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thebuckblogimo · 3 months

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When I was growing up, what parents were made of was more important than what they made.

February 5, 2024

I feel compelled to offer an exclaimer about this piece to old friends who follow my musings: The following essay is based mostly on personal reflections of my "grade school years"--from the fall of 1953 (when I started first grade) to the spring of 1961 (when I finished eighth grade). However, my mind's eye sees the past through a clouded lens. So if you're from the old East Dearborn/Northwest Detroit neighborhood where we grew up, you may remember some of the people, places and things mentioned below differently than I do. So you will know, I made a couple calls to friends and former neighbors for corroboration--where possible--of my memories. No matter who you are, I hope what follows causes you to think. And if you lived in close proximity to the streets where I played or the five-and-a-half block route I walked to St. Alphonsus School every day, I hope this entry brings a few grins to your face.

I regularly monitor several newspapers and periodicals online. I have my own opinions about the issues of the day, of course, but I try to avoid confirmation bias by including opposing points of view among the things I read. With that said, the following is an undeniable fact:

In America today, the single best predictor of whether a young person will attend college, have a good income, get married, stay married, live in a "good neighborhood" and enjoy good health is the performance of his or her parents, based on the same metrics.

When I think about my children and their friends, my nieces and nephews, as well as other young people I know, that statement is indeed true.

But in my experience it wasn't always so.

When I was a kid, I would say the best predictor of how my friends and I would eventually turn out had little to do with the income and education level of our parents. Rather, the metrics of our success was based on the examples set by our parents, the amount of encouragement they provided us, and the quality of caring we received from each other's parents and neighbors in the hood.

Household incomes had little to do with it. Family inheritances, by the way, were minimal, practically non-existent in those days.

In any case, I decided to go back six or seven decades in time and take an imaginary walk down the streets where I lived, and tell you about some of the families I knew and how their children--many of them in their late 70s and early 80s today--turned out in life. I think you'll find it interesting.

Next door. My family lived at 13117 Tireman, a busy street that marked the borderline between Dearborn and Detroit. The Phillips family lived in the bungalow adjacent to ours. Mr. Phillips was Polish, but had changed his last name. He did not attend college. Yet he had some sort of white collar job at the Budd Company, a supplier of body components to the automotive industry. Before he retired, he surprised me with a brand new set of front bumpers for the first car I ever owned, a nine-year-old '60 Corvette. Mrs. Phillips was a stay-at-home mom. She did not attend college. One of the sweetest ladies I ever knew, she gave me my first baseball bat, a Louisville Slugger (Yogi Berra model), for my birthday. There were two Phillips boys next door: Mike (a.k.a. Mickey), who was three years older than me, and Billy, five years older than me. I played a lot of basketball with them as a kid. There was a backboard and rim on their garage as far back as I can recall. Mrs. Phillips said I could play there any time I wanted. Mike Phillips, a dedicated golfer, attended Lawrence Tech. He wound up in a good job at Chrysler's headquarters. Brother Billy, also a golfer, went to St. Joseph College, a small private school in Indiana. I only know that he ended up in a white collar job.

Around the corner. Located at 7870 Reuter--an address forever imprinted on my brain--was a bungalow with knotty pine paneling in the basement and den where the Conflitti family lived. Mr. Conflitti operated a one-man heating and cooling service. He was a dad who owned his own catcher's mitt and would crouch over a plate marked by electrical tape on the driveway to receive pitches fired by his sons after work. He did not attend college. Mrs. Conflitti was a stay-at-home mom. She was not college-educated. She used to make me toasted tomato sandwiches in her kitchen, which usually smelled of green peppers simmering in an Italian sauce. Mrs. Conflitti was a relative of the owners of Gorno Ford in Trenton, Michigan. As a result, the Conflittis drove a new car every other year. There were three Conflitti children: Mary Jo (who reminded me of Annette Funicello) was a sweetheart and six years older than me; Nick who was three years older than me; and Jerry, my close childhood friend, who was two years older than me.

Living in the modest colonial next door to them were the Dorringtons. Mr Dorrington was a pharmacist (considered a "trade" in those days) for Cunningham's-Kinsel's. Mrs. Dorrington, who worked in administration for Dearborn Schools, died of cancer in 1959 when I was in the sixth grade. Suddenly, Mr. Dorrington was raising four children as a single parent. There was Skip, the oldest child, who was four years older than me, and three girls: Mary, Colleen and Janet. As kids, I played touch football and "running bases" in the street with Nick, Jerry and Skip almost every day. All four of us would go on to become accomplished sprinters on our respective track teams in high school.

Of the seven children who lived in those two homes, four attended college. Mary Jo went to Michigan State, got married and became a stay-at-home mom. Nick attended Xavier University where he played some baseball and attended graduate school at Ohio State. He had a successful career in insurance services. Jerry, on the other hand, was mischievous, to put it mildly, and struggled with "the books." However, he was the only kid I ever knew who registered four years of perfect attendance during high school. He was then drafted into the Army and became a successful electrician after returning home from Vietnam. Skip attended Michigan and ultimately became a member of senior management at Polk & Company, a provider of marketing information to the automotive industry. I crossed paths with him many times during my years in the advertising agency business. His sister Mary went into nursing. She did her undergrad at Madonna University, received her master's at Rush University in Chicago, and earned an MBA at Northwestern. Sister Colleen was a stay-at-home mom. Sister Janet worked in grahic design.

Down Reuter. There were several other kids, many of them older than me, who lived on Reuter before it crossed Esper Blvd. to the south. But on the first block, near the intersection at Diversey, was a large, 1920s brick home with two "flats" where my classmate, Ken Halibozek, lived. He and his family, including sister Charlene, lived upstairs. Downstairs lived his grandparents and two bachelor uncles. Mr. Halibozek packed a lunch every day and worked in the machine shop at the Dodge Main in Hamtramck. Mrs. Halibozek was a bookkeeper at the Edward C. Levy Company. Ken, with whom I played grade school basketball and board games (everything from Candyland to Monopoly), attended Wayne State and earned an M.A. at Eastern Michigan. He went on to run Ford's worldwide telecommunications operations. His sister attended Henry Ford Community College.

On the second block of Reuter lived another classmate of mine, Butch Forystek, who came up the street to play sports, hop fences and jump off garages with the other Reuter boys and me. Butch and I were extremely close until he died of cancer a few years ago. I am the godfather of his oldest daughter. Butch's father had served in the Marines Corps and had some sort of white collar job at Cadillac. He did not attend college. Mrs. Forystek, from Indiana, was a stay-at-home mom. She was not college-educated. There were six kids in the Fortstek family. Their home, a modest ranch, was not a particularly happy one. I recall how Butch's folks yelled at each other in the kitchen while we watched cartoons in the living room. Butch was a smart, underachieving kid who was forever pulling stunts and blurting wisecracks in school. His parents divorced sometime between our freshman and sophomore years of high school. Butch did not attend college. He enlisted in the Army and scored so well on tests that he was stationed in Japan to work in intelligence rather than being sent to Vietnam. It took him several years to get established after his military experience, but Butch eventually became a successful sales representative for companies that sold forklifts, conveyors and commercial shelving. For many years he quietly helped to support his mother, stepfather and siblings, several of whom struggled in life.

The walk. My daily trek to school was often filled with adventure and hijinks. On the way I picked up my classmate, Anthony Adams, just a couple of blocks away from St. Al's on Calhoun. I must have entered the side door of his family's colonial a thousand times as a kid. We made that walk together almost every day for 12 years. Along the way we talked sports, school stuff, rock 'n' roll, girls, sex and news of the latest shenanigans pulled on the nuns at school. That walk was an education in itself. We did it twice a day--usually with Ken Halibozek and Tom Flanigan--during the winter because of nightly basketball practice. Mr. and Mrs Adams (the family name had been changed from Adamo) were two of the greatest parents a kid could ever know. Mr. Adams, the general manager of the Foundary Division at Ford Motor Company, was a former amateur boxer and transplant from West Virginia where he attended Salem College. When we were in high school, he earned his doctorate at Wayne State. I liked that Mr. Adams made me feel as though I was more than just "a kid." He started every conversation with "Well, Lenny..." or "Well, son..." He was full of wisdom and just seemed to assume that Anthony and I would be successful one day. As for Mrs. Adams, she just knew everything that every kid was up to in the neighborhood. Unlike my mother, she never freaked out about our adolescent interests in girls or "mixed parties." She simply understood. Mrs. Adams did not attend college. She was the proverbial stay-at-home mom, looking after Pat, Angela, Anthony, Luci and twins Kevin and Karen. Anthony attended Western Michigan (where friends started calling him Tony) and simultaneously served in the Army Reserves. Thanks to his dad's connections, he worked summers at the Ford steel mill when we finished high school. He joined the union and became an hourly worker there after college, building a nest egg by working lots of overtime. When the steel division at Ford became a separate business entity, Rouge Steel, Tony made a transition to its front office where he became a successful purchasing agent. Sister Pat attended Eastern Michigan; Angela attended Salem College; Luci attended Western Michigan; both Kevin and Karen went to Michigan.

On the way to basketball practice we always stopped at the Bonkowski house, a small bungalow on Calhoun, to pick up little Mickey. He was the best grade school free throw shooter I ever saw, consistently making 22 or 23 out of 25 at practice. Before his father worked in the auto industry, Mr. Bonkowski was an engineer on Project Mercury in the U.S. space program. So I assume that he attended college. However, I rarely saw him. I never had a conversation with him. Mrs. Bonkowski, on the other hand, greeted us every night in her kind and genuine way when we came through the side door. She was always baking something and once said to me, "Lenny, have more...It's a compliment to the cook when you ask for seconds." And so I always did. Mickey gave up basketball in high school. After graduation he attended RETS, a trade school. He became co-owner of a small electronics company with his older brother Ed, who attended Wayne State. Sisters Edith and Marlene did not go to college.

Other walkers. During the last few years of grade school, Anthony and I were joined on the walk to school by three other classmates: Tom Flanigan who lived on Ward, a block north of my house, on the Detroit side of Tireman; Sam Bitonti who lived a couple blocks east on Oakman Blvd. And Patrick Rogers who lived "out of parish," east of Wyoming Ave. in Detroit, and walked about a mile to get to my house.

Tom came from a family of 11 kids. I was close to him and his brother Brian who was a year ahead of us in school. They were both scrappy athletes and really smart. Mr. Flanigan, a former Marine, always called me "Buckey." He was a sales analyst at Ford. He was not college-educated. Mrs. Flanigan was another one of those genuine, loving, stay-at-home moms who populated our neighborhood. She did not go to college, either. Tom attended Western Michigan while simultaneously serving in the Army Reserves. He went on to work in labor industrial relations at Chrysler, sitting in on contract negotiations with the UAW. Brian enlisted in the Marines after high school, saw combat in Vietnam, then attended Notre Dame University. He went on to become perhaps the best crime reporter in the long history of the Detroit Free Press.

Sammy lived in a huge Spanish revival home on Oakman, the street where doctors, dentists and successful business owners lived. His house had a four-car garage. Sam was the catcher on our Dearborn Recreation baseball teams. We used to joke that "he was even slower than he looked" on the base paths. Mr. Bitonti was said to "own properties." It was also said that he had connections to the underworld. I rarely saw him around. I never had a conversation with him. Mrs. Bitonti, on the other hand, was talkative, gregarious. She once drove us to the Goodfellows Football Game, the annual showdown between the Detroit Public School League champion and the Catholic League champion for the city championship at Briggs Stadium (before it was known as Tiger Stadium). I liked her. We lost Sam several years ago. I don't believe he attended college. I think he worked in a lab that dealt with solvents and paints. He had an older sister, Kathy, and a younger sister, Joanne. I know little about them.

I don't remember what year Patrick Rogers started school at St. Al's, perhaps the fifth or sixth grade. He was the last one to join us in "the walk." He was a rough-and-tumble kid who never mentioned his mom or dad. I once rode my bike to his house, a wood frame home in need of paint, but was asked to stay outside. I remember feeling as though he, or someone inside of the house, was trying to hide something from me. Pat was a feisty grade school football player. He left St. Al's during our freshman year. I never saw him again until he surprisingly showed up at our 20-year high school reunion.

Yours truly. My dad reached the eleventh grade at Detroit Northwestern High School before dropping out to help support his family. After returning from the Army during World War II, he purchased the marble business where he had been employed before the war from its owner, for whom my dad had great respect. Len Sr. was a risk taker. Before his marble business struggled due to differences with his partners (a brother and a brother-in-law), he did well and owned several acres of land on the east side of Detroit with a couple of big shots in the tile business. He also invested in a grocery store (with liquor license and fresh meats) in Dearborn Heights. My dad liked to tell the story about his partners in the land deal and how they asserted that he would have been a force in business if only he had attended college. My mother, a stay-at-home mom, reached the tenth grade at Detroit Chadsey High School before dropping out to do housework to help her family. She told me that she was a voracious reader before she and my dad got married. I'm sure she would have done well in college, if only she'd have had the opportunity. I, of course, went to Michigan State and achieved my dream of becoming a writer. My sister Mary moved to Albuquerque after getting divorced at a young age and eventually earned her degree in journalism--at age 40--at the University of New Mexico. She became the development director at KUNM, the public radio station there. Sister Betty did not attend college, but had a long career in various capacities at American Airlines. Brother Mark did not attend college, either. He and a friend wound up owning a small pneumatic tool repair company. My youngest brother, Paul, attended the Specs Howard School of Broadcasting. He still works in radio today.

Epilogue.

The older I get the better I understand that the '50s were a unique time for families with young children in America. Most of the dads were little more than a decade removed from a world war in which upwards of 85 million people (both military and civilian) were killed.

And practically all of the moms and dads in my day had been kids during the Great Depression. So they raised us while possessing a sense of what it meant to be poor. My Dad used to tell stories about how ashamed he was to go to school as a child wearing pants provided to him by "welfare."

I've long thought that experiencing both a world war and the most devastating of economic times are the primary reasons that my parents and those of my childhood friends seemed to be such resilient people, so high in personal character (although not without their faults).

And consider that when my friends and I were in grade school, Detroit's economy was sizzling. Many dads had good jobs at the Big Three--or at automotive suppliers--at a time when GM, Ford and Chrysler really were the Big Three. Meanwhile, very few mothers worked outside the home.

With thoughts of war and memories of hard times in the backs of their minds, our parents wanted us to have better lives. So they encouraged us to "get an education." If not that, then to pursue a trade. And if that wasn't an option, well, there were always good paying jobs--with benefits--to be had at one of the Detroit auto plants in those days.

Ultimately, many of my friends and I received the college educations our parents wanted for us. And for the most part we wound up enjoying good careers in our respective fields. As did those who became police officers, fire fighters, carpenters, electricians, etc. Most of my friends--at least those who did not move out of state--eventually moved their families to exurbia--into lovely homes in the outer ring of Detroit suburbs such as Plymouth, Rochester, Bloomfield Hills, Northville, Farmington Hills, Milford, etc. My wife and I moved our family to Clarkston.

And life was good.

In my opinion.

The kids that I grew up with turned out to be good people, solid citizens. We didn't have to fight in a world war, thank God, but my generation did have Vietnam. We didn't suffer through a depression, but we experienced our share of serious recessions. And, generally speaking, my contemporaries turned out to be more tolerant than our parents in regard to skin color, the role of women in society, religious affiliation, etc.

When we made our moves away from the old neighborhood, we took with us our IRAs, mutual funds, 401ks, etc. And many of us became real estate rich with the appreciation in the values of our homes. So when we encouraged our own children to go to college, most of us could come up with the money to cover the rising cost of education.

But without realizing it, I think we were also building barriers to the good life for those left behind in the city and older suburbs where blue collar, less educated workers tend to live. In general, their children are unlikely to attend college these days. And if they do they're usually burdened by tons of debt from student loans.

Now, let's return to the fact in the second paragraph when I started this essay:

Also consider that young people with college educations today tend to marry other young people with college educations, thereby doubling (usually) their wealth. Plus many of them are in line to receive inheritances that were unheard of 60 years ago.

Passing along privilege is fine, but we may be doing it at the expense of other people and their children.

Bottom line, we seem to be unconsciously building roadblocks to the ladder of success for people lacking education. Maybe that's why we have a growing disparity in wealth, social immobility, political instability and a "great divide" in America today.

I'm not sure where it's all headed for our society. I just wish our government and business leaders would put their heads together to create an economy that works better for more people.

I'm talking about people on the lower rungs of the ladder in the "land of opportunity," including those who are less educated--people like maybe your parents and mine.

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richardofori · 1 year

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10 Ways to turn into A Fruitful Business visionary

1. Foster a strategy.

A marketable strategy emerges your thoughts onto paper and assists you with imagining how your business will be worked. In a nutshell, your field-tested strategy ought to essentially respond to the accompanying inquiries regarding your business:

• What is your item or administration? What are your needs?

• Where will you be working your business? Where would you like to be in five years?

• For what reason ought to individuals purchase your item/administration?

• Who is your objective portion? Who is your opposition?

• How might the everyday tasks be run? How might you manage unexpected crises?

Step by step instructions to Utilize Strengthening And Responsibility To Keep Workers Locked in

These are only a little example of inquiries to begin your conceptualizing cycle. The more inquiries you can respond to, the greater lucidity you have about maintaining your business.

2. Be parsimonious.

Really reconsider purchasing anything or marking a rent. To decide whether the consumption is an important and wise speculation, allude to your field-tested strategy and ask yourself how your buy will add to the progress of the business, as well as any extra costs you could be causing, for example, deterioration and upkeep costs. Continuously mean to accomplish more with less, and search for ways of diminishing expenses, for example, trading with different organizations.

3. Constantly teach yourself.

Be an unquenchable student. You can go to live workshops or classes on the web. I likewise suggest perusing books by an effective business person you respect. Regardless of whether they aren't in a similar field as you, you could glean tons of useful knowledge from both their victories and disappointments. Seeing how they tackle issues can give you tips on settling your predicaments.

4. Construct a triumphant group.

Behind each fruitful business is a solid and skillful group. This can incorporate drawing in a web-based individual partner or working with a gifted bookkeeper. Taking into account deals are the backbone of each and every business, I suggest creating your most memorable recruit somebody who can work with income by either expanding deals or making the deals cycle more effective. I likewise suggest selecting individuals who can assume responsibility for different things for more prominent proficiency.

The key is to enlist the best individuals to assist you with accomplishing your objectives, yet more significantly, individuals who share your vision. Each colleague could bring an alternate range of abilities to the table, however the whole group ought to continuously be in total agreement about the organization's vision and values.

5. Find a brain body-soul balance.

Ensure you eat soundly and set aside opportunity to clean up your brain. Your own health is all around as significant as your organization's main concern. Regardless of whether your office is at home, track down ways of turning off from work and re-energize by taking a walk or practicing to deliver a few endorphins (your body's normal happy go lucky synthetic). Inordinate pressure is unfavorable to your wellbeing. Recall that your business flourishes provided that you do.

6. Exploit free promoting instruments.

Some free showcasing instruments, for example, Google My Business and online entertainment can be utilized for advertising and advancement. Numerous organizations make Facebook peer gatherings to get the message out and associate with similar individuals.

A significant example I learned was that having phenomenal showcasing on a nice item or administration is superior to having little promoting on a magnificent item or administration. The more individuals who know about your organization, the better. Besides, this connects to tip No. 2 about being economical and accomplishing more with less: In the event that you can acquire exposure for no expense, no difference either way.

7. Track down a guide.

Having a tutor you can trust is a significant resource. Whether you're in a genius bunch or have kept in contact with your previous educators or other business partners, direction is dependably important. Work with somebody who has gotten over that very mountain you are attempting to explore to abbreviate your expectation to absorb information.

8. Try not to terrified of organization.

Make it a point to look for help. A large portion of us have contacts who can add to our prosperity. I'm not saying you ought to hit them up and quickly begin pitching to them, however you can continuously get them to get together over espresso or a feast and check whether there is a way that they're ready to help.

You could likewise begin with LinkedIn, which was intended for business organizing in any case. A well disposed hello and presentation without any assumptions for any result is everything necessary to begin a discussion with an outsider. It could appear to be horrendous and abnormal from the get go, however the more you make it happen, the simpler it becomes. I accept your organization is your total assets.

9. Be monetarily arranged.

Beginning a business generally costs more than expected. You can allot part of your income into a just-in-case account to get ready against startling monetary crises. If all else fails, you could need to take credits or infuse your own cash into the business. In any case, consistently pinpoint the main driver of the monetary issues and resolve them assuming that they are inside your extent of control.

10. Put resources into protection.

Risk the executives is a significant piece of a business visionary's work. Each choice conveys its own gamble, some of which are totally unusual. Nobody can at any point anticipate what could happen tomorrow, so you ought to pull out all the stops to keep your business and property secured. I've noticed numerous entrepreneurs who lament not buying protection, solely after setback strikes and their bill comes due. Counsel a back up plan to figure out how to safeguard yourself and your business. Your future self will be grateful that you did.

• What is your item or administration? What are your needs?

• Where will you be working your business? Where would you like to be in five years?

• For what reason ought to individuals purchase your item/administration?

• Who is your objective portion? Who is your opposition?

• How might the everyday tasks be run? How might you manage unexpected crises?

Step by step instructions to Utilize Strengthening And Responsibility To Keep Workers Locked in

These are only a little example of inquiries to begin your conceptualizing cycle. The more inquiries you can respond to, the greater lucidity you have about maintaining your business.

2. Be parsimonious.

3. Constantly teach yourself.

4. Construct a triumphant group.

5. Find a brain body-soul balance.

6. Exploit free promoting instruments.

7. Track down a guide.

8. Try not to terrified of organization.

9. Be monetarily arranged.

10. Put resources into protection.

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lovemesomesurveys · 2 years

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General Stuff To Start With What name do you go by most often? Stephanie or just Steph.

Is that your real name or a nickname? Both.

Has your birthday come yet this year? No, but it’s coming up on the 28th.

Where is your mom right now? She’s at home. She would have been here, but she wasn’t feeling well and is waiting to get tested for COVID...

What were you doing at 4pm? Doing a survey and watching YouTube videos.

Are you a good speller? I think so.

Who was the last person to give you a ‘high-five’? I don’t recall.

Would you consider yourself a shy person? Yes.

Can you play the guitar? Nope.

Three things you ate today? I can’t have actual food right now, so all I get is feeding tube supplements. I miss actual food and drinks so bad. :( I used to complain a lot about how eating sometimes felt like a chore, but I sure miss it now after not be able to do so for over 2 months now.

What did you do last Sunday? I watched my church’s livestream, did my usual stuff like check my social medias, scroll through Tumblr, watch YouTube videos, visited with my mom and dad, rested. And the usual stuff I do everyday while in the hospital like have my meds and get my vitals checked.

How many orange shirts do you own? I think I only have one and it’s not completely orange, it’s orange and black tie-dye.

Are you currently taking any prescription medications? Several now.

Do you like skim milk? No, I drink soy, almond, or oat milk. Oat milk is the best.

How did you bring in the New Year? Watched the NYE shows on TV and hung out with my mom.

Are you missing anyone right now? Yes. I’m really sad my mom couldn’t come today, but obviously we couldn’t risk it if she might have COVID. I really hope she doesn’t, but my dad and brother do, and she had been fine up until today. They of course can’t visit either, so if they all have it then I won’t see them for awhile. :(

If you could relive one moment in the past week what would it be? I wouldn’t. I want to keep moving forward and closer to getting better and going home eventually....

If you could spend 30 minutes with someone who is gone, who would you pick? My grandma.

Biggest mistake to date? Ignoring health related issues and self-neglect over the years that I’m greatly paying the price for now.

Where did you go to grade school at? A local elementary school.

Have you ever lived in Tennessee? No.

Idaho? No. I’ve been there a couple times, though.

Nebraska? No.

Maryland? No.

Texas? No.

Does anyone in your family smoke? Not in my immediate family.

How many of the people you live with are over 21? All 4 of us are.

Who do you wish you could talk to right this moment? My mom. I’m really upset because she has COVID and I’m worried about that, plus she obviously can’t come to visit me at the hospital so I’m likely not going to see her for at least a week. She’s had all the shots, so I’m praying it’s not too bad for her and when she tests again in like 5 days I think it is she’ll test negative. My dad and brother have it, too, so they can’t come either. I’m stuck here alone feeling miserable for other reasons and they’re all sick at home feeling miserable. This sucks.

How many clocks are in the room you are in? One wall clock, plus the clocks on my laptop and phone.

Do you use MSN messenger? No. I never used MSN, I had AIM and Yahoo Messenger.

What time will it be in 6 hours? 1:17AM.

Have you kissed anyone in the last week? No.

Do you enjoy classic rock? Yeah, some.

Have you ever been told you looked like someone famous? No.

Are you anemic? Yes. I was severely anemic when I was first admitted back in May.

At Christmas, do you have a fake or a real tree? We got a real tree every year of my life except for last year when I finally agreed to try out an artificial tree. It was cool that it was quickly assembled and the lights were already on it. Plus, it had a cool feature that allowed you to change the light colors and add an effect to it like flashing or switching between the different colors. Nothing beats the real thing, though.

Do you usually go watch fireworks on the 4th of July? Just from the front yard of my house. This year I just saw them on TV since I was here in the hospital.

Do you remember when the game Oregon Trail was really popular? Yeah.

Does anyone have your heart? My loved ones.

What did you do last Valentine’s Day? It was just another day.

Can you count to 20 in any other language? Yeah, Spanish.

How old were you in 2001? 12.

In 1973, how many years was it until you were born - or were you born? 16.

Have you ever had a crush on someone, and found out they liked your friend? Yes.

Have you ever been liked by someone you didn’t expect would like you? Yes.

Who ended your last relationship? He did.

How do you feel about that? I was heartbroken. It’s been several years now, though, and I’ve long since moved on.

Do Mondays get you down? All my days are the same.

How long have you been at your current job? I don’t have a job.

Have you ever been fired? I’ve never had a job.

How many times have you been pulled over by the cops? Zero. I also don’t drive.

What is your mood like right now? I’m upset about the whole situation with my family being sick with covid as well as the fact that they won’t be able to visit for several days and I’m stuck here alone. I’m also just miserable from dealing with my health issues and being here in the hospital.

Where did you go today? I can’t go anywhere.

Do you know anyone who is pregnant right now? Not that I know of.

Do you cut the crusts off your sandwiches? Yes.

Do you prefer sweet or unsweetened tea? I like to add a packet or two, so sweet but not too sweet.

Who did you last embarrass yourself in front of? I don’t know.

Would you rather meet the president or win $500 dollars from the lottery? $500, please.

What was the reason you last smiled? Something my nurse said.

A Little About Your Friends

List 8 Good Friends:

**I don’t have any friends and I can only come up with 4 people, but here we go...**

1. Mom.

2. Jon.

3. Dad.

4. Janoah.

5. --

6. --

7. --

8. --

#1 My mom. Are you related to this person? Well, yes, she’s my mom.

What did you do the last time you hung out? We started watching this new show called, The Bear, on Hulu. It’s good, we’re already halfway through.

Would you trust this person to keep a secret? Yes.

Who is this person dating? She is with my dad.

Do you live in the same town? Yes, and in the same house.

#2 Jon. Are you dating this person? Uh, noooo. He’s my brother.

Would you consider this person attractive? He’s a handsome young man.

What is this person’s full name? I’m not sharing his full name.

Is this person taller than you? Just about everyone is except for small children, but yeah he’s also really tall.

Do you go to the same school? We’ve gone to the same schools, just not at the same time.

#3 My dad. Is this person engaged? No.

What color is this person’s hair? Naturally light brown, but he’s let his gray grow out.

Where does this person work? A car repair shop.

When did you last call this person? I don’t recall. We text. He texts me a lot now since I’ve been in the hospital.

Have you ever been drunk together? No.

#4 Janoah. What is this person likely doing right now? I have no idea.

Does this person have any children? Yes, she has a son.

How did you meet this person? She’s my aunt.

Have you ever had a crush on this person? All the people I listed are family, I’m not into incest.

Where was the last place you went together? I think it was Walmart.

#5 What is this person’s middle name? Does this person like rap music?

Has this person ever been arrested?

Is this person older than you?

When did you last see this person?

#6 Have you ever met this person’s parents?.

When is this person’s birthday?

Is this person still in high school?

What color are this person’s eyes?

Do you work with this person?

Do you and this person share an ex? Where was the last place you went to eat with this person? What color is this person’s car?

Can this person play the piano?

Does this person like scary movies?

#8 How long have you known this person? Does this person have hair past their shoulders?

Does this person have any tattoos?

Have you ever kissed?

Did you go to grade school with this person?

Finish the Sentence My hair is: Messy and ugly.

I wish I was: Health and at home.

The only thing I can’t stand: I mean, there are a lot of things I can’t stand. <<<

There is no way: I’ll be going home anytime soon... D:

Someday I am going to: Hopefully get my shit together.

I couldn’t live without: My mom.

I hate when: I let my fears and stubbornness dictate all my decisions.

I love it when: I’m able to travel.

Sometimes I can be: Snippy and short.

I am not interested: Drinking alcohol.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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avenuealibi48 · 2 years

Text

Magnetic Window Cleaner Double Side Glass Wiper For High

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obae-me · 3 years

Text

A Taste of Your Own Medicine

Author’s Note: I finally did it! One of my bigger projects finished! And this is the most ambitious thing I’ve posted in a while! It’ll be my biggest post for sure! I truly, truly hope you guys enjoy this. I hope this sickfic can make you feel a bit better during these times. (*slaps fic* This bad boy can fit so many cuddles in it). Thank you all for your encouragement and support, it’s honestly what helped me get this finished! Also, I swear I’ve been over this thing more than thirty times to try and catch mistakes, but it’s a lot so if I missed mistakes I apologize.

Word Count: 18,300

Warnings: Blood, Medication Use, Vomiting, I’m not a doctor in any way shape or form, so please don’t take any of this as a personal guide.

As Always, Read Safely, And Please Enjoy!

Lucifer, then Satan and Mammon. After that came Beel and Belphie, followed up by Levi. Lastly Asmo. All of them, every single one, had fallen ill. Try as they may, none of them had been safe, and you’d been the main one working to nurse them back to health despite you knowing nothing about caring for demons. It had been...what was the right word? Grueling? No. Enjoyable? Well you couldn’t quite say that either. It had its ups and downs. Working for about a month straight on little sleep wasn’t exactly a dream job, but the affection and actions you’d seen were priceless. The pictures on your phone and the memories in your head would keep your heart warm for the rest of your life, but you could go no further. You were done. Done with being a nurse. Done with restless nights. Done with this illness.

The House of Lamentation had finally begun to feel normal again, normal except for your persistent fatigue accompanied by strange shifts in your body temperature. It started off small at first, you had hardly noticed. Unfortunately, it had grown rather rapidly, impeding your day-to-day life. The fuzzy thoughts in the back of your mind knew that something was unnatural. Your body shouldn’t feel like this. Yet, afraid of facing the truth, or hoping you were just overreacting, you insisted that just sleeping it off would bring you back to normal.

Only... you should’ve known. You should’ve seen the signs. The sneezing, the breathlessness you felt with the simplest of things, the discomfort settling in your bones. What were you going to do? Well, you figured the best thing to do was move onward, acting like nothing was amiss. Fake it till you make it. Whatever it was would go away on its own, it had to.

But it wouldn’t, and as much as they would refuse to admit it, each demonic member of the household had grown fond of being fussed over by you. Tugging you in all directions, demanding constant attention, wearing your energy down to dust. Although, if you were being entirely honest, they tended to do that regardless. However, after being treated so specially, their neediness grew tenfold. Thus, without giving yourself a break, every morning you ended up feeling worse than the day before, and it was only going downhill from there. Perhaps you should’ve told them, nipping it in the bud before it had a change to blossom into something terrible. In retrospect, that should’ve been the obvious path to take. Yet, driven by some desire you couldn’t place, you pushed yourself so far past the breaking point that your own body had to stop you.

Waking up to your alarm in the early hours of this particular morning was more difficult than you’d like to admit. Removing the blankets might as well have been pushing stones off your body. Your limbs felt stiff, gravity’s pull was stronger than it should’ve been, and moving forward was like pushing through waves of molasses. However, you went forward, still fooled under some grand delusion that you’d feel better once you freshened up. Gathering up a change of clothes and a towel for your morning shower, you stumbled out of your room. Getting to the bathroom had been a blur, the only thing you could recall was consistently leaning your weight against the wall to keep your legs steady. You’d met no one in your path, assuming they must’ve all already been in the dining hall, the faint smell of breakfast foods flooding the hallways. It made your stomach churn.

Before anyone could see you in this downright pathetic state, you entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind you and locking it. You took a moment to catch your breath and press your forehead against the cold wood of the door. It felt amazing against your skin. But you couldn’t linger, you had to get ready for RAD. As you turned, you came up to the sink, settling your items on the side of the bowl. It was then you saw your face in the mirror for the first time that morning. Biting your lip, you splashed some water on your face, hoping it would wash away some of the hints of sickness-- the not-sickness...you weren’t sick. Right? You couldn’t have caught the demon illness, right? Was it possible? Your head was throbbing, the heart in your chest pounding in panic. What were you going to do? You couldn’t miss classes, you couldn’t let anyone know, you couldn’t be a burden. Brush your teeth, you thought. Get ready, play it off. It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad. Stop overreacting.

Showering felt nice, it was the only thing so far that let you feel some peace. The steamy hot water released some of the tension in your temples and lungs. Although, the intense heat made you lightheaded, and a single little misstep in the shower had you almost plummet to the floor. Shaking, gasping for air, desperately attempting to cling to the slick stone wall, you slowly sat on the wet tiles, leaning your body back so the stream of water landed directly on your chest. The comfort almost coaxed you back into sleep, but before you could fall into slumber, you jolted. How long had you been in there? Five minutes? Half an hour? You could forget about washing your head today. Crawling out of the shower, the frigid air burnt the inside of your nose, shuddering you with a few sneezes. Not good. You rushed to dry yourself off and pull your uniform on. Before you headed down to the dining hall, you blew your nose, shook your head, and prepared yourself to sound as normal as possible. Somehow you managed not to stumble down the stairs, something you were thankful for. Maybe it wasn’t as severe as you thought it was.

Arguing could be heard past the hall doors. That wasn’t too rare, it’d become tradition almost, to the point where being met with an unclamorous silence was somewhat threatening. What was it this time? Mammon stealing something? Beel eating something? Belphie not doing something?

It was hard to comprehend the words, but you could make out the important pieces. “I bought that for ya, so it… … … that I took it back!” Mammon growled.

“Once you… … … it was mine!” Asmo shrieked. “It wasn’t yours to sell … … … buy it in the first place!”

Ah, so it was another Mammon related issue, you didn’t need to be a hardcore gambler to win that bet. Raised voices didn’t do any good for your head, the pressure in your eardrums throbbing. You stayed silent as you slid inside, or at least you tried to stay silent. Instead, you accidently made your presence prominent as you shut the doors too harshly behind you. Heads turned all at once, your knees threatening to turn to jelly under the gaze.

“Is something the matter, MC?” Lucifer asked, the first one able to sense something wrong. He always knew. You were never able to hide anything from him. However, the fact that you’d been able to play things off in his presence up till now settled a sort of twisted pride inside you. You blamed Pride himself for his bad influence. Lowering his cup from his lips, he raised an eyebrow.

You mustered up a usual grin. “Just...tired,” you lied. Had your throat always been this sore? And was it the table full of warm food, or was it terribly hot in here? Not the healing sort of temperature either, but rather the sticky suffocating heat that formed waves in your vision. Or maybe the room was swirling on its own? Tugging at the collar of your shirt, you took a single step forward, attempting to walk again. You lowered your head, turning away from the eldest, remaining as inconspicuous as possible for fear he’d take one good look at you and expose your troubles. Lucifer was not convinced, shifting his gaze between his morning cup of coffee and your strange stature. For the time being, he dropped his questions, lying in wait for you to exude any signs that you were lying.

Doing your best not to trip up, you eventually sat down at the dining table, a spot left open for you between Belphie--who was sitting up asleep--and Asmo. The demon of lust luckily didn’t seem to notice your weaker state, continuing on his tirade against his older brother. “Mammon, I swear to whatever forces may be listening that if you don’t get it back I will ruin you, you hear me?!”

“Yeah yeah, you can try!” Mammon scoffed.

Asmo spoke again, his words blocked out by the sudden ringing in your ears, the shrill noise spurring on pain behind your eyes. As you bit the inside of your cheek, you squeezed your eyes closed till the painful sound faded away. Only, opening them back up now seemed to make everything worse. The light was harsh, far too harsh, blinding rays striking off every reflective surface. Your vision started to swim, blurring the features of those around you. Squinting, you groaned a bit to yourself before lifting a utensil from the table, attempting to eat some of the breakfast in front of you before anyone became suspicious. Every bite sank heavily to the bottom of your stomach.

“Will the two of you be quiet, for sin’s sake?!” Satan boomed, his wrath peeking through his composure as his brothers started to take their spat too far, interrupting what should’ve been a quiet morning. Although, when had that ever happened? Magic spilling from their fingertips, demon forms exposed, Mammon and Asmo were each ready to brawl it out at any moment. The ruckus finally managed to stir Belphie who was visibly irritated.

The miniscule amount of food you had eaten started to already stir sickeningly within you. The sweltering heat you had felt before stripped away in a moment, a frightening chill creeping over your body. Before you could think, you got to your feet, breathless, heart pounding as an overwhelming presence of something agonizing forced you to move. Getting up too quickly caused the whole world to rock, your head doing somersaults. Lucifer obviously was now convinced everything was far from fine as you swayed on your own two feet, the legs of his chair screeching against the hardwood floor as he stood. Everyone in the room quickly went quiet, all eyes on you as you fumbled. The weight of their attention seemed to push you further over the edge. “It’s...I’m…” You needed to move, to be anywhere but here, so you staggered a few steps away from the group.

You heard the thud before you felt it, not quite comprehending what it meant to feel the floor fall out from beneath you as the world shifted sideways. The area became a chorus of shouts as seven demons called out your name. You didn’t fully blackout. Your consciousness was too stubborn to be snuffed out like that, but you couldn’t fully talk or move either.

A pair of arms wrapped around you, bringing you close to their body. Despite being right next to you, somehow everything still felt so far away, like you were experiencing everything secondhand. The smoothness of leather touched your cheek before the glove was supposedly discarded, cold skin touching your face. “They’re burning up,” Lucifer announced, the undertones of his voice just barely wavering, or perhaps your sense of sound was just as skewed as your sight had been. He flipped his hand over, his knuckles brushing against your forehead. You tried opening your eyes to look at him, but it was next to impossible.

“MC?! Hey, what’s with you?!” Mammon shouted, two hands squeezing your shoulders. The panic in his words was apparent. “What’s wrong with them?!”

“I think they’re sick,” Belphie chimed.

Satan sounded distant, but his voice still drifted to your ears. “Should I alert Simeon and Solomon?”

Without warning, you sensed yourself being lifted off the floor, the sudden movement jerking the last strands of your consciousness back as you lurched into a black weightlessness. You swam through the fog, trying to pick back up the voices in the room.

“...the human world to get a few things,” someone spoke. As you shifted your body, the people went silent, but not for long.

“They’re awake!”

“Thank heavens…”

“Oi, everyone get off ‘em!”

Somehow, you found the energy to open your eyes. There were no arms holding you and the dining room was far gone. You were now in bed, in your room, surrounded by demons, angels, and the only other human in the Devildom. The confusion of the blank spot in your memory shot panic through your nerves, not to mention it was uncomfortable to be stared down like this. “What…?” You gasped, trying to sit up in bed. A washcloth slid off your forehead and down your face. Someone’s gentle hands guided you back into a lying position, taking the rag and putting it back in its place.

Lucifer had a chair pulled up to your bedside, lines popping up between his eyebrows in worry. He finished pressing you back up against your pillow, pulling the blankets back over your chest. “Don’t move too much,” he ordered, his words harsh but his eyes soft. “You collapsed in the dining hall.”

Well, that part you could recall. They must’ve brought you here. Despite it only feeling like a second, you must’ve been out long enough for the other exchange students to arrive. “Is-” You interrupted yourself with some coughs, quickly turning your head into your pillow. Even just speaking left your lungs weak, but you had a question. “Is it…?

“It’s not what the brothers had if that’s what you’re asking,” Solomon nodded. “You as a human couldn’t catch that particular illness. Although if you had, you probably wouldn’t survive. So lucky you, right?” Levi nearly dropped to his knees at that prospect, eyes wide with fear, as if he wasn’t convinced that you were lucky at all. You had to admit, you felt far from it. Many of the other siblings shot the sorcerer a dirty glare, everyone’s nerves strangely on edge. Solomon closed his eyes and laughed a bit. “Aha, but like I said, it’s a very mortal disease. Just a cold or the case of the flu from what I can tell.”

“Just?” Mammon growled, barking out his opinions like an angry guard dog. “They’re lying here looking like they're two seconds away from pushin’ up daisies and you make guesses? You’ve been acting so calm and treating this like it ain’t that serious! And to be honest, it’s kinda tickin’ me off!” He took a few serious steps towards Solomon, shoulders squared, ready to fight. Luke ducked behind Simeon’s body for protection, but there was no need. Before he took things too far, Mammon growled and resumed his brisk pace around your room.

“I hate to agree with him,” Asmo started, “But Mammon’s right.” The fourth-born frowned, some of his outward sparkle dulled with concern. Every hint of his and Mammon’s dispute had faded away. “This isn’t a joke! You have to do something, Solomon! Save them!” Asmo flung himself over the sorcerer begging and pleading, reacting as if you were on your deathbed. Mammon pushed a haughty breath of air between his teeth, turning on his heels to sit beside you on the bed. His nervous energy could hardly be contained, erratically adjusting the blanket over your body as one of his legs bounced up and down rapidly.

Solomon shook his head, brushing Asmo off of him. “I was simply trying to lighten the mood.” You caught a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he watched these powerful demons on the brink of falling to pieces. “If treated properly, it shouldn't be fatal. Plenty of monitoring and rest and the body should heal on its own. Of course if it worsens or persists, then a doctor might be required, but we can cross that bridge when we get to it. Although, like I was saying, it would be best if I went to the human world to at least get some proper medicine. We wouldn’t want our MC here to suffer the full brunt of the symptoms, and I doubt the remedies here would have a desired effect.”

With that, Lucifer sighed, lifting his chin to address the sorcerer. “I shall accompany you to the human world. We’ll get what we need and come right back, understood?”

Either the demon of pride’s stern glare wasn’t at its peak today or Solomon was generally unaffected. The sorcerer looked past him and right at you with a grin on his face. “He gets rather overbearing when it comes to you doesn’t he?”

“We’re leaving,” Lucifer huffed, his arms wide to shepherd everyone out of your room. Several of his siblings cried out in protest. “Everyone out! The last thing MC needs is the bunch of you bothering them.” The only one he didn’t tug along was Simeon, the angel turning down the light and approaching you as soon as everyone had gone.

A short laugh rumbled in his throat. “They sure do care about you a lot,” he smiled. He took Mammon’s previous spot on the bed by you, settled by your hip. He discovered the bump in the blanket that served as your arm under the covers. Slowly, he ran his hand up and down over it. “What a terrible thing for you to be this sick.” It wasn’t often the angel frowned, but in this case he appeared deeply troubled, as if he was taking your pain as his own. “I can help you fall asleep if you’d like me to. Solomon warned me against using too much magic against your weakened immune system, but I should be able to let you sleep peacefully.” He waited for a response, not moving forward with anything till you nodded your head slowly. Golden light rushed to the ends of his fingers, the soft skin of his fingertips brushing against your eyelids to close them. A shudder ran down your spine, your own body tingling, and you wondered if it was his magic or simply just the tender gesture. “Rest well, MC,” Simeon whispered. “Feel better.” And then just like he suggested, your mind quickly got swept along into a blissful sleep.

Angelic magic or not, it didn’t seem to hold back the fever for long. Even in your dreams, all you could feel was frigid fire. Your nerves were fried, unable to tell if you were freezing to death or boiling. And the dreams...the images flashing in your mind of threats you couldn’t understand, dangers that filled you with panic. Someone was uttering words to you that you couldn't understand. All you could do was try to run, try to escape. Everything about you was screaming.

Through the mist of sickness, you could finally make out the voice. “...gotta...can’t...help…” After a few moments of the whimpering and the distress, you were alarmed to figure out it was the sound of your own voice. But you couldn’t even feel yourself saying the words.

“I’m here,” another person muttered past the darkness. “It’s alright…” The stranger shushed, trying to sound sweet to cover up the panic in their tone. “The one time I need that pompous jerk around and he’s gone. Figures.” You could hear a few pages being turned, a frustrated click of a tongue followed after. “Why didn’t I look this up before? Why wasn’t I prepared?” The anger from the other being in the room seemed to affect you. You thrashed a little, kicking your feet as if it would help push off the suffocating agony. Two hands clamped down on your shoulders, pinning you to the bed. “Calm down...Please calm down...I need to calm down.” Once you went back to being mostly still, more pages were turned. “Have the afflicted wear light clothing. I can do that.” A weight was shed off of you as the blanket pulled back. Air struck your sweat covered skin, sending chills down your body. You began to tremble. The front of your RAD uniform was tugged at, someone working at the buttons to shed the outer layer off your body.

“...won’t...s...sor...is…hah…” Your speech was broken, and even if you knew what you wanted to say, your mouth wouldn’t let you. Someone took your hands, lifting your arm to let gravity help assist in removing the sleeve. You could feel it slip before fully crashing against the bed like a dead weight, free of the thick uniform fabric. The same was done with the other arm. Then a hand supported the back of your neck, lifting your upper body just enough until the extra layer was yanked out from under you. Removing the jacket had been like opening an oven. Heat from your body suddenly escaped into the room, no longer trapped behind unnecessary insulation. Even in your rather deranged state, you could feel your shirt sticking to your skin. Now you seemed to be shuddering harder.

“Hydration...medication...Curses, Lucifer, get back here...Nothing...there’s nothing here!” The individual grunted in a growl of vexation, a frantic flutter of paper soaring further away before something heavy struck the ground far from you. You managed to stop moaning, switching to feverish panting. Your company tutted at you again, stroking the top of your head tenderly. “Can you even hear me at all? Breathe, MC, breathe.” It’s embarrassing to admit it took you much longer than you would’ve liked to remember how to control your breathing. Once you took some deeper inhales, you heard your caretaker sigh in relief. “Good…Well, not good, but better.”

Reality had sunken in almost completely now, just covered with a thin layer of dreamy haze. You cracked your eyes open, a mess of blonde hair and worried green eyes looking down at you. “S-Sa...tan,” you murmured.

His hand stroked your head a few more times before grabbing the wet rag again and dotting it across your face. The energy you needed to retain consciousness was quickly fading. Satan’s hands grasped your face. “Hold on! Look at me again, come on.” With every ounce of power you had left, you lifted your eyelids as much as you could. Still half-lidded, you only caught glimpses of his green sweater as he slid one hand under your back, lifting you up gently. Your head bobbed down, chin against your chest as Satan settled your back against your headboard. Gentle fingers lifted your head, some plastic brought to your lips. “You have to stay hydrated, drink just a little.” You wrapped your lips around the straw, sucking water into your body until you felt like you were going to be sick again. Satan moved to put the cup back down, and in that time he made the mistake of letting you go. Gravity tugged your body down, nearly slipping out of bed, threatening to fall to the floor. Thankfully, the demon of wrath was there to catch you. Head resting against his shoulder, you breathily let out a ‘thank you’ that was probably closer to a slurred series of sounds rather than a statement.

His arms wrapped tightly around you. “Don...lea…ve...”

Then everything went black again.

When consciousness flooded back to your mind, you had no idea how long it had been. Turning to your other side, you rubbed your head against the pillow. Everything was still much too warm. You slipped an arm under your heavy headrest, hoping to get to the cooler side. Your pillow twitched. Your pillow...was moving? Up. Down. Slow. Rising with steady breaths. You woke up, shifting enough in your spot to alert the person in your bed. Placing a book to the side, Satan rubbed one of your shoulders. Taking a moment to realize what position you were in, you felt your stomach flop once you came to the conclusion that you were lying against Satan’s legs, clinging to his clothes, hand against his lower back, head resting against his stomach. “You alright?” Satan wondered, pressing a hand to your forehead. You didn’t need to speak for him to know the answer. Not really. “I’ll admit, you had me worried for a while there.” He sat up fully, your head sliding back to your pillow--your actual pillow. You quickly retracted your death grip on him, hugging your arms close to your body. If there could be any more heat in your cheeks, there would be.

Shame creeped into your bones. “S...sorry.”

His expression brightened a small amount, pleased with the fact that you could speak mostly clearly now, even if your voice did sound ragged. He pulled the blanket back over your shoulders and up near your chin. “Don’t worry about that, just worry about feeling better.” He twisted his body, grabbing something off your nightstand again. “Here, have some more water. Everything I’ve read says that you need to stay hydrated at all times.” You dug your elbow into the mattress, lifting your head enough to not choke as you drank. As Satan lowered the glass, you noticed it was almost completely empty. You didn’t remember drinking that much. Exactly how delusional had you been earlier? How much had you forgotten? You downed the rest of the drink in small sips, lying back down when you were done.

“Did…” You squeaked. “Did I do anything…”

“Weird?” Satan finished your sentence for you. “So you don’t remember all of it, I take it?” You shook your head. “You started moaning, hyperventilating. Once you calmed down a bit you collapsed on me and refused to let me go. I figured since I was going to monitor you anyway I would…” A small blush formed on his cheeks. “Hold you till Lucifer got home.”

You looked away from his face, still a bit self conscious. You decided to change the subject. “He’s still gone?”

Satan’s lips almost curled into a little snarl. “Yes. I have no idea why he’s decided to take his sweet time to-” He cut himself off short, clearing his throat and removing any traces of rage. “Don’t worry about him, I’m sure he’ll be home soon with the medicine.” You felt the top of your head being pet again, tempting you to close your eyes. “Until then, is there anything I can get for you?” You shook your head once more, allowing yourself to indulge in your impulses, moving closer to his body. Despite seeming mostly unaffected by the intimacy earlier, he took in a short sharp breath, lifting his head to the side to hide part of his face. His hand was near your face, tauntingly close, reminding you of how chill his skin was and how good it felt to have him stroke your head. You closed your eyes, bringing your head forward enough to bump against his wrist. A stifled gasp rang through the air before he took a deep breath. “It’s unfortunate that you had to be this sick to…” His sentence trailed off, his hand that you’d ran into pressed against your burning cheeks before brushing against your hair, running down the length of locks before starting again. “Conserve your energy,” he whispered. “Go back to bed.”

“... … how are they?”

“...still feverish… …sleeping for a long time…”

“I’ll take over… … get some rest.”

Soft voices somehow roused you from your deep sleep, the final click of your door leaving you awake. You flitted your eyes open, immediately upset with how dry and crusty they felt. It didn’t help you feel any better when you noticed Lucifer by your bed, busy observing a small cardboard container. He was quick to notice you move, turning his head towards you as you wiped the grime from your eyes with the back of your finger. How embarrassing. Having to be sick, weak, vulnerable, positively distasteful, and in front of the people you thought highly of no less. Memories of Satan flooded back into your mind. Would they all think less of you after this? For how low you’d fallen? For how weak you were? You couldn’t let that happen. What had happened with Satan couldn’t be helped, but from here on out you would do your best to be independent. You adjusted to sit up.

“What did I say about moving too much?” He scolded, his hand outstretched to settle you back down. You swept his gesture away, sitting up fully and focusing on the item in his hand. A regular box of human world medicine. You reached out for it, and despite being annoyed you’d swatted him away, he handed it to you. The tones of his voice casually shifted from his typical strict nature to low and sweet. “Is...this the one you need?” You glanced it over. Gel pills, daytime and nighttime ones, for cold and flu symptoms. You nodded. He seemed relieved. “It doesn’t happen often, but I was glad for Solomon’s help in picking the proper medicines,” he admitted. “Who knew humans needed so many medications? And you even have entire shops dedicated to them.” He shook his head as a deep frown formed on his face as if he just realized how fragile and complicated human bodies could be. You sighed, agreeing with him in your mind. You were thankful he managed to bring this back though, for as much as you hated proving he was right, you desperately wanted the medicine to ease your aching symptoms. You tried prying the flap open, annoyed when it refused to tear apart. From out of the corner of your eye, you swore you spotted the smallest smirk cross over Lucifer’s face. “Would you like some help?” You grumbled, turning your torso away from him as you attempted again to open the simple package. In slight sadistic fashion, he simply observed you struggle for another few minutes before you tore the box open. Even just working on that had you nearly breathless, but you scrounged up a little triumphant grin. Pulling out one of the bubble sheets, you settled the box back in your lap which Lucifer quickly picked up, returning to read the details printed on the back. “No more than four doses a day,” he announced. “You can take two of those pills now and then wait for four hours before you can take any more.” He read all that out with the confidence of a doctor who knew exactly what he was prescribing. “I want you to check in with me before you decide to take more, understood?”

You desperately wanted to be snippy about it, but the energy for defense was long gone. Plus, you knew that he needed to have his hands on the reins at all times, and his stubbornness was especially bad when it was a situation he had no control over. “Okay,” you squeaked, pressing your thumb tightly against the foil backing until the pills were free. Dumping them out into your palm, you sighed to yourself once you spotted the empty glass of water from earlier. You’d have to go refill it.

As soon as you pushed the blankets back and swung your legs out of bed to stand up, Lucifer tightly gripped your shoulders. Normally, he would’ve reacted before the thought even crossed your mind, but your actions must’ve stunned him more than usual. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Wincing a little, you cleared your throat before you spoke. “I need water.” You tried to get back up, but your weakened strength was no match against Lucifer’s, and he was hardly trying.

“Then let me get some for you.” Your lips parted to utter out a rebuttal but he’d have none of it. He grasped your ankles, pulling your legs back into bed and folding the covers back over the lower half of your body. He pointed a gloved finger at you. “You’re not to move.” He plucked the empty glass off the tabletop, striding out of your door before you could even try to argue. A low groan rumbled in your chest, your lungs convulsing out a few more coughs. By the time you got your breathing managed again, the demon of pride was back in your room, handing you a fresh glass of water. A deeper frown tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched ripples form in the liquid as your hand shook. Attempting to stabilize your hold only seemed to make it worse. He reached out, his intention to help you drink. Before he could, you popped both pills in your mouth and grasped at the cup with both hands as you brought the rim to your lips, watching his arm fall dejectedly back to his sides. Even the smooth gel coating went down rough, feeling more like two sharp stones scraping the inside of your esophagus. With your nose more stopped up than usual, by the time you were done drinking you were gasping for air, resulting in coughs again, hard enough to nearly make you gag. Lucifer took the cup from you before you could drop it, settling it on your nightstand. You were bowled over, tears streaming from your eyes. Rare panic crossed over Lucifer’s face, rubbing your back till the coughing fit came to an end. He took a deep inhale once it was over. Then he placed his touch over your forehead again, his thumb gently rubbing against your temple. When he retracted, you nearly let a little moan betray your feelings. You’re supposed to be independent, you reminded yourself. Lucifer shifted in his seat a bit, brandishing another item from his pockets. “We got one of these things as well,” he explained, taking the little item between his fingers and squinting to better study it. “He said it would be useful in monitoring your temperature, but...he failed to explain how it worked.”

If you were feeling even just a bit better, you would’ve laughed. Lucifer took the thermometer and pointed the end towards your forehead, his eyebrows raised as he waited for something to happen, only to scowl when nothing did. You let a similar cocky expression coat your face as he was the one to struggle with something so simple this time. If only he knew he had the right idea but the wrong type. He’d gotten one of the older fashioned versions. “This kind goes under my tongue,” you explained.

“Really?” He hummed. “How strange. Seems...messy.” He held the end close to your mouth, his face showing no signs of amusement this time as he waited. You hesitated, your heart beating faster at the emotions swelling in your chest. Independent, independent, independent, you repeated in your mind. Only, you’d caught him in a very impatient mood. With his other hand, he cupped it around your chin, carefully pulling your jaw down till he could slip the end of the thermometer under your tongue. You pressed your lips back together, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. The small device beeped once it got its reading. Lucifer pulled it out and brought it back towards him. “101.4” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair before settling the thermometer down, attempting to guide your body back down in a lying position.

You stopped him, grabbing his wrist, eyes focusing on anything other than his face. “You don’t...have to do this.”

He entertained you, fully capable of pushing you down should he desire it, but he let you keep him in your grasp. His eyes narrowed. “What thing in particular are you talking about?”

Taking as deep of a breath your lungs would allow, you corrected yourself. “You don’t have to take care of me, I mean.” Words strained and cracking, they did little to convince the demon. “I’m well enough to take care of myself. Trust me, I’ve done it plenty before.”

Distrustful and discouraged, he stiffened, tugging his wrist away. “Be that as it may, while you are down here you are my responsibility. It is part of my duty to ensure you are safe and well looked after. Do you expect me to just walk away from my role?”

You’ll admit, it wasn’t very rational, but something other than the fever in you burned. “I’m not an assignment to be written off, Lucifer.”

“You know I didn’t mean that.” His crimson eyes looked down at you for a moment, the air silent between you save for the faint rattling in your chest. Eventually, he spoke back up, the previous forbidding expression gave way to a small smile. He closed his eyes and chuckled a little, taking you aback. “When did you ever get so prideful? Is it too bold to assume it’s my doing?” Then his hand moved forward, unbothered by your past attempt to push him away. He brushed sticky strands of hair away from your face. “If you truly don’t want me here, I will leave.” Your chest seemed to flutter at his words. It wasn’t that you...didn’t want him there. It was that you did. Almost too much. If there was anything you didn’t want, it was to be a hindrance. You knew how busy Lucifer was. His trip to the human world had probably already doubled his workload, and if you were right they’d all skipped classes for your sake, and- “MC.” He cupped your face, the look on his face told you that he knew everything you were thinking. “Not worrying about anything else, not overthinking it, do you want me here, yes or no? A simple question and two simple options.”

“I…” You knew the answer, and he did too, trying to hold back his amusement until he could hear the answer for himself. “If...you...want to.”

He shook his head in a defeated way. “You’re incorrigible, you know that don’t you?” With your acceptance, he took your shoulders, letting you lie down. He took the rag that had fallen off to the side, gently brushing it across your face. Under your eyes, over your cheekbones, under your chin. Then he leaned forward, his upper body resting against your bed, his head propped up under one of his hands. He gazed at you, tracing your jawline with his knuckle. The skin across his cheeks turned a light pink. “Of course I want to be with you. Not a moment goes by that I don’t desire to be at your side.”

The fast acting medicine and the fact that you’d been so distracted by his peaceful touch, you’d totally missed what he’d told you. “Hm?” You sleepily hummed, too focused on how close his body was to yours.

“Nothing,” he mused, making sure you were secure under the covers. “I’ll tell you once you’ve recovered. Sleep now.”

The muscles in your body slowly woke you up, screaming at you to change positions after having slept like a stone for Diavolo-knows how long. Eyes still closed, sleep still foggy on your mind, you turned over in bed. However, even with the smallest amount of alertness you possessed, you were very aware of how...generally upsetting your body felt. Soon it was all you could focus on, forcing you awake. Groaning, mourning the comfort of sleep, you slowly stretched out your weary legs. Your feet pressed against a foreign lump in your bed.

Mammon shot up, uncurling himself from the foot of your bed as he apparently woke up from a nap. “MC!” He crawled forward, placing both of his hands on the side of your face. “How ya feeling?” His sudden energy left you a bit winded, still trying to comprehend him caressing your face so tenderly. He let his arms drop to your shoulders. You shifted under his gaze, shaking your head.

“Like garbage…” Hot, sweaty, gross, you felt uncomfortable in your own skin. Mammon frowned, his blue eyes wide and shimmery. He resembled a puppy for just a second, observing your face for any sort of hope that by some miracle you’d fully recovered. When he saw you were still the worst for wear, he sighed, grabbing the covers around you and tucking it against your legs. Only, the blanket wasn’t one that you owned. Running your hands over the fabric, you noticed that this was one of Lucifer’s blankets. It was lighter and cooler than the blanket you had on before. You took in the rest of your room for a moment, noticing more than one thing out of place. Mammon had been resting on one of Belphie’s pillows, one of his new expensive ones. In fact the pillow you had been sleeping on was replaced with one of Sloth’s. On your nightstand, near your box of medicine and a box of tissues was a little diffuser, one you recognized as Asmo’s. A small plume of steam flushed out of the top, a mild comforting scent spreading throughout the space. A book that wasn’t yours, a replica of some sword draped over your table, and a number of other things that had never been between your walls before were littered here and there. You tilted your head. “Where did these things come from?” You wondered.

Mammon lowered his eyelids, his hands on his hips as he settled into a more comfortable seating position beside you. “Listen, my hands get grabby sometimes when I get anxious.”

You simply blinked at him. “You were worried?”

His sincere expression changed as he frowned, pink touching his cheeks as he shook his head. “W-well of course! Lucifer would make sure I never saw a lick of Grimm again if something happened to you…” His voice turned to a lower mumble. “And what, you thought I wouldn’t be worried after watching you take a spill like that? Had me thinking you’d bit the dust for a second!” His eyes flickered around the room as if he was making sure you two were truly alone. Then he leaned past you, fluffing up the pillow you had been laying on. As he straightened, he pressed his hand against your forehead, his body temperature much warmer than Lucifer’s. “Never make me that worried again, yeah? I...You see...Just don’t, okay?”

You hummed an affirming tone, nodding, a small smile creeping across your mouth. Then after the moment had passed, you shifted in your spot. You felt disgusting even after all that effort to take a shower this morning. Lucifer did say not to move too much, but right now you wanted to be clean more than anything. Pushing back the blankets encouraged a similar reaction to Lucifer’s earlier.

“Oi! What do you think you’re doing?!” Mammon scurried to his feet, standing in front of you with his arms wide to block you from moving, even though you had yet to even leave the bed. “Bed rest means staying in bed last I checked!”

“Please, Mammon, I just want to take a shower, I’m grimy and gross. I feel like an over-steamed dumpling.”

“Don’t let Beel hear you say that.” You managed to stand up, but your sense of balance left much to be desired. On instinct you ended up grabbing Mammon’s shoulders to keep from falling over. “Alright, nuh uh, you can barely move! What if you end up falling and cracking that head of yours open, huh?” Your mind was brought back to your morning mishap and near tumble in the shower from before. “You’re lucky you didn’t injure yourself too badly earlier!”

Your eyes widened. “H-how did you know about that? I don’t remember telling anyone.”

His eyebrows raised. “I’m talking about the dining hall, dummy. But now that you’ve let that little detail slip there’s not any chance I’ll let you go now! No way.” He put one arm under yours to keep you steady, ready to keep you back in bed for good.

Gathering up what little energy you had, you took several deep breaths, gently pushing yourself away from his body until you were standing on your own, just barely stable. “Mammon, please?” It had been your goal up until now to look as far from pathetic as possible, yet now you poured all that into your expression, eyes pleading, head tilted a bit to the side.

He squirmed. “Tch, you think you can do whatever you want just by giving me some puppy-eyes? Who do you think I am?”

“Fine,” you grumbled. “I bet Asmo would let me take a shower. Maybe I should call him and have him take care of me instead.”

“Asmo?! I...you...fine! But I’m c-coming with you, to make sure you stay safe and all.”

You lowered your eyes at him. “You can stay outside the bathroom.”

“I’m not payin’ for a busted door if I need to break in. I’m going inside! I’ll just turn around or somthin’.”

He stared you down with a nature stubborn enough to match your own. In your state now, you had little time to squabble. “Fine.” You started walking, leaning against bits of furniture to keep you steady. Acting rather gentlemanly, Mammon rushed ahead of you to open your door. Once he did, he took your arm tucked against his in a sort of escorting fashion. Saying nothing, you both took steady silent steps to the bathroom. You were immensely pleased to find it unoccupied, leaving Mammon’s side to step in. Like he promised he would, he followed you inside, shutting the door before his cheeks turned dark with embarrassment. He turned, parking himself in a corner with his face to the wall.

“I-I’ll be right here in case something happens, alright?” For him to come this far for you was...The added heat rushing through your body only caused you to feel worse, so you flicked on the water to heat up as you stripped. As you were taking off your pants, balancing on one leg, you teetered to the side, nearly falling. The tub right next to you served as your saving grace. You panted, cursing at yourself for being so clumsy. “You alright?!” Mammon clasped his hands over his face before turning around. “MC?” Riddled with nervous anxiety, he danced back and forth on his feet.

“I’m okay,” you wheezed. Just barely. You planted your foot against the fabric of your pants, tugging your other leg out. “Just keep looking at that wall.” You questioned the idea of him being in here at first, but now you were beginning to have little trust in yourself. What if you did collapse, locked, exposed inside an empty room till someone came looking for you? You shuddered. Climbing into the shower, you pulled the curtains across the rod until you were completely concealed. You let out a breath of relief as the steam once again cleared up your airways, the pressure building up in your head loosening. Shutting your eyes, you let the water wash over you, cleaning off the sticky sweat that had clung to your body. You simply stood there for a few moments, appreciating the serenity. Then you figured it would be best to get yourself clean while you had the capacity to. Reaching down for the soaps you used, you washed your hair and vigorously scrubbed down your body, envisioning all the germs swirling down the drain. Although by the time you were done, you became aware of the fact that you might’ve made the water a bit too hot, and you might’ve once again pushed yourself a little too far. Nausea came along with the dizziness, the floor losing it’s feeling of solidity. After you turned the water off, you tore the shower curtain back, stepping onto the bathroom mat.

“You done?” Mammon asked. Right now, all you could do was grunt in response. The small burst of energy you possessed had plummeted. You bypassed the towels and straight for your clothes. Only, the clothes you had been wearing previously were gone. On cue, Mammon explained. “Oh I got you some pajamas. Not good to be lying in those same clothes all day, besides, I got you something comfier.” Folded up on the floor by the tub were a comfortable pair of your pajamas. Pushing aside your humiliation, you picked up the “pajamas” he’d picked out for you. One of your shorts and...one of his t-shirts. It was one he had bought on a whim, much like most of his other purchases. Merch from an action movie you and him had watched in the theaters a while ago. He loved this thing. You could only stare at it for a few seconds. Mammon was right, these would be much nicer to sleep in.

With a meek voice you started slipping into the new outfit, still dripping. “T-thank you.” You had hardly finished poking your head through the shirt before your knees began to tremble. Your head felt foggy, your mind threatening to slip. “M-Mammon,” you gulped, your voice shaking.

He spun around, eyes squeezed shut. “What? What is it? Are you bleeding? Are you hurt? Are you dressed? Can I look?” As soon as you ‘mm-hm’ed he flashed his eyes open, took in the sight of your shuddering frame before hurrying over to you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head for a moment, the world disappearing as you plummeted to the floor. You woke up in his arms hardly a few seconds after your fainting spell. Held tightly against his body, he wrapped his limbs around you, supporting you to keep you upright. “Hey, hey!” His voice shook as he squeezed you. “MC!”

“ ‘s too...hot.”

“Stupid human…” He muttered, his rugged tone falling short. “And you’re still drenched! Are you trying to make yourself even worse?” When his sharp remarks were met with your silence, he pulled you closer. “Ah...Really not good, huh?” He asked softly, one of his hands rubbing your back. You could only slowly shake your head. “Let’s get you back to bed, eh?” He brushed some damp hair away from your face before he dragged you out the door, his distress growing ever more visible the more you seemed to slump harder against him. It felt like an eternity inching back to your room, flopping facedown onto your bed as soon as it was in your sights. The mattress bobbed up and down, the movement surprisingly soothing, almost lulling your body to a light sleep right then and there. “Alright, come on. It’ll do you no good to fall asleep like that.” Mammon helped lift you up, letting you settle your head against his body, arms wrapped around his neck as he worked to get you back under the covers. He tucked you in, moving about the room nervously the less responsive you became. Shutting your eyes to conserve some energy, you listened to him curse under his breath, grumbling to himself about “fragile humans”. At some point, a dry fabric came into contact with the top of your head. You were pushed slightly to make some space for him to sit down. He adjusted you till your head was in his lap, the fabric massaging against your wet hair. “Stupid human…” He repeated, softly scrubbing the towel against your scalp. “Why’d you have to go and get yourself sick, huh?”

“...didn’t...mean to...I’m sorry…”

The motions across your head stopped, then you felt the back of his hand stroke against your cheek. “Now don’t sound like that...Do you know how much it hurts me to see ya like this?” He paused and then resumed ensuring your hair was as dry as he could get it. “Don’t you worry, the Great Mammon will be right here for you till you feel better, alright?” His voice sounded strained. “So ya better get better…” You cracked your eyes open, pushing yourself up. “What’re you doing? I-“ He quickly cut himself off as soon as you settled yourself between his legs, head against his chest. You could hear his throat casually gasp for breath. His nose came down to nestle against the top of your head, his arms dropping the towel, instead wrapping around your body. “Don’t do this for anyone but me, ya hear? Only I...only I want to take care of you like this.” He pulled the blanket up around the both of you, his soft breaths growing deeper and deeper. Eventually you both fell asleep.

Your mind was flooded with more fever dreams, clips and scenes of moments your conscious mind wouldn’t even know how to explain. It blurred the line between what was real and what was simply your imagination, so in the moment, when you were disturbed from your sleep, you didn’t even react. Your body was moved, flipped over, weightless, moved from the soft surface you were on to something firmer. You could only process it for a mere second before you were plunged back into a nonsensical plot your frayed mind came up with. After what felt like some time, you were just barely awoken again when harsh and hushed whispers buzzed in your ears.

“They shouldn’t be down here!”

“So cute! I mean, poor thing.”

“Are they still asleep?”

“Take them back.”

Once you realized that this was real, you slowly became aware of more things around you. As tired numbness left your limbs, you felt your arms pinned against your body, something around you constricted your movement. Panic struck you for only just a second, feeling that your blanket was simply wrapped around your body. You figured in your restless state you must’ve trapped yourself inside it. An involuntary groan escaped your mouth as you squirmed a little, moving your feet in an attempt to feel an escape.

Something outside of you moved you, tugging you tighter against something firm, a pressure rubbing circles into your back. It soothed you enough to keep you from struggling, but you were steadily waking up. The “wall” you were against vibrated as a deep voice rumbled out of it. “I just thought...it wouldn’t feel like a family dinner without them.” Your body was adjusted again, lifted to be propped up against what you now understood was a torso. One strong arm kept you still, draped against your back.

“S-surely you can’t hold them and eat at the same time, Beel,” someone muttered. “Why don’t you let your big bro hold em?”

The body holding you tightened around you, shielding you. “No.”

“Don’t underestimate him.”

“Should we wake them up?”

“Don’t humans heal faster when they sleep?”

Someone else let out an exhausted breath. “Fine, but they’re to be put back in bed once you’re done.”

The chest your head was against hummed with satisfaction. “Got it.” Soon, quiet but eager eating noises could be heard outside your muffled prison. If you connected the dots correctly, you were resting against Beel who had brought you down to dinner while you had been asleep. Was this a brief glance into what Belphie felt like? Albeit with more comfort and less...pain. Although he’d probably beg to differ. Right now, you couldn’t even pinpoint where the source of your suffering was coming from. It just seemed to be...all over, even down to the tips of your fingers. Even if you had wanted to move, you didn’t have the energy for it, so despite being almost wide awake at this point, you stayed in place. You tried to focus on anything else to keep your mind off the aching. Beel’s heart sounded like a distant drum. Burying your face closer against his body, you let out a small whimper, focusing on the melodic thumping of his healthy heart. You could even hear the pace speed up as your cheek pressed up against him.

“Beel, you alright?”

The sound of eating stopped, and a clink of something metallic against glass sounded before a second arm enveloped you, a hand settled at the back of your head. “I’ll eat in a little bit,” Beel whispered.

“In a--”

“Shhhh! Shut up, Mammon!”

“I mean…” The voice returned to barely audible. “Whadda sayin’ ‘in a bit’? You’re not sick again are ya?” Beel didn’t grace anyone with a response. You were gently squeezed in his hug, a weight coming down on top of your head, presumably his chin. The hand behind your head moved to the space between your shoulder blades, moving up and down in rhythmic strokes along your spine. It was uncanny, you thought, how he almost immediately knew how desperate you were for some comfort. Or maybe he was just perceptive like that. If anyone would be, it would be Beel.

“How are they feeling?” Someone asked.

Cooler air poured against your face as the space left for you to breathe was made wider. Light from the dining hall illuminated outside your eyelids. Beel’s hand pressed against your forehead, moving down to cup your cheeks. Out of everyone, he always ran the warmest, bordering on nearly being a walking furnace. And yet even he moaned in unease, his stomach groaning alongside him in worry. “Still too hot,” he announced. You allowed yourself to flicker your eyes open, looking up at him just as he moved his hand away. Both his eyebrows raised in surprise before he quickly frowned. “Did I wake you up? Sorry.” You figured that now that everyone knew you were up, it would be time to move. Sitting up straighter in your spot, you wiggled one of your arms out of your cocoon, pulling the fabric of your blanket off your head, letting it settle around your waist. You rubbed spots out from your vision, blinking as you soaked in the sight of the room.

Asmo politely dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin, settling it back in his lap before addressing you with the sweetest pair of eyes. “Good evening, darling! How’re you feeling?”

You had half of a mind to try to play the “I’m fine” card, but with your fit with Satan and fainting scare with Mammon, it would be no use to even try to pretend you were fine. So you didn’t see the harm in being honest. “Like I’ve been to hell and back.”

“You are in hell,” Belphie quipped.

“You know what I mean.” You turned your head and glanced up, your heart pounding more prominently when you once again realized just how big Beel was compared to you, an otherworldly size. Sweeping away your embarrassment, you started tugging at the blanket to free your legs, moving to leave his lap. “Sorry, Beel.”

His hand grabbed one of your wrists. “What do you mean?” He tugged at you, repositioning you firmer in his lap. “You didn’t do anything.” His beautiful amethyst irises stared right into yours. “I wanted you here. Meals aren’t the same without you.” He pat the top of your head, letting his fingers scratch gently into your scalp. In most situations, you’d find your open vulnerability to be embarrassing, but right now you couldn’t care less. You leaned back into him, nestling your nose into his chest, using his body to block out the light. Beel gripped the blanket and pulled it back up to settle around your shoulders.

“Speaking of meals,” Lucifer started. “It’s about time MC had something to eat.”

Satan spoke up. “Do we even have anything decent enough for sick humans to have?” The brothers went back and forth for a while, bringing recommendations hypothetically to the table about what would be best for you.

“Belphie knows the most about humans, what do you think?” Beel wondered.

A lone monotone hum rang out for a moment. “I think it was stew or something like that.”

A strange bout of irritation drilled in you. You turned your head, addressing the group. “You know you could just ask the human right here. I might be sick but I’m not completely helpless.”

Brusque tones usually granted you grating glares, but even Lucifer seemed to give you a pass. “So?” The eldest questioned. “Tell us what you need and we can get it for you.”

Something about that knocked the rebellious wind out of you. You lowered your head a bit and sighed. “Don’t even worry about it, I’m not hungry anyway.” A bold statement to claim whilst sitting in the lap of Gluttony.

Shaking you lightly, Beel squinted at you. “You’ve barely eaten all day.” The expression on his face turned Lucifer levels of stern. It wasn’t an appearance he took too often. Even now you knew this was a losing battle. A flash of a memory popped up in your mind, one of when Beel had been sick. You pressed your lips together into a thin line.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“Beel--”

“MC. Eat.” His flat tone trembled throughout his body, sending a shudder through you. Lucifer was always strict, so it never caught you off guard, not anymore. But when Beel got this way it pierced through everyone in the room. As if they’d been the one commanded, everyone took a single bite of their meal.

You gave in, your stature shrinking. “Fine...something light then. Soup’s fine. I’ll go get some…”

Beel’s arms wrapped around you again, keeping you to him. “No you won’t. Levi.”

The third-born almost yelped, sinking down into his seat before stuttering. “S-sure, I-I’ll get it…” As he headed to the kitchen you could hear him grumble. “Of course he had to pick me. Why me? It’s always me…” You felt a bit sorry for the otaku as he slunk away. In fact you almost felt sorry for everyone in the room. Even just alluding to the skip of a meal had Beel suddenly tense, on alert. He had you held against him in a guarded manner, his torso bent forward to lean over what he could of yours. He didn’t settle back down till Levi came back in a handful of minutes later, resting a bowl of soup in front of you. It was of human origins you assumed, it looked like regular chicken noodle. The aroma had bits of nostalgia bubble within you. And now that it was here, you hated to admit that you actually were hungry.

You reached over to try to grab a spoon, falling just a bit short of the table’s edge. Beel’s arms were admittedly much longer than yours, not needing to sit as close as you usually did. Beel grasped a clean utensil for you, getting a decent portion of stock in it’s dip. He held his other hand under the spoon to make sure he didn’t spill any, then he brought it over to you. Did you try to deny it? Maybe a little, but Beel’s spine-chilling glower had you reconsider. You opened your mouth and let him feed you. The hot broth slid down your sore throat easily, relieving some of the pain. As it warmed you up from the inside, Beel finally went back to smiling, everyone breathing in relief. “See, doesn’t it make you feel better?” Beel brought a new spoonful to your lips.

You swallowed again and admittedly nodded. “A bit.”

Out of the blue, Beel brought his face down, planting a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Some of his siblings gasped, but if the demon of gluttony heard it, he pretended he hadn’t. His free hand went back to rubbing your back, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t nice, the many sensations driving some of the pain from your mind. “Good,” Beel beamed. “Remember, your body needs fuel to keep going.”

“I know…” The parallel between now and when he had been sick was almost perfect. Beel took the bowl in his hands, bringing it over to settle in your lap, keeping it steady in his hold. “Isn’t it hot?” You asked, worried he’d burn his skin.

“Not to me,” he assured you.

You sighed, taking the spoon from him so you could eat yourself. “Thank you for always looking out for me, Beel.”

You expected him to be pleased, but he quickly turned downcast. “I couldn’t protect you from this.” Heart breaking, all you could do was stare down into your lap, watching the broth gently swirl in the bowl. This had mostly been your fault. If you had done something just a bit differently, maybe…

“No, Beel, that wasn’t your fault,” Belphie spoke up, pushing his plate with his leftovers on it closer to his twin to finish. “Besides, it’s your job now to take care of MC now more than ever, right?”

Beel turned his head away from the food, peering down at you in his lap. He nodded once, bringing his head down to press his forehead to yours. “You’re right. Sick or not, I’ll always watch over them.”

After dinner, Beel carried you back up to bed, reluctant to let you be free of his arms, but he managed. After giving you one last once-over and another little kiss to your temple, he hurried back down to the dining hall. After all, he was far from having his fill of food. Lucifer had followed the two of you inside, taking your temperature once more. 100.7, still higher than he’d prefer it to be, but glad to discover it had gone down even if just by a hair. He allowed you to take some medicine and urged you to get some more rest. Flicking the light off, he wished you sweet dreams before he left, torn away from you by work he couldn’t ignore. Although, even with the comfort of your bed and the satisfying feeling of something warm in your belly, for the first time, slumber eluded you. It wasn’t that you weren’t tired--exhaustion might as well have been your permanent state at this point--but shutting your mind off, drifting away into peaceful bliss didn’t seem like an option right now.

You spent a few hours on your D.D.D. scrolling through posts and web-pages, anything to keep you occupied. Although, that eventually bored you after a while. You sat up, trying to not let the loneliness of your empty room consume you. Had everyone gone to bed already? Had you already gotten used to falling asleep with someone beside you? That couldn’t be the case, right? You slowly got out from under your covers, padding over to the door. Maybe if you walked around the House of Lamentation enough, you’d be able to go to bed. You were feeling a bit better, capable of moving around on your own at the very least. You entered the empty hallway, the midnight moon rays creeping across the rug settled across the stone floor. The branches outside the windows cast twisted shadows across the corridor. Some people might’ve found it dreadful, but whether it was your own stranger tastes or the fact that you’d been down here so long, you found it to be serene in a mystical sort of way.

Drifting through the halls like a weary ghost patrolling the perimeter, you wandered past each of the brother’s rooms. The house was surprisingly still. Before you knew it, you ended up in the music room. Shifting your feet towards the gorgeous ebony piano, your fingers brushed lightly over the ivory keys. Pushing down a low B, the note reverberated through the room, your skin tingling at the broken silence. It quenched some of your boredom. So you pushed another one, the lowest note this time, the deep tone rumbling through you.

“Having fun are we?”

You jumped, every hair across your body standing up on end. Swirling around, you met a pair of ruby eyes in the shadows. A string of curses left your lips. “What in hell’s name are you doing, Lucifer? Nearly scared me to death…” You pressed a hand to your beating chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You sunk to your knees, the wind knocked out of you.

He stepped further into the light, arms crossed, almost fuming. “I could ask you the same question. Once again I have to wonder, what are you doing out of bed? Are you that determined not to recover, is that it?” Hair slightly messy, well-tailored pajamas barely creased, you figured he must’ve just gotten out of bed, possibly disturbed before he could fall asleep. It would explain the death glare he was giving you.

“I...couldn’t sleep,” you answered truthfully, followed by an innocent little shrug.

With two fingers, he pinched at the bridge of his nose. “And so Levi just let you waltz around on your own?”

You tilted your head. “Levi?”

Something dawned on him with your confused question. A terrifying smile arched over his face, the corners twitching as the small amount of light in the room was snuffed out by his menacing aura. “Leviathan…” Yelping at the sudden movement, Lucifer hoisted you over one of his shoulders, gliding across the floor at a ridiculous pace until he was in front of Levi’s room. You wiggled, beating a gentle fist against Lucifer’s back.

“Let me down!”

He let you slide off of him, settling you back on your feet, but he quickly grasped one of your hands to keep you to his side. Despite his furious demeanor, he gently knocked on the door, waiting for approximately two seconds before knocking harder. “Levi!”

You heard the otaku approach his door before he swung it open. “What?! I’m in the middle of a very important raid! What could you possibly need--” The entrance to the room cracked open, Levi sticking his head out before all the color drained from his face. The tangerine hue of his eyes flickering from you to his older brother, the demon with paper-thin patience. Levi gulped, the little bump in his throat bobbing.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but didn’t I inform you that you would be keeping an eye on MC tonight?” The higher lilt in his question was laced with hostility. “Or maybe I didn’t make myself clear.” You felt a pang of guilt for the demon of envy.

“Lucifer,” you urged, tugging at his hand which kept you in a vice grip. “I’ll go back to bed, it’s not an issue.” He was ready to blow a gasket, the weariness of dealing with work and keeping his brother’s shenanigans at bay without your assistance clearly was affecting him. Who knew he’d come to depend on you this much? You reached up, rubbing his shoulder with the sweetest look you could come up with. “Please, don’t be angry.”

Shutting his eyes, squeezing your hand, he gave himself time to breathe. “MC, rest. Levi, take care of them. And no, I’m not asking.” The dark circles under Lucifer’s eyes almost seemed to run blacker, his irises duller than they should’ve been.

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” you comforted him. “Go get some sleep yourself.”

His shoulders sagged ever so slightly. “The sick shouldn't be fussing over the hale and whole, you know, but I will. I shall see you tomorrow.” He brought your hand up, kissing it before he let it go. “And, Levi.” The demon of envy flinched, hoping that he’d been forgotten. “I’ll see you tomorrow as well.”

Levi hung his head low as his older brother walked away, preemptively sniffling at his possible doom. “...and my raid is ruined…T-this is just the worst.” You were a bit sorry for Levi for being thrown at you like this, but you couldn’t help but wonder in the back of your mind if he...had forgotten about you. You watched the outline of Lucifer disappear into the darkness before you shivered. The temperature inside the house was dropping. “Huh?” Levi snapped out of his pitiful thoughts. “Are you-are you cold?”

“A little…”

“O-oh, I guess...maybe...Would it be alright if you stayed in my room tonight?” His stance shifted behind his door, anxiously moving his gaze around to keep from making direct eye contact with you.

Sighing, you nodded. After all, with the adrenaline crash, you doubted you had energy left to walk back to your room. “Sure.”

He let you in, shutting the door behind you and locking it with a magical charm to keep the riff-raff out. He scurried over to his tub-bed, pulling out some random plush collectibles, and letting them rest against the floor for now. He spun on his feet for a moment, taking in his room before bringing his thumb up to bite on the nail of it. “Y-you can stay anywhere, I have some blankets I guess...Gah! Why did Lucifer have to make me watch you?” The heart in your chest sank a bit, and you lowered your head, a small “oh” leaving your lips. Clutching his hair, Levi immediately regretted what he said. “No! No no no no, that’s-that’s not what I-I-I--” He stuttered for a good while, unable to grasp proper control of his tongue. “Wait, wait!” Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he picked up one last Ruri-Chan plush from the bed, covering part of his face with it. “I just...I don’t remember the last time I took care of someone sick…Knowing me, I-I’ll somehow make you worse! What-what if I’m forced to make a split second decision that could be the-the difference between life and death?! I’ll end up killing you! Living the rest of my life in isolated drunken regret!”

He quickly spiraled down a slippery slope of what-ifs, a dramatic fantasy playing out before him where he’d been cast out of the Devildom as your murderer, a disgusting vagabond, living on wildberries and wildlife with naught but his loneliness and shadow to keep him company. His rising anxiety was making him hyperventilate. You had to come over to him, gently take his shoulders and shake him slightly, dragging him back to reality. “Levi, I highly, highly doubt it will come to that. When Lucifer means ‘take care of me’ he mostly means making sure I have what I need.” You gave the sides of his arms a little rub.

“But I don’t know what you need!”

“Well, what I need right now is for you to calm down, first off,” you told him, dropping your hands back to your sides, gripping the end of the tub. Climbing into his bed had never really been an issue before, but hoisting yourself over the edge proved difficult a task. You felt his shaky hands come under your arms, hoisting you enough till you could sink yourself into his nest of pillows. You grinned, thanking him as you reached up to rub the top of his head. “See? Stuff like that, nothing too difficult. Fetch quests and escort missions. Easy mode. I’ll be here, just do your own thing.”

That seemed to ease him enough. He gripped one of his blankets and pulled it over you, moving back over to his desk. Muttering about the raid, he clacked at the keys, his mood steadily improving the more he lost himself in the world of gaming. You felt at the fabric of your pants, remembering with a small moan that they didn’t have pockets...meaning you’d left your D.D.D. in your room. Figures, you thought. So, in your last ditch effort to stay entertained, you moved Levi’s pillows around, making a small wall to prop yourself against, peering over the top of the basin to stare at his screen. You watched his character move around, fighting random enemies. He was completely absorbed, lightly talking to himself as he moved along, humming the victory theme anytime a quest was completed. At one point, he was paying too much attention to a beautifully fleshed out character model to notice what they were telling him, information that he needed to know but missed out on. After that, he was sent towards a boss that ended up instantly killing him when it finished charging up its “claymore of chaos’ move. Levi tried one more time, then three more times, and then about twenty. “What the heck?! How am I supposed to beat you?!” Levi finally shouted, pushing himself slightly away from his desk.

Speaking up for the first time in a few hours, you shared with him the information he missed. “You’re supposed to use your Mystical Missile spell.”

He jumped, almost falling out of his chair. “I thought you were asleep!”

“I still can’t sleep…I don’t know why.” You pulled your blanket tighter around you, peeking at him from your spot. A blush ran over his cheeks, rubbing the back of his head.

“Oh...Really? Mystical Missile? But it’s a trashy beginner spell.”

“That NPC lady said it would work, I dunno.” You shrugged. “Try it out, it can’t hurt.”

So he did, removing one of his high level skills to equip the basic one. Severely doubting success, he entered the boss arena again. It was admittedly tense, keeping you both on the edge of your seat. Once “claymore of chaos” was building, Levi let the spell fly towards him. The boss staggered, a crack forming in it’s armor. “It worked!” He shouted, yelping as a new flurry of enemy spells flew towards his character. If it was entertainment you were looking for, you found it, cheering him on as he hunched over, focused on his every move. Once it went down, you both whooped and cheered. It had been a bit too much for your lungs, dissolving into some coughs. Levi rushed to his feet, rubbing your back. “You okay?”

You nodded, letting your body shudder with a few more hacks till it was done. Voice more hoarse than before, you still smiled at him. “You did it!”

A laugh bubbled out of him. “Victory! Dun dun dun! Legendary item acquired!” Then his expression fell for a second. “Have you just been sitting there, watching me the whole time?” You nodded. He gripped one of his hoodie sleeves. “Would you rather do something...together?”

You brightened. “Sure!”

Giddy, he hurried over to the computer, picking up his loot before saving the game, closing the program. “If you’re in the mood for watching something, how about this new anime I found? I’m only a few episodes in, but I can start over! It’s called ‘I Transferred To A New School, But Everyone There Is Part Of The Elite, So I Have To Try And Keep Up With My Classmates Despite Me Being Normal, But I Accidentally Fooled The School Into Thinking I’m A Long Lost Heir To A Forgotten Throne’.”

Blinking, you stared at him. “You lost me at Elite.” Why the Devildom had anime with titles the length of chapters, you’d never know.

“It’s good! I promise!” He shifted his monitor so you could see it from your spot easier, turning the anime on with an elated aura, much nicer than the gloom-and-doom one from earlier. This was the Levi you loved to see, the one you tried to cherish as much as you could. He sat in his chair, scooting back till he was beside you so you could watch it together. It was a cute anime, something mostly a slice of life, a normal main character in a school setting surrounded by powerful beings, the plot moved forward with magical shenanigans...something about it sounded familiar. One of the episodes showed the main character fallen ill under some strange circumstance, their roommate they stayed with flustered but determined to take care of them. The friend--and obvious love interest--asked if he could hold the protagonist’s hand. Levi made a little noise. “MC, c-can I hold your hand? I mean, if that’s super weird don’t even listen to me because who would even want to hold hands with me anyway and--”

“Sure,” you smiled, reaching your hand out from the blanket a little.

He hesitated for a second and then took it, resuming to watch the show. Much to your amusement, any move the character made, he made as well, taking it as if it were some sort of guide. He brushed the hair from your face, made sure the blanket was tucked gently around you, ensured you were comfortable. Then, the friend in the show made a bold move, snuggling next to the main character as they both fell asleep. Levi went stiff, becoming extremely flustered. You had to admit, the concept was...enticing, and you almost leapt at any opportunity to tease envy. You tugged at his hand, making him look at you with your arms outstretched. If this had been an anime, he would’ve collapsed, his soul flying from his mouth. But even Levi couldn’t resist the temptation. He stepped into his bed, slowly, warily at first. He let you take him into your arms, wrapping his own body around you as you both squeezed together in the tub. “I...I...This is...a dream…”

You chuckled, settling your head on his chest, feeling his motoring heart pound in his chest. “Let’s watch some more, Levi.” Only, you hardly remembered anything after that. For shortly after he curled against you, the strange barrier keeping you awake completely collapsed. He had draped the blanket over you both, fidgeting with the hair at the nape of your neck. You must’ve turned your head against him, comforted enough by his presence to fall asleep.

“Medicine?”

“Right here.”

“Water?”

“You brought me like a gallon’s worth.”

“D.D.D.?”

“You can see it in my hands.”

Lucifer went down the list, the actual written list he’d come up. You sat in bed, trying hard not to blush and squirm under the many gazes in your room this morning. “Extra blankets?”

“I have everything and anything needed to last an entire week in solitary!” You shook your head, a little irate at each of them, but appreciating their concern all the same. Icepacks, blankets, snacks, water, bandages, and many other things were brought in your room in preparation. “You all are only going to a Student Council meeting, not off on some lengthy business trip.”

“Absolutely right!” Asmo shouted, sitting next to you in bed, hugging you to him and caressing your cheek against his. “It’s some stupid meeting anyway, which means one of us can stay can’t we?”

Every member of the household was already shouting reasons why they and they alone should have the opportunity to stay with you. Lucifer’s little vein above his eyebrow throbbed. “Enough!” The room went silent. “As much as I would love to permit myself to stay home,” he cleared his throat, “not a single one of us can miss today’s meeting. Which is why I’m taking every precaution. EDP?”

You gently pushed Asmo off of you, raising an eyebrow. The demon of lust pouted, stroking your head instead. “What’s an EDP?” You asked.

“An EDP is a short term we use for an Emergency Defense Pillar,” Satan explained. “A popular and fairly new little device in the Devildom, especially for lesser magic users or those who aren’t trained in combat.”

“I’m still at a loss,” you admitted. “Is it like a baton or something?”

Rummaging around in his pockets, Mammon brandished a small black object. It was cylindrical, about as big as a lighter, a glowing red button on the side. “I brought it! Now, let me teach you, human. If you’re being chased or cornered, this handy lil’ doodad is going to be essential if you wanna escape. You just push this little button here, and--”

Lucifer’s chest tightened. “Mammon, don’t!”

The second born pressed the button, his mistake just now clicking in his mind, chucking it a bit in front of him. Asmo grabbed you and tucked you against his chest, pushing your back to the wall while he shielded you with his body. Every other brother hit the floor, jumping away from the object. A huge pillar of fire sprouted from the object, swirling blue flames emitting intense heat as well as a roaring sound. It nearly burnt your eyes. Asmo tucked your head into his shoulder, waiting until the fire was suddenly sucked back into the small container, rattling against the floor. Your protector pulled away from you, letting you stare at the pitch black circle burnt into your ceiling and floor, a round chunk taken out of your carpet, some fibers still flickering. Lucifer came over and snuffed out the singed pieces with his shoe, the vein in his head more prominent. He was about to shout but you beat him to it. “That’s absolutely unnecessary! In what scenario would I need to use that?! Is there even a safety on that thing?!”

A little sheepish, Mammon picked himself back up off the floor. “Well, you’ve gotten the best visual example you can get. You’re welcome.”

“I don’t want it, someone take it with them,” you groaned. “What if I end up accidentally getting flame-broiled in my sleep?”

Beel closed his eyes. “Flame-broiled hell bats…”

Lucifer bent down and picked up the EDP from the floor. “Perhaps this is a bit too dangerous.”

“Glad we can see eye to eye on that one…” You tapped the screen of your D.D.D., noticing that the time to the meeting was rapidly approaching. “You guys have fifteen minutes! Stop worrying about me and get out of here!”

Many wide-eyed demons scrambled to get out your door, knowing that the punishment for being late was not something they wanted to risk. Even Lucifer was rushed, booking it out of your room. Then he popped his head in. “You’ll call if anything happens?”

“Yes.”

He left again, the door shutting. It burst back open, his overprotective nature coming to light. “You have your alerts on, right?”

You chuckled, you couldn’t prevent yourself from doing so. “Yes, mother hen, now go!” He growled, but this time left for good, the uproar from the group slowly fading away. Once more, you shook your head, staring at the charcoal colored circle against your ceiling. “They’re insane,” you stated aloud.

“Truly,” someone replied. You yelped, chucking the closest pillow at the sudden voice. Solomon caught it, laughing. “Sorry for startling you. The demons are gone, I’m assuming?” He walked back over, handing you your plushy ammo.

“They just left. Why are you here?” You took the pillow from him, settling it in your lap as you crossed your legs over your mattress.

He pulled an upset face. “Why do you sound so suspicious? I’m here to check up on you. I had to make sure those demons were taking care of you properly.” He grabbed a chair from your table, scooting up by the bedside. He spotted the hard-to-miss burns and sighed. “Maybe I should’ve gotten here sooner. Oh well, an easy fix. Spirits of twine and stone, turn back the time to whence this matter was well known, heed the Sorcerer Solomon!” Flowing restorative magic rushed over the floor and ceiling, soaking into the atoms, leaving it as perfect as it had been earlier. Actually, almost better than how it had been before. Not even the smell of burning remained. In a small flourish, he stretched out his hands. “Ta-da.”

“Thank you.” You couldn’t help but giggle at his theatrics. “And the brothers have been taking care of me just fine. I don’t have a fever anymore.”

He reached his hand out, thumb brushing across your face, he hummed to himself before pulling you gently, pressing his lips to your forehead. You gasped a little, covering your mouth as your face burned. He sat back, nodding. “You feel much better.” He caught your expression, trying to stifle a smirk. “Hm? I was simply taking your temperature.”

Composing yourself, you tightly gripped the pillow in your hands. “Kinda an old method, don’t you think?”

“I prefer traditional practices,” he shared. “But that wasn’t the main reason I came over.”

“Oh?” You’ll admit, at first the EDP had seemed utterly ridiculous, but in this dreaded scenario, you almost wished to have it in your hands. Solomon pushed back his cloak, reaching behind his back and pulling out a fresh steaming plate of food. Already you felt sweat bead across your face. “A-ah, how nice of Simeon to make me something.” It was more of a personal wish, although you knew that it wasn’t going to be the case.

“Not Simeon, actually. I made it!” He beamed, completely oblivious. “How long has it been since you’ve had a home-cooked human meal?”

“N-not too long ago actually, and-I-um-the brothers made sure to feed me before they left so-”

“Surely you can have a few bites, right?” He pleaded. “I made sure to add all kinds of ingredients I know have some healing properties, so I’m sure it’ll enhance the flavor. Here, no need to waste extra energy, let me feed you. Say ah.”

“MC!” The sound of someone frantically calling your name in the distance slowly brought you to. “MC!” Something snapped as you moved, pain coursing through your entire body. You opened your eyes, not able to see much through the leaves. Wait...leaves? The smell of earth and roses rushed to your nose. That and the thorns trapping you and piercing you were enough to tell you what you needed to know. You were somehow entangled in a rose bush. The voice sounded again, closer this time. “MC, where are you?!”

Audio recognition kicked in, able to place the voice. Tilting your head back, you put all the power you could into your shout. “Belphie!” There was silence for a while, and white hot panic settled in your stomach...or maybe that was. Oh that was right…

Suddenly the leaves were pulled back, Belphie’s head staring down at you. “This is new for you.”

You tried to move, but your clothes were stuck in the thorn’s clutches, not to mention any movement you made drove the bush’s claws deeper into your skin. “I…I think I’m stuck.”

“Wow, that really sucks for you.”

“Belphie!” You tried sitting up, a sharp pain in your cheek causing you to hiss, drawing in breath through your teeth. Something drifted down your cheek, the taste of bitter copper coming across your lips. Blood. “P-please help me.”

“I was only joking. Don’t move, you’ll make things worse.” He tugged at some of the branches, the disruption poking you some more. Tugging at your sleeve, he detangled your shoulder, working on your lower arm next.

“Ow, ow, ooooow,” you whined.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Leaning down a bit too far, one of the thorns pricked him right in the thumb. He cursed, threatening to leave you alone once you laughed. “You’re really scratched up…” He frowned as he gestured to many thin red scratches across your body. You whimpered again, reaching up at him to tug you free. Sloth kicked in, his impatience to take his time fluttered away. He basically flattened the bush with his feet, breaking the twigs stuck to you with his hands. His arms wrapped around your torso, tugging you up, the sound of some fabric tearing as he did. He sighed, taking you a few steps away from the bush before letting you slide past his arms, flopping to the soil. He came down to kneel beside you, grabbing thorns and leaves out of your hair, rubbing a thumb over the small wound on your cheek. “When you wonder why we worry about leaving you alone, this is why. How long have you been napping in bushes?”

“I…” A sudden chill overtook you, your stomach and the food...you remembered the food Solomon had fed you. The taste...torture. You could feel it in your throat.

“MC?” You pushed Belphie away, scrambling on your hands and knees to another unfortunate set of flora. Without nitty gritty details, let’s just say your body had the smart idea to not keep Solomon’s food in you any longer. Trembling, you coughed up the last of it, cold sweat dripping down your face. Belphie’s hands touched your back. “You’re not going to be sick on me, are you?” You didn’t respond to him, trying to catch your breath. He mumbled, pulling you into his lap. Covered in dirt and sweat, you curled into him, shivering. Then the both of you watched in slight horror as all the plants planted around your...expulsed poison all wilted at once, almost crumbling to dust. “Wicked father of demons…” Belphie breathed. “What the hell did you eat?”

You only needed to utter one word for him to understand everything entirely. “Solomon…”

“Dear Diavolo…I’m lucky to have found you alive.” He whipped his head around. “He’s not still here is he?”

You shook your head, rubbing at the saliva on your lips. “I don’t remember...I don’t remember leaving my room…I don’t remember…”

Working hard to get to his feet, he lifted you along with him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs against his body, groaning into him. “Alright, I guess we’re doing this now.” He held onto you, sidestepping past the destroyed flora and towards the house. “I’m just telling you this now though, if Solomon is still here, I will leave you.”

Reaching up his neck, you grasped tightly onto some of his hairs. “I will drag you down with me.”

“Confident words for someone I’m carrying like a baby,” he snickered, but he let the witty back and forth drop as he entered the house. For a moment, he stood still, taking in the air of the place. “I think we’re good,” he announced, but continuing to take wary steps up the stairs. He picked up the pace in the hallways, sneaking away towards the familiar spiral staircase that led it’s way up to the attic. The doors he pushed open were heavy in more ways than one. Quietly shutting it behind the two of you, he headed over to the bed. A jolting ticklish pain raced down your body as Belphie jabbed his fingers against your waist. “Off, parasite.” You relinquished your grasp as fast as you could, flopping onto the attic mattress. You crawled up, sliding under the covers, planting your face into the nearest pillow. Right when you thought you were recovering, you were back to being bed-ridden. Belphie left you alone in silence for a minute. When he came back, you had to take a moment to realize he had ever been gone. He was stealthy like that. He dropped a small first-aid kit as well as a bottle of water on the blanket. “Come here.”

“But I-”

“But I,” he mocked. “But I don’t care. I need to look after some of those scratches.” Huffing, you dramatically threw the blanket to the side, coming over to sit in front of him. Taking the water bottle in hand, you gratefully moved to take a hearty swig to wash down some of the acid. Belphie grabbed it from you before you could. “Not for drinking.” He twisted the cap off and pulled out a small clean washcloth from his pockets. He pressed the fabric against the opening and tilted the bottle up, getting the rag slightly wet. He then pressed it against your cheek. “We don’t want these infected.” Slowly, he dabbed at each of your shallow scratches, making sure they were clear of dirt. Once he was done with that, he shoved the remaining water at you.

“I don’t want your rag water.”

“Fine.”

But the acidity in your mouth was grating against your teeth. You snatched the bottle from him, swallowing some grateful gulps to cease the gentle burning. Belphie had a mild cocky expression, wiping away the blood. Closing an eye due to slight stinging, you watched his concentrated face. “So…” You started, watching him soon open the box and remove a small tube of medicated ointment. “Why’re you home?”

Squeezing a small amount of the clear gel on the tip of his finger, he started applying it to your cleaned wounds. “Oh, I snuck out of the meeting.”

“Belphie!”

“What?” He took one hand, grabbing your face for a second, squishing your cheeks, mimicking the way your lips pursed. You shook him off, trying to keep yourself from being flustered. “Can you blame me? All I could think about was you...nice and warm in bed...and I was sleepy.” He let out a large yawn. “Still sleepy.”

“Well…” You paused for a second, heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m glad you did.”

He stopped for a second, looking into your eyes. “Hm? Say that again?”

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you furled your eyebrows. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Are you suuuure?” He drawled. “Cus it sounded like you missed me.” One look at your embarrassed face sent him laughing. He poked at your ribs, tickling your sides, singing the words. “You missed me, you missed me.”

Burying your face in your hands, you kicked him a little. “Stop it!”

“Fine,” he smirked. “Anyway, I think you’re mostly taken care of. Most of these have dried and scabbed over. They weren’t very deep anyway.” He lifted your arm, turning it to make sure he’d treated you completely. “So now we can do what I came here for!” It was his first excited expression in a while. He jumped into you, grabbing you by the waist against the bed. Both your heads hit the pillows, the blanket following shortly after. Already you could feel his face against your back. A happy hum of his buzzed into your skin, his hands rubbing against your stomach. Pouting a little, you realized that with Belphie stuck to you like this, you weren't going anywhere soon, so you shifted to get comfortable. You relaxed with a heavy sigh. “You know…” Belphie drowsily muttered. “I...missed...you too…”

“MC! My poor precious MC! I’m never ever leaving you alone again!” Asmo wailed, clinging to you like if he let you go you’d suddenly die. “I can’t believe Belphie did this to you!”

Speaking up from the corner, Belphie scoffed. “I actually helped them, just so everyone knows.” Back in your room, each of the demon brothers had returned from the meeting, having found you and Belphie after a while in the attic. Of course, your small wounds, Belphie’s absence, and the strange destruction of a segment of the garden was called into question.

“And my plants!” Asmo shrieked. “They were such a lovely background for my Devilgram posts! They’re ruined!”

“I’m so-” you tried to apologize, but Asmo pressed a gentle finger against your lips.

“Shush! I don’t blame you a single bit, my darling. It’s all these ruffians!” He kissed your cheek in spots around your little wound.

“Hey! Solomon’s the person responsible, not us!” Mammon shouted.

Lucifer’s weariness was especially noticeable today. You wondered what he had to put up with at the meeting. “At the very least, we’re glad you’re safe, MC. Knowing what Solomon’s cuisine is capable of…” He pinched at the bridge of his nose. “I’m heading to my office...try not to burn the house down,” he sighed, exiting quietly.

You tilted your head. “Is he okay?” You asked.

“When Belphie left, let’s just say Diavolo wasn’t exactly pleased,” Satan explained, a wicked grin stretching his lips wide. “So in exchange he agreed to be Diavolo’s personal servant tomorrow. I hope our Demon Lord has some entertaining things in store.”

Belphie’s face brightened. “Did I do that? Whoops.” Hardly a glimmer of remorse in him.

“You guys owe it to him at least to try and make it a calm night,” you urged, hoping to ease some of the shenanigans already being plotted in their minds.

Mammon shook his head. “Why do we gotta owe him anything? If he’s out for the count tonight, I can hit the casinos without a problem!” He came over rubbing your head. “Give me some of that luck, yeah?” You doubted you had any, but he bounded out the door.

“Belphie, I’ve got a little idea I’d like to try, but I need an extra set of hands. Care to join me?” Satan curled a little finger around his chin, mischief making his green eyes glow wild.

Belphie chuckled. “Ab-so-lutely.” With devilish grins, they both sniggered, malevolent whispers drifting between them as they left.

A rumbling growl echoed through the room. If this had been anywhere else, you would’ve been terrified. But this was the Devildom, and you knew Beel’s stomach when you heard it. “Oh...I’m sorry, MC, but I’m starving. I’ll see you in a bit.” He came over, trying to give you a hug despite Asmo still holding onto you for dear life. He ended up hugging both of you anyway. With more than a little speed, he also left your room, probably heading straight for the kitchen.

A high pitched ‘bling’ reached your ears. Levi pulled out his D.D.D.. “Oh! The new patch for Sorcerer’s Scrolls has been released! I gotta go!” He moved to run but stopped in his tracks before he got too far. “Do you wanna...watch more of that show tonight?”

“Sure, Levi,” you smiled, watching him sprint out of the room, a joyful spring in his step. Although, once everyone had left, you couldn’t help but lower your head, patting Asmo’s wrist. “You can leave too, Asmo, you don’t have to stay with me.”

He made an overly dramatic gasp. “But I do! Don’t sound so sad!” Pulling a bit away from you, he let his cheeks turn a bit pink. “And to be completely honest, I’ve been dying to get some alone time with you.” He squirmed a little bit, but then jumped to his feet. “So! You just sit there and let Nurse Asmo take care of everything, ‘kay ‘kay?” Is that why he had brought that large bag with him when he came in? It was a peach-colored tote bag, settled on your table, a fluffy pink pom-pom clipped to one of the handles. He bounded towards it, rummaging around, looking for something important.

A little--well a lot--guarded against potential Asmo intentions, you tried craning your head to see if you could look inside, but no dice. The end of your nose tickled again as it had the past few days. Grabbing another tissue from your bedside, you tried to blow your nose as quietly as possible. Your poor nostrils were so dry by this point it was bordering on painful. You sniffled, reaching over to squirt some hand sanitizer in your hands. “I thought you hated being around sick people,” you told him.

“You’re the only exception! Besides,” he grabbed out a familiar tool, one you had no idea how he got his hands on it. A stethoscope. “I want to use all these goodies Solomon got me!”

The name still almost sent a shudder down your spine. “Solomon? Why?”

Practically skipping back over, he sat beside you on the bed, strangely excited about this. “Aren’t bodies fascinating?” He touched his own skin, dragging his hand down his neck. “I love to know what makes this perfect body run! And you have absolutely no idea how desperately I’ve longed to know how yours does too!” Taking a good look at him, you could sense that he was truly and undeniably curious as to how your mortal body differed from his. Or possibly just craving a closer look into you altogether. Of course, you still had to close your eyes and deeply sigh. How many times would Solomon be the source of general chaos? Asmo took the end to the stethoscope, looking at it strangely. “Tell me, dear, how does this work?” You let out a light chuckle, and he looked at you curiously. “Don’t make fun of me, that’s just mean!”

“I’m not! I’m not, I promise, it’s just…” He resembled that of a little kid right now, a rare sort of innocence about him. Here he was, a demon of many millennia, and he just wanted to play doctor for a bit. “Never mind.” Brushing off your thoughts, you took the binaurals, putting the earpieces in his ears. One of his hands gently clutched the diaphragm, so you wrapped your own hand around his, guiding the end of the stethoscope to your chest.

Listening it to a moment, you could watch the gentle awe cross over his face. “T-that’s you.”

You brought a hand up to cover your mouth. “Yes, Asmo, that’s me. What, you didn’t think I had a heartbeat?”

“No, I knew! It’s just…” He closed his eyes, going silent. You didn’t want to disturb his moment, but you felt a sneeze coming on. Grabbing another tissue, you covered your nose, tilted your head down towards your lap, and sneezed. Moaning a bit, you blew your nose again, hard enough to make your ears pop. Sitting up, you chucked your used kleenex into the trash. You were about to apologize, but then the glee drained from Asmo’s face. He brought his hands up to his mouth and shrieked.

“What?! What’s wrong?!” As soon as you had asked, the answer presented itself towards you. Warmth dripped down your lips, forcing you to close your mouth as fast as you could.

“Blood! You’re bleeding! Hold on!” Lurching towards the tissues, Asmo pulled five out at a time, pressing it against your face. You pinched your nose, pressuring your hand against the bundle of kleenex. “Look at all this! No, no, no, no, you’ll be alright, darling.” Your gut instinct was to tilt your head up, but Asmo placed his hand on the top of your head, tilting it slightly forward. “Oh, don’t do that, you’ll end up swallowing it. Stay there, I’ll be right back.” He got up sprinting, leaving you alone with the smell and taste of blood. When he came back, he had a cold wet rag in his hands. “Here, use this instead. Give me those,” he softly ordered, tugging at the already blood soaked tissues. You took the rag in your hands, using that to stop the flow instead. He pulled you into his arms, rubbing your back. “Poor thing, it’s just non-stop problems for you right now, isn’t it?” You let him hold you, tilting your head against his as you waited for the blood to stop. Slowly, he brought his hand up to pet the back of your head, giggling a bit to himself when the action made you shiver.

After a bit of time, you tore away from him, cautiously removing the rag. You touched just above your lip, sighing in relief when it had stopped. “That was unexpected.”

Stealing the cloth from you, he started wiping the excess blood off your face. “About gave me a heart attack!” With his free hand, he cupped the side of your face.

A little idea crossed your mind. “Heart attack, huh? Better check that out.” Reaching for the stethoscope, you cleaned the earpieces before putting them in, pressing the small round medical disc to his chest. It was a bit stunning, you had to admit, how loud it sounded. In the human world before, any mentions of demons or angels were always in an ethereal sense. Whether you believed in them or not, you never really thought about them having hearts. Were they even similar to yours? At least...the drumming beating sound of life was the same.

He finished up cleaning you off, tilting his head and grinning. “Well?”

“Undeniably alive...and I’m very grateful for it.”

He squealed, flopping onto you, pushing you both down onto the bed. Every hint that he had been frightened before was gone. “Aren’t you just the sweetest?! Come here, you!” He littered kisses over your face, sending you into a little flurry of embarrassed titters.

“Asmo…”

“Isn’t it a human saying that they can kiss the pain away?” He pecked his lips over your eyelids. “Well, you better prepare yourself...I won’t stop kissing your perfect little face till you feel better!”

The bedroom door violently swung open, the handle nearly making a dent in the wall. Demons poured in, nearly falling over each other. They were all in demon forms, ready to tackle more danger. When they noticed that Asmo was fawning over you, they all puffed up, jealous and irritated. “We heard you scream and thought something happened!” Lucifer roared. Kinda late, weren’t they?

“Hey, why’re you getting all kissy with MC?!” Mammon jumped onto the mattress, trying to pry you from his brother’s arms.

“Don’t you think I deserve to be embracing them?” Satan attempted to push them both aside. Before you knew it, your room was a small war-arena, everyone climbing on the bed. You were squished between them, passed between different hands. Then something wobbled, the sound of wood and metal groaning before a loud snap pierced your ears. The bed hit the floor, a poof of dust causing you to cough. Your bedframe lay scattered in broken pieces across the ground.

“My...bed…” You ran a hand through your hair, pinned under the doggy-pile of demon lords. You looked between each of them with stern looks, each of them blushing in embarrassment over their actions. “Well...I guess it means I’ll be using someone else’s bed for the foreseeable future.”

All at once, their faces lit up, and at the same time they all shouted the same thing. “Me!”

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #tw blood #tw medication #tw vomit

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mrmrswales · 3 years

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Exclusive: the ‘profoundly powerful’ moments that shaped Duchess of Cambridge’s children’s charity work by Camilla Tominey

It all started with secret visits the public never got to see. Newly married, and with the world’s press chronicling her every move – down to the details of her designer dresses – the Duchess of Cambridge resolved to go "below radar".

Acting as Prince William’s "plus one", rather than a fully fledged solo royal in those early days, the newest addition to the Royal family knew that she wanted to find a cause she could champion as impactfully as Diana, the Princess of Wales’s landmine campaign; it was simply a question of where to find it.

Having already announced her first patronage of Action on Addiction, a charity working with people with drug and alcohol problems, Hope House, a women-only rehabilitation centre in Clapham, south London, seemed as good a place as any to start.

It was October 2011 when the then 29-year-old Duchess paid the first of several, incognito visits in a bid to find out what had sent its clients on a downward spiral of self-destruction.

According to Rebecca Priestley, who accompanied the Duchess on the visit and would go on to spend five years as her private secretary, it played a pivotal role in her decision to put childhood at the heart of her philanthropic endeavours.

Speaking on the record for the first time, Mrs Priestley, who is now an executive coach, recalled: "I remember going up to Anglesey, where they were living after the wedding, to have a conversation with the Duchess about her royal life."

At that point, she had the philanthropic world at her feet. She could have done anything she wanted in the charitable arena. Typically, she had put a lot of thought into it already. Addiction was an issue she was instinctively thinking about – but she was also genuinely interested in understanding what support was there and what role that played in the bigger picture of mainstream societal issues."

With the Duke having flown to the Falklands for a six–week tour of duty with his RAF search and rescue squadron, Mrs Priestley put a programme together to support the Duchess’s desire to "listen and learn"."A lot of it was behind the scenes, just talking to people and hearing where it was that they needed more help. The one thing that united all of the women at Hope House was that the derailing had started so early on. They could trace the problems in their adult lives back to childhood."

A subsequent private visit in February 2012 to Clouds House, a treatment centre in East Knoyle in Wiltshire, served as further confirmation that the early years should be a key area of focus. But it was during a later meeting with female inmates at a detox unit at Send Prison in Woking when the penny well and truly dropped.

"It was a profoundly powerful moment,” recalled Mrs Priestley. "You go in there with this preconceived idea that these women have done things wrong, that it was their fault. Then one woman started speaking to the Duchess about her earliest memories of seeing needles on the floor of her home."

She had always thought addiction was a misunderstood issue, but after this, she became concerned that there was a pre-destiny about those affected – an inevitability about it. These women were born into it and there was very little chance of escape."

The experience set in train a sequence of events that will next week culminate in the Duchess, 39, stepping up her ambition in driving awareness and action on the impact that early childhood can have on society at large.

She will launch a new initiative through the couple’s Royal Foundation to further explore the science around early childhood, raise awareness of the issue and foster collaboration and partnerships across relevant groups.

According to Lord Hague, who became chairman of the Royal Foundation last September, the "ambitious" new project will be equal in stature to William’s £50 million Earthshot Prize, launched last year with Sir David Attenborough to find workable solutions to climate change and environmental problems.

"The Duchess truly believes this is one of the great issues of our time," said the former Tory leader. "This is the central plank of her work in the way conservation issues are for the Duke. It’s a hugely significant moment."

While politicians are often in a rush to make a difference during the comparatively short time they have in office, royals are there for life, which perhaps explains why Kate has taken 10 years to get to this point.Having been instrumental in launching the Heads Together campaign with William and Prince Harry in 2016, designed at tackling the stigma and changing the conversation on mental health, it was not until 2018 that she convened a steering group of experts to look at how cross-sector collaboration could bring about lasting change.

In January, she delivered a landmark speech after her Five Big Questions on the Under Fives survey garnered over 500,000 responses.

"People often ask why I care so passionately about the early years," the mother-of-three said.

"Many mistakenly believe that my interest stems from having children of my own. While of course I care hugely about their start in life, this ultimately sells the issue short. If we only expect people to take an interest in the early years when they have children, we are not only too late for them, we are underestimating the huge role others can play in shaping our most formative years, too."

Pointing out that the social cost of late intervention has been estimated to be over £17 billion a year, she added: "The early years are therefore not simply just about how we raise our children. They are in fact about how we raise the next generation of adults. They are about the society we will become."

According to Eamon McCrory, Professor of Developmental Neuroscience and Psychopathology at University College London, the Duchess "has a vision of how she can help transform how we as a society view and invest in the early years for the benefit of society".

Describing her interest in "the role the brain shapes our early experiences and how that sets us on a path to adult life", he explained: "When you look at very young babies and infants, on the surface they don’t appear to be engaging in complex emotions so there's a tendency to underestimate the millions of synapses that are being formed every minute. But science is telling us we have to look under the bonnet.

"There’s no question that for the Duchess, this is a lifetime piece of work. The last five years laid the foundations, now we are entering a more proactive phase.” Described by one source as “thoughtful, professional and determined to do a good job,” there is a sense that Kate has never been in it for the early wins, but the long haul.

As one well-placed insider put it: "She took the job very seriously right from the very beginning. She continues to want to get it right and do her very best - for the institution, for William and the importance of the work she’s doing.

"She doesn't just want to rock up for a picture opportunity, which is why she used to get quite frustrated with all the early focus on what she was wearing. She really cares about this stuff."

Another source said she was "much more fun" than people give her credit for, pointing out how she has grown in confidence having found a cause that she is not only passionate about - but also well informed.

As Lord Hague put it: "She’s been reading the books and had trustees reading the books. People assume her interest in the early years is because she has children – actually it comes from all the adults she’s met." The other key influence has been Kate’s own idyllic childhood.

Brought up in leafy Bucklebury in West Berkshire by her entrepreneur parents Michael and Carole Middleton, pictured below with the royal family, the Duchess has never made any secret of how fortunate she has been to be brought up in a loving and supportive family.

"She always recognised that she benefited from such a great start in life," added Mrs Priestley.

"That’s why sport and the outdoors has always been a key theme for her. She was always asking how those sorts of experiences could be made accessible to others."

For Dame Benny Refson, president of the children’s mental health charity Place2Be, where the Duchess has been patron since 2013, Kate’s grounded upbringing has proved an asset.

“The Duchess listens and people feel heard and valued. It’s nothing to do with privilege. The groups she meets in challenging areas in London don't look at what she's wearing. What makes a difference is that an important person has shown a genuine interest in them. She can relate without passing judgement, which is so important."

Having started out as a reticent public speaker, the Duchess has finally found her voice – and next week she will have a lot more to say.

#duchess of cambridge

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

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Back to the 118 // Evan Buckley

IN WHICH: Buck meets the firefighter he replaced as the reader transfers back to the 118. The reader never expected to fall for a co-worker the first day back at the 118 after two years spent at the 155 in Los Feliz.

Warnings: Swearing, sickness, hospitals, health issues, pregnancy, angst and a shit ton of fluff

Words: 5.9k

A/N: So this is obviously a modern au for jatp to fit in the 911 universe. To make this work, Buck replaced Reader instead of Tommy after many failed probies. Eddie then later replaced Tommy.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

Your e/c eyes scanned the outward appearance of the first firehouse you’d worked at fresh out of the Academy. The place that had become a second home from the increased tension-filled house your parents still lived in. A place you had escaped as quickly as you could for a dream career. A career your parents hadn’t been proud of in the beginning, with the danger that came with being a firefighter paramedic.

“You the new recruit?”

Your eyes fell from the building to the male individual standing near the open bay the engine and ladder truck both used. The male in question must have joined the 118 after you transferred to the 155. The stranger towered at least six feet minimum with blue eyes and short blonde hair with the slightest wave.

“No-”

“Flint!” The excited voice of the only other female paramedic called out. You only saw dark navy before you were pretty much tackled.

Hen and Chimney had equally taken you under their wings when you initially joined as a rookie. You’d been the second female firefighter-paramedic at the 118 and the youngest by far. As if you’d summoned him, you felt the arms of Chimney sandwich you against Hen.

“Flint?” The stranger parroted, blinking his eyes at the rather unusual scene of Chimney and Hen wrapped around an unknown girl.

“What are you doing here?” Chimney questioned, stepping back. Hen scoured your entire form for any differences that had occurred.

“Y/N decided to come home,” Bobby spoke from a few feet behind the reunion with the beaming smile on his features. His lips pulled into a smile directed at the first recruit he’d taken on his first year at the 118.

“Bobby!” You grinned, meeting the father figure in the middle of the distance between you two. Bobby wrapped you up in his arms tightly, a certain lightness cocooning the Captain as he took in his friends.

“You’re back here?”

“Everything is squared back at home now, thankfully, and while I loved working with the 155, it wasn’t home. This will always be home.”

“Buck, this is Y/N Patterson. She worked her first two years with the 118 before transferring to the 155 in Los Feliz. Y/N, this is one of our newest members, Evan Buckley.” Bobby gestured towards the previously nameless firefighter.

“Who would leave the 118?” Buck questioned, unable to come up with a valid reason to leave the family at 118.

Buck’s opinion didn’t stand with his only workplace after successfully becoming a firefighter solely was the 118. Never had he worked in another firehouse. He’d been a fire marshall and volunteered his time in the Austin wildfire, but he always came home to the 118.

“Family issues.”

2018, Firehouse 118, Los Angeles

A fresh-faced, albeit dirty from sweat and soot, jumped down from the engine truck’s high steps. The synchronized slam of doors sounded from your colleagues and friends Hen and Chimney. All three individuals famished for the casserole Bobby had premade during the slow morning.

“Baked Mac n’ Cheese.” Tommy breathed from his position by the driver side. Tommy Kinard was a stoic man towering over six feet. He was always a gentle giant after you’d bonded after a hard call.

“Clean up, and I’ll have it in the oven. It’s Chimney’s time to make the salad and Flint’s turn to set the table.” Bobby spoke with barely a glance to the ground ahead of him.

Your Captain jogged towards the stairs, whereas his team made their way to the locker rooms for a well-deserved shower. You and Hen split away from Tommy and Chimney to the women’s locker room that had gotten an upgrade.

Well, before you joined the Academy, the locker room had been used as a glorified game room, all thanks to the misogynist Captain from hell. Hen often had over the years mentioned how lucky you got with Bobby being your first Captain.

“Chimney better not put those onions like he did last time.” You spoke from under the stream of warm water. Nothing beat the warmth of a shower near the end of your shift erasing the evidence of your job.

“Man needs to learn the complimentary salad to the main dish.” Hen piped up from across the shower room.

You and Hen had both showered and redressed in a fresh uniform in under five minutes, the dirty one placed in a laundry bag. You’d managed to beat the boys to the upstairs by a few seconds. Enough to set half of the able before Chimney began to making his salad of choice.

“Looks great, Cap.” Tommy complimented the gooey homemade pasta Bobby religious made every third Thursday. He alternated between pasta recipes with the odd new recipe every once in a while.

“What are you waiting for? The bell?” Bobby quipped to the unmoving bunch of hungry individuals. His words started the boisterous meal time preceding the end of shift.

“So, we’re halfway through dinner and Amber-” Your phone interrupted the disaster date Tommy had begun telling. He continued as soon as you waved him to go ahead while you took the call.

“Hello?” You breathed into the phone.

“Hi, sweetheart.” The warmth infused in your mom’s voice soothed the ruffled feathers from the call you’d come back from, “How are you?”

“I’m good! We just finished eating. My shift is almost over, and I’ll have to go straight to the store for groceries-”

“Y/N, we found him.”

The him was easy to figure out given your brother had run away from home three months prior with only his dreams in mind. You’d spent most of your off time, sometimes even during shift out on a call, to scan the environment for Luke. You became a regular in questioning hospitals and homeless shelters.

“Where was he?”

“His band had been about to play at some big venue last night.” Mom’s word choice concerned you. Her voice dripped with sadness instead of the typical disappointment and annoyance on anything to do with Sunset Curve.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“A few nights ago, the boys got hotdogs-”

“Streetdogs.” You interrupted with evident anger in your tone at the mention of those death dogs Luke consumed. You can’t even give a number to how many times you had told him how unsanitary and dangerous the food is.

“Something was wrong with the food. They got ill fast. Alex and Reggie are being kept for observation but will be found with a few days of rest.”

“What about Luke?”

“He tried to call 911; he was weak and fell. Y/N, he hit his head. He’s in the ICU in a coma.” Emily Patterson’s voice cracked as soon as she acknowledged the current state of her youngest child.

The colours of the world dulled as soon as your mind clicked that Luke was in the hospital. Your little brother had put himself in danger all because he had a big dream. Your mind flashed through your life growing up with him.

You remembered talking to your mom’s growing bump when she was pregnant with Luke. You remembered five-year-old Luke unable to settle unless you sang to him. Your voice was nothing special, but it soothed the little boy when he had a nightmare. You could vividly recall teaching Luke how to play the guitar when he was thirteen; the brunette a complete natural at it.

“What’s his prognosis?”

“Too early to tell. The doctor is hoping Luke will be in a general room after tomorrow if the swelling goes down. I wanted you to know as soon as possible.”

“How’s Dad?”

Emily hesitated from her position by a hospital bed. Her brown eyes carefully scanning the male sleeping soundly in the bed.

“Mom?”

“Your father had a heart attack last night. That’s why I haven’t been able to tell you sooner. He’s currently sleeping, but he’ll have a barrage of tests later today-”

“I’ll be there as soon as my shif-”

“No. Don’t drop anything. I can keep you up.”

“Excuse my language, but there’s no way in hell I’m staying away from my family. I’ll take a few days off. I’ll see you in a couple hours.” Your thumb tapped the red circle on the bottom of your screen.

The 118 didn’t bother pretending they hadn’t been watching your form during your phone call. Bobby felt like something had drastically changed in a few minutes you’d been busy on the phone.

“Everything okay?” Bobby inquired from his position at the kitchen sink. His hands in the sudsy water to scrub the empty pan.

“My brother and my father are in hospital. I’m gonna need some days off.” You informed your boss with a look of utter defeat coating your expression.

Those few days transitioned to transferring to the closest firehouse to your childhood home and the hospital. The medical bills from both your brother and father had begun to overwhelm your mother with the current single source of income. Emily didn’t ask you for anything, but you started renting the home you’d bought for extra money.

It was a silent agreement that you paid rent as a cover to helping with the bills piling up.

Present Day, Firehouse 118

Buck followed behind the welcoming group to the girl that seemed larger than life. Buck was impressed by the sacrifice you’d made for the good of your family. You’d willingly given up the family of the 118. Buck didn’t know if he could do the same.

“Welcome back.” Hen cheered on her guidance to the heaven everyone called the kitchen. Your department issue duffle bag dropped out of the wall on the top level.

Your eyes zeroed in on the spread of your favourite foods prepared by the only person aware of your return. It was only one look of gratitude towards the father figure before everyone dug in.

A few changes had occurred since you’d last sat at this table. Tommy Kinard had left the 118 for the 217 shortly after your departure. He’d been replaced by the ready to impress Buck. One thing that hadn’t changed was the delicious food Bobby made.

Your eyes found the sole empty chair at the long table, “Didn’t you say the house took on two new recruits since I left?”

“Buck took your position when you left. We had a revolving door of firefighters before Buck permanently joined.” Chimney supplied with a mouth full of lettuce and grated carrot. Hen whacked his arm for his lack of manners.

“You’ll meet Eddie on the next shift. He took the day off. It’s his son’s first birthday since his mom died.” Bobby informed you with that pinched wrinkle between his eyebrows, “He joined after Tommy left.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet the entire team.” You replied, looking past to the circular table behind Bobby’s spot. Sam and Ryan both waved happily upon catching sight of you back at your unspoken seat.

You listened intently as Hen shared the changes Denny had gone through in the time you’d been away. Chimney was ecstatic to point out the faint scar on his forehead.

“You had rebar go through your skull, and you’re completely fine?” You questioned, floored by the pure luck Chimney had.

“Oh, it was nasty. Went in from the back of the skull to the front.” Buck spoke enthusiastically, recounting the scene. Chimney deadpanned a look at his younger coworker, “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s like you never had it happen.”

“Doc was shocked at how positive the outcome and healing was. I was back at work within a month on light duty. I beat my record getting in my turnout gear.”

“And yet my little brother was comatose for two months.” You grumbled under your breath. None of the people could make out the words, but the grimace on your face was enough to show them it was personal.

In true 118 fashion, the bell rang throughout the firehouse with the disembodied voice declaring the type and location. Yoru e/c eyes found Buck climbing into the driver’s seat where Tommy had once commandeered. It was odd not having the man who’d became an older brother to you.

“How’re your parents?” Hen questioned, sitting diagonally from you. Her fingers repositioning the radio on her chest.

“Dad’s recovering pretty good. Mom’s started attending her knitting club again.”

Buck’s eyes raised to the rearview mirror to meet yours in interest, “What happened?”

“Uh...my dad had a heart attack a couple years ago. He took a long time to recover with the further stress that caused it.” You piped up, understanding the news would come out at some point, “My little brother was in an accident that left him in a coma. Life was just as messy after he woke up.”

“He’s okay?” Chimney questioned, “I know we’ve never met them, but it really gutted you.”

“Well, physically, he’s fine, but emotionally he’s upset. He was in a band, and when he came out of the coma, he found out some devastating news.” You continued to explain, but unfortunately, or maybe, fortunately, you’d come to the scene.

It was a little known place most teenagers discovered as a hang out spot just on the edge between your county and the next. The location was the infamous spot of cliff jumping; you knew because this was something you’d recklessly done in high school.

“He’s over here!” A blonde male of average height called from the edge of the cliff. His blue eyes were bright even from this distance, matching the detailing on his swim trunks.

Surrounding the edge with the boy was a group of teenagers his age, all in different versions of swimsuits. You found the scared brown eyes of a beautiful girl you vaguely knew from the few shows of Sunset Curve you had watched. Her dark blonde hair plaited out of her face. Her face clicked as Carrie Wilson, Bobby’s sister or cousin.

You jogged towards the edge of the cliff to look over. It was easily between fifteen to twenty feet from the edge of the cliff to the water. You recognized Hen crouching by your side, looking at what you were looking at.

On the rocks was a prone body of a teenage male with bruises already forming on his face from where you could see. His thick shoulder-length hair laid still half in the ponytail and around his head.

“Head trauma.” You murmured to Hen, scanning from a distance, “I can’t tell much from this height and angle.”

“Either a broken tibia or fibula. Spinal injury is definitely a concern.”

“Okay, his name is Willie Young. He’s eighteen years old. His sister Kayla was dared to jump off by doing some kind of flip. Willie took her dare and didn’t jump far enough or tripped over a rock.” Bobby listed having been talking with the group of teenagers all shook up.

“I can rappel-” Buck began to speak before you cut him off firmly.

“It would take too long, and the angle is difficult. Nobody rappels down it; the cliff isn’t stable enough. It crumbles pretty easy, and the unofficial name of this cliff is Devil’s Dive.” Your eyes found Carrie’s tear-filled once and the utter devastation in who you pegged as Kayla.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve jumped off this cliff for years as a teenager. You’re looking at the resident champion of self reckless endangerment at Devil’s Dive.”

Hen, Chimney and Bobby each stared, shocked at your revelation of stupid teenager decisions.

“Then how are we gonna get down there,” Buck questioned, staring at the unconscious teenager lying on the rocks.

“Easy, I can jump from here into the water and climb onto the rocks to where Willie is. I have the experience of how and where to jump safely.” You spoke to your Captain with complete confidence in your abilities, “You can lower down the kit, radio and backboard by a rope. There’s a mansion beyond the trees that you can ask to borrow a boat from the owner. He’s eccentric and questionable but nice enough.”

Bobby nodded his head to your plan. You unbuttoned your uniform shirt to strip down to the department t-shirt with the emblem on your chest and across your back. You kept the boots and emptied your pockets of anything. The butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the height of the cliff you hadn’t jumped from in years.

“I’ll jump where-”

“Excuse me?” You scoffed at Buck’s assumption he could follow you.

“You’ll need another pair of hands to roll him on the backboard. I don’t have anyone waiting for me at home. This is kinda what I do. Bobby cleared it already.” Buck shrugged with a half-smirk on his handsome face.

With a roll of your eyes, you quickly gave Buck a rundown on how to jump correctly before you tossed yourself off the cliff. The cold water momentarily shocked your system as soon you submerged under the water. You swam to the surface before swimming towards the rocks. Willie hadn’t moved an inch.

“Whoa! That was so cool!” Buck cheered once he’d appeared on the surface of the water, “No wonder you used to do that!”

His excitement both annoyed and amused you, “Eh. I was just an idiot kid who thought they were invincible.”

The two firefighters lifted themselves onto the rock formation, where blood stained the rock. While Buck retrieved the backboard and essentials from the rope, your hands moved across Willie’s body, checking for breaks. You caught the c-collar Buck tossed without looking. You quickly but gently put the collar on Willie.

“Hi, Willie. My name is Y/N, and I’m a paramedic. I’m gonna check you over for injuries.” You informed the teenager closely. You’d only just opened his eyes to flash a light on them, “Buck let Bobby know Willie’s pupils are reactive to light and the same size.”

“Got it!” Buck called out from the open medkit, “I’ll splint his leg.”

“W-what happened?” Willie wheezed sluggishly. His brown eyes were unfocused.

“You got hurt trying to jump off the cliff. You’re in good hands, Willie. I’m a paramedic with the Los Angeles Fire Department. This is my coworker Buck.”

“Kayla?”

“Perfectly safe, but you did give her a scare. Willie, can you feel this?” Buck questioned, gently touching his right foot. Buck and you both gave a sigh of relief as Willie confirmed he felt it.

“Okay, we’re gonna roll you on to the backboard. On three: one, two, three.” You counted before rolling Willie on his side with Buck. Willie’s cry echoed around the surrounding as you settled him on the board.

“Need a ride?” Chimney asked as a very nice boat floated towards the three people on the rocks. Hen and Bobby helped load Willie onto the boat, “Mr. Covington agreed to let us use the boat if we don’t get blood on the seats.”

“Can you call my boyfriend?” Willie sluggishly asked when he was loaded into the ambulance on the cliff. Kayla sliding into the seat in the back of the ambulance with their items.

“Alex is meeting us at the hospital.” Kayla told her older brother, “You absolute idiot! You should have just let me jump!”

“And let you be in the back of the ambulance? Dad would kill me if I had let you do it.” Willie scoffed. Their conversation was silent as Chimney and Buck closed the back doors of the ambulance.

Bobby, Buck and you climbed into the fire truck to follow the ambulance to the closest hospital. Hen and Chimney rolled the gurney to the doors with Kayla hot on their heels. You’d just turned to head back to the truck when you saw three teens loitering near the entrance.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You grumbled, marching away from Bobby and Buck to the teen who was supposed to be in class.

Luke had been forced into private tutoring to catch up to his friends in his grades, meaning every afternoon. The watch on your wrist confirmed Luke was definitely supposed to be with his tutor at the community centre.

“Luke!” You shouted, stomping right up to the wide-eyed teen.

Luke’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as his older intimidating sister caught him like his hand was in the cookie jar. You didn’t give Reggie or Alex a second look while you gripped Luke’s ear to tug him away.

“Ow!” Luke whined from the angle you dragged him at.

“What the hell are you doing across the city? You’re supposed to be in your session that our parents are paying a great deal for.” You snapped, crossing your arms in your wet t-shirt.

“We need every chance we can to-”

“Make it big in the industry.” You parroted the past discussions on Luke’s dream as a band, “Do you remember how I got mom and dad off your back? An agreement that you finish high school on time. Not dropping out.”

“So many musicians have dropped out! Green Day’s frontman dropped out his senior year to focus on the band. Several others like Elton John and Kurt Cobain!” Luke enthused, gesturing with his hand to emphasize his words.

“Luke.” You warned, “It’s either catch by with a tutor with some time dedicated to your band, or it’s a military school.”

Luke’s hazel eyes minimally widened, “They would-”

Your stoic expression stayed the same as the energetic seventeen-year-old bounced in his spot across from you.

“There’s only so much I can do before you lose everything. I know you feel anxious after what all happened, but music isn’t going anywhere.” You reached to squeeze Luke’s hand in yours, “So, I’ll clear it with my boss to have you ride the bus to the station. You’ll have your tutor sessions with my supervision, so I know you’re attending.”

“Y/N!” Bobby called from next to the firetruck, “We gotta go.”

“I’m guessing the Alex that Willie is dating your best friend?” You questioned with one raised eyebrow. Luke nodded in response, “Let mom know you had to be there for Alex. She’ll let skipping your session go this once.”

“Thanks!” Luke chimed, lunging to hug you. Your mouth barely opened before he was racing towards a jittery Alex and a grinning Reggie.

Reggie lifted his arm to wave with his flushed cheeks a darker red colour. You found Reggie’s crush on you to be absolutely adorable. He was a friendly kid.

“He looks good for a kid who was in a coma not long ago.” Hen breathed as the teenager entered the ER with his best friends beside him.

“Oh, he healed quickly. He was crushed after he fully recovered from his head injury.”

“That was your brother?” Buck inquired, and he was just as focused on your features as he had since he first met you.

“Yeah! He was in a coma for ten months when he was sixteen. He’s spent the last two years catching on on school to graduate with his friends. Well hopefully. He’s dead set on dropping out.” You heavily sighed, leaning your temple on the glass window, “He was supposed to be at a tutoring session. I’ll be chaperoning to make sure he goes.”

“If you need to have them at the station, send me a schedule, and I’ll make it work. Luke’s just as much family as you are.”

The rest of the shift was smooth sailing as Buck followed you around with the sole purpose of getting to know you. The friendship came naturally to the two of you. He didn’t hold back with you like he did with others. Fridays off became hangouts that varied from just Buck and you to spend it with Eddie and Christopher.

Everyone could see Buck had developed feelings for you and vice versa. Unlike the man Buck used to be, he was cautious. He wanted to do this right. And Buck did. With the help of Christopher, he asked you out.

Months Later

Buck’s eyes fluttered open in the dim lighting of your new home’s bedroom he often found himself in. Before, you had alternated staying at his apartment or yours before a significant change happened. Luke moved in to finish his senior year with the help of your tutoring, as agreed with your parents. That led to you giving up your former home, the one that coincidentally Buck’s sister Maddie had rented from you.

“Luke! You better be awake!” Your voice came from the main floor of the home. Your voice alone seduced the firefight to leave the warm sheets.

His bare feet pattered down the hardwood floor stairs into the kitchen coated in all different kinds of breakfast food. Waffles to imported maple syrup to bacon spread across the counter.

“Morning,” Buck grumbled, stepping up behind you to tug you against his chest.

Unlike Buck’s softer footsteps, your little brother tore down the stairs like a stampede of elephants. Luke wore a vintage band shirt modified sleeveless; you’d be getting a voicemail about dress code violations. The chains hanging off his black jeans.

“You have to hurry, Lu. Buck and I can’t be late. He needs to get to his apart-”

“I don’t see why he doesn’t just move in. He’s here almost every night. He helps buy groceries.” Luke’s hazel eyes stared at the plate he towered food on.

Buck raised one eyebrow in response, “You just moved in. You should be settled before we make-”

“Dude. Your lease is up in like a month; just move in already. No feathers will be ruffled. Besides, the band’s taking off now that Nick got his dad Ryan to check our music out.” Luke sprouted with a beaming smile at the good news his new band received.

After Luke had recovered from that coma, he’d woken up in a world where Alex, Reggie and Bobby, no Trevor, now continued the band. Then when Alex and Reggie couldn’t go on, the rhythm guitarist betrayed Luke. He stole every song he could get his hands on and proved successful.

“Ryan Evans, right? His sister’s some bigshot on Broadway? Sharpay, right?” You questioned recalling in the early 2000s the success of Sharpay and Ryan in some kind of Disney films based on them.

“You’re about to be the sister and brother-in-law of a certified rockstar.” Luke’s attempt at smirking made him look like a chipmunk with full cheeks of food, “I don’t need a ride. Alex’s picking me up.”

“Straight to school, Luke. You’ve got two weeks left before you can leave that behind.” Buck pointed his coffee cup in the direction of the passionate musician. Luke returned a smile of acknowledgement.

The kitchen was quiet as Luke shoved as much food in his mouth in such little time while you watched. In a flash, he’d stuck his dishes in the dishwasher before sprinting out to the van beeping continuously.

“Think we can have you moved in by tomorrow? Your one-bedroom place will be a little cramped for five people.” You simply spoke as you rinsed your coffee cup out. You could hear the wheels in Buck’s brain turning as he thought.

“Five people?”

“Yeah. Luke, Albert, me, you and baby Buckley.”

The entire home went completely still as the announcement bled into the house you’d made a home. One hand resting against the smoothness of your belly. That hand covered by the calloused one of Buck’s. His blue eyes gleaming in utter adoration and excitement.

“Baby Buckley?” Buck marvelled, turning you to face him with tears running down your cheeks, “You’re pregnant?”

“I am. I guess we’re giving Maddie’s daughter a cousin.” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Now I’m obligated to see your parents regularly, and I still grimace at the first introduction.” Buck winced, recalling the foot in mouth syndrome he’d developed.

Buck had never been as nervous as in this moment. Not when he had to tell his parents the first time he got kicked out of college. Or when his teenage self sat beside one of his flings waiting for the results of a pregnancy test. Not even on his first date with Abby.

“You’ll be fine.” You soothed the anxious man standing by your side on the doorstep of your childhood home. The door opened, revealing Luke standing with a grimace, “Oh Mom, made you wear that.”

Luke had been stuffed into one of the only long-sleeved shirts he owned by your mother. It was a magenta maroon hued corduroy shirt and set off his chocolate hair perfectly. Apparently, your mother hadn’t been able to get him into a pair of pants that weren’t skinny, black or ripped.

“We’re meeting your boyfriend, not the damn Pope-”

“You wouldn’t be wearing that if the Pope was involved.” You retorted, stepping to tug the younger Patterson into your arms. The only thing you adored about your little brother was he never denied a hug. Physical touch is his love language, so he never went through a phase.

“Lucas, don’t let them freeze on the front porch!” Emily shouted from within the Patterson home. Luke rolled his eyes at his mother’s request.

“Luke, this is my boyfriend, Evan Buckley. Buck, this is my not so little brother Luke.” You swiftly introduced the most important males in your life.

Luke and Buck got along better than any previous partner you’d brought home. He got along with your parents really well. Even when he slightly embarrassed himself as the time came to go home, whether it was his place or yours. He kissed your mother’s cheek and shook hands with your father.

“No offence, but thank you for having a heart attack and a coma. If you hadn’t, I’m sure I would have never met Y/N.”

Luke snickered at Buck’s odd choice of words, as did your parents. A part of Buck dreaded the next time he’d see your parents.

The gentle press of lips against your cheek pulled you from your thoughts of the first family dinner. Despite the issues between Luke and your parents, they were great people and parents; Buck had felt like he finally fit in. Even with that awkward thankful he gave your brother and dad, he was family the minute Mitch and Emily saw the mutual looks.

“How are we gonna do this?”

“Well, as the pregnant one, I’ll carry the little Bean until it’s time for them to enter the world. Then we’ll-”

“I get that but with our jobs?”

You felt guilty at the dread of not getting to do what you love, but you were excited, “I’ll keep working as a paramedic. I’ll stay away from fires, and then I’ll go on mat leave. We’ll make this work, Buck.”

Buck leaned down to rest his forehead against yours with his eyes closed, envisioning how life was about to change. Buck adored children. He had loved Christopher from the moment he’d first met him. Buck himself was a kid at heart.

“I didn’t think I could fall more in love, but you continue to surprise me each time,” Buck murmured with that gorgeous smile that utterly melted your heart from the first time you saw it. Back when you tried to deny any feelings beyond friendship.

“We’re so lucky to have you, Evan Buckley.” You breathed as you leaned up to kiss him with as much passion as you could. Although it was mostly clashing of teeth with the matching wide grins on your face.

“This little girl is gonna be a heartbreaker but no boyfriends or girlfriends until they’re thirty.” Buck declared, tugging you into his arms. His blue eyes twinkling in the natural lighting.

“It could be a boy.”

“Or maybe neither. Boy, girl or non-binary, I’ll love them just as much.” Buck spoke once more.

Gideon Buckley was born in the early morning to the pride of his parents and extended family. He was a healthy solid 8 pounds with sparse dark blonde hair and the trademark grey-blue newborn eyes. You everyone but Buck and your surprise Gideon wasn’t alone. Grace Buckley followed her older twin brother eight minutes later.

You rested against the propped up pillows spent from the exhausting hours of labour, but it was worth it. The two tiny babies snuggled beneath the swaddling blanket concealing your bare chest. Skin to skin contact was absolutely the best part of being a parent.

“Did you steal a baby?” Chim joked upon entering the hospital room with Maddie in tow. Right behind them were your parents and Luke.

“I’d like you to meet our twins Gideon and Grace Buckley. Surprise!” Buck quietly cheered in the nearly silent room. Buck’s curated newly parents playlist gently playing in the background.

Mitch and Emily came closer to look at the little loves they proudly got to claim as their first grandchildren. Emily’s heart melted upon hearing Gracie coo in her sleep. Grace and Gideon’s fist pressed against each other.

“Congratulations.” Maddie breathed, bending to catch a peek at the twins’ faces.

“Luke. Would you like to meet your goddaughter and godson?” You questioned the nervous musician. The nineteen-year-old tiptoed his way to the hospital bed.

“I’m both their godfather?” Luke choked as soon as Buck gently transferred Gideon onto his uncle’s chest.

“There’s no one else in the world I’d choose to help guide them in the right direction. You always found your way back onto the right path. You’ll do the same for them.” Buck answered with Gracie nestled on his chest.

Buck was the first to hold them followed by you and then their godfather Luke.

Gid and Gracie, although unseen, had been in Luke’s graduation pictures and watched as Julie and the Phantoms signed with a record label. Where Gid was, Luke wasn’t far beyond; the special bond melted everyone. Likewise with Gracie and Alex.

Gid overall was a happy baby compared to Grace. Loved visiting the firehouse. Loved the people working with their father and previously their mother. For the entire first year of Gideon and Grace’s life, you stayed at home with the utter support of Buck.

“First day back.” Hen spoke from beside you on the bench in the women’s change room. As a fellow mother, she’d been watching your behaviour.

“I miss them. I feel guilty that I abandoned them-”

“Okay, your feelings are valid, but you aren’t abandoning Gideon or Grace. You’re teaching them that you can be a great mom while also being a badass firefighter. I was the same when I went back to work after we got Denny.”

“Do you ever wish you could be a stay at home mom?”

“I love Denny with my entire heart, but I couldn’t do that. I was meant to be a paramedic firefighter as much as Denny’s mother. Besides, I can see Maddie pushing in the double stroller.”

Your head snapped to see your sister in law beaming with the double stroller carrying Gideon and Grace. Maddie’s daughter sitting on the seat made for a toddler. Maddie and Chimney had come to a decision for Maddie to work part-time.

Hen watched as you bounded out of the changeroom in uniform to scoop the twins into your arms. In a split second, Buck was down the stairs cooing at the absolute loves of his life. His partner and two children.

Buck would forever be grateful for finding his way to the 118, where he found his true family. A place of acceptance, love, trust and loyalty. Buck found his place in the world, and that was beside you.

Tag List(s): (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

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Transformers Medical Analysis Essay: What are Cybertronians Made Of? [Part One: Nanites and Human Equivalents]

This is gonna be long, for which I apologise.

PLEASE NOTE: We will be discussing some actual real world blood stuff here; Nothing gross, just some basics to provide a human comparison for the Cybertronian stuff, and I have used my own blood test results below to help explain these comparisons to you. If you might find any real world medical content gross or potentially upsetting, please skip this post, as I don’t want to upset anyone! <3

Here we go!

What Cybertronians Are Made Of, Part One: Nanites

Nanites are mentioned throughout various TF media and franchises, although they seem to differ mildly between each application/description somewhat.

This makes nanites a good starting point, as we know that at least all Cybertronians/Camiens/etc. have some kind of self-repair function, and this is stated to be either nanites or a multi-system function that includes nanites as a key part of maintaining health and wellbeing.

In Beast Wars, we get the most detail on certain medical and physiological aspects of nanites, with the nanites inherent to the composition of a Cybertronian body providing part of the basic structure of the protoform, as well as displaying the ability to undergo mutation (similar somewhat to human cell mutations) which allow for the process of Transmetalisation.

Nanites seem to have many significant functions in the Cybertronian body across multiple TF franchise canons, from being a fundamental construction element, to functioning like human stem cells, to behaving as an immune system in the capacity of self-repair nanites.

We will focus specifically on self-repair nanites here, as it is sometimes implied in different TF canons that there may be multiple types of nanites present in the Cybertronian body.

Comparing Self-Repair Nanites to a Human Equivalent: Full Blood Count

We can reasonably compare Cybertronian nanites to human cells, as we can think of these nanites as serving the same purpose as several different cell types in human bodies.

In regards to Cybertronian self-repair nanites, the most obvious human comparisons would be immune system cells/proteins like macrophages, lymphocytes, mast cells, and Cytokines.

Five types of white blood cells/leukocytes will appear in the blood generally speaking, and you can see these listed on any Full Blood Count (FBC) blood test.

To illustrate this, I actually just recently did a few blood test panels on myself, so I have included my own FBC results for you to check out here:

The five blood test results I want you to focus on are the following, which are the white blood cells I marked in orange/red above:

Neutrophils

Lymphocytes (B and T Cells)

Monocytes

Eosinophils

Basophils

(You might notice that I have a few mildly OOR (out of range) results above; This is because I have Haemoglobin Barts and I am also undergoing HRT, so please don’t be too concerned!)

If any of these results are elevated (high/out of range on the upper end), it can help indicate all kinds of things, from whether or not you’ve had an infection or cold/flu recently, to being used as part of identifying possible autoimmune disorders in conjunction with other more specific tests like an Antinuclear Antibody (ANA) blood test as part of diagnostics for Lupus or Sjogren’s Syndrome, among other conditions.

We can safely assume that self-repair nanites may be similarly used as part of certain Cybertronian medical diagnostic processes; We will probably only be able to verify this in canon once Hasbro finally listens to me and gives us a Med Bay focused series.

Note for any of you who might be non-clinical medical staff dealing with blood results: Basophils have a tendency to essentially self-destruct in a blood sample that has taken a little longer than usual to get processed in the lab, so don’t freak out immediately if this result appears out of range at first. Remember to check the time the sample was drawn and compare it to the time the sample was actually processed! Obviously, raise it as a potential concern anyway, if you are unsure.

Why This is Relevant to Cybertronian Medicine and Physiology: Mechanical Lifeforms Are Complex, But in Some Ways, Not Really (Compared to Humans)

Just like human beings have our various immune system cells and proteins, Cybertronians clearly have self-repair nanites as a way to carry out some degree of constant natural defence against both casual and serious damage.

HOWEVER.

Whereas humans generally have the five primary white blood cell types which are the “usual” ones we check for in fairly routine blood tests like Full Blood Counts, it seems that Cybertronians have one universal primary white blood cell equivalent (self-repair nanites) that serve the functions of various immune system cells and proteins in human bodies.

To use computer engineering phrasing in reference to human functions, this is (to some degree) essentially biological built-in triple modular redundancy. Multiple types of cells within the immune system in humans all help individually and collectively to identify, locate, track, capture, learn about, and eliminate contaminants or foreign entities like bacteria, among other functions.

Cybertronians, however, are extremely physically complex in other ways, but their basic structure and core components seem to be fairly minimal based on what we see in canon across the board; They only have self-repair nanites, a single type of nanite, to fulfil all of these varied and complex immune system analogous functions. They only have this singular line of natural defence.

(This assumption is based on purely what we see in canon; If there are other self-repair dedicated functions, these are not as universally mentioned or mentioned at all in TF media canon, or where they are implied, they are not well defined.)

While this may still be the most ideal possible natural or innate design for Cybertronian physiology, it is still, of course, essentially a single point of failure (as engineering terminology seems appropriate here), and a pretty serious one at that.

Now, human immune systems can get all kinds of messed up anyway, and having more types of cells/nanites doesn’t necessarily eliminate a lot of those problems or risks and likely wouldn’t for Cybertronians either if they may have similar potential health concerns, but my point is that the Cybertronian immune system equivalent is extremely simplistic in comparison, which is in contrast with most other aspects of Cybertronian physiology.

While they do use the plural form, “self-repair nanites”, which could imply the presence of multiple specific self-repair nanite types within the Cybertronian body, this is not specified, and this is never elaborated upon in any TF media to my knowledge. It seems that the use of the plural form refers only to there being many self-repair nanites in the body, rather than multiple types of self-repair nanite.

Having a single line of immune defence has potentially serious implications in-universe; Just like human beings, Cybertronians may be able to experience problems with their immune systems ranging from potentially serious and chronic autoimmune issues, to being more prone to catching illnesses due to mild immunosuppression caused by chronic processor overload (chronic stress) or inability to recharge/infrequent recharge (insomnia), or possibly even autoimmune responses (see the section on rusting, below, for one theory I have about what may be a canonical example of this).

This may vary significantly from series to series as well anyway, but we don’t have a lot of canonical medical information to work with about any of this, so this is all conjecture.

Especially given the conditions of war, it may be difficult for Cybertronians to maintain fully functional self-repair nanites, as it is often the case across nearly all TF media that the bots are usually working with minimal supplies and/or sustaining severe and repeated damage, which provides ample opportunity for natural bodily processes to go wrong in addition or as a result of any external causes of damage.

Do their self-repair nanites suffer from chronic low fuel levels, which particularly in TFP is a constant concern?

Ratchet even mentions in the episode Stronger, Faster:

Ratchet: “If one of you comes back wounded this time, well, our energon levels are nearly depleted.”

While this may be in reference to concerns around lack of spare energon for transfusion purposes (as energon is treated like both blood and fuel in TFP), we know that it is generally used as supplementary to other medicines/treatments/medical procedures as well, although these are not defined clearly.

It’s certainly possible that the risk of low fuel levels includes impeded nanite function, and considering that symptoms of low fuel in Cybertronians seem similar to exhaustion/fatigue/starvation in humans, it’s reasonable to assume that yes, running on strictly rationed levels of fuel for prolonged periods of time likely impacts their self-repair functions.

This has further implications for dealing with everything from exposure to potential pathogens on other planets that may affect them, to recovering from any necessary surgical procedures or battle wounds.

And, a very good point to make: Under the assumption that there is only one type of self-repair nanite, it may be possible to take a sample of these nanites from a living Cybertronian and reverse-engineer it; Biological weapons are known to exist in canon, and have been used to spectacularly horrific effect, particularly in IDW 2005/Sins of the Wreckers, if I recall correctly.

What if someone finds a way to simply “shut down” these self-repair nanites?

What if someone finds a way to, for example, create a biological weapon that induces an immediate autoimmune response, similar to a cytokine storm in humans?

Which brings us to...

Self-Repair Nanites, Autoimmune Responses, and Rusting: My Theory

Cytokines are a part of the human body’s immune response, and are proteins that essentially help to moderate an immune response. If these proteins get out of control, a cytokine storm can result.

We see a cytokine storm like effect when Cybertronians suffer from Cosmic Rust, which may trigger what appears to be a type of self-repair nanite storm; This might be the real reason for the rapid corrosion caused by the Cosmic Rust.

Rather than being a feature of the rust itself, it may be the case that the rust upon infecting a Cybertronian may elicit such a strong response from the nanites present in the body that it induces a sudden overwhelming and indiscriminate response from the self-repair nanites, thus causing the Cybertronian body to devour itself:

The self-repair nanites in such a “storm” would not discriminate between healthy metals and rusted metals, and instead surge towards eliminating ALL metals.

This would mean that Cosmic Rust kills primarily by inducing a severe acute autoimmune response, but since we have no actual information on the mechanics of Cosmic Rust (or how it compares to normal rust which seems to occur naturally and seems to present as a somewhat common and relatively low risk issue for Cybertronians), I can’t say this for certain.

I hope this has been interesting for someone, and if you actually stuck with me and read all of this, thank you very much for putting up with me!!!! <3

#transformers #maccadam #transformers animated #transformers prime #tfa #tfp #rodimus #ratchet #tf ratchet #long post #cybertronian medicine #transformers lore #transformers essay #transformers medicine #tfp ratchet

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leighistired · 3 years

Text

Out Loud

A Martin character study AO3 Link

“G’night mum, love you.”

“Make sure you put the trash out, don’t want it stinking up the house.”

At 12 it occurs to Martin, he can’t recall the last time his mother said “I love you” to him. She must have. He knows she loves him, so why can’t he remember her saying it? Was it before dad left? It can’t have been that long ago. He knows if he brings it up she’ll just tell him off for being silly so he just decides to not say it unless she says it first. She doesn’t say it.

“Look how nice our neighbor’s garden is,” she says instead. “If only we could have such a nice garden.”

“The neighbors hire a man-” Martin tries to explain. He had just done law maintenance over the weekend; he would have to bring up memory issues next time they saw a doctor.

“Aren’t you happy with how I provide for you?” She snaps. “Ever since your lousy father left us I have done my best even with my health and all you can talk about is getting a bloody gardener.”

“Sorry, mum,” he says. It’s better not to argue when she gets like this.

“Forget it. Just get me my tea.”

He goes and brews her a cup of Oolong tea. It’s far too bitter for his tastes but it’s all he buys when he does the shopping. Perhaps that was it, instead of saying she loved him she just provided for him.

Martin tells himself that until she gets too sick to work and begins needling him to get a job at 14. Suddenly he’s providing for her on top of school and everything else but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him. She was just sick and the medication she was on made her tired most of the time so it wasn’t like he could expect her to be excited to see him; especially not when he’s the one bringing it to her.

“Is soup the only thing you buy?” She asks one evening when he brings her dinner.

“You didn’t have soup last night,” he reminds her patiently after a long day of school and work.

“Oh, so you think I’m ungrateful? I am your mother! I gave birth to you! You should be happy to take care of me!”

“It would be nice if you acted like a mum for once!” Martin snaps back. He regrets it as soon as he says it and doesn’t wait to hear her response. He leaves the house and sits in the park near his house for a long time and cries. Of course she loves him. It must be so hard on her to be stuck at home all day with no one to talk to and there he went snapping at her. She’s asleep by the time he comes home and neither of them mentions it in the morning.

Martin doesn’t know what he expects when he starts to transition. He hadn’t even called it a transition at first, he just likes how he looks with short hair, baggy clothes, and a sports bra. His mother disagrees. There are days she won’t even look at him and when she does it’s usually even worse.

“You cut your hair again,” she mentions one morning over breakfast. “Just when you were starting to look like a girl.”

“Yup,” Martin replies tight-lipped. He had been thinking it over for a while and he’s slowly coming to terms with the fact that he isn’t a girl. The way she says it hits him sharply. If she was never going to say “I love you” to a daughter, why would she say it to a son? He doesn’t bother coming out to her properly because he can already see the disgust on her face when he gets a proper binder.

When she decides to move into a full-time care facility, it’s almost a relief. He feels foolish for expecting her to say it when she leaves. He feels even more foolish when he says it in goodbye. The receptionist gives him a sympathetic look when she doesn’t say it back but the receptionist probably assumes his mother has memory issues and forgot who he was. She doesn’t. Still, he appreciates the gesture.

Dating is nearly impossible for most of his life. It’s easiest to blame his busy schedule; he doesn’t even have time for friends outside of school. The fact that no one even asks him out isn’t something he wants to think about. After he drops out of school and his mother leaves, dating and friendship don’t get any easier. He can’t let anyone he works with get close enough or they’ll find out his real age and utter lack of qualifications. Online dating is also out of the question for similar reasons. If one of his coworkers saw him with the age 19 in his profile they would either know he wasn’t actually 25 or they would think he was a creep and he didn’t exactly feel comfortable lying about his age to potential dates. Meeting people organically isn’t the worst thing in the world but it’s difficult. He makes a few passing friends at a local trans support group but even then, he can’t get close to anyone without risking someone discovering his falsified CV.

He doesn’t have his first real boyfriend until he’s 23 years old. They meet at a Holloween party thrown by a mutual acquaintance and date for almost five months before Martin ruins it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dominick, I love you,” Martin says as he serves dinner.

“Oh, uh, it’s a little fast to say that, don’t you think?” Dominick had stammered awkwardly. Was it? It didn’t seem like it to Martin and even if it was, it was true. He loved Dominick.

“I-I don’t think so,” Martin replies nervously. Some distant part of himself starts to berate him for being so needy.

“It kind of is. Let’s just pretend you never said it and we’ll see how we feel in a few more months, ok?”

“You mean we’ll see how you feel,” Martin says a little bitterly.

“Why can’t you just relax and enjoy the holiday?”

Martin had sighed in resignation and picked at the rest of his plate. They broke up a week later because Dominick felt like they were “looking for different things.”

Martin doesn’t have another serious boyfriend after that. He goes on a few more dates over the years but nothing that lasts longer than five months. Nothing that lasts long enough to say “I love you.” In some deep dark part of him, he wonders if he was ever meant for love. His father hadn’t loved him enough to stay, his mother hadn’t said she loved him in over a decade, and he’s not even sure he was in love with Dominick. He gets crushes, sure, but he just throws himself into his work at the Magnus Institute instead.

Working in the library isn’t bad. He gets along with his coworkers well enough but he can never get close to them. Not close enough to love them as friends or be loved in return.

Then he gets transferred to the Archives.

Jonathan Sims is not the first asshole boss Martin has ever had. He doesn’t understand why Mr. Bouchard sent him down to work in the Archive in the first place and his first impression with his new boss is less than stellar when a dog follows him into the building. It doesn’t help that Jon is good-looking and every once in a while Martin catches glimpses of a version of the Archivist without a stick up his ass. Like when he spends Martin’s ice cream birthday talking about emulsifiers. If only he would be clearer about what he actually wants from Martin. No report or follow-up seems to be good enough, even with the help of Tim and Sasha.

Martin works hard for Jon’s approval. He doesn’t know why he wants the recognition but it’s either this or quit and he really, really can’t quit. So he spends three full days looking for every woman named Angela over fifty in Bexley only to be berated for actually talking to one of them and then he offers to look into a case about spiders that clearly upsets Jon only to get trapped in his flat by a zombie worm woman.

When he finally escapes, he takes a few worm corpses with him and he dumps them on Jon’s desk while he’s in the middle of a statement. Let Jon try and disprove that When he gives his own statement he makes special emphasis on reminding Jon how hard he worked to meet his exacting standards. He refuses to be yelled at for this.

Except Jon believes him. More than believes him, in fact. He offers Martin a place to stay. Of course that would be enough to ignite a crush in Martin.

As soon as they get to document storage Martin sits on the cot and begins to cry with exhaustion. He expects Jon to leave but again he surprises him.

“I-it’s alright, Martin,” he says awkwardly as he pats Martin’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe here and I’m certain Elias will respond promptly to my request for extra security.”

“Thanks,” Martin sniffs. He can’t remember the last time he cried in front of another person.

“Would...would you like me to stay until you fall asleep? If- if you think it will help.”

“Oh, er...no...I’ll be fine, thank you. You should be getting home, anyway. It’s Saturday, Jon.”

Martin blacks out as soon as Jon shuts the door to document storage. When he wakes up he finds his crush on Jon stubbornly still in place.

He can’t help himself after that. He starts taking special care of Jon in hopes of encouraging the kind man he saw that night into emerging. At the very least Jon doesn’t yell at him as much and he even thanks Martin for the tea he brings. It’s then that he notices other things about Jon, like how rattled he gets by certain statements and how he’ll often go an entire day without eating or drinking anything unless someone brings him something. That someone being Martin. He also notices how late Jon leaves, if he leaves at all.

It’s on one such night of Jon still being in his office at 11 o’clock that Martin knocks on Jon’s office door.

“Jon?” He calls gently.

“Hzzmt! Martin?” Jon responds, having been startled awake from dozing at his desk. “You should be asleep.”

“And you should be home.”

“I see your point,” Jon sighs. “I’ll finish up here and head home. Unless you need something?”

“Actually….I-I was thinking,” Martin beings. “Since I sort of kicked you off your cot...D’you want to come back to document storage with me? You know, get some sleep?”

“What?”

“Er...forget I-”

“The cot would be rather cramped with both of us,” Jon warns as he gets up from his desk. “If...if you’re sure you want me to join you.”

“Yeah...I thought you had work to do?”

“It can wait until morning, no use keeping you up longer than necessary.”

Martin only half regrets offering to share a bed with his crush. Jon was right, the only way to fit both of them on the cot is for both of them to sleep on their sides (or for Jon to sleep on top of Martin but even the thought has his face burning) and it’s difficult for him to fall asleep with Jon’s back pressed against his. It’s good to hear Jon fall asleep, though, and as time wears on it’s easier for Martin to goad Jon away from work to sleep a few hours.

The more of himself Jon reveals the harder Martin falls for him. Especially after Jon accuses him of being a ghost during the Prentiss attack. Even with the guilt Martin feels every time he looks at Jon mummified in bandages. That was Martin’s fault. If he had just paid more attention then he wouldn’t have lost Jon and Tim in the tunnels. He does everything he can to try and make up for it; despite Jon becoming more and more closed off by the day. Intellectually, Martin knows that Jon has gotten like that with everyone, but something deep down makes Martin feel like it’s his fault Jon’s gotten so cold. It doesn’t help that Jon seems to have gotten friendly with the policewoman investigating the murder of the previous Archivist. Tim even seems to think they’re having an affair which does wonders for Martin’s self-esteem. Jon wouldn’t be the first straight man Martin has ever had a crush on but Martin was pretty sure Jon wasn’t straight. Again, he wonders if he’s done something wrong to push Jon away.

After Jon stumbles out of his office covered in blood claiming to have had an accident with a bread knife Martin finds all the excuse he needs to regularly drag Jon to the canteen to make sure he eats something. The silences during those lunches are hard. They had eaten together before but now Jon wasn’t talking to him. The most Martin could get out of him were a few one-word answers. He tries not to think about how it reminds him of his mum.

“So,” he tries for the millionth time while Jon picks at his sandwich. “Did I tell you what happened while you were at physical therapy the other day?”

Jon doesn’t say anything but he looks up with a gaze that bores into Martin.

“Uh...A little girl came in alone with a statement, she must’ve only been eight years old,” Martin says. Jon looks at him with an expression that almost seems afraid. “Don’t worry, it recorded fine on digital. She walked right down into the Archive, walked up to my desk, and said ‘Excuse me. My name is Beatrice Walker and I’d like to make a statement about a supernatural occurrence.’ She sounded so grown up and she refused to leave until I had recorded her statement. Turns out her dad was using the library for research and she had just wandered off.”

“What was her statement about?” Jon asks to Martin’s surprise.

“Oh, a hamster with mysteriously changing spots.”

“Ah,” Jon replies thoughtfully. “Not much need for follow-up there, I suppose.”

“Not unless you really need me to track down the shop where her parents picked up the new hamster.”

He catches the briefest of smirks from Jon before the conversation dies again.

After that Jon’s coldness and paranoia comes out in the form of a screaming accusation over letters Jon found in the trash. Martin barely manages to make it to the bathroom before he bursts into tears after coming clean about his CV. Tim thankfully doesn’t check on him while he silently curses his taste in men. Jon doesn’t meet his eye for the next week in what he bitterly hopes is guilt. He does seem slightly more willing to talk with Martin at lunch, though.

Then Jon goes missing. After trying to get Martin and Tim to go home early because Jon was feeling under the weather; he disappears. Not before apparently bludgeoning someone with a pipe and isn’t that exactly what he and Tim need to see as soon as they get back from a two-week kidnapping by a spooky door monster?

With Sasha gone, Jon missing, and Melanie King being suddenly hired by Elias, whatever’s left of Martin’s relationship with Tim deteriorates. More so when Martin becomes the only one in the world to believe Jon could be innocent. It’s probably that that makes the police detective “investigating” Jon so actively hostile toward him. Apparently, people say he and Jon are “close” and that probably only means the lunch thing but he wants to imagine it’s something more. Like people are somehow picking up that Jon likes him back.

When Jon comes back to confront Elias it’s all Martin can think to do to fall back on his tea-making. He ducks into Jon’s office with a piping cup of the overly sweet tea he spent months perfecting to Jon’s taste and finds him with his face buried in his one non-bandaged hand.

“Jon?” He calls as gently as he can while he closes the door behind him. “I brought you some tea.”

It’s when Jon looks up that Martin notices the bloody mess down the front of his shirt.

“You’re hurt. Let me go get the first aid-”

“No!” Jon interrupts frantically. “Just...Could you just stay with me for a moment?”

Martin acquiesces and they sit side by side on the sofa in Jon’s office in silence until Jon starts sniffling into his tea. He offers Jon a hug and Jon all but dives into his chest to cry. It’s the saddest most broken thing Martin has ever heard and it’s all he can do not to pull Jon into his lap and curl around him protectively.

“Martin...I-I...I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For everything. For Sasha and Prentiss and...and for the way I treated you. You didn’t….no one deserves that.”

“None of that was your fault and I sort of deserved it. I didn’t actually know what I was doing.”

“You didn’t deserve it,” Jon insists before going back to quietly crying into Martin’s jumper. Martin doesn’t respond. He can’t recall the last time someone’s apologized to him. At least not like that. He’d been told off most of his life for not doing things up to people’s standards. A few people over the years had told him he didn’t deserve it but Jon was the first person to apologize. No wonder Martin was falling in love with him.

Damn it.

Cuddling doesn’t become a regular occurrence for them by any means but Jon begins doing more to seek Martin out after that. They eat lunch together more often and Martin stays up late to talk to Jon while he’s abroad. It drives home how deeply buried into Martin’s heart Jon has become. Especially after he comes back after going missing for a month and has the audacity to joke about being moisturized by a clown mannequin for a month.

He wonders if Jon feels the same way. Sometimes Jon will smile shyly at him, and he can almost believe that Jon would be interested in a relationship if the world wasn’t ending. The last time they speak before the Unknowing they’re in document storage.

“Are you ready?” Jon asks as he shifts nervously.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Martin signs. He heard what happened to Melanie. He knows what’s likely to happen to him. Some small part of him is screaming to just tell Jon his feelings like it’s the climax of an action movie.

“Stay safe,” Jon says.

“Come back,” Martin replies. Jon offers him a hug. It’s no movie kiss but it allows Martin to hold Jon as close as possible. Jon himself is hanging off of Martin’s neck and it feels like a final goodbye.

Then Elias confirms what Martin has always suspected deep down. That his mother never loved him or if there was a time when she did, she stopped when his father left. Even after everything. After he spent years taking care of her. After he had to quit school to care for her. All she ever saw was his father. All his transition did was to remind her further of how much he looked like his father’s son. At least it was worth it. To distract Elias so Melanie could find evidence to arrest him.

Then Peter Lukas shows up and reveals that Elias planned to get arrested. Worse than that, he offers Martin a promotion of sorts.

Then they get the news from Yarmouth. Tim’s body is found in a charred heap, Daisy is missing, and Jon is dead in all but brain activity. At least Basira is physically alive.

Martin spends as much time as he can next to Jon. He’s used to loving someone who can’t love him back. Maybe this is all he’s destined for. Love unrequited. He talks to Jon’s dreaming corpse. Tells him about his day, reads him poetry, even a statement, but nothing draws Jon out of his coma.

Then his mother dies. He barely has the emotional strength to mourn her. Instead, he scatters her ashes and mourns his childhood lost to trying impossibly to earn her love.

After the Flesh attacks, Martin makes a decision. He’ll join Lukas. It’ll probably lead to his death but what did that matter? His mother was gone and didn’t care about him anyway. Tim and Sasha were gone. Jon was basically gone. Basira and Melanie were the only people left that he vaguely cared about and by doing this he could at least protect them.

He visits Jon one last time in the hospital. He’s still covered in wires and his eyes still flit around violently behind his lids as Martin sits down next to him and takes his hand.

“Hey Jon,” he says quietly. “I...This is the last time I’m going to see you...Probably ever. I know, I know old dramatic Martin surely he’s exaggerating. I’m not. The Institute is in danger and...I have a way to keep Melanie and Basira a little safer, so I’m doing it. I just came by one last time to say...Jon, I...I love you. Goodbye.”

He gets up and presses a kiss on a part of Jon’s forehead not covered in wires before leaving. It’s alright that he doesn’t say it back. No one ever says it back to Martin.

When Jon wakes up everything becomes that much harder. Suddenly he had a reason to live and the way Jon pursues him makes him almost believe...No, even completing the thought would be dangerous for all of them. Jon trusts him enough not to be constantly badgering and that makes it worse. When Jon is there the Lonely makes Martin resent his presence and when Jon’s gone Martin resents his absence.

The final, most excruciating pain is when Jon comes after him in the Lonely. He’s excepted his fate in the chilling numbness of the Lonely. Maybe that’s why he says it. The certain, inevitable rejection would be numbed utterly. So he says it.

“I really loved you, you know?”

And Jon looks broken. Even after he rips Peter’s statement from him. Even when he reaches for Martin’s face with hands that seem far too warm and makes him See. Knowing Jon loves him isn’t like “knowing” his mother loves him. Instead of a lie born in Martin’s mind to stamp down the fear of rejection, it’s a reality pouring from Jon’s mind mingled with Jon’s fears of rejection.

Jon’s hands still feel too warm compared to the icy chill of the Lonely as he leads Martin out. Still, he refuses to let go all the way through the tunnels, the Institute, talking to Basira, packing at each other’s flats, and on to the train. The way to Daisy’s safe house feels like a blur and when they finally arrive it’s all Martin can do to remember to take off his binder before collapsing into bed with Jon’s warm arms around him.

He wakes to Jon’s quiet crying. The awful, stifled thing that breaks Martin’s heart.

“Jon,” he whispers.

“Martin? Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I’ll-”

“It’s alright, Jon,” he assures as he swaps their positions so Jon is tucked firmly against him. Jon makes another broken noise and Martin can’t stop himself from crying, too.

“I-I’m here, Martin. You aren’t on your own,” Jon soothes and Martin almost has to laugh. They lay crying and comforting each other until they both fall back asleep.

When they wake up properly they take stock of the safe house’s pantry and make a list of things to pick up in the village after breakfast. Martin gives in to the temptation to buy a new notebook to try and write poetry in. They have enough canned food to survive to the next ice age so they pick up perishable items like milk, bread, butter, and eggs. Jon also picks up fresh peaches and a box of Martin’s preferred tea. It’s easy to pretend like they going on a normal shopping trip as they walk up and down the aisles to check things off their list.

They return to the cabin and settle in. Martin sits on the sofa and tries to write out a poem while Jon tries to read a book from Daisy’s personal collection. After a while, Martin beings to feel Jon’s gaze on him.

“Is there something on my face?” He tries casually as he’s met with an expression he’s never been on the receiving end of.

“I was just thinking about how much I love you,” Jon sighs. Martin can’t stop the noise that comes out of him. All his life trying to earn love and Jon just says it while Martin’s thinking of a synonym for ‘yellow.’

“I-I don’t expect you to reciprocate,” Jon says quickly, his soft expression suddenly turning worried.

“But I do.”

“Oh…Oh!”

“Yeah.”

Jon starts giggling and it’s impossible for Martin not to follow suit until happy tears stream down both of their faces.

#the magnus archives #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jonathan sims #I wrote a fic #this was supposed to be posted on valentines day

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