#once i start making stickers mayb ill add him too.....

[jaywalkingjaywalker]

kahdkKAHSIAJJHHH

I DREW THE HIM!! HE!!! im so normal im so calm and collected

[shion-yu]

Day 19: “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” (alt)

996 words, Cliff and Elliot fluff with no TWs. @sicktember

Cliff had been coughing for days on end now. It was a wet, harsh cough that wracked his whole body and left him too exhausted to do anything else. Elliot brought him to the doctor, where he was diagnosed with RSV and told to stay in bed as much as possible. Usually, RSV wouldn’t cause a cough like this. But it was Cliff, and Cliff’s lungs already struggled on the best of days. Add in a virus and it was a recipe for disaster.

It started on Thursday night. They were walking Clover after dinner when Elliot first noticed Cliff struggling. His cough seemed a bit worse, more frequent than usual. Maybe it was just the cool fall air, Elliot thought, but then he noticed other things: Cliff was stumbling even with his crutches and his face looked pale, always a sure sign that he wasn’t feeling well. “Cliff? You okay?” Elliot asked.

“Fine,” Cliff said, coughing away. But on the elevator up to their apartment, Elliot could see the glazed look in his eyes that signaled an incoming fever. He wrapped his arm around Cliff and could feel him shaking a little. 

“Cold?” Elliot asked him.

“A little,” Cliff shivered. Elliot stayed close and ushered him into their apartment, where he unleashed Clover and then told Cliff to change into something comfy. Inside the warmer house, a blotchy flush had formed on Cliff’s cheeks. 

Elliot warmed up the hot water bottle and brought it to Cliff in their bedroom. “It’s not that bad,” Cliff said. “Thank you though.”

Elliot rested a hand on Cliff’s forehead anyways, humming in disapproval. “You’ve got a fever,” he said.

“Do I?” Cliff asked weakly. As if he didn’t know, Elliot thought. As if there was any way Cliff wasn’t feeling sick by now. But his boyfriend was so used to pushing through pain and discomfort every day, maybe he really didn’t know. 

That night, Cliff began coughing in earnest. He wasn’t able to sleep for more than a handful of hours without waking up struggling to breathe, so Elliot sat behind him and held him so he could sleep sitting up. He ran Cliff’s nebulizer, humidifier, and made sure Cliff’s oxygen was running at a higher flow than usual. By morning they were both exhausted, and that was when Elliot dragged Cliff to his doctor’s. 

Cliff got scripts for steroids and strong cough syrup, although he already had both at home. The doctor told Elliot to check Cliff’s oxygen periodically, and to go to the ER for anything sustained below 86%. Cliff’s baseline was lower than the average person’s, Elliot knew, but 86% still sounded so low to him. 

At home, Elliot was dutiful in making sure Cliff was taken care of. He checked vitals, kept Cliff as comfortable sitting up as possible, and administered meds on time. “Relax, El,” Cliff told him weakly. “I’m going to be fine.” But it was hard to believe him when he there was an audible wheeze to his breath, and they’d ended up in the emergency room so many times when it was “fine” before.

“You need to sleep,” Cliff told him on the evening of the second day of his illness. Elliot shook his head. How could he sleep when he was so afraid Cliff might stop breathing again? They’d hooked up the continuous O2 monitor by now, which would wake them both up with a shrill beeping sound if Cliff’s oxygen dropped below 89%. But Elliot felt better if he could see Cliff breathing for himself. After all, Cliff had yanked the sticker off of his finger in confusion to make the noise stop when his saturation had been critically low more than once before. At that point he’d usually start pulling his nasal cannula off too, and at worst, wandering. A hypoxic Cliff was a confused Cliff, and when Cliff was confused he had the tendency to get into trouble.

Elliot held out as long as he could, listening intently to Cliff’s labored but present breath sounds until the wee morning hours. He could hear birds chirping outside and the first rays of morning light were filtering through the blinds when he finally fell asleep, his head in Cliff lap.

He woke to a harsh cough. He blinked in confusion, realizing at some point he’d migrated to his side of the bed to lie down properly. Cliff was next to him, attempting to muffle his coughing into a pillow clutched to his chest. Elliot sat up and rubbed his back, still half asleep. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Cliff choked out between wheezy breaths. 

“It’s fine,” Elliot said sleepily. “Here, sit up some more.” He dutifully slid behind Cliff once again, holding the thin and shaking frame of his husband in front of him. “Try and slow your breathing.”

Cliff was trying, but it was hard. Almost too hard, but eventually he managed to wait out the coughing spasm and slumped back against Elliot. “Sorry,” he panted. “You were sleeping so sweetly, too.”

“Was I?” Elliot asked, amused and affectionate as he ran a hand through Cliff’s sweaty hair and tucked Cliff’s bangs behind his ear. “Were you watching me?”

“Maybe,” Cliff said, a smile audible in his weak voice. “You need to sleep too, you know.”

“I know,” Elliot said. He hadn’t always known. He used to stay up worrying over Cliff for so many hours, even when they weren’t living together. But by now he’d realized he couldn’t be a good caretaker if he didn’t rest occasionally. It was a work in progress, and one with a lot of room for improvement, but at least he wasn’t chugging energy drinks to stay awake these days. 

Cliff shifted in his arms, his warm body feeling so light against Elliot. “Try and sleep some more. I’m okay now,” Cliff murmured. 

Elliot kissed the side of Cliff’s head. “If you say so.” He was asleep in seconds.

[bellygunnr]

Blown Lightbulb

A commission piece for @poisonheadcrabsalesman featuring Thomas Lasky/Sarah Palmer. 

---

The house is cold. It hasn’t changed at all since you’ve last been here, some twenty odd years ago. You hadn’t been a kid then-- just a pilot, home on leave despite not really wanting to be. It had been tense then. It was the same now, even if your mother wasn’t even here, and you were laying bare the contents of your past to the two people you loved the most and considered the most important in your life. You hesitate to look at them, not quite fearful of what they’re thinking but definitely reluctant, like any of this is your fault and something to be ashamed of.

You know no one can really blame you for wanting some modicum of closure, but you’ve always been conscious of starting losing battles. Your mother isn’t even here, for one. A toneless holo-message is all she’s left you, detailing that an emergency at work brought her in and she’ll be back sometime in the evening. Maybe you and your colleagues could meet her at this location, even, and upon further investigation, that location is a startling high-profile restaurant of considerable Martian renown.

So much for flying close to the surface. You’d be in the air for all to see, just for a chance to reconcile with what little remains of your family. But that wasn’t for several hours yet, so you content yourself with poking around the giant empty house and listening to Sarah and Roland banter between each other.

“No offense, but this feels kind of like a museum exhibit,” Sarah says. “It’s not even dusty. I’d prefer it if it was.”

“You’d prefer it? There are stock photos of kids up here-- unless the Lasky family is way bigger than records suggest,” Roland answers.

You look at the picture frames Roland is pointing out. Amid the pictures of your brother Cadmon, there are photos of a foreign family, conspicuously only featuring a father figure. You run your fingers through your hair, nostrils flaring with a barely-restrained sigh.

“We didn’t take many family pictures,” you say, as if that explains anything. “I’m going to check out the upstairs.”

You tug on the back of your head, pulling at the recently shaved strands in a fit of anxiety. You don’t want to go upstairs. You’re afraid of what you’ll find there. Cadmon’s room was practically a shrine twenty years ago. The stairs don’t even creak as you step up them and you’re not sure why you expect them to. They look and feel and sound like wood, but you know them to be special composites that just didn’t degrade.

Your grip lingers on the railing as you take the final step. The door you know that leads to your mother’s room is closed. The keypad lock to it is bright red. You wonder if the keycode has changed at all, but testing it probably isn’t worth the risk. Across from her room is Cadmon’s, but that door is also, as you expected, closed.

And the one you recognize as your own is ajar. You let your hand find Sarah’s, squeezing it so tightly that she squeezes back, thumb rolling over your knuckles in a decidingly tender way.

“You know you don’t have to do this, Tom,” she says gently.

“But I want to,” you say. “I know I don’t need to.”

“Well, that’s something.”

It is. You offer her a braver smile than you feel and let her follow you to your room. There are more picture frames up here, covering the walls in even intervals. You can only ignore them because you know Roland is looking at them. You nudge open the door with your foot and, again, hesitate at the threshold.

Was everything in this house going to be difficult?

You shut your eyes and take in a shuddering breath. You can feel Sarah at your back, her presence radiating warmth. If you wobble, you feel her sturdy body against yours, so you let yourself lean into the partial embrace of her arms. She squeezes your shoulders, just as ice trickles down your spine.

Roland’s presence bleeds into your mind like condensation forming on the outside of a glass. It’s not enough for his thoughts or feelings to be tangible, but it’s so distinctly him that you smile and relax, easing the tension in your balled-up fists and opening your eyes. The room ahead is dark, but all you need to do is step inside for the lights to wake up and--

It’s not exactly the same as you left it, but it’s close. Your eyes roam the room, picking out all the various effects of teenaged you. There are posters on the wall, though some of the pixels have gone dark in their paper-thin construction, and models on the shelves, thick with dust. Your bed is perfectly made, the pillows hidden beneath a dark red blanket. Inevitably, your eyes roam over to a box bolted seamlessly into the wall, just above your nightstand. 

“Ah,” you breathe, staring at the box. “I see.”

“Is that…?” Sarah starts, but trails off, uncertain.

You can feel Roland’s curiosity curling up in the back of your mind. If you strain, you can even see his glittery-gold essence creeping out toward the box, but that gives you a migraine the harder you try.

You open your mouth to try and explain what it is, despite what it is being obvious. It’s a physical control panel for a domestic-grade Dumb AI. His name is still plainly depicted in the form of colorful stickers-- Admiral Hart. He hadn’t been active last time, but he hadn’t been gone either, so at least the sick hope flickering in your belly isn’t fully misplaced.

Still, is it worth trying to activate him?

“Roland,” you say, feeling quite outside yourself. “You can investigate it, if you want. Um, if he’s in there, could you…?”

“Of course, Captain,” Roland says.

Roland’s projection hovers in mid-air, thrown there by the custom commpad he was currently residing in. He smiles brilliantly at you and Sarah before bringing up what must be the digital counterpart of the control panel, his gestures as grandiose as ever, his expression just visible behind the transparent boxes. You hate it, but you distract yourself by leaning into Sarah’s space and kissing the bottom of her chin, staying there until Roland pipes up again.

“He’s in there, Captain. Says here he hasn’t been activated since… 2549. Very long service life, this one.”

Oh, that wasn’t too bad. Still, nearly ten years, completely shut down.

“...I don’t know if I’m ready to see him yet,” you say in one long rush of breath, the realization making you feel ill. “I do miss him, though.”

“There are also several other AI matrices in here,” Roland adds. “Why so many, if I may ask?”

“They were my teachers, when I was doing homeschooling. I’m surprised they’re still here.”

Dumb AI were very limited in their fixed personalities, but you swear they’re more sentient than they let on. One didn’t befriend several all at once and not experience some inexplicable variances, but dwelling on it was starting to make you feel hot behind the eyes. You shake your head, exasperated.

“Sorry, this is-- a lot more than I thought it’d be.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Sarah says lightly. “Want to go back downstairs?”

“Mind if I hang out in your house’s network for a little while?” Roland asks. “I won’t touch anything.”

“Go for it,” you say with a smile.

Roland winks and smiles before gathering up the tendrils of himself, more visible now that he was letting his essence ooze out between commpad, neural interfaces, and nearby network ports. Smart AI were remarkably fluid, or even gaseous, automatically filling in the void spaces around them, not because they wanted to be big as possible-- they were just that big. Still, you rub the back of your neck the same time as Sarah does, acutely conscious of the absence.

“Downstairs, then,” Sarah says. “Think there’s anything in the fridge?”

“I have no idea. Are you hungry?”

“I haven’t eaten since yesterday. To keep the motion sickness down, you know.”

You hum in acknowledgement. Her moving ahead of you prevents you from lingering too long upstairs, anxious as you are to keep up with her long strides. You have no idea where either of you are going to get clothes nice enough to go to a restaurant. Neither of you are dressed for it, let alone packed. Roland had suggested dressing as casually as possible to take the edge off, and well, maybe that was going to backfire. 

“I can feel you thinking too hard,” Sarah says.

She’s in your space the second you leave the stairs. But it’s gentle and unintrusive despite her taking up your whole line of sight. She’s teasing you, even as her brow is bent in concern.

“What am I thinking too hard about?” you ask.

“Hmmm. Something about your mom, like that stupid message she left us. Seriously, talk about a neutral location.” 

You laugh before you can stop yourself. 

“Got it in one,” you say. “I don’t know what she’s thinking.”

“Guess poor mother Lasky is going to have to come home after all,” Sarah says. “Isn’t that sad?”

She bumps your hip with the back of her fist, a playful nudge that, surprisingly, doesn’t send you stumbling. You punch her shoulder in return, silently following her into the next room, where the kitchen is. You watch Sarah go for the fridge and open it, head disappearing inside to scope out the contents. She retreats a moment later to throw something green and limp into your arms.

You catch it more out of surprise than anything, but you feel nauseous just holding it.

“What the hell is this?”

“Nutritional smoothie paste!” Sarah says, like she’s struck gold. “Used to eat this shit when I was a baby Spartan. They put it in Mjolnir on long-haul ops.”

“And that’s…. Is it good?” You ask, instantly skeptical.

“Hell, no. But I’m too polite to eat the meal plan stuff she has in there. So, drink up.”

Well, you couldn’t fault her there. You set the plastic tube of paste down on the faux-granite countertop, deciding that you’d rather let Sarah just drink both of them. You can’t stifle a smile as she immediately scoops it up, tearing open both of them at once and drinking them down in a truly disgusting fashion. But she doesn’t spill a drop, so... 

“I see you’ve gotten better at that,” you say.

“Roland made me promise not to make a mess if I’m going to be carrying the commpad,” she admits, looking exasperated for all of a split-second. “So.”

She tosses the spent bags onto the countertop, despite the trash can being directly underhand. You shrug that off in favor of grabbing her by the collar of her tank top and pulling her down, kissing her flat on the mouth. Her answering hum is felt in your bones and you both relax into each other, your anxious tension sapped by her solid core. She curls an arm around your waist and holds you in place, like she’s been waiting to do that.

“Relax a little,” she murmurs. “We can worry about her when she gets here.”

Not you, we. You feel a little weak in the knees at the distinction and let yourself hang onto her arms, certain that you’re looking at her with a dopey smile.

“But we probably shouldn’t do this in the kitchen,” she adds.

Before you can pull away, Sarah effortlessly hauls you into her arms, supporting you by grabbing a fistful of your ass and waiting until you wrap your arms around her neck. She squeezes your rear a couple times before moving, gait so smooth that you don’t even feel it when she turns on her heel to dump you on the couch with a flourish. 

You sink into the couch cushions, but wrap your arms around hers so that you don’t disappear completely. Her face is so close to yours that you count each individual scar and freckles, including the faint lines of surgical augmentations that only show up in the right light. You snake your hand up to the back of her neck, mindful not to grab ahold of the enlarged neural implant.

“Anyone ever told you you’re handsome, Tom?” Sarah murmurs.

“Mmm, I can think of a few…”

Her laughter is felt on your skin as warm puffs. She kisses you, her lips rough with bitten and half-healed skin that you nip at, chasing them when she tries to pull away. The plasticine fabric squeaks as she carefully, carefully lowers her weight over yours and straddles you, her thighs big enough to keep you in place. 

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

“I will,” you promise.

You want to say that you know she won’t, but she always looks so earnest when she asks that this time, you don’t. Because she has before-- there’s a biological differential between the two of you that you never stop thinking about. You work your hand further up to pull her hair out of its ponytail, working your fingers into the coarse locks and kissing her more intently, eyes fluttering shut. I love you, you want to say. I trust you, which is just as hard.

Her hands roam across your shirt and pluck open several buttons so that she can follow the edge of your collarbone and the slope of your shoulders. Her warm, slightly sweaty palms are a sharp contrast to the cool air, and the shock of physical contact has goosebumps lifting on your arms. You lick at her lips and fist some of her hair, mumbling indistinctly as you pull her down closer.

There’s no smart quip or knowing look to make light of your neediness. She finally lets her weight drop onto your lap completely and the kiss moves on, her teeth and lips tracking across the edge of your jaw to just underneath your ear. Instead of letting your hands hover, you start to follow the hard curves of her body, groping at the bunching muscles and admiring the power coiled there. 

Then she snaps into rigid attention, face turned toward the front door, her lips drawn back in a snarl. You vaguely notice that she has a chipped tooth before you hear the door opening and Sarah is still poised over you and she’s kissing you again, hard, and you kind of moan into it--

“Well, then,” an all-too-familiar voice says. “Thomas, care to… introduce me?”

Finally, Sarah climbs off of you, but not before buttoning your shirt and kissing your forehead. Your brain already hurts from the mental whiplash of the situation.

“Um, mother,” you start. “This is Sarah Palmer. My partner.”

Your mother is shorter than you remember. Her hair, once a brownish-black, is in faded tones and grey at the roots. A scar that wasn’t there twenty years ago lurks just by her eye and she looks exhausted. Stress and worry lines make canyons of her face, ones that twist your heart to look at.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Sarah says stiffly.

She does not look amused. She doesn’t look much of anything except terribly stern and suspicious of the scene before her. You almost can’t blame her. Almost.

“You know, I was hoping you’d be here when we got here,” you say. “But it seems you’re still working.”

“Of course. Duty still calls, you know.”

You watch her as she shrugs off her jacket and hangs it up on the coat rack in the anteroom. Both nothing and everything has changed about her and it makes something in your throat tighten.

“Oh, I know that more than anybody,” you breathe. “Yeah.”

“I do appreciate you coming home, Tom,” Audrey says, not looking at you. “It means a lot. I thought I’d have to see you when the Infinity opened her doors to the public. That is still happening-- right?”

“Sure, it’s happening,” Sarah says. “Look, Tom, do you want me to…?”

You shake your head.

“Yes, but I won’t be back on Mars until then. Working nonstop has its benefits-- like a lot of vacation time.”

“That sounds like a dream, to be able to use it,” Audrey replies calmly. “I need to know if we’re having dinner tonight.”

You and Sarah share a look.

“I was thinking we could share a bottle of wine and shoot the shit instead,” Sarah says. “Or some scotch, if you have it.”

At that, Audrey looks amused.

“I never took you for a scotch man, Tom,” Audrey chuckles.

You don’t say anything as she leaves the room, no doubt seeking out the desired glasses and alcohol. The sun is going down outside, plunging the room in a deep red. This was going better than expected. You want to break open the window and run. You want to do anything but sit back down and draw out the table and sit in a semi-circle and “shoot the shit.” But you’re already sitting down and the bottle is open and you haven’t ate anything-- neither has Sarah, even, but with her augmentations drinking on an empty stomach is probably beneficial and--

“Good news, everybody! I took the liberty of ordering us some, what do you humans call it? Party food? You know, for all the drinking we’re about to do. You’re welcome!”

You choke on your own spit and your mother nearly drops the glass she’s pouring. Sarah, for her part, is taking the bottle and stealing a sip directly, if only to conceal a smug smile.

Roland is hovering inches above the faux-wooden table, drawn up to his full height with chest puffed out and expression gleeful. He flicks one hand out in a casual salute toward Audrey before trotting aside and sitting down, legs crossed.

“Cheers,” he says.

“Hi, Roland,” Sarah greets.

You had completely forgotten about Roland. Oops.

“Thomas, I do hate to ask,” Audrey says, peering down at Roland with a pinched expression, “but why is there an AI?”

“Oh, you know,” you say vaguely, waving a hand. “It’s classified.”

“I’m Captain Lasky’s boss,” Roland says, grinning. “So I’m allowed to be here, you see.”

“Are you my boss, Roland?” Sarah asks.

“No, ma’am.”

Audrey’s eyebrows shoot up. She takes a sip from her glass, shifting in her seat uncomfortably.

“Well, I’m Audrey Lasky,” she says finally. “Pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of the night goes painfully.

[devilinsheepswool]

When MC first arrives at Devildom they warn Lucifer that the only way to keep them in line is by providing them with incentives, and that he will be wise to heed their warning because they tend to go a bit wild if not kept in check.

They warn Lucifer that punishments will not work, they will only accomplish the opposite because they will make MC want to retaliate. Out of curiosity Lucifer asks what kind of incentives; Grimm, food, clothes, jewels, merchandise, books, free passes from chores and other obligations, all things his brothers treasure.

MC responds with a simple shake of the head, they're much easier than that and with a small smile they reply.

"Gold Stars."

Lucifer intially believes they mean actual gold stars, he doesn't understand how that's any easier, in fact it seems very in line with what Mammon would ask for. He's about to call them insane but MC notices the look of disbelief on his face, their add on comes in late.

"Stickers, I mean." MC clarifies.

"What?" Lucifer asks.

"Gold star stickers. It's how my friends and loved ones get me to behave." MC explains. "I get a gold sticker for every time I do something good or helpful, and an even bigger sticker for whenever I hold back on doing something impulsive or 'dumb'." They continue to explain. "The small stars are worth 1 point and the big ones are worth 3."

"You're kidding, MC." Lucifer deadpans. "Isn't this what a teacher would use on a child?"

"I'm really not, it works on me too. I need consistency and to feel like I'm working up towards something rewarding in order to actual do anything."

"Rewarding, how?"

"I'm glad you asked. Remember how I said that the normal stars are worth 1 point and the big ones worth 3? Well, by the end of the week if I've acquired at least 30 to 40 I get treated to an ice cream sundae on Sunday, I can only get 5 small stars per day with the exception of a big star every now and then. If I go over 30 or 40 I get extra toppings."

"That seems oddly simple." Lucifer states still looking MC up and down quizzically.

"It is!" MC exclaims pulling out a chart from behind their back. A chart large enough to fit multiple stickers on it, the chart is divided into six sections: Monday through Saturday. "Here." They hand him the chart. "You're in charge of stickers."

Dumbfounded, Lucifer takes the chart sheet in his hands. He has the passing thought 'if only my brothers were this easy.' Before dismissing it completely, knowing that there are easier things wished for.

"This will ensure you behave?" He asks once more for clarification.

MC only simply nods.

"You put it up there." MC continued pointing to the refrigerator. "so that everyone sees and I feel a sense of accomplishment."

"Are you sure you want it up there?" He asks tiredly. "Won't the others tease you?"

"Yeah, probably." MC answers matter o factly. "But you won't be buying them a fancy Sundae at the end of the week, or will you?"

"So, now I'm the one buying you ice cream? When did we agree to this?"

"I mean... I thought that was implied by you being my assigned sticker giver. Besides it's a small price to pay for my good behavior, don't you think?"

"Are you threatening me?" He asks looking up at them with a quirked eyebrow, even if so it's not like they're asking for much. He wishes his brothers asked only for the same to ensure their well behavior... but unfortunately life is not that easy.

"No." They answer with such genuinety that he almost thinks they're messing with him. "I'm just trying to make life easier for the both of us; the idea is to ease me into a new environment and eventually I won't need the stars anymore to ensure I behave. If I don't maintain consistency I let my environments shape me and that's not always a good thing but like this I keep myself in line regardless of my new environment."

"Very well, all be it for my peace of mind." Lucifer sighs pinning up the laminated sheet on the fridge.

At first the brothers do tease MC about it, but MC doesn't really seem to care all that much as they do their chores happily with the promise of ice cream in mind. Eventually the teasing stops, after all, how fun is it to tease someone who doesn't really care?

But it starts with Beel noticing, MC gets treated to a sundae from Madam Screams every Sunday that leaves him watering at the mouth. Well, now Beel wants in on the action. He asks Lucifer to do the same for him.

Lucifer doesn't really care, Beel is probably one of the most well behaved of his brothers save for when he goes on his hunger rampages or acts out because of food. He doesn't think much and accepts to do the same for Beel upon his request.

Now it's not just MC and Lucifer going out very Sunday to Madam Screams but also Beel and the fact that they're all going out in a group makes it feel somewhat exclusive... that mixed with the fact that MC has to separate from Mammon every Sundaybto go pick up their Sundae and we all know how much Mammon hates being apart from MC add into Mammon demanding that Lucifer do that same for him.

Things have just become interesting. Mammon is the brother that needs this the most in Lucifer's eyes but he doubts his brother can completely behave, regardless he doesn't stop his brother from trying after all it's to his own benefit (Lucifer's) maybe now he'll be able to get some more work and rest in.

Well the said is done, it doesn't completely work but he has noticed Mammon behaving a lot more than he usually did. Not to add that he's gotten competitive with the other two about who can earn more toppings on their sundae than the rest... even if he ends up losing every time.

Asmo is the third to fall into the trend. After all, a Sundae by Lucifer's treat and by side MC!? What could possibly be better!? Besides the game looks really fun, and now Asmo is eager to join in on the fun.

It's not like Asmo is ill behaved or boisterous in any way, so he doesn't have to make much of an effort but some times he will slip up and it's only then that he makes an effort.

Levi is the fourth to fall into this game. As always it's his envy that causes him to get involved in MC's and his brothers game, and who can blame him? I mean who likes feeling left out, right?

The following Monday during dinner he starts to pout and complain about how he isn't being included in the most indirect round about way.

"After all what did I expect, it's not like you guys would include me in your game..."

"It's not a game Levi, MC and the others have to earn their ice-cream." Lucifer clarifies putting down his eating utensils.

"You don't have to lie to me, Lucifer." Levi pouts. "Its not like I want to be included in that normie game you guys are playing anyway!"

Lucifer lets out a tired breath as he asks himself whether he really wants to deal with this right now... well, the answer is that he doesn't but he isn't going to leave his brother sulking about not being included, after all, it'll only get worse the longer he leaves him sulking.

And just like that Levi's in.

Those left are Satan and Belphegor and, of course, he doesn't expect either to willingly participate. I mean they won't obey him or behave on a regular basis, in fact it's the complete opposite; they usually go out of their way to make his life harder, so why would they participate in a game that requires them to do something that is supposed to make his life easier?

He won't bother with them, after all, he's far too busy with the work he has from Diavolo as of lately.

But then Satan surprises him by announcing that he to will join this game. Of course, Lucifer is suspicious of Satan's intentions after all why would he willingly chose to make Lucifer's life much easier?

Satan claims he just wants to feel involved, and since everyone is already doing it he might as well too.

Lucifer's on guard with Satan, he's trying to figure out what he's scheming but Satan genuinely seems to be doing what he should.

Still, Lucifer can't help but check his drawers and closet when he finds Satan leaving his room after having claimed that he was only sorting the clean laundry to its appropriate places, and he can't help not double checking his drinks, or looking over his things when Satan brings them to him.

Satan is behaving and he takes pleasure in how uneasy that makes Lucifer. The look on Lucider's face whenever Satan does something good or helpful with a smile and nothing more is priceless. Of course, it's not like Satan is going to let Lucifer get to comfortable. If Lucifer does get too comfortable Satan won't have any trouble playing a small and subtle prank on Lucifer to keep him on his toes.

Not to add that Satan does cheat regularly when participating in the game, usually playing Mammon out of his points or taking credit for his work, or using Mammon in order to enact his pranks on Lucifer so they won't get traced back to him... yep, poor Mammon.

Lastly, is Belphie. He shows the most resistance to the game, it takes to much energy and effort neither of which he cares to spare on a silly game.

But as much as he hates to admit it. He hates waking up to an empty house on Sunday; there's no Beel or MC to greet him and the fact that everyone else is also playing along with the game makes him feel excluded. It's not bad enough that he was locked up in the attic for the longest time and only came back after all the other brothers had already formed bonds with MC but even now they get to spend more time with them all because of that dumb game.

So in the end, as reluctant as he might be he announces in the most nonchalant and anticlimactic way that he too will participate in the dumb game.

Much like Satan, he'll either mooch of Mammon's points or use Mammon to get out of trouble for certain things. He'll petition Lucifer about being able to share points with either Beel or MC because that chore was a "combined effort".

In the end all the brothers end up participating, it doesn't 100% solve the occasional behavioral problems and shenanigans that occur within the house of lamentation but it does help placate them if even by a small percentage.

And it's only when he gets to sit down and breathe after a long day of paperwork and meetings that Lucifer notices what a good influence MC has been on his brothers.

Of course, by this point MC no longer needs the gold star sticker system to keep in line but at this point they don't have the heart to end the game... not when everyone has come to have fun with it so much.

[idris-hunts-the-mando]

Right place, Right time  \the departure pt.1/

Rating: Mature

Words: 6.1k

A/N:  this took me the bulk of a week to complete, i think ill make a few small bite sized works for a while, working on the next part in a week or so, once i get myself back together. give me all the love you as a reader can, I’m fueled by praise/hj 

pairings: none yet

Warnings: series typical violence, hard swearing, moderate gore

I woke up sore and hurt in the bunk room, the cold cot felt like frozen river stones under my tired bones. I could tell we arrived at our destination from the frostbite settling into my fingers and nose. The slow neutral hum of machinery was a tell tale sign that the ship was at ease, the noise usually deafening. Pulling my threadbare scarf up over my neck and chin, i started regretting choosing this particular cargo ship going to a frozen planet for a runaway plan. I braced for the aggravating beginning to the tiresome day and sat up from my cramped bunk space. sleeping in a room with a dozen oily work worn men didnt make any part of the trip to Maldo Keris easier, not to mention the fact they all saw me as more of a womp rat and less of a sentient being. keeping my eyes to myself, i shoved my tattered boots over my feet buckled my tool belt to my hip and hurried out of the barracks before the bulk of my crew mates woke up. stepping out onto the loading dock,i took a breath in. the smell of poorly filtered air irked my mechanics brain. It would be such an easy fix if they payed me to care. But alas, for this particular voyage, i was bunked out like a stowaway, giving in return my fix-it help around deck for passage off my planet of origin. Sighing out the musty air, i checked my stations. Navigating the hold was like a womp rat through a maze, you had to be rather nimble and graceful to get through the makeshift corridors without issue. Unluckily for me, I was neither nimble nor graceful. When i got to the panel, i took out my key ring and unlocked the rusted metal door to expose the intricacies within. the wiring looked tip top shape, but the fuel lines needed a bit more attention than the other tangle of electronics, so i took out my multi-tool to tighten the fittings. The liquid distilled Rhydonium that flowed through these particular lines was a less explosive substance than its pure form, but dangerous nonetheless. the multi-tool was a newer model, so it didn't fit this type of bolt all the way, but it was better than nothing. Better than allowing it to loosen over another voyage and have the ship explode mid hyper-speed.

  My mind was so stuck in its own world, the training I had over the many years in a scrappers shop spewing all of its knowings about rhydonium and fuel lines that I didn't have time to notice the first lieutenant Maegs stalking his way over to me. I jumped a moment before he spoke, tightening the last half inch of the bolt down maybe a bit too aggressively.

  "We the captains crew appreciate the helping you've been do'en for this ol beasty of a ship," he mentioned, one his independent eyes viewed me separably, while the second one was monitoring my work. I froze for a moment out of fear, but i didn't think he took notice. "You're more than welcome to stick 'round 'an see what else you can fix up for this rust-bucket." the first lieutenant never gave me much of a hard time, unlike most of the crew. But I had made up my mind the first night in hyperspace that I would haul ass out of this suffocating ship as soon as a habitable planet was spotted. I finished up closing and locking the wires box, shaking my head slowly and turning to face him.

  "I do love the sentiment, lieutenant. but maybe another time if our paths cross again." I forced an obligatory smile, avoiding making eye contact with him at all costs out of fear for not having the attention span to pick and stick to a wondering eye. If i could ever force myself to say something nice about the ship and its crew, it would be the acceptance of short interactions. A conversation rarely surpassed the 'how are you doing today' phase, by the moons it never got to that phase in the first place. And I was a person of not many words, and not much of a filter.

  Maegs nodded slowly, clasping two of his 4 arms behind his back and turning away. I felt the need to repay his unprompted kindness with some suggestions for the ship before I left it for good. Call me sentimental, but this ship, albeit mostly composed of literal blood sweat and spit, was my ticket into a new life. "don't let yourself get caught without changing the air filtration system, them new republic scouters are picky about what type of poison you use for cremates." I remark with a little smirk. Maegs paused, narrowing his eyes, amused by the backhanded remark. He had surely gotten complaints about the smell before. He gave a thoughtful nod toward me, and allowed himself a small smile. I looked down in my hands, the key ring still hanging off my index finger. I tossed it towards him and was relieved when he caught it. he turned with no further words needed. On his way to the control room, he pushed the cargo bay door release button. My line of sight was clear from the opening door to the nearby port town and when the frosty air stung my face, I knew in my soul that this was a good thing. Taking in a breath of the salted frozen air, my body naturally recoiled. I'm not one for cold. 'Ah well, way to go picking the nearest ice planet than idiot' I scolded myself, pulling my cloak back over my shoulders to take the first step out of the ship held together with sticker line and bantha spit. 'Good riddance'.

  Walking into town was harder than expected, the ice on the ground blended into the ice of the horizon, making spacial reasoning a thing of the past. The only anchor I had to the planet besides its heavy gravity was the stark grey buildings stapled to the sheets of ice about 10 meters in front of me. I never could have guessed the sky of Maldo Keris could get any uglier, but planets like these have a way of surprising a person. I tucked my hair and ears away with the hood of my raggedy travelers cloak, bracing myself from the heavy winds by retreating further and further into my cloths. I stayed on the worn path from the ship's dock port, hearing from previous crew mates that this was the warm season, that the ice was thinner and the creatures lurking underneath had no sense of remorse. Now nervous at the revival of that pleasant memory, I kept a close eye on my surroundings, not having the most faith in my feet for staying their course. The wind stung at my exposed skin, reminding me I was wearing only my work cloths that weren't  meant for the sudden change in climate. The cloak I had was best at protecting my human skin from the suns above. Beyond that, my tatterd outer layer didn't do much for the safeguarding of my body heat.

  I was relieved to have stumbled to shade from the wind so quickly, the heavy kit bag on my back was starting to feel more like a boulder taped to my body than a simple means of containing my tools and spare cloths. Paying attention to the signs overhead, i quickly located the nearest cantina and rushed towards it as fast as any human Popsicle can. Opening the circular doors with the press of a button took me into what felt like a summer time resort. Hiding my appreciation for the warmth from the patrons staring at me, i collected my composure and swiftly found an open table. The electronic doors closed rather harshly behind me. I recognized the sound of faulty pressure hinge and eyed the door for a moment when i took my seat. That door was a danger to customers who get caught in it, it could cause some serious injuries for larger species and even fatalities for humanoids.

  Sitting down at the frosty old wooden chair was a relief on the fatigue in my joints. It was neither a comfortable seat, nor a relatively stable one, but it gave me time to take off my pack and study the small, rather ugly, room I found myself to be in. It wasn't too long before I would have to order something, or I feared starvation. The crew mates on the cargo ship were kind, if the bare minimum counts. Food once a day (as per average in the parsec), and as much sleep as necessary per species or race. For humans in particular, that amount of time was annoyingly low. tired and hungry was a bad mix for me as it is, but add cold to that mixture, and the first person to get on my nerves would be the last. i checked the contents of my bag to make sure everything looked as it should and moved up from my chair, replacing the spot with my hefty bag. I was rather confident that if any Kung Nerfhearder tried to run off with it, it would be too weighted for them to get far. I may be rather small compared to other sub species of humans, but i pride myself on my strength often.

  Making my way to the bar counter, I lean up between two silent patrons sitting a few seats away from each-other. I get the barkeep's attention with a wave of my fingers, calling him to me. "What kind of meal do you have on the stove top right now?" I ask with my flattest low tone. In port towns like this its important to be as emotionless as possible in order to not draw attention to yourself. Colorless, shapeless, uniform and mad was always the role you had to play to make it through the galaxy.

  "We got a silver weed in the radiator, it'll be 3 credits." He replied, picking up a glass and wiping it out with his rag covered hand. I pulled the amount needed out of my pocket and set it down on the bar counter. he swiped his hand over the credits, picking them up quickly. nodding, he left the sight of the bar for only a spit second before returning to the table with a small bowl of mush. I tried my best to smile and be thankful for the meal, but as the bowl transferred to my hands I had to focus on not gagging. I hurried back to my private table in the corner and settled back into my seat, dropping my bag on the floor between my legs to keep it as safe as possible. The last thing I want is a soup that tastes like the scrapings of a persons shoe into street worn snow, but what can you expect on a planet such as this. Prodding the gelatinous mass in the bowl with my spoon, I ponder the ever growing question of 'what in the hell is in this shit'. my mind wonders deep into its personal wonderland while my environment continues to be less and less favorable.

     Hostile voices from the other side of the cantina rise louder and louder, as if at the warm up stage of a slowly progressing screaming match. The feeling of sourness in my heart rose with a predictable inclination. The tension in the air grows as yet again the same scene unfolds before my and all other patrons of the cantina's eyes. I strain my neck to see what was happening. At the far end of the room, closer to the door than I am, I saw the oddly familiar face of a poor amphibious creature's head being slammed on the table he was sitting at. The oldest and most primal of situations, the strong picking on the weak. Three tall imposing figures towered over the poor humanoid looking fellow who was obvious to any idiot to be lacking in intimidating features. Seeing this obligatory show of power for any insecure creature with anger issues never sat right with me. It reminded me too much of where I came from, the slums of sand and glass where bullies like these were treated like royalty without challenge from the ones they harassed.

     'Dank ferrik, don't do it' i challenged the assaulter internally, as if pleading with them to harm their victim any more so I would have a reason to put in use my blade skills. i had no idea where I've seen that face before, but as they say, curiosity killed the Cathar. And there it happened, the final action in the escalation. The largest of the assaulter lifted the poor guy to his feet and the ring leader lifted his knife to the throat of his victim. A cry of anguish and fear came from the poor fool being restrained, and that was my last straw.

     I stood from my chair, kicking away my bag and drawing my vibroblade from my thigh holster, walking over to the group across the tavern. I growl, squaring my shoulders and stiffening my legs to make me seem bigger. I must have looked pretty wild, my tattered cloak drawn over my body like a dark fog, and my scarf still pulled up like a mask over my nose with only my furious green eyes over the top. Just as I started my warpath towards the men, the heavy ring shaped door to the cantina opened abruptly, startling a few of the onlookers. I knew what type of situation I had put myself in and how important focus and intimidation was, so I didn't take any time away from the assholes with blades to gawk at who had happened to stroll in. With my attention solely married to the poor bastard and his assailants, I noticed all of their attention was stripped from their target and glued to the newcomer. Evaluating my surroundings, I saw most of the other patrons in my sight were enthralled too. This piqued my interest and I felt it safe enough to turn and check out the royalty.

     Standing soberly at the bar counter, the figure of a mandolorian stood in silence, facing the bar keep. My heart dropped first, than my jaw. Only legend, only in the oldest fables and the scary stories my nan would use to scare me into not stealing the sweets late at night, had I ever heard of the likes of him. from the bescar armor forged in the heart of a black flame forge (or so i've been told) to the galaxy known creed of mandalore, this being was the stuff of leadgeneds. To be feared and adorned wherever they so chose to walk. but not anymore. Not since the planet turned to glass a hundred years ago, destroying much of what was known of the infamous warriors.

     I don't think the aggressors saw me and the dangerous piece of weaponry clasped in my hand, instead they looked drunkenly amused at the new patron, like sly cats with a new toy. surveying his surroundings, the warrior's expressionless visor swept the room. He inspected the threat levels of the patrons, the bullies, the amphibious humanoid sucker that was caught under it all. The mandolorian made no comment as he momentarily swept over me, with my clenched fist around the vibroblade. Rather he ignored me entirely, leaning against the bar counter and staring absentmindedly at the wall ahead of him. The scum saw this as an odd mandolorian intimidation tactic and took it to heart, growling a string of multilingual insults. I couldn't quite understand all the words from their  chosen dialect, but something about a drink spilling and how it was somehow the mando's fault.

     when they didn't get a response, they snorted, puffing their chest out and stalking towards the armored newcomer. Continuing to talk in another language I didn't understand fully, the bar keep attempted to translate, feeling the tensions rise in the air. "He says you spilled his drink." a moment of silence, with the smell of anger wafting from the half intoxicated bantha shaggers, And the barman attempted to diffuse the situation by offering the men drinks to hopefully get them to settle down. And by the two suns it did not. The drink slid from the barkeep's hand and down the table. The mandolorian took it out of its trajectory and started the assault, smashing the creature's head on the counter to his right and simultaneously twisting the louder man on his left arm until the knife in his hand stabbed himself in the ass. As the third attempted to run out the front door, mando caught him with his grappling wire and pulled him back. The tangled creature got his blaster from a thigh holder and shot a round at his would-be captor. The blaster fire ricochet off the bescar Armour, bringing the mando's attention to his own firearm. With the tangled assaulter in the right position, mando fired a single shot at the door of the cantina, Forcing the wiring to go into hyperactive shut down, closing the doors around the alien. The doors struggled for a moment, and so did the thing caught in it, but nothing stopped the metal and electricity from slicing through the meat of its body. The legs of the now dead man fell to the ground at the door with a sickening thump.

     After this, the silence in the room was so thick you could swing at it with a hatchet and not make a dent in the shock factor. unsurprisingly enough, every patron went back to their own businesses with each other as if nothing had happened. A pair sitting at a table close to the door went swiftly to the half body to move it away to continue the flow of traffic as they then scurried out the doors, carrying the top half between them. Scavengers i bet, black market womp rats' i thought, sighing at how quickly the circle of life can flash before your eyes. death isn't something to be dewlled on in a universe like this, now back to the issue at hand.

     recollection hit me like a half ton of bricks when I remembered where I saw the face of the teal looking bastard with a knife previously on his neck. Spite flooded in my blood as I narrowed my eyes at my next target, shoving my vibroblade back in my thigh holster aggressively and stomping towards the useless excuse of flesh. "You're a dead man now, Mythrol." I said to myself. he must have heard me, or possibly sensed all the rage walking swiftly at him. His eyes upturned towards me, full of fear, but I now remember there is an ugly smugness to him too. I made it to the table, putting my hands down in front of him, leaning my top body weight on my palms. "You better have a divine excuse for not meeting me at that port you Druk Nerfhearder, or you'll be seeing the wrong side of the ice ocean outside in 30 seconds." I could barely contain my frustration with this sniveling worm, he was the reason i had to bunk with the disgusting oiled engineers for a week in hyperspace. The reason I had only 12 credits in my tech vault and less than that on hand. He scammed me out of a decent ride and my entire years savings. It was a genuine miracle how well I kept myself from not leaping over the table he sat at and giving him a new meaning to crazy bitch.  

     "H-hey, hey you, long time no see huh, man am I sorry for missing out on that meting we had that one time, sorry pal I kinda slept in-" but before he could make up any more exuces, any more lies, my vibroblade was at his throat right where the other man's was just a moment ago. He hissed and recoiled back in his seat, opening and closing his mouth a few times, trying to breathe, to speak. whichever it was, it wouldn't matter soon. He had talked enough in his lifetime to anger hundreds of poor victims throughout the parsec, letting him one last word would be a dishonor to all of them.

     Before I could press the blade into his flesh, a firm leather covered hand wrapped around my forearm, pulling it away carefully. I looked at the arm, attached to it was a shoulder, and atop the shoulder sat a gleaming bescar helmet. I felt my heart sink into the depths of my stomach, the anger switching places with feral panic that I tried my absolute best to contain. No words came from the mandolorian, a simple shake of his head was all i got. he loosened the grip on my arm, letting it recall back to my center of gravity.Ii looked down at the arm, looking for any obvious signs of damage, but his grip was closer to gentle and firm than harsh. A soft metallic thud brought my attention to the table, where the mando has tossed a puck. A bounty puck. Today was certainly a day for emotions, because T felt as pleased as a jawa coming across the flashing screen of Mythrol's face on the holographic screen projected by the puck.        Mytrol looked between me and the mandolorian a few times before painting his face with a fake smile, the wheels in his head turning into overdrive trying to make a lie up to get himself out of this one. "Is that me?" he questioned, the forced denial barely hiding the fear in his eyes. "Aw come on, I can pay you more than that pitiful bounty, a whole new cruiser," he pleaded, bargaining for his life. "on me, waddaya say."

     The mandolorian doesn't waste a breath to reply, his electronically filtered voice filling the getting-to-be awkward silence. "I can take you in warm." he placed a hand on his hip holster, bringing attention to the deadly gun strapped in it. "Or I can bring you in cold." Mythroll's face turned pale with fear, looking like a sort of pale blue spirit. Gulping down what could have been vomit, or another plea for life, he couldn't move at all, just staring at the mandolorian's unfeeling visor.

     The mandolorian slaps restraints on mythrol's wrists, pulling him up and out of his chair in one swift motion, the disparaged lump following along with his hands bound together. He seemed resigned to his fate as he was pulled out of the cantina, leaving in his wake and eruption of whispers and a few sobs of relief from the clientele of the bar. I myself was in a state of shock by what had happened and the intense speed at which it had occurred, Standing in front of a table with drops of blood on it not knowing what to do next. Mythrol had cheated me out of a lot of money, and he was just walking away, atoning for crimes he didn't commit against me. that in and of itself felt somewhat fair, fair to any of the galaxy he had screwed over so far.  

     My body flew back to my table mostly on its own, smashing into the chair at which I had just been sitting less than a minute ago. I hauled my ridiculously large bag over one shoulder, the extra strap free in the wind. I knew i had to at least try. for myself. Running back to the door panel where the halfed creature had met his end, I slammed the controls urgently, opening the door back out to the wild wind of Maldo Keris. Scanning the nearby environment was hard without protective goggles to shield me from the dust and yuck in the wind, but I spotted a pair of hulking figures 15 yards from the cantina, moving at a steady pace away. Try for me, I can do this one thing for myself. I sprinted as fast as I could with the pack over one shoulder, making me surely look like some sort of lame bantha to any possible onlookers. "Wait! wait please!" I called out to the mandolorian, my tone accidentally becoming demanding, but I think that helped to get the mandolorian's attention. They stopped and Mythrol looked at the mando, as if he was pleading to get him away from me in fear I had came back just to fight a mandolorinan for a chance to stab him again. As tantalizing as that thought was, the actions I were taking were purely selfish. I deserve justice just as much as any poor sap sad enough to cross paths with the scamming womp rat or the mystery person who called for the bounty.

     "Please let me come with you for when you collect his bounty." I asked somberly, stopping my chase a few paces away from the pair standing together. "I swear I wont take the credits from you, I just want to see him pay for what he's done." Tiny beads of sweat pearled at my brow, my breath was labored in my throat. Even walking with my bag was hard, but I had just chased down a bounty hunter and his captive. Strands of my hair stuck to my forehead and I wiped them away with the back of my forearm once they crept into my eyes.

   Mytrhol had to get his two cents in of course, holding the bounty hunter by the cape and making his eyes go wide with worry. "I don't know who this person is, don't let them come along, they could try to hurt me!" He plead, tugging on the cape like a whiny child. Now the anger came back, a cold rage in my fists, ready to start brutalizing someone at the drop of a pin. I narrowed my eyes at Mythrol, who didst bother to return the look. the mandolorian stared for a moment, looking off behind me in thought. The worry then set in, a fear whispered in the back of my skull 'You'll never get your closure and die alone on this hell planet.' My eyes went to the obsidian visor of the mando, creasing my brows together, subconsciously chewing on my lip as he made his decision. Loosening his shoulders, he slumped his head downward, as if morally defeated. I was taken aback by the conflict he was having about weather or not to let a weird stranger aboard his ship or not. oddly enough I understood his seeming frustration, I wouldn't let me go if I were him. He picked his head up after a second, looking me up and down as if to study me entirely. I felt eyes over my body, it was weirdly intimate. When he made his way back up to my eyes, he stood in silence for a moment before asking. "Do you have any weapons on you besides the blade?"

   Certainly a different question than what I thought was going to be asked, so for the answer, I had to think about it for a moment, mentally going through my bag and person. "n, no. I have my vibroblade. and a sack full of my electrician's tools, but they arn't traditional weapons." I responded earnestly, my tone going flat again. Another moment of silence, Mythrol looking quickly between the bounty hunter and myself.

   "If you truly wish to see the bounty delivered, I can take you to the trade. In exchange for the ride there, my ship needs mild internal repairs. If you try to cross me," He paused, a hand went to his blaster as a warning. A flashback to the cantina entered my forethought, the image of his hand on his blaster the same way as it was now moments before a man got cut in half. The warning was received properly, I felt thoroughly intimidated. "You'll be dead before you could pray to any gods." damn. That was intense. thoroughly intimidated, to the core. i took a breath in, almost allowing myself time to rethink my request in its entirity. but i responded with a quick nod. I knew my way around most ship interiors, if the ship wasn't rusted and breaking in half on take off, i knew i'd be able to mend it.

   The mandolorian gave no other word to me and turned, walking towards the ice flats docking crew. I allowed myself a cheeky smirk, fulfillment at the succession in my pursuit gave my heart a good warm squeeze. Following along behind the mandoloian a pace, he negotiated with the docking crew, asking oddly enough for a live pilot, not a droid. Some harmonic whistling came from the ferryman, hailing over a rust bucket of a speeder. As the speeder came to a stop to collect its haul, rusted pieces of under backing fell from the rear, clanking to the ice annoyingly. We all loaded into the speeder, I sat in front with the driver, the mando and his bounty in the back, a gloved hand around Mythrol's bicep at all times. We reached out frozen destination, the driver of the speeder calling one last warning to the three of us after collecting his dues and puttering off towards the port.

   I took a moment to asses the hull of the razor crest, it wasn't too bad for a pre new republic vessel. Some battle scars here and there around the landing gear, a charred blaster fire mark on the windows of the cockpit. This was truly the ship of a bounty hunter. Turning to follow the speeder's course, I couldn't help but feel a deep unease, he had warned about the ice planet's personal creature of death, Ravanack. Just then, the entire rusty hull of the speeder and its driver were swallowed whole in a single angry bite. The ravanack retreated back into the ice just as Mythroll let out a girlish scream of terror. He booked it twords the mandolorian who was opening the hatch to the belly of his ship, screaming for dear life to let him in. The ice where the speeder was swallowed started cracking in the direction of the ship, very quickly speeding directly at Mythrol.

   My instincts kicked in and I hopped out of the way, swinging myself onto the floor of the cargo hold of the ship with the momentum of my bag. Just as i got out of harms way, the mandolorian swung himself out of the ship to grab the petrified blue idiot only moments before the jaws of his early death lunged out of the ice, driving sickeningly deep into the landing gear of the razor crest. I winced at the damage done, scrambling back away from the flying Mythroll the mando had haphazardly chucked at me. The mandolorian seemed to ignore me entirely, herding his bounty into the cockpit with him. As the engines revved and the propellers blasted their heat down towards the ice at max capacity, the beast clung tightly to its prey of metal and paint, determined wholeheartedly to bring the ship down to its frigid death. The mando hopped down the ladder, rushing to the cargo bay door with his riffle. he stabbed the bayonet into the beast's head, sending a current of electricity into its skull. the beast roared furiously, releasing the ship and sinking back into the inky ocean.

   I collected myself and scrambled up off the floor. the cargo bay doors closed quickly, leaving the mandolorian and myself in the ambient humming of the bay. His breast plate rose and fell, getting less an less noticeable as he calmed down. turning towards me. He nodded at a upturned metal basket with a weather worn blanket tossed over it. I took the hint and put my bag on top of the makeshift stool, retrieving from it my more universal tools. Going from one job to another wasn't my ideal, but this was a more opportunistic adventure. My original goal was only ever to get off the sun bitten planet i was from, beyond that was up to fate, and I can't really complain about where it took me today. Now i'm headed to gods know where with a mandolorian and his bounty who single-handedly ruined the last year and a half's hard work I had done. turning my head towards the mandolorian, I saw him stand in the hallway between the cargo bay and the cockpit, eyeing his bounty.

   Words hung on the end of my tongue, ready to ask millions of questions out of pure adrenaline fueled thrill. But I stopped myself from spilling over, taking notice of the details in the mando's body for the first time. For the most feared warrior in the galaxy, this man looked as any other bounty hunter. His armor was chipped and dented, highlighting the flaws in the outer most shell of himself. A deep rooted curiosity took roots just then, desiring to know more of what laid under his iron and bescar plates. "Where should I start working first?" I asked as politely as possible. feeling a need to use respective words when in the presence of a man who just stabbed a water beast in the head. This got his attention away from the bounty if only for a moment. He paused for a second, going through the archives of his mind to see where needed the most urgent attention. Turning 180 degrees, he lifted a gloved hand to point at the panel of buttons and levers at the end of the metal room. It looked mostly in tact, but only mostly. There was blaster char at the center of the damage, near the bottom left hand corner of the panel itself. "Yikes." I whispered mostly to myself, reaching in my bag for a clean oil rag. Acknowledging the mandolrian's request with a glance and half nod, I got to work at the station. It looked to be the control panel for the gun hold under the main cargo bay. The possible stories tied with the maiming of this piece of equipment swarmed my mind, finding my own way of theorizing any number of adventurous tales.

   A few minutes go by, tweaking the damaged area as best I could to fit my hands into the circuitry. Mythroll passed by quickly, entering the open door of the munitions hold to the ladder down. I got nervous for a moment, than I heard him calling back to the mandolorian pilot, talking about molting and stellar seasons. What an odd being. Slimy thieving nerfhearder. Going back to work, not questioning the reasons tmythroll went down there. so wrapped up, figuratively and literally, in the wires of the control panel, i hadn't noticed mando sneaking past me, silent as death. I hadn't noticed him, that is, until I heard the thumping and crashing of combat and the pitiful yelps of the bounty rise to draw my attention toward the lower hold. Mythroll's shout cut short with an angry metallic hiss. The fear now taking a hold of my stomach, I pulled my hand out of the tangle to look nervously down the ladder, seeing the mando start his ascent. "carbon freezing." he said simply. I know his intention was to explain what had just happen in hopes to ease my worry, but no. it worried me more. Drawing my thought to the intense reality that I was willingly trapped on the ship of a proven dangerous bounty hunter. I felt rather idiotic in that moment, the crushing weight of the situation bringing me to a moral defeat. The mando slid by me, his body language more casual than it should have been seeing as how he had just half killed someone in the hold of his ship. He paused momentarily, looking over my work. nodding, He left in silence, returning to the cockpit.

   After a second, I gathered my thoughts and took a deep breath into my lungs. The reality of my life now was flipped upside down and tossed into a spinning vortex of crazy, but I know my strengths. I know myself and what i can handle. This? was obviously odd and scary and new, but the skills I cary can get me far. Exhaling, I focused my mind at the task at hand. Knowing my entire world was going to be changing from here on out was more calming than expected. The determination I felt towards my own new chapter of life soothed my aching back and fried nerves. This was going to be epic.

   A/N: i'm so glad to have finally finished this, holy hell ;-;    

[ur-not-reddie]

I Want To Be Like You

chapter two

chapter one

pairing: reddie

word count: 1.1k

warnings: none.. yet ;)

i’m so so soooo sorry this took 84 years to post. but here it finally is :)

@heterophobicrichietozier <3

-

Over the course of the next week, Richie has sat by Eddie every single day in class. He continues to blab his mouth, Eddie often letting out soft giggles. His joy of being around Richie has morphed into something stronger, he just can’t seem to name what it is. When class ends, the two always head back to Richie’s dorm after. They usually order something to eat, hop onto Richie’s bed as Richie plays his favorite scary movie trilogies for Eddie. They sit close together, shoulders touching as there is barely enough room just for the two of them. 

Eddie still hasn’t spoken a word to the other. He lets out soft hums in confusion, liking, disagreement, amusement, disgust - anything. Richie has learned the difference between Eddie’s tones of hums and how long or short he makes the vibrations in the back of his throat. 

Once the movie ends, Richie shuts off his laptop and pushes it to the other end of the bed. He then grabs at Eddie’s sides suddenly and starts tickling him. The smaller male gasps and lets out echoing laughter as he squirms around. 

“What do you want to do now?” Richie asks, stopping his movements. Eddie catches his breath as he thinks for a moment, humming as his brain ticks. 

“We could go get ice cream,” Eddie says sheepishly, feeling surprised at his own words and voice, not expecting to open his mouth and have words fall out like that.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good- wait what the fuck?” Richie cuts himself off, sitting up quickly, thinking that maybe he might be hallucinating. “Did you just talk?” Richie asks, staring into Eddie’s eyes intently, a bit confused. 

“Yeah…” Eddie’s cheeks flush bright red. Richie smiles widely, turning his body so that he’s fully facing Eddie.

“Say something again!” Richie claps excitedly. Eddie lets out more shy giggles before speaking again. 

“What do you want me to say?” Eddie’s cheeks burn brighter, not remembering when the last time he actually spoke was. 

“I don’t know?” Richie asks in an exhilarated type of tone. “Anything!” the smaller male giggles at Richie’s words, humming in thought, thinking carefully before opening his mouth again. 

“I like your blue hair,” Eddie compliments, his cheeks flushing a deep fire engine red. 

“You do?” Richie asks, furrowing his brows but a wide grin is still plastered on his lips. 

“Yeah,” Eddie smiles back, his tone soft and airy. “And your tattoos…” Eddie adds, his eyes shifting downcast as he’s feeling shy about the compliments that just pour out of his mouth, feeling slightly embarrassed. 

“So,” Richie continues on, gaining Eddie’s attention back. “Where are you from?” 

“A stupid, small town in Maine.” Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes as all the shitty memories start to wash over his brain. Richie can sense this and decides to intervene.

“Well I’m from New York,” Richie says proudly, puffing out his chest. Eddie snaps out of his daze, tilting his head up, looking at Richie with wonder. 

“Really?” Eddie asks with excitement, his smile reflecting Richie’s. 

“Yup!” Richie nods, popping the ‘P’. “Specifically Brooklyn.” 

“Did you like it there?” Eddie asks sheepishly, sighing gently as he tries not to panic over how much he’s talked so far. 

“Loved it, actually.” Richie leans back on his hands. 

“So what made you move to Minnesota?” Eddie asks, tilting his head slightly. 

“Why’d you?” Richie throws the question back, raising an eyebrow and smirking. 

“Do you want an honest answer?” 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Richie shrugs. 

Eddie falls silent for a few moments before he pours his heart out to Richie unintentionally. He explains his toxic situation with his mother, being brainwashed by a religion he doesn’t believe in, his constant medications which turned out to be placebos, and his laundry list of “illnesses” and so on. At one point Eddie chokes up as he explains about not having any friends growing up or in school due to how sheltered he was. Eddie keeps ranting and rambling on, words not filtering through his brain and escaping past his lips again. The conversation then somehow turns to relationships, explaining how he doesn’t know anything, only seeing shit in movies before spilling the truth about his first kiss. 

“And even my first kiss sucked because it was with a girl! And-” Eddie cuts himself off, hand slapping over his mouth as he stares at Richie with wide eyes. 

“Are you okay?” Richie furrows his brows together, letting out an airy chuckle. 

“I’ve-” Eddie closes his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. “I’ve never talked about that before…” 

“Your first kiss?” Richie asks. Eddie nods, letting out another deep breath. 

“It was horrible... nothing like I expected and it wasn’t what I wanted either.” Eddie can’t bear to look Richie in the eyes, feeling beyond embarrassed and ashamed. 

“Because it was with a girl?” Richie repeats Eddie’s words. 

“Yeah,” Eddie sulks, nodding his head. 

“So you like boys,” Richie states rather than ask. Eddie hums, nodding his head again. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly it.” Eddie then finds the little courage he has and meets Richie’s gaze, Eddie’s vision starting to blur with tears. 

“Aw, Eds, don’t cry.” Richie says, trying to comfort Eddie with his words as he doesn’t know how Eddie reacts to gentle, physical, light, innocent touches. 

Eddie starts to cry harder at this point, throwing himself into Richie’s arms and burying his face in his neck as he sobs uncontrollably. Richie is surprised at Eddie’s sudden action, but he wraps his arms gently around Eddie’s waist and holds him like that. Eddie keeps on, starting to choke on his own hiccups as his body quivers. 

“Eds,” Richie says softly, making Eddie look at him as Richie wipes away his tears. “It’s okay,” Richie flashes a comforting grin as he cups Eddie’s face. “It’s alright, I promise. I like boys too!” Eddie sniffs, looking Richie dead in his eyes. 

“You do?” 

“Mmhm,” Richie’s smile never leaves his lips. “I thought you knew that?”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that?” Eddie pulls back, not realizing he’s fully sitting in Richie’s lap. 

“Eds,” Richie snorts with laughter. “You can’t be serious?” 

“I am!”  Eddie shouts, his brows knitting together.  Richie shakes his head, snickering as he grabs his laptop, pulling it closer and pointing at a sticker. It takes Eddie a couple seconds before it sinks in that it’s the bisexual flag. “Oh…” Eddie’s cheeks flush yet again, feeling embarrassed once more. Richie cups Eddie’s face and tilts upward a bit. 

“With a huge preference for guys, by the way.” Richie’s smirk grows as he winks terribly. Eddie can’t help but shift his eyes down to Richie’s lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss him… what Richie’s piercings would feel like against his own lips. Eddie wishes he’s brave enough to lean in, to close the little gap between him and Richie, but he can’t seem to move. “Eddie?” 

“Huh?” Eddie sits up straight, looking back at Richie directly. 

“Do you want to?” Richie asks in a low, serious tone. Eddie nods frantically, knowing exactly what Richie’s asking. “Are you sure?” 

“Just shut up and fucking kiss me,” Eddie blurts out. Richie wastes no time and crashes their lips together, one hand pressed against Eddie’s cheek and the other on his hip. And the two stay like that… for what seems like forever.

[xoxoamf27]

White. I’ve always hated the color. You would never catch me in anything white unless it was absolutely necessary. Like a graduation, communion or wedding party. Black had always been my color of choice. It suited me, the way I felt, my outlook on everything, but now all my wardrobe consists of is white nightgowns. Who would have thought that a college educated girl who came from a seemingly normal and functional family would end up here in some facility in the middle of nowhere that is supposed to help me “get better” but in reality is only making me realize that this might have been the true destination I was headed toward for most of my life.

Looking back it all adds up. I had everything. Parents who loved me, a boyfriend who adored me much more than he should have and more than enough money than I knew what to do with. I was privileged, I was spoiled and I was unhappy even with the world practically at my feet. I rebelled every chance I got. I broke the hearts of my family over and over again. At first it was just your typical teenage disrespect but that wasn't enough for me. I had to go bigger, do worse, something inside my head was always nagging me to see how much farther I can push myself when it came to my limits and the limits of others.

I would purposely stay out late, not call or text for days just to have everyone worry about me. Of course I fell in with a bad crowd. Whether it was smoking, boozing, fucking, you name it, I indulged in it and had no care in the world about the consequences. I’ve had my stomach pumped more times than I can count on both my hands.

No one could ever figure out why I am the way I am. Mental illness didn't run in my family. My mother didn't control me, my father didn't assault me. Maybe they should have, then maybe I’d have a real, tangible reason as to why I act the way I do besides the ominous dark feelings that come over me and take me to the point where the new version of myself becomes so strong there is no sense in fighting back. So I don’t. I lay back, let it take over and let the feelings of adrenaline and danger consume me and take me to places I never dreamed.

There was something about feeling like you're a lost cause that gave me a sick feeling of satisfaction. I knew I was different, I knew I was sick but a part of me enjoyed it, so much so that it ultimately led to my extended stay here. Who knows if I’ll ever get out of here. In all honesty, if I were any of these doctors I wouldn't let me out. I am a danger, not just to others, mostly to myself. I’m self destructive and no matter how hard I try, the cycle can’t be stopped.

This isn't the first place I've been shipped off to in an attempt to get my life back on track but it will definitely be the last. I can’t go through sitting in another circle with a group of strangers listening to their truly painful and pitiful pasts as I simply sit there and imagine what I’d be doing if I wasn't forced to sit here and feign interest. Not to mention being forced to where one of those insufferable “Hi, my name is Holly” stickers.

What no one knows is the voices were my first friends. I heard them for the first time when I was ten, but they went away for awhile leaving me alone. They resurfaced when I was fifteen and thats when I started to change. I gave into what they wanted, what they suggested. At first, I was scared but as I got used to it, I thrived. I no longer felt scared or held back by anything but feeling like that comes with a price and I'm paying the price for it now.

I’m tired of the pills, I’m tired of the doctors, I’m tired of the blood that trickles down my wrists when I feel trapped. I have to make a decision, do I ultimately embrace my madness and live out my days continuing this vicious cycle or do I end my pain?

I’m not sure what to do, I never have been. I mainly fly by the seat of my pants but I think I’m over all of it. I have no possible career in sight, I’ve never stayed in a job long enough to see if it was really for me. No real friendships or relationships to look forward to getting back to. I never had many girlfriends and the ones I had were never able to keep up with me and as for my boyfriend I mentioned earlier, he was too good for me. I didn't like seeing him hurt and disappointed in me every time he laid his gorgeous blue eyes on me. He only wanted what was best for me and I promised that I would try to make it work but him and I both knew that it wouldn't stick so we ended it. He was more heartbroken than I was, not that I didn't love him, actually maybe I didn’t. Maybe I was using him so I wouldn't be alone.

Something about being alone frightens me thats why a part of me doesn’t want the voices to go away. I know how it sounds, trust me. Who wants to live life being controlled by destructive voices that run through their head? I mainly want them because their comforting to me, in a way they understand me better than anyone else, which is sad considering their voices and not actual people. I’ve tried to make genuine and lasting connections with others but it never felt natural.

I’m twenty five now and frankly I’m exhausted. The once wild and reckless life I lived for nearly a decade, drained the drive out of me. I’ve come to realize it more now over my weeks here, I’m tired, more than I should be for my age. I just want to sleep, to relax, not to worry. To just close my eyes and float away.

I walked around barefoot as I thought to myself. No one is awake, it is a little after midnight. The orderlies were taking their usual late night coffee break at this hour. I’ve learned the rotation and how to get around unnoticed. Its relatively quiet tonight, I haven’t heard any screams, maybe tonight is a good night after all. As I make my way to the roof, I lingered as I felt the warm summer breeze against my skin. Summer used to be my favorite time of year, but I cant remember the last time I enjoyed a trip to the beach or the feel of the sun on my skin.

The moon was also beautiful, it was full and shined so brightly, it was almost blinding. I ran my fingertips over my scarred arms and remembered each time I dragged that cold, sharp blade against my skin. My arms are like a tragic work of art.

As I stood at the ledge I knew it would hurt but maybe only for an instant, I was no stranger to pain after all, what was wrong with one last bout of it? I knew it would be a mess to clean up for whoever would be tasked with removing me from the pavement but I didn't really care how it would be done.

I was waiting for the voices to start screaming at me for what I was about to do but shockingly I heard nothing. Maybe they knew I had given up and accepted the fact that our time together was over. Its bittersweet in a way, to not hear them at this moment. My heart was pounding so loudly you would think it would be audible to someone else. I forced my eyes shut as it felt as if everything was standing still. I took a deep breath and realized there was no going back, I waited for a split second to see if any of the familiar voices that I had come to know over all these years would call out to me, begging me to stop, to turn around, to go back to bed but there was nothing. I felt myself mouth the words “I’m sorry” as I quickly thought of my parents and all the tears I caused them.

I stepped forward and there was no longer anything beneath me, I was falling and I knew in that instant, I was finally free.

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Big News

Summary: Sarah and Ava have big news for the groupchat.

WC: ~1.5k

[Other Bekker renamed the chat “HOUSE PARTY”]

Other Bekker: it’s official

Other Bekker: i own a house

Other Bekker: with my WIFE!!!!!!

Bekker: We’re throwing a housewarming party and everyone’s invited!

Dr. Lanik: What’s the dress code

Other Bekker: casual if you wear a suit ill kill you

Ethan Choi: When? 

Bekker: We were thinking it would start at around six or seven? It would mean a lot to us if Crockett could make it.

FreeWilly: Will there be alcohol?

Other Bekker: some of us are sober. No

no-ah: I’m in

Maggie<3: Wait who’s sober other than Crockett?

Dr. Lanik: Me

Other Bekker: me

connor: @OtherBekker there was an open bar at your wedding

Bekker: Circumstances change

Ethan Choi: This is such a fun conversation. Let’s not have it.

April: So back to the party… details!

Other Bekker: ill send the address in a bit but its gonna be potluck style. Everybody brings food. itll be pretty casual so dont be that asshole (@Dr.Lanik). starting at six ish and ending at maybe 10 or 11 depending on how tired we all are

Ethan Choi: Crockett’s program usually ends at like 5:30 so we might be a little late?

Other Bekker: ok sounds good. how is he btw

Ethan Choi: Pretty well. He’s outpatient for another few weeks and then his doctors are going to discuss long term options. Hopefully he’ll be back at work soon, too

April: Tell him we’re proud of him?

Ethan Choi: As soon as I pick him up tonight.

-

Sarah: are we telling them tonight?

Wifey: I was thinking so, yes. I mean, we have our house, and the paperwork went through.

Sarah: im so excited

Wifey: Me too, honey

-

Nat: Not to alarm anybody but whoever’s in charge of Connor right now, come to treatment 4

FreeWilly: love the implication that we take turns babysitting him

Dr. Lanik: We kind of do. I think it’s Maggie’s turn.

Maggie<3: I’m not at work. Who’s next in line?

April: @QueenElsa

Queen Elsa: Fine

connor: im a big boy i can take care of myself

Nat: You literally have a concussion

Ethan Choi: Why?

Nat: He fainted after a surgery. His sugar is low on the finger prick and he said he hasn’t had any water since his shift started

Dr. Lanik: @connor We’ve talked about this

connor: ok boomer

Dr. Lanik: @connor Stop calling me a boomer! We’re the same age!

connor: ok

connor: boomer

Bekker: Can you grow up @connor

connor: no

Queen Elsa: Update for everyone, Connor is getting a CT. He’s eating a Snickers bar right now and we’re pushing fluids

FreeWilly: youre not you when youre hungry

Dr. Lanik: @Bekker @OtherBekker What day will your housewarming party be? My daughter’s birthday is Friday.

Maggie<3: IM SORRY YOUR WHAT

Other Bekker: ?????

Bekker: We were thinking Saturday.

April: @FreeWilly Did you know about this???????

FreeWilly: uh yeah?

no-ah: Why did none of us know you had a daughter?

Dr. Lanik: I just don’t see how it’s any of your business.

Nat: How old is she? Who’s her mother? What school does she go to? How did we go this long without knowing?

[Dr. Lanik has sent an image to the chat]

Dr. Lanik: This is Emma, she’s almost eleven, and this is the most information any of you will ever be getting about her.

Ethan Choi: Well this has been a wild ride

Other Bekker: now taking bets on how crockett will react. $10 says he thinks its a joke

no-ah: Coward. He knows everything. $20 says he already knew.

Other Bekker: youre on

Queen Elsa: ...Anyways, Connor’s CT came back alright. It’s a minor concussion; he’ll be fine soon. 

Maggie<3: That’s good

Dr. Lanik: @FreeWilly and I will look after him.

Ethan Choi: Just picked up Crockett, he says hi. He also has letters for each of you as part of his process

Nat: That’s sweet

Ethan Choi: I have been assured none of them contain nudes

Other Bekker: thank g-d

Ethan Choi: I’ll be giving them to you all at work.

Ethan Choi: Crockett will be cooking something I won’t even try to pronounce for the housewarming party

Other Bekker: his cooking is all so good...

no-ah: It slaps

Queen Elsa: Is it that pasta thing??? With the crawfish????

Ethan Choi: Honestly, I don’t know.

Nat: Owen and I are bringing cookies.

Bekker: Important question, @Dr.Lanik… will Emma be coming?

Dr. Lanik: No. I don’t want her near any of you.

connor: hes got a point

Maggie<3: Have you never, in your life, had to bring her to a doctor?

Dr. Lanik: We use East Mercy so that you all keep your noses out of my life.

FreeWilly: ouch

April: I mean, if I had a daughter, I wouldn’t want any of you near her either.

Nat: Harsh, I trust you with my son

April: You’re different.

Bekker: Do I hear wedding bells?

Nat: @April What if we kissed in the doctor’s lounge… and we’re both girls?

Nat: Haha just kidding

Nat: Unless…?

April: Did you just hit on me with a meme

Nat: Did it work?

Other Bekker: another win for the gaydies

Other Bekker: THEY BOTH JUST WENT INTO THE DOCTORS LOUNGE JHGFKHFRH

Ethan Choi: Crockett laughed 

connor: do you read these messages to him?

Ethan Choi: Sometimes. He likes to be in the loop.

FreeWilly: hot take but. we could just add him back to the chat?

Ethan Choi: He’s not ready for that yet, but he does like to be updated on your lives and one-on-one texting is stressful for him

Other Bekker: we spend more time talking about crockett now than we did when he was in the chat

no-ah: Sweet I have my Crockett letter

Ethan Choi: I'll put them in your lockers. My shift is starting so I'm turning my phone to silent. 

Other Bekker: Crockett Time

Bekker: Did he write me one?

Other Bekker: @Bekker both mine and yours are in my locker i think. one is for "blonde bekker" and one is for "brunette bekker"

no-ah: That's what he has your contacts saved as 

Queen Elsa: Mine is just a smiley face sticker in an envelope?

Other Bekker: jsyk we should probably keep these private! this is important to him

Maggie<3: I'm so excited to see him again on Saturday, I've missed him.

FreeWilly: He's been busy. I think his program is like eight to five every day but Sunday

Nat: What's that even like?

Other Bekker: they have an in house aa group that meets a few times a day and theres a ton of other support like therapy to get to the root of the problem. i mean before he got sober the first time he was self medicating 

Other Bekker: he does a lot of art therapy i think. when he was inpatient he kept mailing paintings to my wife and i 

-

Curry (Not Dr.): Hey, it's Elsa Curry from Med. Sarah gave me your number. I was just wondering why you gave me a sticker?

Crockett: dont u put them on the inside of your binder? the one u put ur case notes in at the end of ur shift 

Curry (Not Dr.): How did you know that?

Crockett: u pull ur binder out when ur stressed to reference old cases. i thot u might like another sticker so u know ur not in this alone

Crockett: :)

-

[crickett has renamed the chat "dick bros"]

crickett: @connor do u wanna fuck again this weekend lmao

connor: ???

connor: i thought that was a one time thing

Ethan Choi: It doesn't have to be. 

-

Maggie<3: @Bekker @OtherBekker Sorry I'm running a little behind! I couldn't find my keys

Bekker: No harm, no foul!

[Bekker has sent an image to the chat]

Bekker: Definitely hurry, we're having so much fun!

-

Crockett: baby

HUBBY: I'm sitting right beside you.

Crockett: ik but im feeling kinda overwhelmed 

HUBBY: Do you want to go home?

Crockett: i think i just need air will you cover for me if someone comes looking

-

Other Bekker: THANK YOU @Maggie<3 FOR ACTUALLY HELPING CLEAN UP 

FreeWilly: sorry!

connor: sorry ahhhhhh i didnt think about it 

Nat: Congrats again, you two, this is huge!

April: ^^

no-ah: Will we get to meet her, or will she be a secret like Laniks daughter?

Bekker: You'll all definitely get to meet her, but let's not do so much at once? Adjusting to a new home is hard, and from what the adoption agency tells us, she's had a rough go of it.

no-ah: Of course! 

Queen Elsa: No little girl could have a better home! Congratulations on your daughter and I wish you really good luck. If you ever need help, we're all here!

Dr. Lanik: She's about eight, right?

Bekker: Yes

Dr. Lanik: If she needs help adjusting, let me know, and maybe Emma and I can help. She was about that age when I adopted her.

connor: the Lanik lore we are getting today omg

Dr. Lanik: You'll both be great parents, and @OtherBekker don't hesitate to let me know if you need extra time off. This is a big deal and you shouldn't have to stress about work when you should be worrying about your family. @Bekker I'll also ask Dr. Latham to be lenient with you as well.

Other Bekker: thank you from both of us <3

connor: who knew lanik had a heart. 

[sohmariku]

RIKU’S RANDOM LIFE: BACK FROM JAPAN & SOUTH-KOREA

I safely made my way back home yesterday. Compared to last year, this year’s flight was as enjoyable as it can be, but yeah... not being ill does most certainly make a flight a 100 times better. Strangely, this probably was the first time in my life I was actually happy to go home. Not that I didn’t like my time in Japan, it’s just... when I left I was already emotionally overloaded and not having sufficient time to myself for three weeks didn’t make things any better. Thus, I’m glad to be home and have some time to myself. And it might also be related to the fact that most places I wanted to go were left in a state of devastation by Tyfoon no.19, so... I kind of ran out of things to do.

So now it’s time to look at the damage that’s been done (to my wallet). Spreading everything I bought out on my floor I can tell I once again bought too many things. Some things were rather expensive, other things were surprisingly cheap...

NENDOROID HAUL

When I left for Japan, I was planning to buy two new Nendoroids to add to my collection, Sengo Muramasa and Ishikirimaru. Which I did in Akihabara. Then, as it happened, Hachisuka was released right as I came to Japan. Though I didn’t buy him instantly, I returned to the shops the next week to get him after all. Then, I also ran into Kasen Kanesada. He was relatively cheap and... I guess I felt my Sayo just needed a friend. At the same time I also found the petit version of Hachisaka for a couple hundred yen. Had to get him too! While shopping in Nakano I ran into a very cheap Taikogane. He appeared to be in perfect shape, so I had to get him. Before I left for Japan I had noticed one of my Kashu Nendo’s faces had lost an earring and by chance I ran into a separately sold face. Also bought a random (funny) face. And in Machida I bought the random patient body.

MANGA HAUL

I didn’t buy that many manga in the end. First of all I caught up with Rengoku ni Warau, because I like the series and would like to have it complete. Then, at some point I was in a funny mood and decided I needed Dororo. Somehow managed to find all volumes in the Book-Off. Also found the Touken Ranbu the Movie novel right there at a ridiculously low price, so just took it. Kuroshitsuji vol.28 was a surprise purchase, because according to my Manga Inventory List I already owned the volume. Except, it was released in 2019 and last time I came to Japan was 2018. Just checked our Manga library and discovered what went wrong. I seem to have mistaken vol.18 for vol.28... That’s what you get when they count in these ridiculous ways...XVIII or XXVIII... I also seem to have vol.18 double, that’s probably why I didn’t notice before.

TOUMYU/SUTE HAUL

The Mihotose 2019 and MusuHaji blu-rays had been on the to-purchase list from the very start, but due to other expenses it wasn’t until the very last day. I only did purchase MusuHaji in the end, because I had to withdraw money from the ATM and didn’t want to withdraw only 2000 yen. (The amount I actually needed) It wouldn’t make sense considering the fees I’d be paying. So, I withdrew 9000 yen and purchased MusuHaji. (Instead of ordering it online later...) Surprise purchases were the Be in Sight and Kodou singles. I wasn’t planning on getting them, but they were cheap. Same for the bromide, postcards and can badge.  The Mihotose novel was something I only decided to purchase quite late, because well, I’ll be back to subtitling Mihotose, might as well get the official script this time.  The pen light eventually became a necessary purchase, because I had forgotten to bring my pen lights to the show and... I needed a pen light. Plus, it has new colors, so... I kind of needed it either way. Thought it’s not pictured, I also got one of the Kisho Hongi scarves. (Tonbokiri colors)

BLU-RAY/DVD HAUL

None of this was really planned, but since it was super cheap I couldn’t resist bringing it. I’m mostly happy to find the Bakumatsu Rock blu-ray at such a low price (2800 yen). Since I saw the show in the theater I’ve been dying to see it again, but I didn’t really have spare money to buy it at full price. What mostly surprises me about the other discs though, they’ve never been opened and I managed to buy them at those bargain prices! It’s a mystery...

KOREA HAUL

This is my (Daiso) Korea haul. While in Korea I somehow haven’t had any real opportunity to go shopping. Or maybe I just didn’t feel like it. So, the one time I had some minutes to spare I hopped into the Daiso and tried to find something to bring home.Of course, I ended up with socks... the one thing I absolutely don’t need, but... they are so cute!!  And of course I had to end up with cat toys! I don’t even have a cat yet, but I do have a load of cat toys, so why not add to that? xD (I’ll be getting a cat very soon though!) The only things that didn’t come from Daiso are the chocolate-filled marshmallows, got those at a convenience store.

FIGURES

For two years I’ve owned Yasusada, for two years I’ve been looking for Kashu. I found them as a set in Nakano. I bought them as a set in Nakano. Now I still have a lonely Yasusada. Guess the search continues... Or I need to find a new home for my spare Yasusada. ^^;;

More little cuties I simply couldn’t leave behind. Luffy was just a figure I got by chance. I don’t follow the series really, but I tried the gacha anyway. The little figure was one of two A-prizes. They also had B and C prizes. I had lots of luck that day.

GACHA GACHA

Lots of little things I got from the gacha machines. I just can’t resist these! The little fan came in the treasure chest. I adore the little gacha machines. (Didn’t add stickers to the blue one yet) And I’m just overall happy with the results...

DAISO JAPAN HAUL

Can’t skip Daiso in Japan. Once again, I got myself more socks. Four pairs in total, two pair not pictured because I wore those and they are in the laundry. Got some craft goods that might come in handy. Some skin peel and the candy my mom came to like while she was in Japan (as a present for her). 

FOOD HAUL

As always, I end up with some random food. The Touken Ranbu Manju were a gift from a friend. The white envelope thing is a tea given to us by random elementary students from Shizuoka. The purple bag contains apple-pie flavored kitkats. I got my favorite potato&bacon cup-a-soup. Some dark chocolate snickers. Obviously I couldn’t forget about some Black Thunder bars either... anyway, just lots of random food.

RANDOM

A tea cup from Odawara castle, little squirrel/cockatiel magnet from Machida squirrel garden. A random Seigaku tennis ball. One Piece magnet. Neko magnet (from daiso). Other Touken goods. Some mask (also from One Piece) I still need to assemble and won by beating the Usopp game in One Piece Tower. A little konnosuke figure to decorate my earphones... and some yellow washi tape I got for free when shopping at Lashinban for some reason. The Saiyuki bromides were gifts given to me.

POKEMON

Last but not least, we increased our clear pokeball collection. Last year we got the squirtle, this year we expanded with Lycanroc and Alolan Raichuu. It’s all random what you get. I had hoped to get others, but these aren’t bad either. ^^

---

And that’s the full haul. It’s really quite a lot, but I don’t regret any purchase. ^o^

[searchingwardrobes]

Happy Valentine’s Day, @lassluna! I’m your cssv! It’s been great getting to know you these past few weeks. I hope this little gift lightens the load of your studies. You said you liked modern aus, friends to lovers, and angst. I hope this delivers. I’m not one hundred percent thrilled with the ending, but I wanted you to get this on v-day. Hope you like it anyways!

Title: Calling in Sick

Rating: G

Words: 7,00+

                An irritating boss, a bikini, and Emma faking an illness. That’s what Killian Jones says brought them together. Emma Swan says he’s overplaying the bikini and downplaying the flu and fever-induced delirium.

              Maybe we should go back to the beginning of the story . . .

              A flu epidemic had hit New York, the entire US actually, and maybe beyond. But Emma Swan’s had the flu shot. Regina Mills, her boss, doesn’t know that, however. So Emma’s got a plane ticket for a long weekend in Bermuda. Just the thing she needs to escape from the bitter cold, her infuriating boss, and the sneezing, snotting masses on the subway.

              Emma grins as she packs her suitcase, humming under her breath as she glances at the clock. It’s 9 am, which means Regina is most likely already on the rampage about something, stalking around the office in her sensible pantsuit with a murderous scowl on her face. Emma is already glad she’s called in “sick,” and she hasn’t even headed to the airport yet. Just as she grabs the brand new, bright red string bikini she just bought from her bureau drawer, she hears a loud knock at her door. She frowns as she walks out of her bedroom and down the hall. Security in her building is tight, and the doorman hadn’t buzzed her about a visitor. There are only two people Marco would just let upstairs to her apartment. Either Mary Margaret or –

              “Killian?” Emma frowns in irritation as she leans against the door jamb.

She realizes the bikini is still dangling from her right hand and quickly balls it up in her fist, which she then tucks into her side. Killian doesn’t even seem to notice, however, which should have been her first clue that he wasn’t himself. He is a master flirt, able to turn almost anything into an innuendo. It was why she had hated him at first, until she saw that the cocky, bad boy persona was nothing more than that – a persona. Just like her prickly, screw the world attitude. In the end, they understood each other. Which switched Killian from the “work enemy” column to “work best friend” column. (“You mean your work crush,” corrects Mary Margaret’s voice in her head, but Emma silences it like she always does.)

“Why aren’t you at work?” Emma adds when all Killian does is stare at her with glassy eyes.

“On my way,” he croaks out in a scratchy voice, “but I had to stop by and confirm my suspicions. You, my darling, are clearly not sick.”

Emma huffs, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of her face, “Please, Killian, like you didn’t call in sick after the World Cup last year because you were hung over. Just call it a mental health day. Believe me, it’s in Regina’s best interest.”

“Well, your mental health day is why I’m having to drag my sick arse to the office. Because we both called in, Regina thinks I’m faking.”

Killian, who is normally infinitely patient where Emma is concerned, sounds thoroughly pissed at her. Emma takes a minute to really look at him. His hair is messier than it normally is, and his blue dress shirt is slightly wrinkled, buttoned up wrong, and only half tucked in. Killian may go for “artfully disheveled,” but he’s never downright messy in his appearance. His eyes are also dulled rather than their normal bright blue, and his cheeks are flushed. When he sways slightly on his feet, Emma becomes truly alarmed. She goes to him immediately, ushering him into her apartment as she slings his left arm over her shoulder. He sags against her.

“That bitch,” she mutters as she maneuvers him onto the couch, “she said, what? Come in today or you’re fired?”

“Pretty much,” Killian answers as he pulls the afghan slung over the back of the couch over himself. He tries to chuckle, but his teeth are chattering too much.

Emma hurries to the bathroom for a thermometer. When she comes back, Killian has discovered the string bikini that she had tossed onto the coffee table when she brought him inside.

“I must say, Swan,” he teases as he dangles it from his fingertips, “I do wish I were faking sick. You were going to don this on your getaway without me there to enjoy it?”

Emma rolls her eyes as she snatches it out of his grip. At least he’s well enough to waggle those eyebrows of his. She silences any further innuendos by shoving the thermometer under his tongue, but even with the instrument in his mouth, he grins at her salaciously. This is their thing. He flirts audaciously, she purposefully ignores him. Sometimes she tosses him a biting retort. And for some reason, it works.

“Killian Jones!” she exclaims after the thermometer beeps its result, sounding far too much like Mary Margaret when she scolds David. “103.9! You should be at the hospital!”

Killian shakes his head as he pulls the blanket to his chin. “N-no w-way,” he stutters against his rattling teeth, “th-that place is a zoo right now.”

Emma frowns and swears some more under her breath as she pulls out her cell phone and dials the office. “I’m giving that woman a piece of my mind,” she mutters, tapping her fingers impatiently against her thigh as Regina’s cell rings. “Does she live under a rock? There’s a flu epidemic for God’s – “ Emma is cut off when Regina answers in her typically half-irritated voice.

“Regina,” she bites out, standing up and pacing with her free hand on her hip, “listen, I don’t know what the crap you’re thinking demanding that Killian come in today. He’s got a fever of almost 104, and he can barely walk. It’s obvious he has the flu.”

“And yet the two of you are together,” Regina snaps back. Emma can almost feel her smug grin through the phone. “Just as I suspected. And you sound rather hearty and healthy to me, Ms. Swan.”

“We ran into each other at the doctor’s office for your information,” Emma seethes. She catches Killian’s eye, and he arches both eyebrows, clearly impressed at her smooth lie.

“Fine, Ms. Swan, but I expect a doctor���s note.” And with that, Regina abruptly hangs up.

“Crap,” Emma mutters as she tosses her cell onto the coffee table in irritation.

“What is it?” Kilian asks, his brow furrowing in concern. He starts to try and sit up, which requires way more energy than it ought to.

“Oh no you don’t,” Emma reprimands him quickly, sitting down next to him and grabbing hold of his knee before he can stand. “She just wants a doctor’s note, that’s all.”

Killian whimpers and frowns like a puppy. “I don’t want to go to the doctor either.”

Emma laughs lightly, “Don’t worry, I’ve got something up my sleeve. Now let’s get you out of this shirt and jeans so you’re more comfortable.”

Killian must be getting worse because the innuendo she was fully aware of walking into never comes. Instead, he silently lets her unbutton his shirt and ease his arms out. Emma goes to her bedroom to retrieve a t-shirt she had swiped from his place, and when she comes back he’s down to his boxer briefs and is easing his legs back under the afghan.

Emma helps him into the soft, cotton shirt, and he sighs as she props an extra pillow under his head. “Thank you,” he half-whispers, his eyes fluttering as he struggles to stay awake.

Emma shakes her head at him as she swipes his hair out of his eyes, “Why didn’t you get the flu shot like a sane person?”

“I meant to . . . just . . . ran out of time . . . “ Killian mumbles, voice trailing off as he drifts off to sleep.

Emma has to wake him up when Ruby gets there. Her friend is standing behind the couch where Killian can’t see her, and Emma shoots daggers at her as she mouths “Oh. My. God.”

“Killian,” Emma tells him as she shakes him gently by the shoulder, “my friend his here. She’s a doctor.”

Killian blinks rapidly, then groans as he sits up too fast, clutching his head as he flashes Ruby what would normally be a charming smile. “Apologies, lass. I don’t like meeting one of Emma’s friends in such poor condition.”

Ruby smiles coyly as she sits next to Killian on the couch. “Oh trust me, it won’t take much to impress me. Most of my patients require a lollypop and a sticker.”

Both of Killian’s eyebrows shoot up as he glances at Emma, who laughs. “Ruby’s a pediatrician.”

“But,” Ruby explains as she slips her thermometer in Killian’s mouth and a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm, “I can get you both doctor’s notes for the Evil Queen, no questions asked. And get you a prescription of Tamiflu.”

From her spot on the arm of the loveseat, Emma shrugs at Killian. “And she makes house calls.”

Ruby swabs Killian’s mouth so she can run the flu test. Fifteen minutes later, the test results are positive. She also finds that his blood pressure is low, which means he’s probably dehydrated, and his temperature has gone up to 104.3. It all concerns Emma greatly, even more so when Killian falls asleep before Emma’s even shown Ruby to the door. Not to mention that Ruby is extremely attractive and a major flirt, yet Killian didn’t hit on her once. At the door, Emma’s frowning deeply as Ruby gives her directions on giving him plenty of fluids and warns her that the Tamiflu and his fever might cause him to be a little loopy.

Emma nervously crosses her arms over her chest. “I won’t lie, Ruby I’m worried. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s obviously really sick.”

“I promise you, Emma, he’ll be okay. It’s not the worst I’ve seen, and he caught it early. The medicine will help.” Ruby tilts her head and narrows her eyes as she peruses Emma’s face. Then she leans forward and presses her hand to Emma’s forehead.

Emma leans away from her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re not sick. Because I can’t understand how a healthy woman could be around a man – a single man – who is that hot on a regular basis and still have him firmly in the friend zone.”

Emma frowns and bats Ruby’s hand away. “Because I don’t make a habit of sleeping with guys I work with.”

Ruby arches one brow at her. “Not talking about just sleeping with him. Now that I’ve actually met him, it’s clear that Mary Margaret is right. You care about him.”

Emma rolls her eyes as she grabs Ruby by the shoulders and steers her through the front door. “Yeah, okay, because I want to make sure he doesn’t die on my couch. I must be madly in love.”

“You sure are protesting an awful lot,” Ruby shoots back.

“Goodbye, Ruby,” Emma tells her, shutting the door on her friend just as she goes to open her mouth again. Emma sags against the door for a moment before shaking off Ruby’s comments. She needs to get fluids in Killian and run to the pharmacy to fill his prescription.

And she also has to make a phone call to the airlines about the trip to Bermuda that she won’t be taking.

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

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. She gets Killian to take his medicine, but getting him to take any fluids proves much more difficult. All he wants to do is sleep. At lunch time, she brings him some chicken broth, but he shakes his head. When he does, she notices that his hair is soaked and plastered to his forehead. When she checks his temperature again, it’s 104.5.

“I’m freaking out here,” she tells Ruby when she calls her friend in a panic. “Are you sure I shouldn’t take him to the hospital?”

“I’m sure. The ER is insane right now anyway. He won’t be priority, and he’ll sit there miserable for hours.”

Emma’s brow creases with worry as she shifts the phone to her other ear. Even though he’s sleeping, Emma turns her body away from Killian and whispers her next words into her cell. “But aren’t people . . .dying of this?”

“That’s mostly the elderly and very young children,” Ruby quickly assures her, “Killian is a strong, healthy man in his thirties.” Despite Ruby’s words, news stories Emma has seen swim before her mind. One about a seemingly healthy fifteen year old and another about a 28 year old mother of two. As if she can read Emma’s mind, Ruby continues, “Or they are people who waited too long to go to the doctor or they refused medication. I promise you, he’s going to be fine.”

Emma lets out a shaky breath. “There isn’t anything more I can do?”

“A cool sponge bath could help with the fever –“

Emma groans as she interrupts her friend. “Ruby! I’m being serious!”

“So am I! Geez, Emma! If you’re so uncomfortable with his masculinity, just bathe his face and neck. Of course there’s nothing I can do to protect you from his pretty face . . .”

“Hanging up now, Rubes!” Emma tells her as she pulls the phone away from her ear. Even then, she can hear her friend’s laughter before she ends the call.

Emma squares her shoulders and goes to wet a washcloth in the bathroom. When she returns to the couch, she reminds herself of all the times Killian has put her to bed when she’s had too much to drink. Of all the times she’s nabbed one of his t-shirts and then curled up next to him on the couch to watch Netflix. All of that was completely platonic.

And so is this, she reminds herself as she settles Killian’s head in her lap. He lets out a long, shuddering breath as she brushes back his sweaty bangs. Then she runs the cool cloth along his forehead, trying not to be alarmed at the heat pulsing from his skin.

“Are we on the beach?” he mutters.

Emma laughs, “No, Killian. We’re in my apartment. And it’s winter.”

“But I thought you were wearing a red bikini.”

She bites her lower lip, “No, Killian.”

“Oh. Must be dreaming then. I have lots of dreams about you.”

Emma shakes her head, smiling at his delirium. She isn’t sure if it’s the medicine or the fever, and she wonders what will come out of his mouth next.

“Because I love you, you know. I dream about you because I love you.”

Emma’s hand freezes where it was running the washcloth along his jaw. She forces a nervous laugh past her lips. “You’re delirious, Jones.”

His eyes flutter open, and even though he’s clearly struggling to focus his gaze on her face, the blue of his eyes holds an intensity that arrests her. “I’m not. It’s true. I love you, Emma. I have since that very first day.”

His voice is strong until the last few words, and then he sags a bit against her, as if speaking has drained him of all his energy. Yet he continues talking, his words slurring and dragging as he fights sleep. “But you had such high walls . . . took . . . my time . . . and now we’re friends . . . don’t want to . . . mess that up . . . “

Emma keeps bathing his face for a moment, staring at the familiar ginger sprinkled amidst his dark scruff, the tiny scar beneath his right eye, the unfairly long lashes fluttering against his skin. Skin that feels a little less heated than it had before, so Emma eases Killian off her lap, and rises on shaking legs. She paces to the window, gazing out at the dreary, gray January day. She rubs at her throat as Killian’s words play on a loop in her mind. “I love you, you know. . . It’s true. I love you, Emma.” And it is true, she knows this. She could see it so clearly in his eyes. Maybe she knew before, if she were honest, but it had been easy to pretend that those feelings weren’t there. That he was just her friend and nothing more. But now the words have been released and there’s no going back.

Emma contemplates continuing on as before, pretending nothing has happened. He probably won’t remember any of this tomorrow, anyway. Emma paces some more, gnawing at her bottom lip. The thing is, she will still know. And what makes it worse is that his declaration, whether he will remember it later or not, has made something else startlingly clear.

She loves him, too.

Everyone has tried to tell her. Mary Margaret. Elsa. Ruby just now. Even their boss, Regina Mills, albeit through snarky, thinly veiled comments. Yet she’s always protested, scoffed, rolled her eyes, insisted they were just friends. But now? Now she has to lie to herself, too. And to him.

Emma lifts shaky hands and rubs them down her face. She stares outside and watches the gray clouds turn to mist. There’s only one thing she can do. It will hurt like hell, but they’ll both eventually move on. It’s the only way. She squares her shoulders as she goes to the laundry room to toss the washcloth in the machine.

Emma purposefully avoids looking at Killian. He looks so vulnerable when he’s asleep, and her heart has to remain steeled.

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

The remainder of that evening is difficult, considering she still has to make sure Killian takes his medicine, drinks his fluids, and keeps his fever down. As that last happens, his delirium lessens and his eyes get back to their lively sparkle. He only says one more thing to her in his stupefied state, mumbling that she’s “so beautiful” as she checks his temperature.

The next morning, he’s still sick, but much better. He insists on taking a cab back to his own apartment, and Emma tries to hide how relieved she is at that decision. Normally, she probably would have protested and joined him on the couch for some TV binge-watching, but she knows she can’t handle that kind of casual intimacy. Not anymore. So she gathers up his medicine, relays Ruby’s instructions, and walks him to the door. He says, “goodbye, see you at work in a few days,” casually, with a backwards wave of his hand. Emma responds in kind and hates herself for it, feeling like it’s a lie.

It’s a week before Killian is fully recovered and able to return to work. Regina was apparently ripped to shreds by corporate for endangering the office by insisting sick employees come to work, so Killian is actually told specifically to stay away for a full seven days to ensure he isn’t contagious. He starts to get stir crazy by day five, and starts texting Emma almost daily. Her responses are half-hearted, and she prays he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t seem to.

Which is probably why he’s so shocked when his first day back at work he finds Emma packing up her cubicle. He looks like a puppy again as he looks at her with a crestfallen expression.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” Emma says with false brightness as she weighs a half dead potted plant in her hand. She debates for a minute, then tosses it into the trash can. “Remember my college roommate, Elsa?”

Killian’s brow furrows as he leans against the partition between his work space and Emma’s. “Aye. The blonde interior designer?”

Emma nods as she sticks her pencil cup into her box of things and reaches for a framed photo of her and Mary Margaret. “Well, she’s been bugging me to partner with her in this new startup of hers, and well . . . I decided, why the hell not?”

Killian frowns for a moment, then puts on a bright smile. She knows him well enough to know that it’s forced. “That’s a great opportunity, Swan. You’ll be bloody brilliant. I have no doubt.”

Emma avoids his gaze as she finishes boxing up her things. She knows it’s cowardly to time her departure this way, on the very day he returns. But his clumsy declaration at her apartment has kept her up at night. She can’t do it, simple as that. It’s too scary. And neither can she try for some casual, physical thing. That ship has sailed; they’re already friends. It would go straight to serious.

And Emma Swan doesn’t do serious relationships.

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

Emma’s already in her pajamas, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, her face freshly scrubbed when a knock sounds at her door. She knows it could only be two people, and while she really hopes it’s Mary Margaret with a congratulatory bottle of wine to celebrate her new job, she sort of senses deep down that it will be him even before she opens the door.

“Killian,” she says with false brightness. His face is already intense, his jaw clenching and his eyes doing that thing where they gaze right through to her soul.

So it doesn’t surprise her when his words cut right to the heart of the matter. “I know why you’re doing this.”

Emma feigns ignorance, crossing her arms across her chest and narrowing her eyes. “Doing what?”

Killian dips his chin and raises both eyebrows in that look he gives her when she’s full of bull shit. “I was delirious, but not that delirious. I remember what I said.”

The color drains from Emma’s face as she processes what he’s saying. Her mouth falls open, but words fail her. Of course, Killian’s always had enough words for both of them anyway.

“And now you’re running,” he continues, “You’re scared, and I get it. But Emma, your friendship means too much to me. If you don’t feel the same, I won’t push it.”

Emma presses her lips together as she shakes her head. “It’s not that, Killian.”

It’s his turn to look confused. “What do you mean?”

Emma has always said that words aren’t her strong suit. And maybe she could claim that lack of words is what spurs her in that moment. But it’s really more that she can’t let it go without some memory to cling to. Or without at least knowing how he kisses.

So she grabs him and hauls him in, lips crashing together and teeth scraping. Killian is a quick study, pulling her close and pressing her flush against him. One hand toys with the hem of her shirt, his fingers barely brushing against bare skin. His other hand tangles in her hair, yanking on the rubber band that holds it up so it goes tumbling down her back. Emma’s fingers are threading through his hair, too, but it’s the familiar feel of that softness that yanks her back to reality. She pulls away, breathless. Killian tries to chase her lips.

“That was –“

“A one-time thing,” she cuts him off.

She doesn’t even give him a chance to respond before turning around and shutting the door. Later, he texts her, but she never answers. It says only one line:

That was goodbye, wasn’t it?

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

The next morning, Emma’s trying to concentrate on Elsa’s tour of the office. Trying in vain to stop replaying the kiss from the night before on loop in her brain. Suddenly, they’ve completed the tour, ending up back in Emma’s office, and Elsa’s standing there with an expectant look on her face.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?”

Elsa laughs in that soft way of hers. “I was asking who the flowers were from.”

Emma shakes her head and blinks in surprise at the arrangement of yellow daisies at her desk. She knows before she even opens the card who they’re from. She told Killian once that people ought to give yellow daisies in the winter because they were like little bursts of sunshine. Then she had rolled her eyes at herself for sounding like Mary Margaret.

Sure enough, the card is in his flowery script. “Good luck on your first day, though I doubt you will need it. I also want to let you know that I’m not going anywhere. When you want me, I’ll be here. Love, Killian.”

Emma can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth nor can she resist the urge to press the card to her lips. She forgets Elsa’s even there and startles when her friend speaks again.

“What happened, Emma?”

“What are you talking about?” Emma slips the card into the top drawer of her brand new empty desk, hoping Elsa doesn’t notice that her hands are shaking.

“With Killian,” Elsa clarifies gently as she leans against Emma’s desk.

Emma groans and rubs at her temple as she collapses into her desk chair. “How did you know?”

Elsa gives her a pointed look. “I know you took care of him when he had the flu, cancelling that trip to Bermuda that you had been going on and on about –“

“Postponed,” Emma corrects with a roll of her eyes, “I postponed my trip.”

“Whatever,” Elsa dismisses with a wave of her hand, “and I’ve been begging you to partner with me in my company for how long? Then suddenly, you’re quitting your job in less than a week? Come on, what happened when Killian got the flu?”

Emma slumps further in her chair, swiveling it back and forth with her toe. “Please, can we not talk about this?”

“Okay,” Elsa concedes, pushing away from Emma’s desk. Before walking out the door, she tilts her head towards the flowers. “Those are from him, aren’t they?”

“Of course they are.”

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

The gentle knock on Emma’s front door sounds more like a pounding. She groans and throws the afghan over her head. She gropes for the remote with one hand and turns up the volume on the TV to drown out whoever is at her door. Of course, it can only be two people . . .

“Swan!”

Emma groans again, covering her face with both hands.

“Emma, love, Mary Margaret and Elsa both called me. I know you’re sick. And I’ve never done this before, but I think this constitutes as an emergency, so . . . I’m coming in.”

Emma hears the rattling of keys in the lock and rolls her eyes. She flings the afghan off her head with a huff, her hair going wild with static electricity and clinging to her sweaty forehead. Killian merely raises his eyebrows and pushes back an amused grin when he finds her that way, glaring at him when he walks through the door.

“Why are you here?” she snaps as he stops directly in front of the couch. “And you’re blocking my view of the TV. Lorelei and Luke are bantering over coffee again.”

Killian just stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down his nose at her. “A lady calls in need of assistance, and I’m there.”

“I didn’t call you.”

“Your friends did.”

“They shouldn’t have.”

“But they did.”

Emma lets out a long sigh punctuated by an eye roll. “I had the flu shot, Killian. So unlike some people I know, I’m not on death’s door.”

“Mhm,” Killian mutters, practically ignoring her as he heads to the kitchen, “but I know you, Swan. What have you eaten today?”

“I nibbled a pop tart,” Emma replies as she plops back down on her pillow.

“Precisely. Let me make you some decent food. Surely you’ve got a can of soup around here somewhere . . . “

He brings her a mug of chicken noodle just as the episode she’s watching rolls credits. She has to admit the warmth of it in her hands and the steam rising to her nostrils is comforting. Killian leans over and puts the back of his hand to her forehead, and the contact of his skin makes her shiver involuntarily. He frowns.

“You’re running a fever, aren’t you?”

Emma shifts uncomfortably as she sips at her soup. “Yeah, but it’s low. 101.3. Like I said, I’m not dying.”

He pats her leg, and even through the afghan is across her lap, it causes awareness to prickle along her nerve endings. “Well, it’s still nice to be taken care off.”

She smiles at him over the rim of her cup. She’s told him about her childhood, and he’s shared about his. They both get it. So she nods her assent, and he grins. “But what about work?”

His grin broadens. “No more Evil Queen for me. You inspired me, Emma. You are looking at a private CPA who works from home and sets his own hours.”

Emma beams back at him. “That’s awesome, Killian! I’m so happy for you!”

He shrugs and waves off her compliment. “I just got to thinking about it, you know? I was miserable at that job, just the same as you were. And I realized I had all these friends with small businesses. My friend Ariel with that tourist shop of hers, her husband Eric’s fish market, Jasmine’s jewelry boutique. They’ve all struggled keeping their books, so . . . “

“You already have all three of those accounts?”

Killian scratches behind his ear, bashful from her praise, “Those three and four more based on their references.”

Emma reaches for his hand as she tells him how proud she is, and for the first time in two weeks, it doesn’t feel awkward.

The rest of the day is the same way. Killian refills her cup, making sure she drinks enough, and makes her more soup. He checks her temperature and brings her extra pillows.

“Grab my husband pillow from the corner of my room,” she tells him at one point.

“Why do women call these things husband pillows?” he asks as he slides it behind her back.

“You know,” Emma explains, patting the tall back of the pillow and the two arms that extend out at each side, “instead of a husband’s chest and arms, you lean against this pillow.”

Killian waggles his eyebrows at her as he pats at the spot near his heart. “I have a perfectly fine chest if you want it, Swan.”

She rolls her eyes, happy to once again be in that sweet place where they can tease and flirt. But just as soon as that happy, comfortable feeling flares within her, something else takes its place. She imagines him in her bed, his arms around her, her cheek against his chest. She bites her lip and glances away from him, cursing the blush that stains her cheeks.

“Um,” he says, awkwardly clearing his throat, “can I get you anything else?”

Emma swallows the lump in her throat, hating that he can sense the tension in her. “Uh, no, I’m fine.”

By that evening, Emma is already feeling better and her fever is completely gone. She tosses aside the afghan and moves to stand up. Before she can, Killian is at her side.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I feel much better, so I’m going to take a shower.”

“No, absolutely not, Swan. I’ll draw you a bath.”

Emma starts to protest, but Killian’s already in the bathroom, and she can hear the water going. She sags against the couch in defeat. She has to admit, the thought of standing up long enough to take a shower sounds exhausting.

When the tub is ready, Emma enters the bathroom to find a towel, a bathrobe, and a fresh pair of pajamas stacked next to the sink. She strips down and lets out a long, deep, contented sigh as she slips into the warm water. It feels heavenly. She runs the soap over her body, washing away the grime from her sweaty fever. Then she sinks down to her chin, just enjoying the feel of the warm water as it eases away the achiness that has consumed her entire body.

But the longer she lays there, the more conscious she is of Killian in the other room. Is he thinking of her as much as she’s thinking of him? Is he thinking of her in the next room, nude? Because her mind is definitely going places that are far from platonic.

Emma rubs her hands down her face in weariness, then eases herself out of the tub. She towels off and changes, once again touched by his thoughtfulness. She exits the bathroom in her bare feet, shivering even though she’s in both flannel pjs and a terry cloth robe.  She sinks onto the couch next to Killian, who’s flipped the TV to a hockey game.

“Emma?” he says with concern as he brushes a finger over her cheek, “Are you okay? You look flushed again.”

Wordlessly, Emma curls herself into a ball and tucks herself into his side. His arm comes around her and pulls her closer against him. They’ve cuddled like this dozens of times as just friends, but now it feels different.

“I think you have a fever again,” he whispers against her hair. She’s pretty sure she does, too, considering the way she’s shaking. Or is it fear?

Killian gets her to take some ibuprofen, then obeys without protest when she asks him to hold her while they watch a movie. She falls asleep against his chest long before it ends, but she wakes up when he stands and scoops her up into his arms. She pretends to sleep so she can nuzzle against his neck as he carries her to her room. She imagines him sharing her bed for the second time in less than eight hours, but not in that way. She imagines falling asleep with him beside her, of waking up to his heartbeat against her cheek. She imagines the rise and fall of his chest against her back as she drifts off.

He tucks the blankets around her, squeezing her hand in his before turning away. Part of her wants to tug him down to her, just like their kiss, all heat and pent up desire. But she knows deep down it isn’t what she wants. So instead, she gently laces her fingers with his. The movement startles him – clearly he thought she was still asleep – and he pauses.

“I ran because I do love you,” she confesses in the dark.

“I know.”

That’s all he says before leaning down to brush a feather-light kiss across her forehead. Most men would take advantage of the situation. Neal certainly would have. But Killian doesn’t. He leaves on soft footfalls, closes her door gently, and lets himself out.

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

Emma calls in sick the next day, too. She doesn’t have a fever or any other symptoms, but she still feels like she just got run over by a truck. And her bed is the only place she wants to spend the day.

But by that afternoon, boredom has set in as her energy slowly returns. She’s mindlessly scrolling through Netflix, trying to find something that appeals to her when there’s a knock at her door. She knows who it is this time. Only Mary Margaret can make a knock sound perky.

“Come in,” Emma calls, voice flat.

Mary Margaret turns her key in the lock and then comes bustling in, all smiles with a plate in her hands covered with aluminum foil. She tells Emma they are fresh baked cookies. She chatters away about her day as she tidies the room. Emma clicks off the TV, finding her friend’s voice more relaxing.

“ . . . and so, while I adore Valentine’s day, I’m positively exhausted. Third graders plus tons of sugar is just chaos.” Mary Margaret ends her enthusiastic speech with a dramatic plop to Emma’s love seat.

Emma frowns in confusion. “Today is Valentine’s Day?”

As if fate wants to confirm it, there’s another knock on her door followed by Marco the doorman’s voice, “Ms. Swan, I have some flowers that were delivered for you.”

Before Emma can even process this, Mary Margaret is jumping from the loveseat as she squeals with joy. She practically bounces to the door, thanks Marco, and returns to place the bouquet on Emma’s coffee table.

“I think I know who these are from,” Mary Margaret teases in a sing-song voice. “Buttercups and forget-me-nots are your favorite, right?”

“They are.” And only three people in the world know that. Sure enough, the card is in Killian’s handwriting.

Since we met, not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you. Happy Valentine’s Day! Love, Killian

Emma sinks back down into the couch as she traces her thumb over the writing. She’s been purposely pushing the memory of last night far from her mind. Hoping that she dreamed the whole thing. Surely she didn’t actually tell Killian Jones she loved him. Because she wouldn’t do that. Would she?

“What’s going on between you two?”

Emma fiddles with the corner of the tiny square of cardstock. “In a nutshell, he had the flu and confessed his love to me. Then I got the flu and did the same.”

Mary Margaret smiles eagerly as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “That’s great!” but her smile quickly falls to a frown instead when Emma sighs deeply and tosses Killian’s little note on the coffee table. “Wait, it’s not great? How can this not be great?”

“Because,” Emma groans, tilting her head back and covering her face with both hands, “I don’t do relationships, remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” Mary Margaret deadpans, “which is why I stopped setting you up. Remember?” She pauses for a moment, then leans forward to squeeze Emma’s knee. “But I think this is different, don’t you?”

Emma lets her hands drop to her lap as she glares at Mary Margaret. “Yeah, it’s different. Killian was a great friend, and now I don’t even have that.”

Emma expects Mary Margaret to launch into one of her famous hope speeches, but instead the brunette rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Or you could have something even better.”

“But how can I be sure? How do I know that it won’t result in a broken heart like every other time?” Emma’s gesturing with both hands as her voice rises.

Mary Margaret gets up and sits next to Emma on the couch, grabbing both her hands in hers. “Listen to me right now, okay? We can never know the future, but with Killian there are a few things I do know. Neal abandoned you, I get that. But hasn’t Killian proven that he sticks around?”

Emma’s brow furrows as she thinks over their friendship. Of all the times her prickly attitude and high walls should have sent Killian running in the opposite direction. But instead, all of that had only seemed to draw him closer. She thinks of his actions since she packed up her cubicle. Two bouquets of flowers and taking care of her when she got sick. Emma lets out a shaky breath.

“Yeah, I guess he has.”

“And Walsh,” Mary Margaret continues, “he lied. He pretended to be someone he wasn’t, and you got your heart broken. But has Killian ever lied to you?”

Emma gnaws on the bottom of her lip as she avoids Mary Margaret’s gaze. “No, he hasn’t,” she admits begrudgingly.

“So are you going to let those two jerks from your past keep you from a guy who already makes you so happy? You’re going to let those assholes have that kind of power over you?”

Emma practically flinches at those words. Emma prides herself on making her own way in life, of punching back when people try to tell her who she ought to be. Mary Margaret knows this well. She’s leveled a sucker punch, and Emma can’t ignore the truth of what she’s said. Emma leans forward and fingers the soft petals of one of the forget-me-nots. Then she makes a decision. Maybe the scariest one of her life.

“So it’s Valentine’s Day . . . “ she muses out loud.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Mary Margaret sighs as she sags against the back of the couch, “it’s cheesy and commercial and –“

“Actually,” Emma says with a huge smile, “I was going to say maybe I want to celebrate it for once.”

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

The look on Killian’s face when he opens the door makes Emma second guess this whole thing. Shock is the number one look in his eyes as he blinks three times in rapid succession.

“Swan?” he asks tentatively, as if she might be some sort of hallucination.

“Surprise!” she announces with a shrug. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

The silence stretches on, and the only thing that calms Emma’s nerves is the slight half-smile that hitches up the left corner of his mouth. “Um . . . well, this is a surprise,” he finally says with one arched brow.

Emma clears her throat awkwardly, almost dropping the giant chocolate lips as she juggles the even more gigantic stuffed monkey to her other hand. Killian reaches out and takes the monkey and the candy leaving her standing there holding the string of the red, heart shaped balloon like a kid at the county fair. She shuffles her feet from side to side.

“I shopped last minute, and the selection wasn’t that great, plus I wasn’t sure what you’d like . . . “she trails off when she realizes she’s rambling. “Look, I’m trying to say that I . . . think, anyway . . . that I might possibly . . . want to stop running. From this. I mean us.”

She grimaces at her horrible, stuttering choice of words. She watches Killian’s face closely. Watches as that humorous, half grin morphs into a generous smile that fills his face and lights his eyes. He drops the stupid monkey and the tacky chocolate lips and steps quickly forward, cupping her face in his hands. Just as his lips are about to brush against hers, Emma lifts her fingers to his mouth to stop him.

“I might still be contagious.”

Killian’s eyes darken with desire and his voice drops lower as he brushes a kiss against her cheek and whispers in her ear, “Don’t care.”

Then his lips are on hers, soft and slow. Emma lets go of the balloon string to wrap her arms around his neck, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. She can see the balloon out of the corner of her eye bouncing against the ceiling until it reaches the stairwell where it floats up to the next floor and out of view. Emma kind of feels like that balloon right now. Weightless and soaring, the dizzying heights of Killian’s kisses making her feel free and light for the first time in years.

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

The airline had been understanding when she called about her ticket. She told them her plans had changed due to the flu, though she hadn’t offered any details. Since they clearly didn’t want the flu virus sealed in an airtight cabin with dozens of people, they had been incredibly accommodating. She had ninety days to transfer her ticket to another flight.

So here it was, March, and finally Emma was packing for Bermuda. Luckily, she had been able to get a second ticket as well. She’s folding a yellow sundress when Killian comes up behind her and nuzzles her neck.

“Morning love,” he mutters against her skin, “excited about our trip?”

Emma leans back against him, giggling as he nibbles her ear. “Incredibly,” she teases with a suggestive bat of her eyes.

Killian actually growls low in his throat as he grasps her tighter with one arm. With his other hand, he lifts something in front of Emma. Dangling from his fingers is the same red bikini she had bought months ago.

“Don’t forget this,” he teases, “I’ve been dreaming of seeing you in it for weeks now.”

Emma tosses the bikini into her suitcase then turns in Killian’s arm. He grasps her tighter around the waist as she loops her arms around his neck. Their lips meet in a kiss that starts sweet and slow, but quickly turns passionate. Emma is tempted to shove him backwards onto her bed, but suddenly a thought overwhelms her and she breaks the kiss to gaze long into his eyes.

“What is it, love?” he asks, his brow furrowing with concern.

“I’m just happy,” she tells him, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He cups her face gently and smiles at her in return. “Me too.”

[olliethealright]

Three Steps From Home - Novel Update #2

Hey everyone! Today, I’m going to do my second update on Three Steps From Home. This should be the last update with more than 1-2 chapters, after this I’ll be pretty much caught up to what I’m writing now. This update will cover chapters 5-8, and together, these chapters add up to 4361 words. Warning, this is going to be long because I like these chapters, sorry lol. 

Disclaimer: These are all my original thoughts and words, please do not steal them.

Trigger warning: Mental illness, mentions of suicide and self harm, homophobia, conversion therapy

chapter five - rest stop monsters - 1571 words 

theme song - the village - warbel 

This chapter is maybe the most chaotic in the book. We get the first taste of Jude being a bit unhinged and unreliable as a narrator. 

summary: Jude’s mother threatens to send him to conversion therapy, which causes a massive fight between the two. Jude packs a backpack and hits the road, making it a few miles on foot before he breaks down and calls Aaron from a rest stop.

Excerpts: 

Jude’s mother trying to send him to conversion therapy:

Mother clicked the TV off so hard, the rubber button got stuck in the plastic base. Her knuckles crackled as she shifted, turning the hard, unblinking stare of concentration usually reserved for priests on me. The reverence she used when looking at someone who spun God’s words like steel ribbons was gone, replaced by the look of someone who has found a dead thing in their house

“Father John and I have been talking,” she said, choosing her words carefully. Nothing good ever started with that phrase. “We’ve been talking, and we think you’re beyond our help. Beyond… normal help.”

No shit. I had been ‘beyond help’ since I was a kid, it was a miracle it had taken her so long to come to the same conclusion I had. “Okay… so what now?”

I knew the answer before I formed the words, but I wanted to hear her say it anyway. I wanted it to sting, I wanted a reason to blow up in her face. She fed my fire, she would watch as it burned me.  

Jude having a breakdown at a rest stop:

I brought my knees in closer to myself and shivered, my chest collapsed in on itself and my lungs emptied. The rest stop monsters closed in; I didn’t look at them. The minutes I spent waiting for you felt like hours.

By the time you pulled into the parking lot in your used blue pickup, I was half asleep, the start of a nasty cold already coursing through my blood. You parked next to me and got out, silhouetted against your headlights so you looked like someone else.

chapter six - Duo of Trespassers - 1266 words

theme song - mars - YUNGBLUD

Chapter five is definitely kind of a downer, but don’t worry, this book likes to play with your emotions so chapter six is weirdly... upbeat? This one is kind of hard to me to describe because the mood is very back and forth. It takes place the morning after chapter five. 

Summary: Jude wakes up at Aaron’s apartment, and they are now on a mission to break into Jude’s mother’s house and steal his stuff. 

excerpts:

Aaron talking about his past and then changing his mind and saying nothing:

“Good idea. When I moved out, my folks…” you trailed off, but it was enough to make me turn around. You had talked about your family just enough for me to know that you had one, and you probably weren’t adopted, although even that was foggy for me. Whenever I asked about them, you clammed up, changed the subject, complimented my eyes or the new sticker I had put on my laptop. I had stopped asking.

You waved me off like it was no big deal, but something about you had shifted already. You moved like a sparrow, ready to take flight at any second. You had paled a shade, your hands wouldn’t stop moving; adjusting the string at the waist of your shorts, then to your hood, putting it up, back down again, raking your fingers through your hair as if you were trying to pull it out by the chunk.

“It doesn’t matter,” you lied to my raised eyebrows. “Today’s about your bullshit, not mine. Now let’s get moving before we lose our nerve.”

“Aaron…” I should have stopped thinking about myself then, should have told you to go to work while I sorted my shit out, should have grabbed your hands and demanded you tell me something real about your life before I met you, but I didn’t. My tunnel vision didn’t include your distress, it barely included mine.

Jude and Aaron breaking into Jude’s old house:

My mother’s car was thankfully absent from the driveway when we pulled up. I slouched down in my seat and scoured the street for snoopy neighbors, determining after nearly five minutes that there weren’t any.

You boosted me through the same window I had used to leave the night before, left wide open, as if she had wanted me to return so she could trap me inside. Your fingers were freezing as I pulled you in after me, a duo of trespassers in a room that was still mine.

seven - high on nothing - 1011 words

theme song - peanut butter waffles - ryan caraveo

Summary: This chapter takes place three weeks after the events of the previous chapter. Jude gets a call from his mother for the first time since they fought and he moved out, and agrees to take Aaron to meet her over brunch. Aaron spends the rest of the chapter assuring Jude that he isn’t afraid of Jude’s mother, and he does want to meet her. Essentially, the whole chapter is Jude having an emo moment and Aaron eating his spaghetti and begging Jude not to worry.

Beginning paragraph: 

It was three weeks before my mother finally called me. Three weeks of being high with glee when I remembered she wasn’t waiting for me when I got home, ready to tear into me like a bear tears into its prey. Three weeks of feeling like I was looking into the chasm where her anger bubbled just under out of sight, ready to swallow me whole if I got too close to the edge.

Jude speaking with his mother on the phone:

“Jude?” she finally said, her pronunciation just a little off. My mother didn’t speak the language of apologies, but she stumbled through one that night. Her voice was hard as a brick wall, she was going against her better judgement, some part of her probably regretting it already. I let her talk.

She didn’t ask me to move back in, she didn’t ask me to change, she didn’t even ask me to go to church with her, which must have been a first. Instead, through gritted teeth, she said the words I never expected to hear from her. “Will you at least bring… him around the house? If you’re going to be dating, I deserve to meet him, at the very least.”

More of Jude being afraid of his mother...

I rolled my eyes and tried not to think about what my mother would say when she met you, how she would probably go after how you dressed first, and then the slight crookedness to your nose that I always thought made you more beautiful. Next, it would be: ‘does he even speak Spanish?’ And after that would come the obligatory: ‘I loved a white boy once, and do you know what it got me? An ungrateful son like you and a high mortgage.’  Then, she would pick you apart by the personality trait, by the star sign; tear you up and leave you in a heap on the floor.

 Jude explaining to Aaron why he’s afraid to see his mother

“My mother is… well you’ve heard the stories. My mother isn’t nice, she’s kind of a nightmare, actually. She doesn’t have a kind bone in her body, and she hates sinners more than anything. And she’ll probably insult everything about you. She’ll definitely try to shame me into marrying a Guatemalan girl from the next town over and having ten Christian kids and sending them to church school and having a dysfunctional family that looks perfect from the outside and then dying sad and alone.”

chapter eight - black and white - 505 words

theme song - untitled - EDEN (yes I've used this song before, but it’s one of the theme songs of the whole book and also its so pretty lol)

This is the shortest chapter in the book, and it’s definitely way underwritten, so I’ll be coming back to it. 

Summary: Aaron takes Jude to a drive in movie the night before their brunch with Jude’s mother to cheer him up. Aaron falls asleep, Jude drives home and reflects on his life.

Jude and Aaron being cute on the way to the movie:

You taught me words of the french you had learned in school as you drove, laughing when my pronunciation sounded more like ‘sad Spanish’. Eventually, I crossed my arms and spent the next ten minutes speaking only my mother tongue, which came back to me faster than I would have imagined after avoiding the language for years.

“Not bad, not bad,” you admitted when I finally got bored and switched back to english. “I mean, it doesn’t beat my secondary school French, but you’re getting there.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes. I had learned Spanish and English at the same time, and until elementary school, I mixed them like they were one. I was smart enough to know the difference as the words rolled off my tongue, but not smart enough to understand that not everyone spoke that way. It took my kindergarten teacher kneeling in front of me on the second day of school and explaining that his classroom was for english only for me to realize that I was different.

Aaron falling asleep at the end: (I had a picture for this one but it got corrupted so RIP)

I’m not sure exactly when you fell asleep, it was somewhere between the last (and only) good jump scare, when you swore like a sailor and then laughed until there were tears in your eyes, and the end of the movie. 

Half the cars had already packed up and left before I slid your head onto one of the pillows and pulled a blanket to your chin. You shifted in your sleep, but didn’t wake. I shoved all the blankets into the passenger seat and then shook you just enough so one bleary blue eye opened. You were stretched out in the backseat, asleep before I could say anything.

Okay, there it is! I hope you enjoyed this update, because I had a really good time making it! As always, feel free to message me if you have any questions! Thank you for reading if you made it this far.

-ollie 

[cosmosogler]

today i cleaned the bathroom! and made an appointment with a gi place! i don’t know what they want to do. the scheduling lady told me what it was but i didn’t understand, but i didn’t want to ask her to repeat it because i’d already misunderstood a few things she had asked for. so i just said ok and wrote down the address.

then i picked up asher and we hung out for like 8 hours. it was great. i couldn’t shake the feeling i was forgetting to do something all day though. besides, you know, the grad school email thing. i don’t know what it was. i couldn’t think of anything i’d left undone when i got home from dropping him back off at home.

we took the dogs to the park and talked about jojo and sat around and looked at photos of his room’s new paint job and played wwe for the ps4 and screamed at john cena and a bunch of other wrestlers i didn’t recognize. oh but kane was on the roster! i didn’t know he still wrestled. i used to play as him sometimes on, like, the n64 wwe. or maybe the gamecube one. i just looked it up and he’s almost 50. i figured out how to climb the poles in the corners and jump off them to body slam asher’s character.

“how did you do that?” he asked.

“i pressed every button at the same time,” i answered.

then we caught up on steven universe. then i drove us to michaels and we looked at washi tape and stickers for an hour. i kept finding odd things around the store and bringing them to him to identify. like scratch and sniff cat-shaped light bulbs called “num noms.” i think he was worried about boring me, but i had a good time. then we went across the street to an indian restaurant and the curry was godly. i felt bad that i could only eat like a third of my meal though. 

my brother apparently hit another driver on the road today. but he refused to talk to me about it. he only brought it up because i asked if i could take the car. i asked if he was ok a few times and he said yeah. the car didn’t look too bad when asher and i went out later with mom’s car. it’s hard to get a read on my brother, and i might have been projecting, but he seemed kind of rattled. his face was more flushed than usual. so far i’ve only gotten into vehicle tangles with inanimate objects. like the curb at the community college, or the curb at the corner by asher’s house, or the curb near rawhide, or a random piece of concrete at the gas station. i can’t imagine how stressful it must be to bump into another car, even gently. i mean, i dream about it a lot, enough that i’ve come across some individual police officers more than once, but i can always wake up and say “that didn’t really happen.” my brother and sister can’t do that.

i attribute it to luck. my sister is a much better driver than i am. more confident and on top of what’s happening around her, less prone to kind of terrifying bodily malfunctions. like my eyes drying out, which kind of blinds me! she also spends a lot more time on the road than i do. and she hit the other car at like the most common accident spot in the whole city, which she used to drive past every day. i mean, I’VE almost hit cars there, and i used to only drive that way like once a week during low traffic hours. it’s a tiny stretch of road under a bridge that has a little dip. the shadow cast by the bridge makes it very difficult to judge how fast the car in front of you is going, and it’s right before a lane merge, so people are usually slowing down. it’s a “once a day” kind of accident place. every time i go past that spot there’s broken glass on the road.

dad is screaming at his computer game again. he does it every night. the dogs spend more time in my room than with him now. even diogi, and dad is her favorite. i hear him throwing stuff around at his desk. i have trouble sleeping because he makes so much noise. and he turns up the volume on his games so i hear the same background music loop forever every night. 

i hate it.

anyway, i gotta figure out what i’m going to talk about at therapy tomorrow for my allotted 50-60 minutes. i guess i should bring a notebook and work out an exact note to add to my grad school applications. i already have all the email addresses written down in my application excel sheet. i guess i’m nervous because sending the note includes checking which schools have accepted or rejected me so i don’t send out emails to schools that no longer have my file. and... i gotta apply for the visa stuff for london. that requires acknowledging that i am in fact going to grad school in august. the game is getting harder, but i’m not any better at it. 

i WANT to go to grad school, i just worry... that i won’t be good enough, or creative enough to compensate for not being good enough. apparently i get violently physically ill for months at a time if i’m too stressed? which is stressful by itself, but like, it means i have no stamina. i am not a stress marathon runner. i physically cannot do work every single day. i can’t even take in new information every single day. like i’ve been too tired to watch or read anything i haven’t already seen before for like a whole week. sometimes i can’t work for weeks at a time because i get so depressed. how am i going to fulfill my academic and professional obligations if this happens? how can i put in the hard work required to learn (and actually be any good at) physics if i don’t have the energy for it? 

the solution, of course, is to try harder. every moment i spend doing nothing, every day i waste retreading old ground, every hour i spend doing something comfortable instead of doing something difficult, is time i spent being LAZY. every time i decide i have to get a full night’s sleep in order to make it through the next day, i am being weak. every time i stop to make sure i get enough to eat so i don’t get sick i am being thoughtless about the commitment i made. 

and the balancing act required to make use of every second of every day, to make sure everything gets done and i also take care of myself, takes energy and focus i just don’t have. but focus is a matter of trying harder. i know the energy and determination are there somewhere, i just have to keep scraping the bottom of the barrel for that last ounce that has to be there. it has to be. “you can do anything if you put your mind to it.” and if i can’t brute force it then i am not being resourceful or creative or clever enough. if i’m not succeeding i’m doing something wrong.

the solution is not obvious. unless it is and i’ve been missing the forest for the trees or something. i’ve been throwing myself against this problem for like nine years. even when i physically have to stop and take breaks or else i will literally die i haven’t been able to figure out a new angle. what am i missing? is it really just a matter of discipline? can you... even discipline away anxiety and depression and fatigue? 

“i want you to get this thing solved,” mom has said repeatedly. “before grad school.” i don’t think you can solve depression... and every bit of energy i spend fighting it i could have spent learning something new instead. it’s like every day not-sick people wake up on the road, and all they have to do is walk down the road. but i start every day in quicksand. and i have to get out of the quicksand before i can start walking down the road. but sometimes all i can do in a day is get out of the quicksand, and then i wake up the next morning IN THE QUICKSAND AGAIN, RIGHT WHERE I STARTED YESTERDAY. it’s maddening!

you know what else is maddening? knowing, or at least believing, there is a way to make this work. and NOT BEING ABLE TO FIGURE IT OUT. i’m too stupid. i’m stunted and retarded like mom said. i am emotionally unable to mature enough to look at the problem in a way that lets me objectively figure out what i should be doing instead of... whatever this is. i don’t have emotions like real people. that’s why i can’t get anyone to stay.

man, i hate everything. i hate feeling dumb. and i hate being just smart enough to know how dumb and helpless i am. 

i dunno. being physically hampered by my heart defect made me focus more on kind of, i guess, taking pride in my thinking and imagination. but i don’t even have that, not really, do i?