Kileoli

Thanks @Topher Lydonfor helping with the upload.

The way Zippy duct-taped his car so he could just get to Mikey was the best thing ever. I could imagine every single move. And Mikey rewarded him with his wonderful mouth and somemore. Do they get home at all?

You'll receive your own pendant equivalent. Tomorrow you will be given one of these when you get up. They are soooo good.

This is so evilishly good. I bet you had a lot of fun writing them and it was an awesome solution to save Charlie's sorry ass. Are the three girls still camping in Hartley's garden? Will Ellis make deals with them so they get extra power?

Thanks. I was waiting for this, now they can play dirty like the archivist. Yeah Tim's life has changed a lot but Justin's not better since hockey was his life and family. Do we have a love triangle (or arrow) now? Miller grain silo....sounds like a shady place to meet. I keep on thinking of Müller and your placeholder name. Unfortunately I couldn't find a proper pronunciation of Herr Müller but this should do. https://share.google/yKL234smqfDfSuUpU

Oh no, my bad. They taste so good, they are added to the shopping list and ... to Liam's code.... B1": "Frottage", # Carrot parsnip category – reserved for future classification "B2": "Satisfyer" # Butternut squash -for single actions, needs preparation and cutting } I totally ruined all the vegetables so I can't eat them anymore, should I stop being a vegetarian.. then come all sausages in question...

Parsnips are not on my active vocabulary list, they terrorized me as a kid in my grandma's soups. As an adult we never made peace except they turned to baby food ( some might think it was my attempt to traumatize the kids too, but strangely they loved it) I replace one carrot in the story with a parsnip. That should do, right? And the boys have something to discuss.( A new study on carrots and parsnips from the form point of view. The suggestion of the story was from you, it took me a train trip to write it. So if you have more ideas, I'm open 😂

On the second try I managed to finish the story without falling sleep. It was just back to the time of watching Star Trek and Star wars with dead civilizations, stealth mode for the ships and sad holograms. Still you did a great time walking Lando and Frocken to their goal. Thanks for the cool story Im gonna catch some sleep

And this is the countertop.

Rick noticed the smell before anything else registered. It drifted slowly through the apartment in warm, familiar waves—melted cheese, tomato sauce deepening in the heat, the faint toasted edge of dough somewhere beneath it all. Under ordinary circumstances it would have been reassuring—the quiet signal that dinner was progressing exactly as intended. Yet as he stood in the hallway breathing it in, the stillness of the apartment pressed gently against his awareness, along with the familiar suspi

With the three witches and the orgie?! There are enough boys for the creepy witches with love potions. Tyler, Matt, Simon and the Prof. So if Chloe was not so young.... It's gonna be more distracting. I was hoping Tyler could give Taine some private wrestling lessons....

Just two? Wow I forgot that information. Nice date to be ruined by a dying body. Btw what happened to the boy Taine was supposed to save from before the train incident. * Why is it always trains?*

How can they be soooo f*** stupid?! Seriously just walking to Sam and Leo? And why were they together anyway after breaking up?! Justin commited the social suicide anyway, he might as well stop going to school. On the side note: I was too busy reading your story I got out of the train one station too early. The damned ICE left without me and now I'm sitting in the train station watching a couple making dog sounds, probably too high and figuring out how I get away from here. Im so gonna be late for my meeting. * Serves me right for reading stories during the working hours.*

So if Vee is the bridge. is Jack the tree Theo must climb?

The extra—call it interest. On a debt you didn't have to pay." Taine blinked. "What?" Ok I don't get it. Didn't Taine have to pay Charlie's debt? Or the interest? I like Charlie's family, showing there's hope even among politicians.

It's good to not fight alone and they are waiting 😗

They survived the fancy restaurant and its bill but not the kiss. I was almost expecting Justin or Tim receives a message with the kiss. Can the miller Family Just adopt Tim and Ben? Then they can all have a happy life. 😂

Nice reaction to the prompt and a totally different style , at least from what I read. The part with Bobb Lee was confusing , but it's just a quick fix. The boys were so hot, I didn't expect such a vivid story 😉

How many more people does Taine get on his team? And I felt a bit sorry for the real Charlie, but not that much. Now that they have money can Taine and Tyler go on a second date, just to come up with another deal? Maybe they can sell DS soul along with the debt.

Justin should be very proud of Tim and it doesn't look like Ben has any problem having Tim to himself. Now the question is if Justin and Ashley get to panic the pink archivist.

I saw this picture as I started the story and couldn't think of a connection at first, but in the end it was really great that Timmy could run again. Running is a really good therapy when things are too complicated and too much. Such a nice story from just a picture was pretty creative. Thanks for writing it.

A nice happy ending after so much suffering. Thanks for the epilogue too.

Very intriguing and sad.

ok, I re-read and did a quick fix. It should be more in character now. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, tightening his grip on the seat. Beside him a seatbelt clicked open. Liam shifted closer, sliding into the seat next to him before Rick could react. His shoulder bumped lightly against Rick’s, and a moment later Liam took his hand. The grip was warm and steady. “You look like you’re about to die,” Liam said. The van swerved again. Rick swallowed. “I might.” Without letting go of his hand, Liam reached into his backpack, pulled out a small crumpled plastic bag, and pushed it into Rick’s free hand. “In case you decide to redecorate the van.” Rick stared at it. “Very reassuring.” Another violent turn threw them sideways. Liam’s grip tightened automatically as he steadied them both against the seat. Rick glanced at him. The sunburn across Liam’s nose had deepened, and scratches crossed the backs of his hands, but his expression was still the same calm, slightly amused one Rick knew from a hundred late-night calls. Liam followed his gaze. “What?” Rick shook his head. “Nothing.” Liam leaned back again, still holding Rick’s hand. “Good,” he said. Then, after a beat: “Try not to puke.” By the time they reached the hotel the city had already begun to quiet. The shuttle dropped them on a narrow street where the buildings leaned toward one another across the road, their upper floors nearly touching as if the architecture had gradually grown inward over centuries, and warm yellow light spilled from the restaurants further down the block, carrying with it the smell of grilled meat, coffee, and cigarette smoke into the cooling evening air while the distant noise of traffic drifted somewhere beyond the tight grid of streets. Rick stepped out first and pulled Liam’s duffel bag from the van, the driver already shifting impatiently in his seat while the engine idled. Liam climbed out a moment later and remained standing beside the curb for a few seconds, adjusting the strap of his backpack with a short irritated movement while his gaze moved slowly along the unfamiliar street, as if confirming that the city around him still existed outside the compressed logic of airports, delays, and transit lounges. “Are you good?” Rick asked. Liam dragged one hand slowly across his face before answering, the gesture somewhere between exhaustion and irritation. “I’ve been awake for forty hours,” he said, his voice low and flat with fatigue. “Define good.” Rick allowed himself a small smile and pushed open the hotel door. Inside, the lobby proved narrower than the photographs online had suggested, a long rectangular space in which the furniture seemed arranged more out of necessity than intention, with a reception desk standing beneath a low ceiling lamp whose warm light pooled across the polished wood and caught the brass hooks of the key board mounted behind it, while somewhere deeper in the building a television murmured in Turkish and the steady hum of an air conditioner drifted through the warm air. Rick stepped up to the counter. Liam followed a few paces behind and stopped near the wall, letting the backpack slide slightly down his shoulder while he rolled his neck once and exhaled through his nose, the accumulated stiffness of travel settling visibly across his posture while his attention drifted impatiently toward the receptionist. Rick placed his passport on the desk and tilted his head slightly toward Liam. “You, too.” Liam pushed himself off the wall, stepped forward, and pulled his passport from the outer pocket of his backpack, setting it beside Rick’s. The receptionist opened both passports beneath the desk lamp and began typing into the computer. For a moment the only sound in the lobby was the faint rhythm of the keyboard. Then the man stopped. He frowned slightly at the screen and scrolled through the reservation again. Rick noticed the pause. “Everything alright?” he asked. The receptionist hesitated. “There is… small mistake,” he said carefully. “Only one room confirmed.” Rick frowned immediately. “I booked two.” The receptionist nodded apologetically and pointed vaguely toward the monitor. “Yes, request for two is here,” he explained, “but system confirmed only one.” Rick glanced over his shoulder. Liam had straightened. “No,” Liam shifted the backpack higher on his shoulder and looked at him with the weary patience of someone whose tolerance for logistical surprises had already been exhausted several airports earlier. “No,” he repeated calmly. “I’m not sharing a room with you.” Rick rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just for tonight.” Liam stared at him. “I’ve spent twelve hours in airports, another three sitting in a plane flying like a demolition derby, and I currently smell like rotten tomrrows and burned mushrooms,” he said, his tone still controlled but carrying the unmistakable on the edge. “I’m not negotiating personal space tonight.” Rick exhaled slowly. “We could manage one night.” Liam adjusted the backpack again, the movement sharper now. “No,” he said, just as evenly. “If this place only has one room, I’ll find another hotel.” Rick glanced toward the receptionist. The man had already lifted the phone. “One moment,” he said quickly. “I call hotel next door.” Liam leaned his elbow against the counter and lowered his head briefly into his hand, closing his eyes for a second before letting out a long quiet breath. “Yes,” he muttered. “Please do that.” The receptionist spoke rapidly in Turkish into the phone, nodding several times while the conversation moved quickly on the other end of the line. Rick waited beside him. Liam remained leaning against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck slowly while his eyes drifted toward the hallway behind the desk. “If the next place has a couch,” he said after a moment without looking up, “I will happily take the couch.” “You’re being dramatic,” Rick said. “I’m being tired,” Liam replied. The receptionist ended the call and looked up again with visible relief. “They have one room available,” he said. “Queen bed and single bed. Breakfast included.” Liam lifted his head. “That works,” he said immediately. Rick nodded. “Perfect.” The receptionist slid both passports back across the counter. Rick picked them up automatically, folded them together without looking at the pages, and slipped them into his bag while the receptionist quickly scribbled an address on a small card and pushed it across the desk. “Two minutes walking,” he said, pointing down the street. Rick grabbed Liam’s duffel. “Come on.” They stepped back outside into the warm night air and crossed the narrow street. Inside the second hotel the lobby felt quieter and slightly brighter, the receptionist already expecting them and handing over the room key. Rick signed the form, retrieved both passports from his bag, handed them over briefly for verification, and slipped them back inside the bag. “Second floor,” the man said. They climbed the stairs in silence. By the time Rick unlocked the room door Liam’s pace had slowed slightly, though the stubborn energy that had carried him through the argument downstairs still lingered in the way he moved. Inside, the room revealed exactly what had been promised: a queen bed beneath the window and a narrow single bed beside the wall. Liam looked at the layout for a second and nodded once. “Good,” he said quietly. The backpack slid from his shoulders and landed beside the single bed. Rick dropped the duffel near the desk. “Happy now?” Liam was already pulling his shirt over his head as he crossed toward the bathroom. “Shower,” he said simply, the word carrying the exhausted finality of someone who had reached the end of his operational capacity for the day. For a few minutes the room filled with the steady sound of running water while Rick unpacked the small paper bag he had picked up earlier at the convenience shop near the terminal, setting bread wrapped in thin paper, a piece of fruit, and two bottles of water on the desk with the slow, absent movements of someone who had already finished thinking for the day. When the bathroom door opened again, Liam stepped out with damp hair and a towel draped loosely across his shoulders, the steam from the shower still clinging to the warmth of his skin. He crossed the room without saying anything, paused briefly beside the desk as if the act of stopping required consideration, and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. “You want something to eat?” Rick asked. Liam dragged a hand slowly down his face, pressing his fingers across his eyes before letting them fall again. “Tomorrow,” he said quietly. The word barely reached the other side of the room. Rick studied him for a moment. “You sure?” Liam gave a vague wave of his hand that might have meant no, later, or simply stop asking, then leaned sideways and let himself fall onto the bed with the loose, uncoordinated movement. There was no attempt to straighten the sheets or adjust the pillows. Liam simply grabbed the blanket, dragged it up over himself, and disappeared underneath it in a single motion that ended with nothing visible except a long uneven mound. The lamp on the bedside table cast a warm circle of light across the room. For a moment nothing moved. Then the blanket shifted once. A few seconds later the unmistakable sound of quiet snoring emerged from somewhere inside the fabric. Rick leaned back in the chair and stared at the blanket. “Well,” he muttered softly to the empty room, “that was quick.” Rick watched the blanket rise and fall once more. Then his attention drifted to the desk. The passports lay there beside the fruit and unopened bottles of water, their dark covers stacked where he had dropped them earlier. Rick slid his own passport aside, picked up the second one, and turned it over in his hands. For a moment he hesitated, then opened it.

Ok, you're right. I didn't consider that and we have it good here when it comes to being ill and getting help.