#also him and his kids make me so soft whadda hell man..

[starheirxero]

The last laes episode was fucking wild-

I feel so bad for Lunar. I do definitely think, that Gemini's points were valid, but I do think they went a little too far with it?

Trauma is a lot more complicated than they think, and cannot simply be overcome, though they are very much in the right for calling him about his lack of process, considering his avoidence of dealing with his own problems!

The one thing that rubbed me wrong, is the way they call out his feelings towards Eclipse. Because yes, they contradict themselves, but that's not unusual for abuse victims. Eclipse is, in a way, still their brother, and a deep part still loves him, while another fears him. Yet another part just wants vengeance, because of how angry it all makes them.

There's also the whole "refusing to grow up" thing, which I feel is a lot more complicated!

-Stardust

YES!!! YES EXACTLY YOU GET ME ENTIRELY!!!

Like Gemini absolutely had valid points and a lot of those things were definitely what Lunar needed to hear (probably especially from Gemini since other character's delivery may have been too soft or too vague or maybe even too harsh).

But exactly what u said, there was like. some shade thrown towards them about their messy feelings towards Eclipse and I was just like hey man!! whadda hell!!

1) Like u said, that's not totally out of left field for abuse victims, and 2) tbh, if u ask me, having trauma with immediate family members is just kind of Like That?? Bc it's like yea they're family and you love them, but also damn they fucked you up bad, but also you want nothing more than to sink into their arms, but also you'd rather die than talk to them, but— etc etc in a sort of infinite loop. yk?

AND THE CHILDISHNESS THING YEAH. That's something I could make a whole post about, it works me soooo much but basically yea that is way more complicated than just "if ur not a kid then don't act like one and don't get mad if people treat you like a kid for acting like one" 😭😭😭

[brocks-shades]

every time ii think abt stu ii cry

[scarlettriot]

When one feels like shit, one writes things to feel better :)

This is based on a very short headcanon I had a little while ago that I've decided to make into a little fic. I hope you enjoy.

Featuring: Mainly Pro Hero Red Riot. Also includes Pro Heroes Dynamight, Chargebolt, Earphone Jack, and Pinky

Y/N: They/Them (Y/H/N: Your Hero Name)

Warnings: Kidnapping (well, not kidnapping exactly, adultnapping), restrained, minor physical injuries, drugged into unconsciousness

HAPPY ENDING THOUGH, I PROMISE!

Summary: You've been captured by villains. Wonderful, right, just how you wanted your Friday to go. Your quirk isn't working thanks to them pumping you full of suppressant drugs. You were actually having a hard time remembering how you were abducted. You're only able to remember being on patrol and something smelling off before passing out. Now, thanks to the drugs, you were having a hard time remaining conscious in this...basement? Warehouse or it could be a factory... Someone would find you, your friends were perfectly capable. You just hoped it'd be before anything worse happened.

When you didn't report in at the specified time and weren't answering their calls, the rest of the heroes at the Alliance Agency grew concerned. Jiro was already pulling up your location on your cell phone while Kaminari searched for the tracker in your suit.

Unfortunately, they both ended up at the same location, a dumpster behind an apartment complex, you were nowhere to be found.

Bakugo and Kirishima, who were also concerned about your whereabouts, took a different approach since neither was too talented at the tech side of things.

Kirishima canvases the immediate area around your phone and tracker, using his easy-going smile and charming personality to coax information out of anyone who was willing to talk to him in the area. Meanwhile, Bakugo played to his own strengths and threatened the low lives of the area.

"Someone said they noticed two guys, 'helping' someone in a hero suit down the street earlier. The description of the person and suit match Y/N." Kirishima could see lights in a few of the windows flickering but no signs of people moving about in the apartments above. He couldn't help but wonder if you were in one of them.

He got a grunt of a response from Bakugo through his earpiece. "Yeah, well, I just persuaded some scum into giving up an abandoned factory location about 10 blocks from here. Says he doesn't know what they're doin' but he's seen people goin' in and out all the time. Seems odd since it's abandoned."

The location pinged on Kirishima's phone. "I'm six blocks away. Meet you there."

The building in question looked like it hadn't been in operation for at least a decade when he arrived but fresh tire tracks him something was definitely going on. Not to mention the building had electricity running to it judging by the lights he could see.

When Bakugo showed up minutes later they decided to enter through a southern entrance that Ashido had pointed out after pulling up blueprints at HQ.

"Most of the electrical usage is centered in that location." She explained, "If you're going to find anything useful, I'm betting it'll be there. Chargebolt and Earphone Jack will meet you as soon as they're done collecting security footage from the suspected abduction sight."

Bakugo scoffed. They were Dynamight and Red Riot, they didn't need any damn backup.

Kirishima broke the lock on the door with a sharp tug rather than letting Bakugo shoot it off with an explosion. "You take downstairs and I'll go up. We stay on coms." Kirishima nodded and started his descent.

There was a single guard with a gun resting on his knee and headphones in his ears making Kirishima's job too easy. Not even bothering to harden his skin, he whacked the back of the guy's head and he crumpled to the floor unconscious.

"Took out two guards and a scientist. Oh, there's a lab up here too."

"One guard taken out. Moving into another room now."

The metal door was locked up tight and the guard had a surprising lack of keys on their person. They could have been close by but Kirishima was impatient. He was aware this would be loud but at least it was efficient.

He hardened an arm and with one, two, slices of his hand diving into the metal he was able to create a hole... and garner attention. A knife broke across his hand and two gunshots were fired from inside the room, doing nothing to him.

"Gonna have to do better than that!" He roared with laughter.

Kirishima ripped the metal wide and stepped through. He wasted no time, grabbing the gun point-blank, bending the barrel upward with a devilish grin before turning on the man with two daggers. A green substance ran off his skin and down onto the blades. It burned slightly when they slashed at him but Kirishima was used to Ashido's acid by now that this was practically child's play!

The other guy came at him with an orange beam of light right from his eyes that managed to break through a bit of his hardened skin. He could feel blood start to trickle down from his forehead. "Now, we're getting somewhere!"

Using his body weight, Kirishima shoved the man with the daggers down to the ground, disarming him quickly, and used his own blades to live into his friend's leg. He watched as the acid melted the fabric and left black burns on the man's skin, nasty stuff. He tired another beam in retaliation but Kirishima dodged it this time.

"I'd love to keep playing around but I'm lookin' for someone." He used one hand to hoist the man up and another to shield his eyes. Instantly, Kirishima's hand started to burn but he held steady. "Do you know where Y/H/N is?" The beam pulsed stronger, "Fine. If you won't help me then I have no use for you." He sat him back on the ground, a harden fisted to the back of the head had him good and knocked out.

"What about you?" Kirishima asked, returning his focus to the dagger man, "Do you know where they are? Your operation is a bust, the least you can do is tell me where my friend is. I might even put in a good word for you if ya do."

He grabbed a discarded metal pipe and the man must have taken it as a threat because he lifted shaky hands that were no longer coated in green. "B-back there with the others."

"Others? Other victims or others of you?"

"Subjects, we have other subjects!"

Rage pulsed in Kirishima's veins but he kept a lid on it. "Right then. Thanks." He bent the pipe around the man's hands and another around his ankles before speaking over the coms again.

"Y/N isn't the only victim. Dynamight, get down here."

He was running to the back of the room when he saw you along with five others. Your wrists had been bound by metal shackles suspended from a beam high on the wall that the tips of your toes were just brushing the concrete floor. You were slumped forward with IVs poked into both arms.

"Y/N?" He calmly approached but you didn't answer. You just hung there like a rag doll.

Kirishima lifted your head in his hands and saw a few cuts on your face that had dried blood still surrounding them but he breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the steady drumming of your heart, shallow, but there. You were alive and that was all he cared about.

"Okay. Gonna stop whatever the hell these are..." He flipped switches on the IVs and continued to talk out loud about his process. "Then gotta get 'em outta you..."

With surprisingly delicate fingers, he pulled the needles from your arms. Stopping the small pools of blood with a few pieces of gauze and tape that someone had been so kind to leave behind.

He then wrapped his left arm snuggly around your body. Holding you against him in a way he hoped didn't hurt you any more than you already were. With his right hand, Kirishima reached up to the shackles just as you started to stir awake.

One side of him was so completely soft and caring, the other hard and brutal, snapping the manacles in a powerful grip and you fell against him completely.

"Whadda hero." His ears glowed pink from the compliment.

"I'm really glad I got you back."

A/N: I know it isn't my best writing by any means but I had to do something to distract myself. Hope you're all doing well <3

[milstrim]

A Gripping Night

Day 22: Poison

"They're really staying with you?" Penny asked, and she could practically feel Mr. Stark's feigned annoyance from over the phone. She could hear him walking around in some kind of busy room filled with lots of people, and it surprised her even more that he'd called.

"Yeah, kid. That was kind of the whole point of going through these trials and being out of the country all the time."

It had been a year since Mr. Stark had whisked her away to Germany to fight the Captain America, who had been pardoned by the UN barely two days ago. Now being a lot closer to Mr. Stark since Homecoming--filled with lab days, training, small missions, and plenty of movies--she'd known that her mentor had been working on bringing the Rogue Avengers back to New York. Of course the whole world had known. The trial had been very public, but it was different watching it on TV to seeing her mentor after every trial.

He'd always been a special kind of stressed anytime she'd seen him once he'd been back from a trial or some kind of government argument that she didn't understand. He'd worked himself to the bone the last four months, so much so that he'd missed a lot of their lab days. But now the Avengers were back together, and she hoped that things would go back to normal.

But the chances were slim, since the Avengers would be his main priority now. A part of her felt protective--these people had hurt her mentor after all! They'd left him and refused to listen and had beaten the crap out of him. She'd seen what had happened in Siberia on a video that she 100% hadn't been supposed to see. And now these people were coming back like it was no big deal. And Mr. Stark was welcoming them like they hadn't hurt him!

Another part of her felt jealous, and a little worried. For herself, which in turn made her feel guilt for being selfish, but...what if Mr. Stark didn't want to talk to her anymore? He'd started paying attention to Spider-Woman because the Avengers were breaking up, he'd needed help, and then he'd only paid attention to her after Homecoming. What if he didn't need her anymore? What if he didn't want her around?

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't stayed up all night before worrying about it. Hence why she was especially tired now, and it took her a moment to realize Mr. Stark was still talking.

"--whadda ya say, kid?" he finished, and she blinked.

"Huh?"

He snorted, "How late are you staying up? You better not be patrolling past your curfew, young lady."

She scrunched up her nose at the playful 'young lady,' and she was sure he could see her face through the force of her sheer willpower, "I'm not! I go to bed at 1:30, Mr. Stark."

He clucked his tongue, "Well, you certainly haven't been sleeping enough to pay attention. Did you hear anything I said?"

"I stopped paying attention after...something about being out of the country."

"This is betrayal, Underoos. And I knew you had a thick skull, but this is low, even for you."

"Okay, well, I have homework, so is there a point to this conversation that I have one hundred percent been paying attention to?"

She could feel his eyes roll, "Uhuh. But as I was saying, you've been cordially invited to one bonified Stark Gala next Friday evening."

"A gala?"

"Ah, she can hear! Yes, a gala Spider-Kid. It's a little welcome back soiree for Cap and his gang of merry pals, 'figured it'd be better to meet on neutral ground with a few rich people as buffers. It's good to raise charities too. But also because everyone going is boring as hell, I thought you'd like to tag along so I'd have someone okay to talk to."

She hesitated, "Uh, I don't know, Mr. Stark. I mean, I have a project coming up, and I don't even having anything to wear and will they know that I'm Spider-Woman and--"

"I'll help you with your project, I'll give you a dress or a suit when you come to my apartment, and they don't know you're Spider-Woman. You can just be my intern."

"...Is the gala at your apartment?"

He snorted, "No, it's at an actual place where parties are held that I bought out for the night. It's very nice, even has an outdoor patio."

"And you're sure they won't know?" she asked, unable to stop the fear from bleeding into her voice, and Mr. Stark's own voice took on a heavier tone, matching hers.

"I can't assure you that, kid. They're idiots, but they know what they're doing, but I can tell you they wouldn't out you, and that even if they did, I'd take care of it. Okay?"

"Okay, Mr. Stark. I trust you."

He was silent for a fleeting moment, "Great. See you soon, kid."

 ---

Saturday came a little too quickly for Penny's liking, which was a weird sentence. She loved Saturdays! It was when she got to spend the entire day patrolling and swinging around town, and she did do that, though she had to stop around four and swing to Mr. Stark's Manhattan apartment instead of patrolling into the night. Spider-Woman got there quickly, a little nervous as she stuck to the side of the building, knocking gently on the window. From inside, Mr. Stark looked up at her knock, smiling when he caught sight of her, and she waved.

The window slid open for her, allowing for her to slip inside. She took off her mask once the window had closed behind her, and Mr. Stark immediately ran a hand through her sweaty hair. She'd tied it up for her suit, but the braids and knots had come loose, allowing for his hand to untangle the rest of her her hair and fall down into her short bob.

Mr. Stark scrunched up his nose, "You're sweaty."

"And you're annoying," she snarked back.

"Yeah, yeah. Go take a shower, Underoos. You can't show up to the gala smelling like the last dumpster you fell in."

She stuck a tongue out at him, but he just pointed her in the direction of the guest room she stayed in if she ever slept over. She took a quick shower, always glad to take in the smell of the soaps left in the bathroom for her (they smelled like vanilla and heaven).  When she stepped out there were two outfits waiting for her. One was a bright red dress, slightly off the shoulder with a short slit down the side, falling down to her ankles. The other was a slightly darker red suit with thin black stripes and flare legs, a dark blue bowtie that was a little too obvious but still made her smile.

She chose the suit.

After she'd pulled it on, she treaded out of the room. And then she was herded into another by some makeup artist that had come by to do Ms. Potts' makeup earlier. Her hair too. Another what felt like two years passed before Mr. Stark said they were already to go. Fancy suits. Makeup. Hair. Jewelry. And then they were finally out. Mr. Stark was exhausting with his parties. Worse than a freshman going to Homecoming.

Finally they were in the car, Happy driving them to the building that Mr. Stark had bought out for the fancy party. When they arrived at the building, she was a bit nervous to see some gathering press, and she gave Mr. Stark an uneasy look.

"You can go around the back if you'd like, Pen. But you're in the system as my personal intern, and I mean, I know that kid at school's still giving you trouble," Mr. Stark explained.

"No one's bothering me, Mr. Stark," she argued.

"Sure," he placated, "You coming in here or do you want Happy to take you around?"

"I'll just, go with you."

"Alright, kiddo."

The cameras had been bright, but Mr. Stark had made sure she got inside relatively quickly. He stayed out for another ten minutes or so taking pictures and answering press questions. He'd showed her to the elevator, told her to get off at the top floor, and said he'd catch up in a few minutes. Her heart had clenched as he'd left.

Blinking off a headache from the crowd, Penny took in the room in front of her when the elevator opened. It was elegant, with golden curtains and soft yellow lights blinking overhead. There was a band playing soft jazz in the background, and there were only a couple of people milling around so far. Unsure of what to do, she headed to the bar and ordered a Shirley Temple, waiting for whenever Mr. Stark would join her.

While she waited, she people watched.

Penny didn't recognize any of the people chatting idly around the room, until her eyes landed on a tall man with dark blond hair and a groomed but messy looking beard. It took her a moment to place him, what with the beard and all, but when he turned and made eye contact with her, she recognized him. Captain America.

Immediately she looked away, sipping on her drink and ignoring the man who had beat her mentor senseless barely a year ago, who was now only thirty feet away from her like it was nothing. Penny was relieved when Mr. Stark appeared a few minutes later, approaching her where she was on her third Shirley Temple.

"How many of those have you had?" he asked when he saw her.

"Three," she responded cheekily, taking another sip through her straw. Mr. Stark shook his head.

"I'm pretty sure the responsible thing would be to tell you not to have anymore, but I don't know how else to get you through the night."

"Coffee?"

"That is the biggest no of all no's, kid. Not after last time."

"I only broke the arm of your suit."

"Uhuh," Mr. Stark tutted, but his face was playful, "Only have two mores of those."

"Rude," she muttered, taking another sip. Mr. Stark opened his mouth to say something else when another voice interrupted, strong yet soft.

"Hi, Tony."

Mr. Stark turned and she looked up to see Steve Rogers. The man's eyes flitted to her a little uncertainly, but he didn't look at her for very long, instead focusing on her mentor. The billionaire tensed, but nothing else portrayed his discomfort as he plastered on the same smile that she'd seen him flash to the press.

"Rogers. Glad you could make it to your own 'Welcome Back Party,' though I am sorry that I couldn't make it a red, white and blue theme. Pepper was insistent for the gold instead, and I can't deny I favor it."

Mr. Rogers smiled a little bit, "I think you should've stuck with Natasha's colors."

"Just black is a bit of a downer. Anyway," he gestured to her, "This is my intern, Penny Parker. Who has had way too much sugar in the three minutes I left her alone."

Penny waved timidly, "Um, nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers."

Mr. Rogers smiled, holding out a hand that she took, being careful to keep her grip gentle. She must have not been gentle enough, because his eyes narrowed, "Nice to meet you too. And you can call me Steve."

Mr. Stark scoffed, "Good luck. It's been a year and she still calls me Mr. Stark."

"That's your name, Mr. Stark," she chirped, and both Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers laughed, and the night continued on.

Penny flip-flopped between following Mr. Stark around like a lost puppy and standing in the corner drinking something (sometimes a water, other times a sugary drink if she saw that Mr. Stark had gone to the bathroom). At the moment, she was following him around. She mostly stuck around when he wasn't talking to one of the Rogues, and he'd been talking to a scientist that was doing some revolutionary stuff with chemical growth out in California when Mr. Rogers and Mr. Wilson had decided to join them. Hurray.

Cue some awkward conversation and Penny wishing she could leave, but she could tell there was a panic looked about him, so she forced herself to stay around. She wasn't going to abandon her mentor. And maybe she'd get some more sugar if she was nice.

About forever into the conversation, a waiter passed by with a plate of red rimmed drinks. She raised her eyebrows at Mr. Stark, and with a roll of his eyes, he gestured for her to grab a drink while she grabbed her own. Red rimmed drinks were non-alcoholic, basically just sugar and soda (which was also just sugar), so she began chugging down her cup instantly.

The back of her neck prickled and she put the now almost empty glass down, lipping her lips at the strangely sweet taste. Which, it was supposed to be sweet, but it was different. Maybe she was just tired, she did feel woozy all of the sudden. And as though summoned by the thought, her vision began to swim, barely able to make out the faces of Mr. Rogers and Mr. Wilson looking at her in concern, their full drinks still in their hands.

"Kid?" Mr. Rogers asked.

Her throat dry and her head spinning, Penny grabbed onto Mr. Stark's hand, tugging gently. Her mentor turned to look at her, his eyes widening as he looked at her.

"Mr. Stark," she mumbled, her legs beginning to shake, "I don't--I don't feel so good."

That was the last thing she said before she tumbled to the ground. Mr. Stark caught her at the last second, mumbling out words that she struggled to understand. His mouth was moving too fast to even try to read his lips, and all she could her around her were panicked yells and someone screaming at the sight of her now completely limp, half on the ground, half in Mr. Stark's arms.

"--kay, honey. It's gonna be okay," she finally managed to make out, the sound all drumming back instantly like in those movies that was going through the sound inside a deaf person's head and then switching back to sound. Mr. Stark's voice was soothing, a hand carding through her hair as Mr. Wilson kneeled in front of her.

"It looks like she's been poisoned," Mr. Wilson concluded, "We need to take her to the hospital, really quickly. Whatever this is, it's fast."

"Got it," Mr. Stark confirmed, his voice wispy, "That waiter--"

"I've got them!" Ms. Romanoff called, and Penny assumed the woman had dashed away, though she couldn't tell for sure. Everything was so fuzzy, and darkness was clouding her vision. She was sure that that was a bad thing, but falling asleep didn't sound so bad.

Her eyes were slipping closed as she was scooped up off the ground, her head lolling before it was pushed back in place against Mr. Stark's chest. No. Not Mr. Stark. She blinked her hazy eyes open to look up and find Captain America. Where was Mr. Stark?

"I'm right here, kid. Right here," she heard Mr. Stark say, as though she'd summoned him. She tilted to her left to see the man rushing to keep up with her and Mr. Rogers. He smiled at her encouragingly, "Yeah. I know. We're getting you help. The suit's on the way. just stay with me, honey. Please."

And then the world faded away.

 ---

The world blinked awake.

It was bright. Well, not really. There were lights in the room that made her flinch with her sensitive eyes, but after she adjusted, she realized that the room was actually dim. It must still be pretty late.

Speaking of the room, it was the Medbay in the compound. She'd been here often enough to recognize it. At this point the covers on the bed she was in were Spider-Woman themed (somehow), and there was lots of equipment specially made for her. As well as very comfy chairs for Mr. Stark and May to sit in, both of who were seated there right now.

May was asleep, her glasses skewed and her hair frizzy, but Mr. Stark was awake, watching her intently as she sat up. He deflated as she did, a sigh escaping his lips before he leaned over, wrapping her in a hug.

"Hi, Mr. Stark," she mumbled into his shirt, "What happened."

"What do you remember?" he asked softly.

"Um, we were at the gala...? And I drank something that tasted funny, and--that's it."

"Well, that's about as long as you stayed awake for. What you missed was me flying you to compound so you could have emergency care by my team of doctors. Side affect; I think the others know by now that you were the coolest kid in Germany."

Her face fell, "Oh."

"It's alright, kid. I'm sorry this went so poorly," Mr. Stark apologized.

"It's okay. I trust you."

And she really did.

[redeyedryu]

Cross Dimensional Problems

Chapter 6 - Drained | [Ao3] | 1 | « | x |  » |

Aaaand here’s another chapter! Bit shorter than last time but uh.... enjoy?

Summary: They don’t trust you; you don’t trust them.

Sans crosses a boundary but what you don’t know won’t hurt you... right?

“Hey, does anyone gotta charger that’ll work with my phone?”

The room, which had been rather loud and boisterous seconds before you had opened your mouth, is now silent. If there had been a cricket present, it would have been chirping loud and clear.

“Uh…? Is that a no?”

Stars be damned. They're all just staring at you. Again! This is like the fifth time today, what the hell guys, stop it!

“Look, the vacant staring is getting kind of old.”

Red is the first to snap out of it with a shake of his head. He's actually not scowling at you for once.

“ya gotta phone?” he asks, for some reason in complete disbelief.

“...yeah? Kind of a staple of life in my native reality…?” Are cell phones not as big of a thing here? They're not still those clunky brick phones with hella tiny screens and number pad keyboards here, are they? Man, you hope not. Also you really hope someone can charge your phone because you’ve got a lot of stuff on this chunk of plastic, metal, and glass. It would suck to be stuck with a useless brick you had spent hundreds of dollars on.

“lemme see it,” Red demands, now suddenly standing before you. His clawed hand is spread before your face in a very clear gimmie manner.

“What? No!” You protest, clutching the device to your chest. You have things and stuff in it that you would really rather none of them see!

Like the home screen, which just so happens to be a commissioned piece of you and a certain skeleton. The lock screen should be fine, you think; you doubt Deltarune means anything to these guys.

When you cast a quick, cursory glance over the room and spot Black lounging on the love seat across from you, you absolutely do not sputter and panic. The red dusting your cheeks is all because you're trying to fend off Red and his grabby hands, aiming for your phone!

Case in point: he’s currently pressed up against your back, arms wrapped around your sides and claws making grabby motions at the device clutched tightly in your hands, huddled close to your chest.

“If you don't gotta charger you can just say so!” You nearly shout, shifting your weight to keep him at your back as he moves to get in front of you.

“heh, y’actin’ real suspicious, kid. whadda ya hidin’?”

“Nothing!” you screech, voice only slightly cracking.

“c’mon, babe,” Red says and your face just scrunches automatically. “fork it over n’ maybe i’ll lend ya mine.”

You twist away from him when he tilts at just the right angle to wedge an arm over your shoulder, claws inches from your phone. “Don't call me ‘babe’, Red, that's disgusting. And for the last time, no! I don't want your phone, you've probably got like weird mustard themed porn on that thing or something!”

He sputters and falters. “wh-wha?! no i ain’t!” And you take the opening, easily rolling out from under him so you now stand a few feet away.

“Fine, regular porn! But my point still stands, I'm not handing my phone over!”

The skeleton scowls and clicks his metaphorical tongue.

“c’mon, ain’t such a big deal.” Red growls at you, a scowl spreading across his face. He crosses his arms and flops back onto the couch, jostling Stretch, who had already been seated. The taller skeleton is watching with one half-lidded eye socket, skull resting in his palm as he cozies up to the couch’s arm. He doesn't say anything, just watches as you and Red bicker.

You huff and cross your own arms, grip tightening on your phone. “Yeah, well my privacy is.”

“tch. s’rich, commin’ from someone i ain't never met who claims they know so much ‘bout me.” Red sneers at you, his crimson eyelights flashing, before his expression shifts to a downright malicious grin. “heh. betcha yer th’ one wit sum nasty shit on there.”

Excuse you? Excuse you?!

You can't formulate a proper response to the asshole’s very obvious baiting. You know what he’s doing, you do, but that doesn't make it any easier to control yourself, to formulate a cohesive reply. A quick glance around the room, from Red to Stretch, to Black, to Serif and back again, doesn't help. Maybe you were hoping someone would jump in in your defense or… or something! But no. They're all just very obviously listening in, clearly unwilling to offer you any kind of assistance—you, the weird, suspicious human who knows too much.

None of them trust you. None of them like you.

Your stomach rolls and a tightness constricts in your chest. There's an uncomfortable tingle spreading out from beneath your skin that you try to ignore. The hand not gripping your phone digs into your upper arm and you dig your nails into the flesh, dragging them across your skin in an effort to ground yourself, to distract your spiraling mind.

You turn on your heel and leave the room without so much as another word. You don't need to put up with this kind of bullshit.

---------------

Papyrus, Classic™ Papyrus, finds you sitting in the kitchen, alone, not too long later. You're seated at the small table you had devoured that bag of popato chisps just the night prior. Somehow that already feels like it had happened days ago.

You’re hunched over in your seat, your hair curtaining your face as you glare down at your phone. It's the only connection you have to your home, to your life, and it's sitting at a measly twelve percent battery life. Why hadn't you charged it when you were home? It's not like anything had kept you from doing so, aside from your own stupid laziness. You bite your lip and dig your nails into your thighs, relying on the pain to distract your treacherous, wandering mind.

The skeleton is hesitant to say anything at first, the tension and unease rolling off you in near tangible waves an uncomfortable pressure on his soul. You apparently hadn't noticed his entrance, too focused glaring at the small device sat on the table before you. Papyrus frowns. He doesn't know you, and your story is a strange one, but you had seemed nice enough. A little strange and worrying, but you appear to be a good person overall. So it upsets him, to see you sitting there in obvious turmoil.

He walks up beside you and clears his throat. You merely pull in your shoulders, head dipping lower. There's a shudder to your body and he isn't sure, but he thinks he hears a soft hiccup. Are you… crying?

“Human?” Papyrus questions gently, placing a gloved hand upon your shoulder. “Are You Alright?”

You choose to ignore the way you jolt at his sudden touch and sniffle, bringing a palm to wipe at the treacherous tears pooling along your eyes. You take a deep breath and h o l d  i t  i n. Then release.

Feeling grounded enough, you utter a frustratingly meek affirmation and hope that's enough to appease the skeleton. His hand does not leave your shoulder.

He crouches down so that his skull is level with your eye-line. From your peripheral and through the curtain of your hair, you can see the concerned, tender expression he is giving you. You bite at your lip and dig your nails into the meat of your thighs.

“If Something Is Wrong, You May Talk To Me About It, Human.”

His voice is so soft, almost pleading. It almost lulls you into giving in. Almost.

You shake your head and wipe at your face, gulp in a deep breath and then toss your head back, posture straightening. It's easy to slap a smile on your face as you address the skeleton, “I'm good, Papyrus, don't worry!” You ignore the way his sockets narrow in a suspicious squint. “Just a bit bummed I don't have a way to charge my phone. It's almost dead.”

And here, you snatch the device from the table and wave it at him and shrug. He lets his hand fall from your shoulder as he moves to cup his chin.

He appears to be pondering something for a brief moment before he looks at you with wide, excited sockets.

“Have You Spoken To My Brother?”

Your brows furrow. “Sans? No, why?” Honestly, you think he might be avoiding you. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of the monster since your little confrontation earlier.

“Well, I’m Sure You Know That He Is Quite Great—Not Nearly As Great As I, Of Course.” You nod blankly. “Speak With Him, Friend, I Am Sure He Is More Than Capable Of Putting Something Together!”

Your shoulders pull in and the grin you give Papyrus is tight. Something clenches in your chest. “Ah… yeah, that's a good idea.” Somehow you doubt you will be able to locate the elusive skeleton.

“I’M GLAD YOU AGREE!” Papyrus all but shouts as he picks himself up from his crouch. “WAIT HERE! I SHALL GO FETCH THE LAZYBONES!” And without another word, Papyrus is off and running.

The tension eases from your muscles at his exuberant exit. Papyrus will probably have better luck at tracking down his brother than you ever will. Especially considering 1) Sans can teleport and 2) He likely doesn't want to see you on the count of whatever he saw.

You sigh and slouch in your seat and fiddle with your phone. Guess you'll wait here.

---------------

Sans taps a phalanx across the surface of his desk as he stares at your phone.

Papyrus had searched him out earlier and proposed putting something together for you to charge it. His brother had posed it as a chance to level-up his “Friendship” with you or some such nonsense. When Sans had attempted to protest, to toss out an excuse, Papyrus had brooked no argument. So here he sits, slouched against the side of his chair, cheek propped in his palm. It was child’s play to throw together a charger for your phone. Couldn't have taken more than an hour and yet here he is, nearly five hours later, still in possession of the device on the pretense of working on it. Considering the fact it’s presently ass o’ clock in the morning, though, you likely won’t come searching him out for another few hours. Which works out for him.

Sans doesn’t plan on telling anyone and he’ll take it to his grave but he absolutely took the opportunity to snoop through your phone. It wasn’t hard, puzzling out how to unlock the device.

He stares at your now fully charged phone, the screen dim.

He had scrolled through the years upon years of photos saved in your library (apparently you never delete anything) and as much of a breach of trust it was, he appreciates the extra insight into who you are. Besides, could anyone really blame him, after what he had seen? He needed answers and sure, he could ask you but he just couldn't get a read on you like he could everyone else. Was it because you didn't have a soul? Or… did you have one? Multiples? Were you even a real person?

He groans and scrubs at his face, bones clacking and clicking upon contact. He still doesn't know how to unpack all of… that. But after sneaking a peek at the device, just a little bit of tension and apprehension about you ebb away at what he had found. 

Photos of a clearly beloved pet (a stupid, hairy white dog; a beast of a hound; a gorgeous, if not derpy, cat; a slithering snake; a trilling bird).

You, smiling with who were undoubtedly your friends.

Pictures of birthdays—yours, your friends’, family’s.

Food, the ocean, an interesting rock formation, a curious number of pictures of garbage (he wants to ask about them but that would give him away).

There are reference pictures. Pictures of art likely saved from the internet of your various fandom interests. They’re sparse, but he stumbles upon a few pieces of himself, of Black, Serif, Ink. A couple of versions of himself he’s not too happy you know about (and hopes you never wind up crossing paths with). That was a bit disorienting, if not unsurprising. You had mentioned how much fan created content exists of them in your world but hearing about a thing and seeing it are two completely different things.

There are thousands of photos and at least a hundred videos. He doesn't look at everything on your phone—that would take far too long—but he is able to glean a significant grasp of your character and interests. And what he finds is… well… He’s not sure how he feels about it. Relieved? Disappointed?

You're completely and utterly normal for a human from an alternate reality. It really makes him wonder why you, how you. The mystery of it all almost makes him want to get back into the science of things, past just trying to figure something out with that malfunctioning hunk of junk in the basement. And it's not like they’ve actually been working all that hard on it lately anyway. They haven't told you, but some of them have been here for years already. Nearly a decade, last he counted. A lot of them have already accepted they're here to stay.

You had been the first new arrival in such a long time. 

They're hesitant to broach this particular subject with you so soon after your appearance. Maybe in a few months’ time, when you've settled into things a bit… then they'll sit you down and explain it.

At least he now knows he’s likely not dealing with some kind of sick freak. You’re a bit weird—and the confrontation has undoubtedly raised so many more questions than answers, he won’t discount that—but harmless.

He resumes tapping out a steady rhythm against the surface of his desk as he lets his mind wander.

For the moment, he doesn't believe you to be a threat. The weirdness with your soul(?) can probably be chalked up to you being from an alternate reality. Perhaps things work differently where you are from? Maybe that's… normal for your people?

Sans lets loose a heavy sigh and sinks atop his desk, arms splayed before him and forehead pressed against the surface.

Why can't he ever just catch a break?

[a-writers-writing]

You Won’t Earn Anything Standin’ There and Lookin’ Pretty | Chapter 1

Whoa whoa whoa! I’m finally posting self insert stuff!! I really hope this is like... good? Anyways, enjoy my self insert Pigeon and his best friend (aka @daveys--jacobs‘s self insert) Blue! 

Warnings: cursing

Tag list: @helplesshansen @we-dont-sell-papes @mike-faist-is-the-best @ben-cook-can-cook @daveys--jacobs @newsieofnj @gaymur @racetrackscigar (let me know if you want to be removed/be added to this!)

Pigeon and Blue had been friends ever since they met. Pigeon was a runaway from New Jersey that wanted to get away from his family. Blue never really had a family and became a newsie just to know that people cared about her. They were both around 11 when they met and were practically inseparable. The two knew almost everything about each other and always had each other’s backs (like the first time Pigeon snuck into Brooklyn’s territory just so he could meet the one and only Spot Conlon when they were 14). They knew each other’s crushes- rather Blue knew about Pigeons crushes on Racetrack Higgins and Spot Conlon.

They had been best friends for nearly five years when Davey and his little brother started selling papes. Pigeon could tell that Blue had fallen for him on the spot. They stood in the line to get their papes, laughing as everyone stepped up to Mr. Wiesel and cracked jokes to the old man. Pigeon kept a close eye on the new kid, watched as Jack stood up for him and took him under his wing. Blue was also watching, but she wasn’t watching for the same thing that Pigeon was, but it wasn’t for long as Finch lightly pushed Blue into Pigeon.

“Stop starin’ at the new kid and get your papes, you two,” he said, a mocking tone to his voice. Pigeon lightly punched his shoulder with a smile before stepping forward and dropping a quarter into the box.

“Spot me fifty papes please, Mr. Weasel?” Pigeon said with a sweet smile.

“Fifty papers for Pigeon. Next!” Wiesel was clearly tired of dealing with the kids and just wanted to move on. Pigeon winked at him and got his papers from Oscar, quickly counting them and putting them in his bag. Blue promptly followed and the two headed out to find their selling spot for the day.

As they walked, Pigeon eyed Blue out of the corner of his eye. “So, whadda ya think ‘bout the new kid? He seems to be dressed nicely, you think he got folks?”

Blue glared at him. “I think he’s gonna be a good newsie. His little brother is gonna sell a lot, plus he seems like a smart kid. With Jack workin with ‘em, he’s gonna be the greatest out there. Other than Jack himself, of course.” She shrugged and stopped, offering a paper to a man walking by. Pigeon waited for her to catch back up before talking again.

“I saw the way you looked at ‘im, Blue. Someone’s got a crush,” he teased, bumping into her as they walked.

She blushed and pushed him away. “Christ, you’re like the brother I never wanted. I don’t got a crush on the new kid.”

Pigeon chuckled and threw his arm around Blue, stopping at a busy corner. “For some reason Blue, I don’t believe you. We’ll discuss this after we sell our papes.” He ruffled her hair and pushed off her arm, moving to the other side of the corner. He raised a newspaper high in the air, calling out headlines with a slight twist to draw attention. Blue sighed and followed suit.

By the time lunch rolled around, Pigeon had sold all of his papers and was standing next to Blue, waiting for her to sell her last one. They stood for around ten more minutes before a woman came and quickly bought it, handing Blue whatever the first coin she could find. Pigeon smiled at her and nodded his head towards a cafe across the street. “Let’s go grab somethin’ ta eat. I’m starvin’.”

As they walked, Pigeon brought up the topic of the new kid again. “So you never answered my question. You think he’s got folks?”

Blue shrugged. “He might? He was cleaned up pretty nice so he’s gotta be stayin’ somewhere.”

Pigeon nodded and opened the door to the cafe, holding it open for Blue. “I’m with ya’. Maybe I’ll talk to Jack, try to get more info ‘bout ‘im for ya’.”

Blue rolled her eyes and walked to the counter, clearly done with the conversation. Little did she know, Pigeon sure as hell wasn’t. She ordered a simple bread roll and put her change on the counter, then moved for Pigeon to order. He ruffled Blue’s hair again with a playful smile and ordered the same thing, sliding his change cross the counter with a wink to the boy behind the counter.

Pigeon and Blue sat down at one of the small tables. “I’m just sayin’ Blue. Jackie will give me any info on the new kid if I ask sweet enough. Or I could just ask Race to give me what he knows-”

“Or you could just ask the new kid yourself,” Blue said, pointing at the door.

Pigeon turned just as Jack waved at them, and he quickly turned back around with a blush.

Blue waved back with a sly smile, then raised an eyebrow at Pigeon. “Well, Mr. Smart Guy? You gonna go talk to ‘Jackie’?” She teased.

Before Pigeon could make a comeback, the boy from behind the counter brought them each a bread roll and a glass of water. They both murmured a “thank you,” to him. It wasn’t long before Jack and the new kids joined them at their table. Jack pulled up a chair and sat on in backwards next to Pigeon, while new kid stood with his brother close to his side.

“Davey, take a seat! Relax! This here is Pigeon and Blue, the devious duo. Completely inseparable from the day they met. Pigeon, Blue, this is Davey and his little brother Les.” Jack smiled as he introduced them. Pigeon nodded at Davey, then glanced at Blue.

“You know Les, I heard you arguing with Jack earlier. You’re a brave kid, you know that? I’ve never heard anyone argue with the Jack Kelly before. I respect you, kid,” Pigeon said, leaning down to Les’s height. He spit onto his hand and held it out for Les to shake.

Les smiled at him and followed suit. Davey shook his head at his little brother. “Do all of you newsies do that?”

Blue nodded slightly. “Yep. Seems gross at first, but you get used to it. It’s hows we show respect and make deals. You better get used to it if youse are gonna be newsies.”

“Say Davey,” Pigeon started with a small smile and another side glance at Blue, “tell me about yourself. Whats ya story?”

“Our father messed up his leg real bad during working and they curbed him. We’re out getting some money while he’s out,” he explained. Pigeon nodded along as he talked.

“So youse got folks? Sounds exciting,” Pigeon deadpanned. Blue reached across the table and slapped his arm with a disappointed glare. “Ow! What was that for?! I’m just jokin’ around with ‘em!”

“Hey, hey. Pigeon, take it easy on Davey for now, he’s new and I don’t want you gettin’ in trouble no more,” Jack smiled, patting Pigeon on the back. The same boy from behind the counter came back over and placed a roll and water in front of Jack and another in front of Les.

“Don’t you encourage ‘im, Jack Kelly! You should know better!” Blue said angrily at Jack, who put his hands up in defense.

Davey quickly broke up the joking atmosphere. “What about you, Pigeon? Why are you out here working on the streets?”

Pigeon tensed suddenly and picked up his glass, looking into the water. He took a deep breath, then shook his head, quickly putting the glass down and pulling his arms close to him, his hand clasped tightly around his wrist. The air grew tense and Pigeon felt Jack’s arm around his shoulder slightly pull him closer, as well as Blue’s foot grazing the side of his leg. “You don’t gotta tell ‘im, Pigeon. You ain't ever gotta tell nobody,” Jack said quietly, so only he could hear. Pigeon nodded and took another deep breath.

“I-I’m sorry Pigeon. I didn’t know…” Davey started, but Blue looked at him, her face soft, and nodded as if saying that everything was fine. Jack gave Pigeon a few more quiet words before patting his shoulder and moving away. Pigeon continued to sit like he had closed in on himself and Jack got up. He nodded to Blue, who nodded back, before grabbing his roll and nodding to the door. Davey and Les followed as he walked out, Davey looking back slightly as he walked out. It was clear that he felt bad.

Once they were gone, Blue stood and sat where Jack was and put her hand on Pigeon’s arm. “Hey, let’s go to the park and feed some pigeons. I’ll see if they have any stale bread we can take, ‘kay?” Her voice was gentle and calming. Pigeon nodded and finished the roll in front of him. Blue came back with a paper bag and gently placed her hand on Pigeon’s back. “You ready, b?”

Pigeon stood slowly and nodded, then followed Blue out the door and to the park. The walk was quiet and the two held hands the whole way there. Blue lead him to a bench and they sat down. She started ripping apart the bread and the city birds were quick to fly to the ground in front of them. Pigeon threw a few pieces close to his feet and the birds jumped closer. He smiled weakly and broke off a few more pieces, holding his hand out for the birds. The duo lost track of time as they sat on the bench, even after they ran out of bread, just watching the city move before their eyes. A few lingering pigeons rested by Pigeon’s feet and he smiled at them, then motioned for Blue to look. She smiled and looked up at the sky, sighing. “It’s startin’ ta get dark. We should get back before the boys start worryin’ ‘bout us.”

They stood and walked back to the housing building, hand-in-hand again. Everyone was still awake, most preparing for bed. Pigeon tried to sneak away to his room, but Specs caught sight of him before he could get away. “Racetrack was just lookin’ for you Pigeon. Said he was worried ‘bout you or somethin’,” he said without looking up from his book.

[theliterateape]

Tilly’s

By Wayne Lerner

IT WAS 10 A.M. WHEN THE PHONE RANG.

“Whadda ya doin’,” the surly voice said. 

Then he laughed that hoarse, loud laugh that probably disturbed the people in the office next door.

I could see him as he talked. The mouth surrounded by the scraggly beard, moving at a thousand miles an hour. Him walking and talking at the same time since he never sat for too long in any one place. Medium height, medium build, and large hands with fingers, which had been broken years ago. The hands hid the story of a man feared by many when he was much younger.

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I'm working, taking care of things here. I am saving peoples’ lives or, at least, I’m putting up with the doctors who are saving peoples lives.”

“We’re going for lunch,” the voice said.

“Where are we going?”

“Tilly’s.”

“Tilly’s? Where’s that?”

“Corner of Madison and Paulina, sucka. Today, we’re taking a ride.”

“Why am I going to Tilly’s? I’ll be the only white guy there!”

Hats laughed again. “Nope, there will be two of you. You and George Washington on the one dollar bill. I’ll pick you up at eleven forty-five. Be ready. We’re going to my ‘hood.”

Eleven thirty came and I grabbed my coat and walked downstairs. A beat-up ‘73 Bel Air was huffing and puffing at the corner, just outside of the hospital’s front door. Lord knows the car could’ve used a new muffler or baffle. The noise bellowing out of it was guaranteed to make the cops give us a ticket.

Then again, maybe not, considering where we were going for lunch.

Hats was sitting there, no seatbelt, no hat, no gloves, no coat, no nothing, just a big smile on his face and that loud, raucous laugh when he saw me. Hats moved easily between black slang and white language depending upon who he was talking to. Today, he was all slang because we were going to his turf, the area he roamed when he led the gang. It was cold and snowy that day in January but that didn't matter. He knew he would park right out front.

“Suckas, I’m here and I want Walter’s fine cookin’!”

The short ride was interrupted with incessant belching of fumes from the back of his car and his phone ringing. 

“Yeah. No. I’ll get back to you later. I gotta talk to the alderman.”

In between calls, I asked, “Why don’t you get a new car?”

“ Why do I need a new car? I like this one. It has character, just like its owner.” 

“This car is dangerous to drive. I'm worried about you and especially your wife and kids.”

“Ain’t nothing to worry about, Mr. Volvo. I’m a pro-fessional driver!”

“This car is fucking dangerous.”

“You look worried, white boy. Don’t stress. I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Yeah, that part I’m sure of, but I’m also sure that this beater could break down and I’ll be trying to get back to the office and all your buddies in this neighborhood will be looking at me, thinking, ‘What’s that white boy doing here? Maybe we ought to step out and help him!’ I’m not so sure I’m looking forward to this experience!”

Hats laughed that crazy laugh again, so loud that it made the car windows shake and then he turned to me.

“Man, ain’t nothing ever going to happen to you. We be brothers and you know’d it.”

We parked in front of Tilly’s in a No Parking Zone. 

Hats would never park in a handicap space, but a no parking space was fair game.

The engine stuttered twice and then finally died. 

As we entered the front door of Tilly’s, Hats roared a big hello, announcing his arrival, Hats’ style.

“Suckas, I’m here and I want Walter’s fine cookin’!”

Tilly’s was a mainstay on the near west side of Chicago for the folks who grew up in that neighborhood and those who came from the southside to enjoy real southern cooking. 

I had heard about it for years from him and now I was going to have an adventure I would not soon forget. The west side burned after King died and businesses were looted...but not Tilly’s. It opened the day after, just like always. And it served bums and cops alike.

“What the hell am I going to eat?” I asked him.

“You’re gonna eat what I want you to, boy.”

My stomach was starting to churn and not in a good way.

“Grits, chitlins, pig’s feet, fried chicken, and any other shit I’m gonna put on your plate. And you better make sure you eat it all ‘cause they be watching you. See what you’re made of. Do you belong or you just a visitor?”

Men and women, regardless of age, came up and gave him a big hug. He was in his element.

He paid special attention to the young men and women, stopping to ask them about school or their jobs and their families. He was firm in his voice but soft in his heart. These were his investments and he was making sure to manage them carefully.

We moved to a table right next to the counter so he could be close to the kitchen.

Hats yelled out to the cook. 

“Walter, what the fuck you doing? Where’s my food?”

Walter stuck his head through the opening between the kitchen and the dining room and gave us a big, toothless smile. His unruly gray hair was molded into a big afro, held back by a hairnet. He, too, had a scraggly beard, but longer than Hats’. It looked like it hadn’t been trimmed since Kennedy was president.

“I’m gonna bring it out when it’s nice and hot, but not before, so sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up!”

Hats laughed and said, “Yeah and bring me another plate for my friend over here.”

Walter looked at me.

Now, my stomach was doing flip flops and it wouldn’t stop. I was getting queasy so I reached for the Tums I always carried with me.

“You mean the white boy’s gonna eat home cookin’? Don’t know he can take it.”

And Walter roared long and loud. And so did the other folks in the restaurant.

Tables were placed close together so many people could be served at one time, certainly more than the law allowed. They sat on ripped vinyl chairs, which scraped along the dirty floor as they pulled up to their tables. No mustard or ketchup on the table, just hot sauce and lots and lots of napkins.

I sat down across from Hats and made eye contact.

“I’m not gonna be able to eat this stuff ‘cause if I do, you’re going to have to take me to the emergency room.” 

Hats laughed. “This ain’t no Jewish deli, fool. It’s Tilly’s and you need to be here.”

Walter brought the food to the table. His white apron was covered in grease, his hands burnt in many places. He had a gentle smile, which contrasted with his booming voice. He used both to keep his rowdy guests in order and that usually worked. If not, Walter would pull his piece, which he hid beneath his apron. They knew he wouldn't hesitate to use it. Tilly’s was his home and nobody better fuck with him.

Walter smiled at me, “Here's your food, sir.” 

“Don’t call him sir. That here is James. No sir, just James.”

“Good to meet you, James.”

“My pleasure, Walter. It’s a treat to finally be here at Tilly’s. I've heard so much about it from Hats.”

Walter laughed.

“We'll see how you feel when you’re done eatin’ my cookin’. I’m not sure they serve this here food at your restaurants.”

I looked around as he put the plate down. All eyes were on me. I was in a suit with polished shoes, my overcoat folded over my chair. They were in dirty overalls or torn jeans, tattered shirts, and jackets with big, gaping holes.

I was out of place and I knew it. So did they. They kept watching me as I took my first bite.

I didn’t feel scared, just uncomfortable but I knew Hats and Walter would watch over me. 

I grabbed the fork and a piece of bread and started in. 

“Spicy! Holy shit!”

Food tastes I never had before. Sweet, sour, harshness and burning, like Walter used a bottle or two of horseradish and Tabasco just for me.

I picked at the food to be polite but I knew I couldn’t eat the whole thing. 

Hats watched me out of the corner of his eye with this big shit-eating grin on his face. I must have consumed a gallon of water to damp down the heat in my mouth and a loaf of bread to settle my stomach.

In a quiet, white voice, Hats said, “If you want to work in the community, you have to pass the first test. This is the beginning of our journey.”

“Okay, I’m up for it. You know I am. Nothing could be more important.” 

After about thirty minutes, I managed to eat most of the food. In between bites, I snuck two Tums into my mouth, knowing that I had some Pepto back at the office. I just had to make it for a little while longer. 

Just then, the vibe in the restaurant changed. No longer was I the entertainment. Folks shifted in their seats or swiveled on their stools at the counter to talk with Hats about problems they were having.

“What’s up, Melvin? Hats inquired.

In between chewing on the toothpick in his mouth and wiping the sauce off his chin, Melvin made the first ask. “What can the hospital do for me? Are there any jobs open?”

“Mevin, you clean? I can’t be getting you an interview if your demons still got ahold of you.”

When Diane left, the restaurant got quiet.

“I’m clean, Hats. Honest. I’m going to my meetings every week just like I told you I was.”

“Okay, Melvin. Call me on Tuesday and I’ll see what I can do. But don’t fuck me again, Melvin. That’ll be the third strike and there ain’t no more!”

As Melvin returned to his stool at the counter, a very distinguished looking woman approached our table. Her dress was clean and pressed and her hair done up like she was going out on the town.

“Diane, you look great!” Hats exclaimed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking this good, especially at Tilly’s.”

Walter sneered at Hats but Hats continued.

“How’s your daughter, Diane? Is Tessa off the streets? I put the word out to make sure no one hurts her. And I’ve talked to City Hall about getting more patrols in the area to grab the creeps before they bother her and her buddies.”

Walter moved over to make room for Diane to join us. He knew this would be a tough conversation.

Diane dabbed at her tear-filled eyes and sat down. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you, Hats. After James died, I’ve tried to keep her moving straight but my job keeps me so busy I can’t watch over her all the time. And I do have other kids to concern myself with, you know.”

“I do, Diane. I know. This is shitty but we will make it right. Can you and Tessa come to my office a week from Thursday? I got someone I want her to meet who may be able to help. But I gotta do some legwork first.”

Diane rose slowly from the table, kissed Hats, gave him a long, heartfelt hug and quietly left the restaurant.

Hats played the role perfectly.

He was the community representative and he knew how to talk with his people. 

He never made a promise he couldn’t keep but he did make promises. 

And then he would deliver on them. 

His relationships with the power structure in Chicago and Springfield along with the special connection he had with the hospital’s President allowed him to build trust by being good for his word. And I was getting the education he wanted me to have. He knew, in the future, I would have to represent the organization to these same people, sometimes with him and sometimes alone. They had to see me as being good for my word as well.

When Diane left, the restaurant got quiet. The customers turned in their seats to resume eating Walter’s fine cookin’ and to listen to the conversation we were about to have.

Walter looked at me and then Hats.

“What’s going on with the new Bulls/Blackhawk stadium, Hats? We sure could use the jobs here on the westside and it would be good for business. Cops would have to patrol more ‘cause folks with money be coming to the games and the city sure don’t want no trouble. That could help us get rid of our ‘friends’ on the corners too, ya know.”

“The plans are going to the City Council next week,” I replied. “I’ll be there representing the hospital. I’ll talk to the Mayor and the alderman about the timetable, contractors and jobs and I’ll get right back to you. And you can be sure I will let them know your concerns.” 

Walter just nodded as he got up to go back to the kitchen.

“May I have the bill please, Walter?” I asked. 

Hats never carried any money when he was with me. 

“There’s no bill today, James, the food is on me. It’s always on me when Hats eats and you done a good job with your plate.”

Walter shook my hand and turned to talk to Melvin before going back into the kitchen.

I grabbed fifty dollars from my pocket and dropped it on the table. Money well spent.

I got back into Hats’ Bel Air knowing that my life was in danger once more.

“Hats, thanks for taking me to Tilly’s. You’ve talked about it for so long, I just had to see it for myself. And, man, do I like Walter. He is someone I would like to get to know a lot better.”

Just a mile away from the hospital, but light years away from the life I know.

“Hey, Hats, before I forget. Let’s make a date for next week. Walter said he would make me his special egg dish for breakfast.”

Hats just roared.

Wayne Lerner is a retired healthcare executive and an associate professor of health systems management. To stay off the street and out of trouble, he is a board member of a safety net hospital system and teaches a graduate level course in the fall at a local health university.

A lifelong Chicagoan and White Sox fan, he lives in the northern suburbs with his wife of thirty years. Together, they have five grown children (with spouses/SOs), five grandchildren ,and five grand-dogs.

Wayne has published in professional journals many times and even edited a book on a major hospital merger but he has never achieved a dream he had while in high school and college to publish an original work of fiction... until now.