appreciated whatever his eyebrows did at that. “Please, Locksley didn’t even lift his head up. Did you have to come up with some kind of signal, or how did it work, exactly?” “Do the years of experience not count?” Emma made a contrary noise, twisting despite the protests from several dozen muscles and Killian, tugging lightly on the loose tie still around his neck. His grin got bigger. “We counted. Scarlet was supposed to pass out of the zone and I had six seconds to get up the ice. Locksley had four to get to the other faceoff circle.” “I wasn’t aware Scarlet was part of the plan.”

Killian hummed, a quick brush of lips over her forehead and it was an impressive exercise in balance. “We had some time to kill.”“So I heard.” “Henry?” “Maybe you’re the genius.” “Ah, that just means it’s genetic,” Killian said. His fingers clearly had minds of their own, drifting over Emma’s neck and her shoulder and the bit of skin where her shirt had twisted underneath her. “You didn’t have to try and wait up for me, love.” “Try being the operative word.” “I appreciate the effort.” “You’ve got to sleep more on the road.”

“You’ve got to sleep more all the time.”She clicked her tongue, scrunching her nose and Killian’s capillaries clearly weren’t too exhausted to blush – particularly on the tips of his ears. “Ruby or Reese’s?” “Both. And David. They’re worried about you.”

“It was just a shitty road trip,” Emma whispered, not trusting herself to do anymore. Plus the sleeping kid a few feet away. Especially the sleeping kid a few feet away. “Did you hear about the mascot incident?”Killian blinked. And blinked again. “What?” “There is apparently some kind of actual monster masquerading as a mascot in Philadelphia and our kid is fundamentally terrified. Screamed every single time they showed him on the broadcast. Apparently.” “Apparently?” “I didn’t realize until the third period.” Emma’s nose was going to get stuck that way. Her sigh sounded impossibly pathetic when it fell out of her, throat tightening against the wad of everything stuck in the back of it and Killian really could not have been comfortable. He didn’t move. “We can’t fix everything, Swan,” he said softly, fingers still tracing absent minded patterns on any bit of skin he could find. “I don’t think there’s a clause for mascots anywhere.” “And you’ve read enough websites. You’d totally have found it.” “So would you, love.” “I’m so tired.” It wasn’t an admission, not really. Everyone knew. Strangers on the street knew. Gritty probably knew. God, she hoped Gritty didn’t know. But it kind of felt like one anyway, and she really could not cope with the realization that it only took Killian six seconds to get up an entire NHL-size hockey rink.

And she hadn’t really considered the fact that he hadn’t kissed her yet, but the move still caught Emma by surprise, quick and somewhere dangerously close to bruising and they were both slightly codependant disasters who just wanted to give their kid the world – particularly one without horrifying and badly named mascots.

“So we should probably get you off the couch,” Killian said, standing back up and Emma didn’t take his hand so much as she threw her palm against his. He laughed under his breath. “Move the kid? Don’t move the kid?”“Move the kid,” she groaned. “He’s bound to wake up soon anyway, I think he’s preprogrammed to know when you get home.” Killian’s ears got redder. And that was worse than recorded speed on the ice.

He brushed his lips over her cheek, moving across the living room and Matt didn’t wake up immediately, but he twisted and made a few pointed noises, Killian only wincing slightly when he bobbed on his feet to try and quiet him. “The workout after the workout,” Emma muttered, a hand on his shoulder and body against his back, and she swore she heard him smile.

“Ah, this is better.”“A line.” “A first line, actually. That’s got a very impressive plus-minus rating in the last few games.” “Are we acknowledging that stat?” “When it benefits me.” Emma laughed, pressing her face into the fabric underneath her cheek and if she was going to keep making sweeping assumptions regarding Killian, then she was positive she felt some of his muscles loosen underneath her. “Parents of the year,” she mumbled.

“I bet we could organize some charity event to practice slapshots at Gritty’s face.”“That’s violent.” “In defense of a kid, Swan.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Emma agreed, and there were feeding schedules and equipment to move, but sleep was almost there and it was always easier when she and Killian were in the same bed. “C’mon, if we don’t move, I’m going to fall on top of you.” “Not the worst thing in the world.” “That was another line.” “Yeah, it was,” Killian said, an easy nod and smile and they both slept through their alarms the next morning.

And Gritty never really went away, a lesson Emma wasn’t entirely sure she appreciated, but was sure the world thought was important – something about confronting fears and our own childhood worries and the ability to overcome both. The mascot was still there, orange with far too much fur and those goddamn googly eyes, terrifying Matthew Jones for the majority of his childhood and road trips he and his, eventual, younger sister got to go on.

The mascot was still there, shooting t-shirts into a screaming crowd at Wells Fargo, nearly two decades later and Emma hadn’t considered the implications of that when she put on a different jersey with the same name and number as it always was. At least she hadn’t until Henry chuckled lightly next to her, elbowing something that might have been her spleen to get her attention.

“Did you tell Rol?” she asked, glancing towards the grown man with his own kids who was doing a pretty good job of being super dad too. “Mattie’ll be mad if Rol’s got something else to trash talk tonight.” Henry shook his head. “Who do you think I am, Emma?” “Someone who knows about a professional hockey player’s deep-rooted mascot fears.” “You’re making assumptions. And, no, I never told Rol. It’s Matt’s first game in Philadelphia. I’m excited for him. I’m not a jerk.” “But?” “How do you know there was a but?”

Emma pulled her eyes away from the ice, nerves churning and pulse beating loudly in her veins and she’d been far too concerned about Matt playing in Philadelphia for the first time and playing against Roland, but Henry just smiled at her. The kid standing at his feet tugged on his jersey. A Locksley jersey. Always now.

“But,” Henry echoed. “We did discuss some quick exit options out of the arena if he’s suddenly attacked by Gritty.”

Her laugh jumped out of her, entirely impossible and far too loud to be acceptable and Emma didn’t think before flinging her arms around Henry and hugging him as tightly as she could. He hugged her back.

“I doubt the mascot will attack,” Henry muttered. “But now, at least, we’re prepared.”“Exactly.” The mascot didn’t come back onto the ice in the first period, but Matthew Jones, making his Philadelphia debut against the guy who helped him practice the wristshot he was quickly becoming known for, made it up the ice in seven seconds flat, the puck on his stick and the light going off almost as soon as he pulled back to shoot.

Emma jumped and Henry jumped and Killian might have hit the window of the suite, pride practically radiating off him. “We’ll get that time down, Swan,” he promised. “Five by the end of the regular season.”

“Parents of the year,” Mary Margaret said, a twenty painted on both of her cheeks that were quickly getting smuged by the tears in her eyes. “With some headlines to prove it.”

Emma didn’t answer – absolutely could not answer while her kid was still celebrating – but she nodded and Killian tugged her against his side, a kiss to her temple and the belief that they’d done something good.

[wellhalesbells]

You're awesome! I had a horrible exam coming up and couldn't sleep last night, spent this morning shivering and in a general state of panic. Obviously I tried getting my mind off of it and I noticed you put a lot of things I like on my dashboard and you're also always so kind or funny in your tags, it was really calming scrolling through your posts. It felt nice to be reminded that there are other things I care about than this one exam, keep up the good tag work!

there is nothing better than panic-stressing about the inevitable, right?  i mean, why not work yourself into physical and emotional exhaustion about events in your life?  it’s not like i have to tell you that though; it seems like you’ve got it down pat!  i know i’ve been doing it for twenty-eight years and it’s only led me to sleep through an entire final and to a general, all-over state of anxiety so clearly it works.  muted huzzahs all around.

more seriously though, i’m always happy when my inanity and ridiculousness can help anyone have less of a bad time.  we do not want you to have a bad time here at chaos and confusion headquarters, i can’t stress that enough.

i’d like to say: i’m sure you aced your exam and all’s well, but i’m super not sure of that.  maybe you were looking through tumblr instead of studying, maybe that subject is just stupid (it could be anything math-related, in which case, you should know it’s math’s fault and you’ve done nothing wrong), maybe you panicked so hard you passed out and are reading this from a nurse’s office?  who’s to say?  what i can say is: most people don’t want you to fail.  you know that final i slept through?  i worked it out with my professor - who i had no relationship with - so i could retake it and, in general, i’ve done a lot of extra credit in my life because i pretty much suck at standardized test-taking (i’m that one weirdo who thinks essay exams are the best things that’ve ever happened) and all you have to do is be annoying, endearing or achingly pathetic and people will help pull you up because we’re not as darwinist a species as we sometimes pretend to be.  so what i am sure of is that you’ll be fine regardless and if in the meantime i can bring you some smiles and some chill, then that’s the internet at its best and i can’t tell you how cool it is to be a part of that!

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

Hi, I'm the same person that send you the sick Bones request (it was great!) and I had another idea... I really like the idea of Bones losing his voice, he's always shouting and making sarcastic comments. Kirk making fun of him before realising how ill and miserable his CMO is and forcing him to rest. Thank you, you're awesome!

(Hey anon! I’m so glad you liked your first fic, and this came in the inbox great timing as I just rewatched all three of the JJ Abrams ST movies and I’m in the mood for some Star Trek! I’ve completely forgotten how much I love these characters, and if anyone wants any more ST, hit up the ask!! ^^ also so sorry I’m taking so long with prompts!! Im currently busy with acting things, so I haven’t had the time!!)

The five year mission had been quite slow the past month, and Bones had been relaxed, doing nothing but performing random experiments on new plants and other resources they had found on their expedition.

However one day, a bunch of the crew had been rushed in with injuries, apparently upsetting some species because of some culture thing they weren’t aware of.

It had been hectic, a shock to his system of idleness, and suddenly being thrown into a high stake, stressful situation.

A huge wave of bleeding bodies and broken bones came in, the whole situation distressing. While Bones didn’t like to be too prideful, it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Of course, he had his trusty crew with him.

However, Bones was a human, who got stressed. And lost his temper.

“YOU! What’s so interesting about the ceiling? Does the ceiling have a broken bone?! Well, does it?! No? Well this man over here does, so get your ass over here!”

“Get me the hypospray–no, no dear, that is not a hypospray! This isn’t a guessing game!”

“Oh my god, look at that supreme speed right there, wow, have you seen anyone move with such agility? Hurry up and get me the damn hypospray!!”

Sarcastic comments were also not an odd occurrence for the doctor.

“Doctor McCoy, he appears to be bleeding..”

“OH REALLY?! I was wondering what this sorcery leaking out of his skin was..bleeding you say?! What is this alien process?! How fascinating!”

“Doctor McCoy, this person has a broken arm,”

“That’s great! How about we go dance around it and worship it!”

“Doctor McCoy, this guy has a small cut on their–”

“Welp, they’re gone. What a tragedy. They’re dead. Rest in peace, what a fine life they lead.”

Needless to say, at the end of the day, McCoy was exhausted.

He was suffering from a splitting headache from overworking and stressing, felt weak to the bones (a pun Kirk would make, and he’d yell at him) and his voice was beginning to go.

Just before the end of the day, he received a message from the captain.

“Bones, my dearest friend, how’s everything going down there? Is my crew still alive?” Kirk chirped, knowing fully that there wasn’t anything too serious happening, and even if there was, his doctor was more than capable of making things okay again. He had much faith in their CMO, even if he would never say it to his face.

Bones rolled his eyes, groaning, “No Jimmy boy, you’ve managed to kill them all this time. I’m surprised they’ve lasted this long anyway, I’ve already prepared the funeral arrangements.”

He groaned louder and flopped on his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, “No, they’re fine, Jim!! Of course they’re fine, I’ve managed to bring you back from the dead, so of course a few broken bones can be healed!”

He could practically hear the captain raising his eyebrow.

“You said I was barely dead..”

“Oh, shut up!” Bones groaned fondly, and turned off the message.

From up at the bridge, Captain Kirk burst into laughter, slapping his knee and all sorts. He stretched on his chair, and yawned, “Well, let’s call it a day folks, tomorrows another day. We’ll see you all tomorrow.”

Gradually, the people on the bridge began to clear out, leaving Pavel Chekov to himself, looking rather worried.

Many of the crew, including Spock and Bones, had developed a slight parental instinct towards their youngest throughout the years. So naturally, when Kirk spotted the teen unmoving and worried he approached him, giving his hair a little shake.

“What’s up, Pasha?”

Chekov blinked, a little startled and smiled sheepishly, “I’m sorry Keptin’–it’s just zat..Ze Doctor seemed wery..his voice was wery hoarse..I wonder if he is becoming ill?”

Kirk blinked, not even realising how hoarse Bones had sounded until Chekov had pointed it out. The kid was really good at detecting and analysing things; and he wasn’t even sure why he was surprised when he was the youngest ever to be put on the enterprise.

He smiled softly,  giving the teen a pat on the back, “Doctor McCoy will be just fine. He always does, he’s..really a trooper. C'mon Pav, it’s been a long day, go and get some rest.”

The Russian nodded, and got up to leave but still wasn’t so sure.

“Doktor?” Chekov’s voice rang out, waking Bones from his half nap. By half nap, he meant that he was half asleep, not quite asleep and not quite awake.

“Mr.Chekov, I swear to god if you’ve broken anything..”

“No! I just..I brought you some tea,” Chekov said shyly, holding the steaming mug in front of him, looking far too adorable for it to be legal.

Bones’s heart burst with the sight before him, wanting to hug the boy for all of eternity but he could not let him know that he was a massive softie. No way.

“Is this your thing, now, kid? Givin’ up your boy genius thing to become a professional..tea guy?”

Chekov blinked, not knowing what to say.

Bones softened, “I’m joking, kid. I appreciate all this, it’s really sweet and all.”

Chekov’s face lit up with a bright, cheerful smile that made Bones momentarily forget about his splitting headache.

“It’s just zat you sounded sick on the message just there–I waz worried, iz all..Doktor, you must rest..”

Bones rolled his eyes at the kid fondly, “I’ll be fine, Mr Chekov. You should too, I promise I’ll head to my quarters too, in just a bit.”

Chekov frowned and crossed his arms, “Last time we had zis conversation you didn’t. It is now my duty to ensure zat you do.”

Bones groaned and huffed, unable to say no to this actual marshmallow fluff child and then got up, “Fine, lets go.”

Chekov’s frown disappeared and instantly resumed the cheery smile as the two walked out, with the Russian whiz kid dropping him off at his quarters. Much to Bones’s disapproval of course, he did not like being treated like a child.

The last time Bones had gotten sick, he had lied to Chekov and didn’t rest like he said he would. So naturally, when Bones actually did, he expected he wouldn’t be sick like the last time.

But of course, he was sick anyway.

Bones walked into the Medbay hacking, coughing his lungs out onto his sleeve. He felt awful, like he was about to collapse into a million pieces and that any second from now, his legs would betray him.

However, he would use his remaining time before his inevitable collapse to look after the patients from yesterday, who needed follow-up treatment and checkups.

The moment Nurse Chapel laid her eyes on Bones, she was off in a hurry, strutting away to send a message to the bridge. She didn’t even attempt to reason with the doctor, knowing full well how annoying and stubborn the man was, and that he’d never in a thousand years listen to her.

There were 3 people Leonard McCoy would give in to, Nyota Uhura, James Tiberius Kirk and Pavel Chekov, all three of which were at the bridge, and she knew at least one of them would come down and deal with this for her. She could not afford to waste time dragging him away!

Just as Bones continued to cough his way through the medbay, through examinations–to which the injured patients were more worried about him than their own injuries–James Kirk decided to make his presence known.

“Goooood morning Medbay! I have learned that your very own CMO sounds like a dying cat on acid at this very moment, and I am here to witness such an event!” He quipped as he strutted in, looking around for Bones.

It didn’t take him long to spot the doctor, and before he could even come 5 feet to him Bones hissed, quite literally like a cat.

Kirk blinked, “Woah shit, the cat on acid is still alive!”

“James, if you come any closer to me I will actually end your life,” Bones said harshly, although there was no real threat to his words. At least that’s what Kirk thought anyway, because he was more focused on how scratchy and hoarse Bones sounded.

“Oh, I will actually end your life,” Kirk mimicked in a silly, raspy voice to mock Bones.

Bones groaned loudly and continued to scan a patients wounds from yesterday, the patient looking awfully terrified of Bones, afraid he would snap and murder someone.

“What’re you gonna do anyway?” Kirk laughed, “Croak me to death? The sound of your nails on a chalkboard voice rupturing my eardrum as I die a long, painful death?”

Bones whipped around to face him for the first time, glaring daggers, “I will, James, watch me. In fact, I really want to right now.”

Upon seeing the doctor’s face, Kirk felt a sudden change in mood. He looked awful, pale, with dark bags hollowing his eyes. In fact, Kirk was beginning to feel a bit bad for being a shit. Bones must’ve felt horrible.

“Woah–uh, you can do that dude, but uh, after you go get rest and stuff. That is why I’m actually here–”

Kirk was cut off by a sudden harsh fit coming from Bones, as the doctor abruptly pulled away from the patient and turned away from both of them, coughing harshly into his fist. Kirk winced at the awfully chesty and painful sounding coughs, watching as his friend convulsed and shaken by the coughs. His entire frame was racked by them, and in fact, it looked like he could no longer support himself and was about to succumb to the illness and faint.

Kirk was at his side in an instant, wrapping a strong, caring arm around the doctor so he wouldn’t fall, steadying his entire frame. He lightly and gently patted his friend’s back, to help with the release of his coughs.

When Bones finished, he was gasping for air, taking a hot minute to recover himself and regain his breathing. Kirk sighed and gave Bones a pat on the shoulder.

“We’re out of here, you can’t be working now. Jesus, I should’ve listened to Pav last night..I know he got you tea and stuff and he got you to rest, but the kid’s too soft. He can’t force you like I can, his hearts too pure for that. I however can fight you tooth and nail,” Kirk smirked.

“You know what else I can do? Take care of you! Not that Pav can’t do that, it’s just his immune system isn’t the greatest and we need our navigator!”

Bones groaned, “You are not taking care of me, Jim! I will not allow it!”

“Who’s the captain here, hmm?” Kirk challenged, raising an eyebrow as he began to walk the doctor back to his quarters.

To his surprise, Bones didn’t say a word, and the journey there was quiet.

When they finally reached their destination, Bones slowly collapsed onto his bed. He instantaneously pulled his covers up and closed his eyes, face scrunching in a headache. Jim frowned at the sight, he looked so weak and sick. He wished he had realised earlier.

“..Ya really are sick, aren’t you?”

Bones opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Jim widened his eyes, “Shit, should I get Chapel–”

Bones shook his head and took out his PADD, typing out,

“It’s fine. It will come back as I recover. Don’t worry about it.”

Jim relaxed, and gave him a smirk, “Y'know what? I really like this! You not talking..it’s so peaceful..OW!” He pouted as he rubbed the spot on his arm that had been whacked  by the PADD.

Jim glared, “It makes you more violent than usual though.”

Bones typed out: “You don’t have to take care of me, you know.”

Jim rolled his eyes fondly, “Well I am, to show how great I am.”

Bones typed out, “You’ll get sick.”

Jim laughed heartily, “I don’t get sick!”

Bones rolled his eyes and sighed, watching as Jim walked around to find and watch some kind of programme to keep them both occupied, enjoying this company with his best friend. He felt awful all over, and he couldn’t even shout at Jim (one of life’s greatest pleasures), but he felt happy like this, in silent company.