#doctors stole my extra teeth when I was young

[bludpudding]

the corinthian as a character really resonates with me because I too was born with extra teeth

[writer-ish]

The 3rd Annual Bloom Edenbrook Fundraising Gala

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Dr. Brooke Spiers) Word Count: 2.9k Rating: Mostly T (innuendo, language, smooches)

Premise: Dr. Brooke Spiers and Dr. Ethan Ramsey get coerced into answering anonymous questions submitted by generous donors at this year's hospital fundraising gala. They have about as much fun with it as you'd expect.

This idea is all thanks to THIS ASK from the lovely @lem-20. The concept and all questions are hers! Thank you, darling Leah! ♥️

Author’s Note: My first time with a mixed-media type post(!!!) and the writing part has been done almost script-style, similar to the "Not Yet Wed" questions courtesy of @jamespotterthefirst, which you can find HERE. Hope you all enjoy. 🥰

Tickets

Bonus Raffle

SETTING - Diagnostics Office - 5:15 PM

TWO DOCTORS in formal attire sit across from one another. The male, DR. ETHAN RAMSEY, late-30s, devastatingly handsome, leans against a desk, arms crossed. The female, DR. BROOKE SPIERS, late-20s, charmingly attractive, sits on a larger table further away, legs swinging.

Ethan: I can't believe you talked me into this.

Brooke: [smirking] Why does this feel like deja vu?

Ethan: You know exactly why. You coerced me into the same sort of nonsense in your intern year for that magazine—whatever it was.

Brooke: Yeah, and remember how much publicity the hospital got that year? You're welcome.

Ethan: How can you be sure our "publicity" had to do with that article and not the fact that a first-year intern stole from a large pharamceutical company to administer an unapproved drug to—

Brooke: [hands up] Okay, okay, we get it. Regardless, you have to admit I was responsible for all the publicity. [grins]

Ethan: [can't help but grin back] Touche. [sighs deeply] Let's go home.

Brooke: Can't, babe. We're the main event.

Ethan: How did this even come about? Is there not some code of ethics against this sort of thing?

Brooke: [laughs] It's just staff and donors. All adults. We're showing that we're good sports and it's for a good cause.

Ethan: [grumbles] I don't know why people care so much about us.

Brooke: You don't? I mean, have you seen us?

Ethan: [dryly] And so humble, too.

Brooke: Lord knows you aren't with me for my humility.

Ethan: Indeed. [picks up a glass from the desk at his side, swirling the amber liquid] Well, I hope you're prepared.

Brooke: [amused] Prepared?

Ethan: You're used to me being reticent in situations like this and holding back? [downs the liquid in one shot] Not today.

Brooke: [wary] What does that mean?

DR. RAMSEY stands up, crossing the room towards DR. SPIERS until the latter is forced to open her legs to accommodate his presence. He braces a hand on either side of her, leaning forward until their lips are almost touching. Her face flushes. He notices, and a slow, lazy smile spreads.

Ethan: It means [kisses her slightly open mouth softly] I'm answering all their questions.

Brooke: [giggles nervously] All of them? But what if—

Ethan: [punctuating each word with a kiss] All. Of. Them.

He leans forward and captures her mouth in a deep, searing kiss. Her arms twine around his neck and she lets out a soft moan. Drawing her ankles around his legs she pulls him even closer and he places one hand on the desk as the other glides up her back. They stay like that, interlocked for a moment, before he pulls away.

Brooke: [eyes still closed] Hmph.

Ethan: Let's go get this over with.

Brooke: [slowly opens eyes and peers at him, disgruntled] What kinds of questions do you think people are submitting?

Ethan: Like you said, Dr. Spiers... [a slow smile spreads] Have you seen us?

DR. SPIERS laughs as she follows DR. RAMSEY out.

A.N. PLEASE do not look too closely at this very badly photoshopped pic 😂

SETTING - Bloom Edenbrook Hospital, Main Atrium - 6:25 PM

Our two doctors sit beside each other on a makeshift stage. A semi-recognizable third-year resident is the host for the evening. DR. RAMSEY dusts an imaginary piece of lint off his sleeve. DR. SPIERS has her hands in lap, knee shaking slightly. Noticing, Dr. Ramsey reaches over and rests his hand on her leg. She looks over with a small smile and places her hand over his.

Thank you to our very own Chief of Medicine, Dr. Ethan Ramsey, and his partner, head of the Diagnostics Team, Dr. Brooke Spiers, for being here with us today for a good cause. Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Spiers, are you prepared to answer some questions provided by our generous, anonymous donors?

Brooke: Sure, why not.

Ethan: [through gritted teeth] For a good cause.

Alright, excellent. I will be drawing these questions at random. Thank you to all who donated for the opportunity to submit a question.

Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Spiers, you will both be posed a question. If you choose to answer, you must both answer. If you choose not to, you must match the donation made by the donor, in lieu of a verbal response. Are you ready to begin?

Ethan: Mmm.

Brooke: [nervous laugh] I suppose.

Alright, here we go!

First question: If he/she could take one thing to a desert island what would it be?

Brooke: Me.

[Audience whoops and laughs]

Ethan: [can't hide his smirk, before clearing his throat] Brooke would take her phone. Heaven forbid she can't post about something on Pictagram.

Brooke: It's true. I'm sorry for being such a young millennial needy for external validation.

What are your nicknames for each other?

Brooke and Ethan: [look at each other. Brooke laughs.]

Ethan: Just say it.

Brooke: I mean, it's nothing too embarassing. I call him babe usually, or baby sometimes if I'm feeling extra nice. He calls me—[blushes and looks over at Ethan]

Ethan: [sighs] 'My love'. I call her 'my love'.

[Audience "awwww"s]

Who’s the better cook?

Brooke: Oh, Ethan. A hundred percent.

Ethan: It's true.

Brooke: I'm abysmal.

Ethan: Normally I would demur when it comes to Dr. Spiers' perceived faults, but in this case she's correct.

Brooke: Thanks, babe.

Ethan: You have many wonderful qualities that don't involve ovens, my love.

[A squeal from the audience that sounds suspiciously like Sienna]

Who has the last word in an argument?

[simultaneously] Brooke: Ethan Ethan: Brooke

[They look at each other]

Brooke: [laughs incredulously] Seriously?

Ethan: You think I don't hear you muttering to yourself after you walk away, almost every single time?

Brooke: Oh, so cursing your name and your very existence counts as the last word and not you shouting [affects deep voice] "And that's final!"? Duly noted.

Ethan: I don't sound like that or say that.

Brooke: Mm, sure.

Who is best at keeping secrets?

Brooke: Uh, neither of us?

Ethan: I had a secret once and it was hell keeping it.

Brooke: You've had a couple.

Ethan: True. I'm done with secrets.

Brooke: In lighter news, we kept [gestures between the two of them] this thing a secret for a bit. No?

Ethan: [opens his mouth to agree, when he's interrupted by a shout from the audience—]

Audience member that sounds suspiciously like Elijah: Nope! We all knew!

[Audience loudly murmurs in agreement]

Brooke: Never mind, then.

Who wears the trousers in the relationship?

Ethan: Neither of us subscribes to antiquated beliefs of superiority in a relationship. We're partners and teammates and work together accordingly. Sometimes she helps and guides me and sometimes I do the same for her. There is no one person who holds higher ground over the other and to imply otherwise would be foolish.

Brooke: [literal heart eyes at Ethan] What he said. [stage whisper] Except it's me.

[Audience laughs as Ethan rolls his eyes]

What is his/her worst habit?

Brooke: Workaholic, poor communication skills, yells first and asks questions later… I could go on.

Ethan: Charming. I have two words for you: messy packrat.

Brooke: Excuse me?

Ethan: If I had a nickel for every useless piece of garbage you kept "just in case" or for each article of clothing on the floor of my bedr—[clears throat] Just trust me.

Brooke: [smirks and whispers against Ethan's ear so only he can hear] Sorry, who is responsible for my clothes on the floor…?

Ethan: [says nothing but smirks as well]

[Audience murmurs in scandal]

What three words would you use to describe them?

Brooke: Hmm. Let me think.

Ethan: Passionate, caring, intelligent.

Brooke: [looks at him fondly] You came up with those fast.

Ethan: [matter-of-factly] I could give them ten more easily.

[Audience "awww"s]

Brooke: [to the audience] No, no, no don't be fooled, he doesn't mean only the flattering words, trust me.

Ethan: I believe it's your turn.

Brooke: Dedicated, compassionate, brilliant.

Ethan: [smiles softly at Brooke, who avoids his gaze. He reaches over and squeezes her hand.]

Brooke: [mutters] Yeah, yeah.

What celebrity do you/they think they most look like?

[Both Ethan and Brooke look at the announcer quizzically.]

Brooke: Celebrity? Uhh…

Ethan: I don't even know how I would begin to answer this question.

Brooke: Ryan Reynolds?

[Audience laughs and loudly disagrees]

Ethan: Who?

Brooke: [laughs and shakes her head] I don't know! I just named a random hot guy. You name a redhead actress. Jessica Chastain?

Ethan: [confused] Do you mean Jessica Rabbit?

Brooke: No I don't mean— [looks at him incredulously] Are you saying you think I look like Jessica Rabbit?

Ethan: No, I thought that's what you were saying and I was about to tell you how incorrect you were. Er, that is to say—

Brooke: I feel like you're digging yourself into a hole here.

Ethan: Agreed.

Who is the most vain?

Ethan: Both of us have more pressing concerns than our physical appearance.

Brooke: Ethan.

Ethan: [splutters]

Brooke: If you're going based off who spends more time on their hair in the bathroom? Ethan.

Ethan: [crosses his arms and glowers, but doesn't disagree]

What is his/her guilty pleasure?

Brooke: Ethan's is cooking shows, particularly Nigella.

Ethan: It's true. Brooke's is high calorie indulgences like—what's the freezer cake you made me buy the other day? With no identifiable or even passably edible ingredients?

Brooke: Ooh, Deep 'n Delicious. So good.

Ethan: [rolls eyes] Yes, because we all need our daily dose of hydrogenated oils and preservatives.

If they had a free pass, which celebrity would they choose to sleep with?

[Look at each other blankly]

Brooke: Uhh… Nigella?

Ethan: This Ryan Reynolds fellow?

Brooke: [laughs] I don't even like him!

Ethan: So who, then?

Brooke: [crosses her arms] I notice you didn't deny Nigella.

Ethan: This question is stupid. Next question.

Where and when did you go on your first date?

Brooke: Derry Roasters

Ethan: What? No. I took you to Sorellina—

Brooke: What, three years after we first met? No. Our first date was Derry Roasters when you caught me following you that time.

Ethan: Ah, so she finally admits it. I thought at the time I was… what was it, "paranoid"?

Brooke: [laughs only a touch guiltily] Did I say that?

Ethan: So you're treating the first time you trailed after me to the local coffee shop as our first date?

Brooke: Well, you paid.

Ethan: Yeah, after you "forgot" your wallet.

Brooke: What, you thought I pursued you for your good looks? No, sir. I like a man with deep pockets. Plus, you know how I know it was a first date?

Ethan: Please, enlighten me.

Brooke: You ordered for me and I didn't get annoyed and it was horrible, but I still drank the whole thing.

Ethan: The espresso Romano is not horr—

Brooke: Horrible. Coffee and lemon? [shudders] That's how I knew I was into you.

Ethan: [intrigued] Really? Way back then?

Brooke: [nods, blushing slightly, and rolls her eyes] Oh brother, don't act so shocked. You knew.

[Audience laughs and whoops]

Ethan: [shell-shocked face showing he absolutely did not know]

Where was your first kiss?

Brooke: [sheepishly] Miami.

[Audience murmurs in surprise]

Ethan: [sighs] Yes.

Brooke: Is that—are Harper and Naveen exchanging money?

Naveen: [from the audience] Dr. Emery should know better than to question my instincts!

Ethan: [loudly groans] Next question.

Who is the loudest in bed?

Brooke: [yelps and, remembering Ethan's earlier warning, throws her hand over his mouth]

Ethan: [from behind her hand] You probably could have made the answer less obvious.

Brooke: [blushes and groans]

[Audience roars its approval]

Which of your friends do you think he/she is most likely to have a crush on?

Brooke: Ohhh, this is awkward.

Ethan: My friends?

Brooke: Considering we can list your friends on one hand…and some of them intersect with mine. [bites lip] What do we do with this one?

Ethan: [to the host] What did the donor pay?

Sorry?

Ethan: To submit this question. How much?

Oh, uhh—[checks] $200.

Ethan: I'll write you a cheque for $200. Next question.

Brooke: [shakes her head laughing] All the questions, huh?

Ethan: At my discretion, yes.

Bryce: [from the audience] You know the answer was me for both of you, anyway!

Ethan: [scoffs] Fat chance, Lahela.

Brooke: [pointedly silent, staring straight ahead]

Ohh-kay. Next question. Who had feelings first?

Brooke: Ha, me. For sure.

Ethan: Are you sure?

Brooke: [looks at him incredulously] I just told you I liked you even after you bought me lemon coffee at Derry Roasters three years ago. [sits up to look at him more fully] No chance you liked me earlier than that. I mean, like-liked me.

Ethan: "Like-liked you"? Are we twelve?

Brooke: You know what I mean. You were such a grouch and I was just your annoying intern.

Ethan: [irritatedly] The annoying intern I kissed in Miami, what, a week later? Is that how obvious my lack of feelings for you were?

Brooke: [opens her mouth to respond and then closes it again]

Ethan: That's what I thought.

Who’s more dramatic?

Brooke: Ethan.

Ethan: I am absolutely not—

Brooke: See? Honestly, he's exhausting.

Ethan: [glowers]

Who has the weirdest orgasm face?

Brooke: Weirdest?

Ethan: Oh for the love of—

$5000 to not answer this one, doctors.

Brooke and Ethan: [jaws drop simultaneously]

Brooke: Someone paid five-thousand dollars—

Ethan: What kind of a pervert—? Fine, say it's me.

Brooke: It's really not.

Ethan: [quietly] Well, it's certainly not you.

Brooke: Yeah, but—

I believe we have our answer!

Ethan: We'll take it. Next!

What are you most likely to argue about?

Ethan: Brooke believes I could be more communicative about my feelings, especially when I have a problem.

Brooke: You do listen!

Ethan: Of course. We also argue about when she's going to move in with me.

[Audience gasps and murmurs in gleeful scandal]

Brooke: [jaw drops] Ethan!

Ethan: It's true. [turns to host] I believe it should have already happened. She believes she needs to maintain a tenuous hold on a bedroom she rarely occupies for a group of roommates who would be happy for her to move on.

Brooke: [fuming] Of all the high-handed—

Jackie, from the audience: He's right, girl, bigger and better awaits.

Brooke: [through gritted teeth, as Sienna, Ethan, and Aurora all nod and give her thumbs up] Maybe this is something we can talk about later—

Ethan: Whatever you say, my love.

Brooke: Oh, yeah, now with the "my love"s—

On that note! Here is our final question.

What’s the most romantic thing they’ve done for you?

Ethan: [looks at Brooke, who is still glowering] Most romantic?

Brooke: [glares]

Ethan: With Brooke, it's the little things. She'll notice when I'm having a bad day and bring me my favourite donut. Or a well-timed hand on my shoulder or knee when she can see I'm getting riled up.

Brooke: [glare softens a bit]

Ethan: She's thoughtful and kind and extremely empathetic. She knows what I need even before I know that I need it. It's not—candlelit dinners or what have you, but I've already prided myself on being a practical person and this intersection of—of practicality and care? That's what I find… [struggles to get the word out] romantic.

[Audience "awww"s]

Brooke: [screws up her mouth before leaning over to kiss Ethan on the cheek] Okay, that was sweet. [Thoughtfully] Most romantic thing Ethan has done for me? Well… [side-eyes him, before continuing] The HAZMAT suit sleepover last year was probably up there.

Ethan: [uncomfortable] I don't want that to be classified as—

Brooke: You were there for me at a time when I needed you most. If that's not romance, I don't know what is.

Ethan: [increasingly agitated] That's not romance, dammit, that's—that was a necessity. That was vital. I needed to be there. I needed to make sure you—that you—[cuts himself off, clenching his jaw]

Brooke: [eyes soft as she looks at him. Reaching out she rests her hand on top of his clenched fist until it unfurls slowly underneath hers and he releases his breath slowly] See? [softly] Romance.

Ethan: [sighs deeply, then links his fingers with hers and gruffly kisses the top of her hand] All this tells me is that I've neglected you on the "romance" side of things.

Brooke: [still smiling softly] No complaints. [looks out at the audience] Are we done here? [affects a deep voice] Are you not entertained?

Ethan: [fondly] And she says I'm the dramatic one.

I think we got what we needed, doctors. Thank you for helping out for a good cause. This raffle ticket session alone raised a total of $23,000 for Bloom Edenbook Hospital!

Ethan: [dumbfounded] That is insane.

Brooke: I promise we aren't that interesting.

The people beg to differ. Round of applause for Dr. Brooke Spiers and Dr. Ethan Ramsey for being such good sports. Until next time, doctors!

Ethan: [over thunderous applause] There absolutely won't be a next time.

Brooke: [laughs and stands up, smoothing out her dress]

Audience member that sounds suspiciously like Jackie: Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

Rest of the audience chimes in: Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

Brooke: [crosses her arms, smirking at Ethan]

Ethan: Oh for the love of— [acts like he's walking away, then loops an arm around her waist and pulls her close, tilting her back and kissing her thoroughly]

[Audience roars its approval]

Ethan: [pulls away slowly and sets her upright, chucking her chin with an affectionate and slightly devilish smirk. He starts to guide her away from the host and off the makeshift stage]

Brooke: [mutters, still a bit dazedly] Told you. Drama.

[Laughing, they walk off stage together.]

[sillyandquiteawkward]

little father and bayley fic under the cut bc i forgot my ao3 password and im lazy. hope you enjoy

Food supplements and leafy greens sat on Doctor Bayley's plate, which he picked at distastefully. The Director of the Institute, Father, sat across from him, making decent headway with his own meal.

"I don't think I can ever learn to enjoy the food supplements. This flavor isn’t palatable either," Bayley curtly complained with a heavy sigh. He felt Father's lingering judgement upon him for refusing most of his meal again, without even having to look up. He poked at the slab of supplement with the tines of his fork. Even the various flavors the Institute boasted of supplements couldn't save Bayley from the pastes, powders, and bars turning his stomach. He was trying his best to find a flavor he could stand, but to Bayley, even mirelurk was easier to eat. At least the fresh vegetables were decent, if not simply boiled or baked if cooked at all. "I'd kill for some real meat on your menu."

"Come now, Doctor, we have little need to slaughter irradiated animals for food in this day and age. BioScience has developed the perfect meal dozens of times over, consisting of the exact amount of daily nutrients a man like yourself needs," Father replies coolly. Bayley glared at the older man. Of course he'd like them -- he grew up on the damn things. Well, Bayley grew up on real food!

"Designed a food that doesn't even fill your stomach," he mumbled behind his mug as he took a sip. Now to their credit, this was something Bayley actually liked. The coffee wasn't stale 200 year old beans and grounds. My god, they perfected the damn synthetic coffee and Bayley couldn't imagine going back.

Father confidently smirked, passing smoothly over Bayley's remark with a gentle shake of his head. "You poor surface dwellers, eating any and all the food you can scrounge to stave off hunger. I'm glad we were able to save you from that life. Give it time, Doctor. Your stomach will re-adjust to your new diet."

Bayley scoffed dismissively and set his fork down to keep nursing his coffee. Father took his own sip of tea. The pair fell into a dip of silence, accompanied by the gentle clink of silverware against plate as Father continued to finish off his lunch. Behind them a few tables over, there was a slight chatter from another pair of scientists in the cafeteria. Licking a crumb of food supplement left on the edge of his mug with a grimace, Bayley listened to their distant hushed conversation. Sounded like gossip about another scientist’s love affair... Hard to believe that even the “perfect” Institute could be filled with, what was ultimately, humans.

Father spoke up after a minute of Bayley straining to eavesdrop, "Why don't you tell me about yourself, Doctor?"

"...Why?" Bayley eyed Father suspiciously. "Don't you already know all about me? Isn't that why I'm here?"

Father took a warm sip of his mug before continuing. "I know about your reputation, or lack thereof." Bayley all but growled at the dig. "And I know you care deeply for the progress of humanity, as do I, albeit a tad misguided. You’re a highly intelligent man, Doctor, but I'm afraid I don't know about you, personally. I'd like to remedy that."

What could Bayley tell Father about? Why should he? Oh, but he loved to talk about himself... Bayley leaned back in his chair with folded hands in his lap, food left forgotten on his plate. "What is there to say? I'm a man married to his work, who likes breathing fresh air. On the surface."

“What got you into studying radiation?” Bayley noticed Father missed his complaint, or at least was ignoring it. “Surely you didn’t set out from the start on such a dangerous fascination.” Father had a look of curiosity on his face that seemed genuine to Bayley, although he still had suspicions this had ulterior motives.

“It was almost from the beginning actually. As I studied medicine in my youth, traveling along the Wasteland, I have to admit,” Bayley paused to consider his wording. “I had a distinct admiration of the ghoul’s ability to utilize radiation to build themself anew. The destructive power of radiation makes using it dangerous and even deadly, true, but I imagined a world where we could manipulate the human body to replicate how a ghoul’s body uses the gamma particles destructive properties to heal themselves, sans the ghoulification process of course.” Okay, so maybe he planned to be cagey, but Father just had to ask him about the thing he’s devoted his entire life to. Sorry, he’s gonna get excited. “I’d seen first hand ghouls reattach long lost limbs to themselves and remain functional, ferals even being brought back to life by glowing ones’ radiation bursts, and the stories of people growing functional limbs from radiation exposure caught my particular attention at a young age.”

“Fascinating things ghouls are, although their rotten brains and appearance are less than desirable. If anything their longevity is what catches my attention. Living over hundreds of years...” Father drifts off, looking past Bayley. “Imagine what one could achieve with that extra time.”

“Living forever doesn’t matter if you aren’t healthy,” Bayley corrected. “What’s the point of living if you are just suffering every day. I’m focusing myself to helping people in this day and age, instead of chasing functional immortality.”

“Maybe that’s the difference between us,” Father sighs. “Everything I do is for tomorrow, and tomorrow’s tomorrow. Humanity's future lies in our successor’s hands. It’s a shame we cannot directly work with our future generations to combine our knowledge. All we can do is help prepare them for when we are gone.”

“Eventually people in charge need to step down and let the fresh ideas in, otherwise we’ll collectively stagnate. We are stubborn creatures who hate change, snuffing out ideas that contradict our own. If someone like you lived forever, he’d never give up the reins.”

“I suppose you’d do the same,” Father states blandly, eyes half-lidded. “As you said, we are stubborn creatures.”

Bayley sputters, sitting back up in his chair. “No, I am the innovator in this scenario! I’ve been ostracized for my ideas, kicked out and shunned. No one sees my potential to change the world!”

“And in your age, have you begun to prepare an heir to your scientific knowledge, Doctor? Or do you think you can finish this chronicle yourself, with the few years left in your life?”

“I-I have to prove myself first! No one trusts my work because they don’t see the proof -- which I was working on when you so kindly stole me away from my clinic and subjects!” Bayley hissed, gripping the edge of the table.

Unphased, Father folded his hands on the table. “I trust your work, Doctor Bayley. I’ve seen your studies, seen what you can do when you are truly devoted to a cause. This is why I wanted you with us at the Institute. I want you to share your knowledge to us, so that we may pass it to the future with us. Let us help you ensure your legacy. We have the same goals, and we even have similar methods if you can believe it. Imagine what we can do together when we combine our knowledge, for humanity’s sake.”

Bayley raised an eyebrow at that. “Similar goals perhaps, but I wont be a part of the kidnapping and killing of Commonwealth citizens. You Institute folk are outrageously barbaric for all your self-righteousness.”

“We simply know how to weigh the importance of breaking a few eggs for the omelette. You too understand this principle closely, don’t you?”

Bayley grimaced flatly. “You truly know how to charm a man to your side.” This conversation was over if Bayley had anything to say about it, which he did. He gulped from his mug, keeping it up to his mouth as he turned physically away from Father. He’ll finish this and go back to his room. Trapped in the Institute with these madmen, forced to go along with things else suffer the same fate as the hundreds of others taken to the Institute. And Father had the gall to act like they were the same, that Bayley could excuse innocents murdered for “science.” He slammed the mug back onto the table.

“I hope you’ll understand one day soon, Doctor. I really do.” Father sighed, closing his eyes in defeat as Bayley stood up.

“I don’t want to understand,” Bayley said as he stormed past Father back to the concourse.

It was too much to think about, if Bayley was being honest with himself. He grit his teeth climbing the stairs, tense. A scientist descending the stairs stood to the side as Bayley passed, clearly wanting to give the angry man some space and avoid any conflict. Good. If he was to stay here, people should give way for him. Now if only Father was like that. He passed a pair of expressionless generation two synth guards eyeing their laser weapons as he ascended the next flight.

God, he was annoyed. Of course Father had to go ruin another meal together talking nonsense of Bayley hurting others. He tried his best not to hurt his subjects -- everyone was willing and importantly, no one had died under his care! Sick perhaps in the early days... but it wasn’t death! Bayley couldn’t stand the idea his great idea could possibly kill others when it was supposed to be helping them. If he was ever responsible for someone’s death...

Bayley slid open the automatic door to his small, barren room. It was just a simple bed and desk, which was plenty for Bayley, but he wished he had his trinkets and such if he was going to be living here until the day he dies. He collapsed onto the stiff bed, face pressing against the cool pillow. He missed his couch. He missed his clinic. Bayley even considered he missed being annoyed by Jonathan and Jay’s antics. Jay would try his best to cheer him out of this spiraling train of thought, and Jon would know plenty of things to distract him with.

If he was ever responsible for their deaths, Bayley considered he’d quit on the spot. He’d probably become deeply depressed until he really did just curl up and die, however fast it came after. All his life’s work to save humanity, and he’d killed the only people who trusted him most to do so.

But the truly terrible part of him hidden away deep in his heart wondered that if someone was to die as a result of his work, perhaps even if he wasn’t working willingly with the Institute, that he'd simply wouldn’t care.

[watchtower-feed]

Shoulds and Coulds

SSA AU ✧ Damian Wayne ✧ Timer

Notes: This is my favorite trope hybrid. Does a lot of emotional damage. I also wanted to move away from Y/N-centric narrative and try the soulmate’s POV.

Words: 3,615

          When you live in a world full of superheroes, there are worst things than meta human villains, invading aliens, and psychotic clowns. One of them is having a soulmate.

          Some say it’s better because your other half is easier to find, but they’re not the one who has a hero or a villain for a soulmate. You do

     Damian Wayne was raised to believe in destiny. That it’s his fate to one day lead the League of Assassins and continue to change the world for the better. Talia would talk of his future feats while massaging the glowing numbers on his arm. As a young boy, he’s noticed how his mother would always avoid looking at his timer.

     But destiny proved to have its own plans when Slade attacked the League and murdered his grandfather in front of him. His mother safely stole him away and brought him to his father. When she whispered her bittersweet goodbye, she kissed his timer for a long time. And it was the last time he ever saw her.

     His father and Alfred dedicated a grave to Talia in the family cemetery, a few meters away from Bruce’s own parents. There was no body beneath the ground but Damian had no trouble shedding tears on the gravestone etched with her name.

     Damian Wayne was then raised in a family where his choices decided his fate and those around him. Every split decision in a fight could lead to injury or death. Every word uttered turned arguments into thirst for blood. There's no way of knowing what will happen until it does.

     Every action he makes, consequences follow. Nothing is given freely and nothing is asked of him. Suddenly, he no longer has a clear destiny.

     But when he looks at the changing numbers on his arm, the inevitable countdown that comforts his loneliness, he’s still sure of one thing. No matter what happens, what turns he takes, or mistakes he makes, he has you.

     It’s the last day of summer before Damian goes back to high school for his senior year. He’s spending it much like every other night with his brothers: in costume.

     “Just a few more minutes,” Dick grins at him while he peers at Damian’s covered arm, making his youngest brother rub it under his sleeve and hide it from Dick with a scowl.

     Jason snorts through the comms and Damian can hear him breathing loud and the wind trailing behind him, “Do you think-- it’s going to be-- a damsel-- in distress?”

     “We’re out and about and Ivy is busy turning the Narrows into her new garden. Of course, she’s going to be a damsel. She’ll probably be trapped in Ivy’s vines and Damian’s going to be the one who’ll cut her down and save her.” Dick swoons towards Damian who harshly shoves him away and jumps off the rooftop to leave his eldest brother behind.

     Tim’s voice filters in his ear as he glides over rooftops, “Or it could be a bad guy. Probably out looting and taking advantage of the chaos just like these guys.” They all hear Tim grunt as he kicks and punches.

     Damian groans and glares at the night sky. They’re damage control while Batman handles Ivy by himself. From what they’ve been hearing through his comm, Ivy’s trying to find new territory after the mayor sold her greenhouse to an out-of-town developer.

     “You’re always such a party pooper, Tim.”

     “At least I’m not narrating R-rated romance novels.”

     “Hey! Those are quality gol--”

     Damian stops in an alley and turns off his comms. He hides in the shadows. Stands still in the darkness, holding his breath before releasing it through his shaky lips. He loosens the collar of his tunic and breathes out of his mouth slowly.

     Finally, he rolls up his sleeve and the glowing red numbers light up his face.

     9 minutes.

     He remembers his mother kissing the last digit after she said goodbye. After expressing her distaste for his link all his life, why did she kiss it so gently? What did it mean? Why did she look so sad? Was she worried? Scared?

     Damian Wayne has grown up waiting for the day when his timer would stop, when all the waiting would stop, when all the uncertainty and guesswork would finally come to an end.

     “Robin!”

     His comms are overridden and Batman’s voice blares through. “There’s another stray headed to your location.”

     “On it.”

     Damian’s running. Heading toward the screaming.

     “Damian, how many more minutes?”

     “Dick, focus!”

     It’s too late. Damian’s already staring at his still exposed wrist.

      7 minutes. 

     When he reaches the chaos, he sees a monster shaped like a bulb with its vines swinging wildly around, smashing into buildings and wrapped tightly around civilians.

     Dick’s words suddenly haunt him and he wonders if his soulmate is one of them. His eyes roam each victim. Damian wills himself to focus. There’s still a lot of time.

     He unsheathes his katana and cuts away at the animated vines. He catches each civilian as they fall and takes extra care when he lets them down onto the ground. An ambulance arrives when he lays down the last victim. The medics pour out and attend to them. He steals one last look at his wrist.

     2 mins.

     Damian turns his full attention to the monster. He cleans his katana on his sleeve and charges forward. He hacks and slashes at each vine it sends his way. But one vine hits him and sends him flying back. He braces himself for the impact and hits the windshield of a car.

     He groans, back aching, and notices the moving numbers on his arm.

    36 seconds.

     The monster is advancing. Damian grits his teeth. His lips are quivering. He grips the hilt of his weapon and waits. With the monster just a few feet away, Damian yells in frustration and leaps. He comes down to its side and slashes the monster’s head off.

     Its limbs flail in the air without an entity controlling it and one of the larger vines whips around and slams Damian against a building.

     His head smashes against the brick wall and his body slides down to the ground. He feels warm blood drip down his face. It slowly covers his eyes and he sneaks one last look at his wrist.

     3 seconds.

     He feels a gloved hand wipe off the blood on his face and pull on his eyelids. When his eye opens, he hears the three continuous beeps while locking eyes with you.

     “Are you okay? Do you know where you are?” Robin is staring at you through his mask while you flash light into his eye. His pupil constricts and then dilates when you move away the flashlight. “Talk to me, Robin. I need to know if you’ve got a concussion. Do you remember where you are?”

     You watch him blink both eyes and slowly his mouth moves, “Gotham.” You give him a long look before you finally release the breath you’ve been holding.

     Robin is your soulmate. After 27 years of waiting, you finally meet him. But work comes first.

     Your hands move and part his hair to look at the wound. It’s a small gash but it’s going to need stitches. For now, you need to stop the bleeding.

     Damian’s hand covers yours and he brings it down to his face. You watch him stare at the now faded mark on your wrist and slowly he brings it closer to his lips before pressing a kiss against the faded string of numbers.

✧ ✧ ✧

     “Y/N, how many casualties?”

     You’re still not used to having Batman addressing you by name. You clear your throat and stare at thepiece of paper you brought with you to avoid looking at any of them. “7 DOAs and 12 in critical condition but quarantined. Hospital records show that 42 are already in recovery.”

     “Red Robin, how many missing persons reports?”

     “23 but there’s no more ground to cover.”

     “Where else can we look? The rest of the area is still ground zero, Bruce.”

     Batman glares at Jason. He’s still not used to having his name mentioned in front of you. But it’s not like you want to be here. You want to help but you’d rather be out there in an ambulance, reporting to doctors. You’re only here because of Damian.

     He nudges your shoulder with his and waits for you to turn to him. You hide half of your face behind your paper and give your soulmate a deep frown. Damian replies with a quick smile before turning his full attention back to Batman.

     “--still some debris here. Red Robin, Batgirl, and I will look into it. The rest of you take the rest of the night off.”

     Dick and Jason are already getting ready to argue with Bruce when Damian tugs on your hand and leads you to the elevator shaft. When he closes the door, you slump against the scaffolding and sigh. You’re exhausted. It’s another long night in Gotham as usual.

     Damian’s tall form stands next to you, leaning against your shoulder, sending electricity up and down your spine. He’s bowing his head in thought. You eye him curiously and watch his brows meet at the center.

     “You’re sneaking out, aren’t you?”

     Only his eyes turn to you and he smirks. It doesn’t take much for you to decipher what he’s thinking. All you have to do is look and everything is written plainly on his face. Even when his family is around, the stoic demeanor he wears with them is very telling of what calculations he’s making and what he plans to do next.

     You smirk back. “Where to?”

     The shaft doors open automatically when it reaches the top. Damian places his wide palm on the small of your back and guides you out of the secret door. He stops by the wall and leans on it to cage you in with his arms. “If you’re tired, beloved, we’ll stay in.”

     He leans down and kisses you. His lips are chapped from the cold night but his breath is warm like the sun. You find yourself inhaling and tasting all of him without another thought. He pushes you back against the wall with his body molding into your curves. Your breath hitches when his leg presses against your crotch. You push him back gently.

     “Let’s… Let’s sneak out…”

     Damian hasn’t turned 18 yet and you’re ten years older than him. You’ve found it so easy to just lose yourself in his touch, his warmth, his taste. But you have principles. Your rules. Boundaries you’re not willing to cross. He clenches his teeth like an animal baring his fangs.

     Damian doesn’t understand these rules. You’re soulmates. You shouldn’t be bound by such trivial legal matters.

     You slink away but hold his hand. You pull him away from the wall and toward the garage. “Come on. Lives to be saved, my boy wonder.”

     But he tries to be good. Tries to be as good as you. Good enough for you. So he respects your rules, the high standards you’ve set for yourself. Just like how you never try to talk him into a more honest life, knowing that being Robin is what makes him him.

     But destiny is nothing like karma. It plays by its own rules.

     It’s the early morning of Damian’s birthday when Alfred hears the house phone ringing. Damian and his siblings walk in from the cave while Alfred answers it. The boys are loud but exhausted, stretching their limbs and rolling their shoulders to shake away the fight from the night.

     “You excited for the big day, buddy?”

     “Kids finally gonna lose his V card. What do you think?”

     “Takes a special kind of stupid to lose it in an alley, Todd.”

     Tim’s the only one who notices Alfred’s stiff posture and desperate grip on the phone’s receiver. “Alfred?” The others stop and watch Alfred slowly turn to them, gaping, the receiver slowly slips from his grip. “What’s wrong?”

     He’s staring at Damian. His voice breaks when he utters your name.

     They break every speed limit and run every red light on the way to Gotham General Hospital. The emergency room is in chaos and the lobby is filled with people all waiting to see the victims of the accident. The wailing and the sobbing is forcing Damian to hide his head between his knees so he can think.

     The hospital didn’t call Wayne manor. One of your colleagues did. He was about to clock out but as soon as he saw you on the gurney, head bashed in with blood all over your face and in your hair, his knees went weak. He and a few of the other nurses knew you were involved with Damian Wayne and someone had to tell him.

     Four hours ago, a building collapsed near the hospital parking lot where the ambulances are parked. You and your colleagues were headed home when it happened. They’re only letting immediate family members in and no one in Damian’s family is listed as your emergency contact.

     “Is anybody in there with her?”

     “We can’t divulge that kind of information, sir.”

     “We’re her only family in Gotham!”

     “Unless you’re listed in her contacts, we can’t let you in.”

     “Check again! We should be in there--”

     “Stop!”

     Damian shouts in the waiting room, making all the chatter and buzzing cease. He stares at Bruce, Dick, and Jason before marching toward them and grabbing his brothers by the collar. “Just stop. Let them do their job.”

     You’ve told Damian enough stories about the hospital and the different types of behavior the nurses had to deal with. You don’t blame them because it’s their loved ones in question but you just wish they’d understand that wasting the nurses’ time helps no one.

     Damian lets go of his brothers and waits for them to take a seat. Bruce looks at his son. “I thought she would put one of us as her contact.”

      Damian’s mouth stretches into  a line, “I knew she didn’t. Y/N was sure I’d be the first to respond if something happens. She believed in me.”

     “Thank you,” the nurse says to him. “I’ll call you as soon as Y/N’s ready for visitors.”

     Damian nods at her and sits down with his brothers. He did the right thing but he feels sick to his stomach. He suddenly gags and Cass is quick enough to shove a trash can under his head. His retching echoes in the still quiet room.

     By the time they’re called them in, the waiting room is half empty and Damian’s birthday is almost over. They stand in front of your hospital room door with Damian’s hand on the handle. He’s staring at the timer’s faded mark on his wrist.

     His siblings turn to each other but neither rushes him in. Bruce gently places his hand on his son’s shoulder. After a sharp intake of breath, Damian finally turns the handle.

     The artificial light is glaring hard at your heavily bandaged head. Your open mouth is covered by a nebulizer and IV packs hung beside your bed.

     “Why…” Dick’s voice is breaking and almost a whisper. “Why does she need so many?”

     Bruce purses his lips when he answers, “The building collapsed from neglect over the years but the Joker was using one of the empty apartments for storage.”

     “What was in it?” Tim asks, making Jason elbow him and shush the rest of them.

     “Do you really think this is the time?” he nudges his head toward Damian who’s standing right next to your bed and holding your free hand.

     Damian has tuned them out the moment he saw you. He lowers himself and lays his chin near your shoulder. He watches your chest rise and fall and hopes your eyelids would open.

     “Y/N. Please.”

     It’s almost sunrise when you finally wake up. The room is quiet but the repeated beeping of machines helps stir you into consciousness. You blink and wait for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. You’re in a hospital room crowded with hunched sleeping forms littered about.

     You feel someone’s fingers intertwined with yours and your eyes land on a small mop of black hair lying on your bed. Instinctively, you reach out and ruffle it out, the tips of his hair feel familiar on your fingers. The boy wakes slowly and then his eyes widen as he stares at you.

     “Y/N.”

     He stands up quickly and hovers over you, unsure of how close he could get but you can see that he wants to embrace you. Slowly, the others start waking. The two eldest men quickly run out and you can hear them calling for a doctor.

     You unclasp the tube from your mouth with one hand and release it from your mouth with a pop. You cough a few times and the boy gently helps you sit up and rubs your back until your breathing eases. You turn to him, curious.

     “I feel like… I should know you.”

     The others are halfway up at this point. Your words made them stop. They all watch Damian’s eyes stare deeply into yours with his eyebrows almost meeting in the middle.

     “What do you mean?”

     You stare at him, studying his face and trying to place where you’ve seen him. “You’re… Damian Wayne, aren’t you?”

     You feel Damian’s fingers let go of your hand and his body takes an involuntary step back.

     The doctor comes in and realizes what he’s walked into.  He asks to speak to you alone. Everyone slowly filters out and crowds the hallway in front of your room.

     Tim’s the first one who approaches Damian, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s just retrograde amnesia. There’s a good chance Y/N will get her memories back.”

     Damian looks at his brother before he nods to him.

     “What if she doesn’t?”

     “Jason.”

     “No, seriously. What if.”

     Damian glares at Jason who’s not letting up. The others aren’t intervening because it’s one of those rare moments where Jason could be right. “You gotta be ready for the worst here, kid. What are you going to do?”

     Damian turns away from him and peers into your room. Even in your condition, you look as bright as you always have to him. Suddenly, you catch Damian looking at you. He quickly tenses and stands up.

     “Are you running away?” Jason blocks his path, acting like a real brother even though he isn’t. “Aren’t you her soulmate, huh, Damian Wayne?”

     “That name doesn’t mean anything to her right now!”

     The doctor steps out into the hallway, forcing the boys to shut their mouths and glare at each other. He coughs and turns to Damian. “Excuse me. Y/N’s asking for you.”

     Damian stares at him but doesn’t move. Jason slowly pushes both of his shoulders toward the door. You see him and make a small wave.

      “We’ll wait out here,” Jason whispers to him before gently pushing him into the room and closing the door behind Damian.

     You wait as he slowly walks up to you. “So, Fred tells me you’re my soulmate.”

     Damian stops just a foot away from your bed. It takes a moment but his demeanor changes. He presses the soles of his feet firmly on the ground and it lets him look you in the eyes with more ease. “I am.”

     He says it with such intensity that makes you turn away when you feel a warm blush coating your cheeks. You try to cover them with your hands and breathe out a shaky laugh. “Wow. I mean-- just wow. How long have we been…”

     “9 months.”

     You feel your cheeks heat up even more. You press your palms on your face, trying to hide yourself. “Phew… 9 months. And I actually-- But you’re not even 18 yet. Gosh.”

     Damian’s hands touch yours, making you flinch. He slowly pulls your hands away. You open your eyes and find his face so close to you. “I’m 18 now. It was my birthday yesterday,” he whispers, his warm breath blowing on your face, a familiar feeling that makes your fingers itch to reach out and touch the back of his neck.

     “Oh… Happy birthday, Damian.”

     Damian’s gaze drops to your lips but they look back up just as quickly. When he looks into your eyes, dilated and roaming his face, he remembers the first time you met. He can almost hear those three beeps.

     “Hey…” You watch big tears drop from his eyes. When you wipe them he seems shocked they’re there. “Come here.” You pull him close, making him climb onto your bed and curl up beside you. He rests his head on your shoulder and you hold him tighter when he shakes. “It’s okay,” you rub his head and your fingers untangle his unkept hair. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

     “Why…” he chokes out. “Why aren’t you questioning any of this? Why do you believe it so easily? Your timer’s run out. There’s no way to know if I’m really your soulmate.”

     You sneak a look at his arm and touch his faded marks. “I think… my soulmate wouldn’t be the type of person who would take advantage of an amnesiac.”

     Damian lifts his head and looks at you. “You’re too…”

     “Gullible?” you laugh.

     “Good.”

     You go still. “Does that mean I changed?”

     He looks at you. Your head is completely wrapped with bandages but your eyes still gleam when you watch him, pupils roaming to look for little tells hiding beneath his face. That small hidden smirk on your lips that slowly emerges when you finally piece something together, a mystery he didn’t know you were unravelling.

    Damian looks at you and all he sees is his beloved.

     “No,” he answers. “You’re still you.”

     You smile at him, “See? If I fell for you once then I’ll do it again. Especially now that you’re legal.”

     Damian snorts when he laughs. Unable to control it he hides his face on your shoulder, making you laugh along with him.

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧  

[glacecakes]

Alchemy Lullaby (10/?)

Of all the changes that came with living in the castle, becoming a father was not one he anticipated. When Eugene encounters a small child suffering like he did, he gives them the opportunity to grow up the way he never did… helping them both heal. (AU where Varian is 4 and gets adopted by Eugene)

Totally harmless fun, nothing out of the unusual! Snow days! Varian fights for Eugene's hand!

Read the rest on AO3

A lot of this was inspired by jokes and plot bunnies from the Scar AU server, big thanks to them! And to all of you for your words of love on this fic! Forfeit all mortal possessions to baby. I'm debating whether or not to redo chapter 1 bc i'm not a fan of how ooc eugene is so if u have any opinions on that feel free to share

The wind howled, beating mercilessly against the windows. At this rate, Eugene would spend tomorrow morning cleaning the yards of debris. Captain always gave him labor when he got pissy, and Eugene’s been pushing the man’s buttons lately. Or rather, he keeps letting Varian mess with him.

Eugene tries to be strict, he really does! It’s just whenever he looks into those baby blue eyes, so full of love and adoration, he forgets whatever he was going to say and gives Varian whatever he asks for. Cassandra and Rapunzel tease him mercilessly for it, and every single time, Eugene swears he’ll be stricter, only for the process to start all over again. 

Case in point, the door to his room creaks open, letting in the hallway’s candlelight. A familiar mop of black hair peeks in. Its owner debates whether or not to enter, and Eugene sighs fondly. As he sits up, his young son grips tighter on the doorknob, deep in thought.

“Bud,” He whispers, and Varian starts. “You coming in?”

It takes a moment for him to make up his mind, but sure enough, Varian toddles in. “Couldn’t sleep,” He mumbles. “Sky is loud.”

“The storm?”

“Mhm.” Varian responded, struggling to climb up onto the bed. His short legs kicked wildly as he finally pulled himself up to Eugene’s side. He really needed to start enforcing boundaries. Varian needed to sleep in his own bed. Then again, he usually did, this stuff only happened once a week. Was that normal at his age? Or was it an anxiety thing? He needs to buy more parenting books...

“Don’t like storms, they’re cold,” Varian mumbled, snapping Eugene out of his spiralling panic. 

Oh. 

Eugene’s teeth bit into his bottom lip, worrying it. Then, silently, he lifted the covers up, and let Varian snuggle deep in. 

It wasn’t enough, apparently. Varian let out a whine, and reached his arms up towards his caretaker. He gave a little grabby motion, making Eugene laugh. 

“Use your words, bluebird.”

Varian pouted, cranky tears budding. “Cuddles?” He asked, and, ope, there’s those big puppy dog eyes again. 

Cassandra and Rapunzel were right. He’s weak. 

“Of course,” Eugene grabbed a blanket from the end of his bed. The soft velvet swaddled his kid like a burrito, and he wrapped Varian in tight. He looked like a little worm, wiggling about in the bundle, but unable to escape. It was for Eugene’s safety; Varian liked to kick in his sleep. On one of the first nights, Varian had kicked him in the face and gave him a bloody nose. 

He swept Varian up, bouncing the sack in his arms. Only Varian’s head was visible, and it was one of sleepy delight. His eyes struggled to stay open as Eugene rested them both on his back, Varian’s ear up to his chest. The father’s heartbeat thrummed like a lullaby. 

“Goodnight, Varian,” Eugene whispered.

“Night, daddy,” Varian yawned. They fell asleep in minutes. 

-

Varian smushed his face against the window, marvelling at the power that fell from the sky. Snow usually meant a day inside, bundled up by a fire, with his momma showing him an ounce of concern by letting him have cocoa. But now that he was with Eugene, snow meant play! It meant Eugene had the day off from teaching! To spend all day with him!

He bounded out of his room and skidded down the corridor, passing guards and maids alike. It was as if he was flying, he was so excited!

“Eugeneeeeeeeee!” He cried, jumping onto his caretaker’s stomach. The man knew what he wanted, and was able to catch him.

“Oof, you know I have ribs, right?” He grunted, swinging Varian up into his arms. Since he’d moved in, Varian had gotten a good bit heavier. That wasn’t a bad thing, quite the opposite; the doctors are very thrilled at Varian’s turn in health. His cheeks were plump and pinchable with baby fat, as they should be. “So, what’s up?”

“It’s snowing!” Varian gushed, wiggling around in his dad’s arms. “Can we go outside, pleeeeeease?” 

The man hummed in thought. “Well, since you said please, sure. But!” He held up a finger to stop Varian from bouncing out of his arms. “We gotta bundle up or there’s no going outside. That means shoes, young man!” That earned him a pout. He and Rapunzel had more than just freckles in common. 

Thankfully, Varian was too eager to go outside to complain, so they were bundled up and in the yard pretty fast. To be honest, Eugene hated snow. It was wet, and not the fun kind. It was the “ruin your socks and hair” kind of wet. But since everyone else in Corona seemed to be a fan, he had no choice but suck it up. 

Hey, at least the kid was enjoying himself. Varian’s cheeks were flushed a rose red, and snot dribbled down his nose, but he wasn’t complaining. Eugene bundled him up so tight it was a miracle the kid could move, let alone run and play, but Varian waddled around like a penguin without a care in the world. Each step was accompanied by the crunch of snow under his feet, and a flurry of powder from when he lifted his foot. 

At some point, a patch of snow fell from a tree and onto his head, earning Eugene the privilege of hearing Varian’s delighted squeals. You’d think that would upset him, but no. Eugene could never predict what would upset the kid, and what would be laughed off. 

And hey, if Varian liked the first few spatters of snow on his head, Eugene was content to watch him tempt fate. 

Varian decided to try and recreate that feeling, the shock and joy of extra snow coming from the sky, and so he ran from tree to tree, smacking the bark and shrieking when snow fell. He was small, so it wasn’t like he could knock too much snow…

No wait, spoke too soon.

Eugene bit back laughter as he watched. Varian, overly confident, marched up to a large pine tree, one with massive mounds of snow trapped on leaves. He seemed to be under the assumption that more snow was more fun, and so he backed up, and threw his entire body at the tree. 

It worked too well. A cascade of snow fell from the heavens, and god, Eugene felt so bad for laughing, but the face of horror at what he’d done just moments before being buried in snow… it was priceless. The snow fell with a whump, and Varian completely vanished from view. The only remainder of the kid was the pom pom of his hat. 

For a moment, there was silence. Varian stood still, shocked at what had happened. Then, he started kicking, trying to get to the surface of the mound. It stretched on forever, his entire sight was white! (In reality, It was maybe 3 inches taller than him.)

Eugene silently fell to the ground, laughter shaking him to his core. The laughs only got more intense when Varian, panicking and trying to escape, somehow ended up upside down. Only his little boots were free, and they kicked wildly. It seemed this was when Varian gave up, as he let out a siren’s wail. 

“Oh, buddy,” Eugene wheezed, jogging over. Through the snow he could hear Varian’s muffled screams and tears. He could breathe, the snow wasn’t nearly dense enough to suffocate him, but it was certainly scary. “I gotcha.” With a quick tug, Eugene pulled Varian feet first, and found himself at eye level with a distraught toddler. His entire face was red, eyelashes covered in white crystals, and pudgy cheeks were covered in tears. 

“Stop laughingggggg,” Varian whined, but it only made the man laugh harder. The shaking of his abs made it hard to hold onto his squirming child, but it was totally worth it. 

-

“Here’s the brush you were looking for, sunshine.” Eugene hummed, holding a now dry Varian in one hand and his gift in the other. Rapunzel brightened at seeing them, happily taking her brush back. 

“Thanks, Eugene,” She said, pecking him on the cheek. Varian frowned, confused at how Eugene’s cheeks warmed at her touch. And what was that expression, all gooey and smiley? He’d never seen anything like it, not from momma, or any villager, he’d only seen it between those two! He let out a noise of complaint, and reached out to grasp Rapunzel’s hair. 

“Oh, Varian, did you want a kiss too?” she asked, chuckling. He was the biggest lovebug, delighting in all sorts of hugs and snuggles. Whereas Cass couldn’t handle more than a few seconds of her notorious bear hugs, Varian sought them out when he was feeling sad. It was a refreshing change that she very much appreciated and adored. 

But Varian shook his head, further incensed. “Why’s he making that face?” he asked. 

“Who, Eugene?” Said man snapped out of his love-lorn trance to watch the conversation. 

“Hey, my face is flawless! It’s cuz I love her, that’s all.”

“But I love Punzel too!” Varian whined. He didn’t make that expression, did he? Oh gosh, he hoped not! It looks so stupid! 

“It’s a different kind of love, Varian,” with a smile, Rapunzel took one of Varian’s hands in her own. “It’s a kind of love you only share with one person, and it’s very special.”

“The best kind of love there is,” Eugene agreed, and oh, there’s the expression again, except Rapunzel was making a similar one. They came together in a kiss, squishing Varian in between them. While he did enjoy the closeness, the words caught him off guard. Love you share with only one person? Does that mean Eugene doesn’t love him? Rapunzel…. She stole Eugene’s love from him! 

“Fight me!” 

Rapunzel and Eugene broke apart, shocked, as if they had forgotten he was there. He glared daggers at Rapunzel. “Fight me for Eugene’s love!” 

Eugene sputtered in shock. “W-what…? Buddy, you don’t need to fight for-”

“Swords at dawn!” the child roared, fussing until he was let go. He landed on the floor squarely and puffed up his chest. 

Despite his attempts to look intimidating, it failed spectacularly. He looked like an angry marshmallow. It didn’t help that his outfit for the day was a fuzzy, oversized sweater. Rapunzel bit back a laugh. 

“Where did you hear that term, young man?” She joked, hands on her hips. Varian wasn’t deterred and didn’t respond, only puffing up his cheeks. The princess shook her head fondly. “He gets it from you,” she muttered to Eugene, who gasped, insulted. “Me? It’s totally from you!” 

Varian stomps his foot. “Hey!” he cries, and the attention goes back to him. 

“You’re right, it’s totally me,” Eugene runs a hand over his face. “You don’t need to fight Rapunzel, Varian, I love you both equally!”

Varian shakes his head. “You said your love is only with one person, and it’s special! Well, I want it! I’m special, right?” 

Eugene couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed and slightly bewildered. “Y-yes, but this is a different kind of special…!” His face burned a bright red. 

“I’ll do it.”

Both father and son turned to Rapunzel, who gazed at Varian with a smirk and fire in her eyes. “You and me, we fight for Eugene’s love tomorrow, sound good?”

“Winner takes Eugene, loser dies!” He crowed. They shook hands, completely ignoring Eugene’s face of dumbstruck horror. 

The rest of the day, Varian and Rapunzel kept their distance, Rapunzel’s glare more teasing, while Varian’s was full of fury and jealousy. All the while, Eugene bounced and forth between both of them, trying to stop the fight before it began.

“Come on, bud, you love Rapunzel, right? Just like I do. You don’t have to do this,” he pleaded over the dinner table. Varian crossed his arm, a glob of food falling off his spoon and onto his sleeve. 

“I’m fighting for your honor!” 

“I regret reading you Flynn Rider.” 

Rapunzel bit back a laugh, letting the child stare her down. She ignored the confused looks of her parents, sticking her tongue out in return. Varian wanted a fight? She’s more than willing to throw down. Not for real, sun no, she’s not crazy. But the look on Eugene’s face was so funny… and besides, it’s her turn to be the fun parent! Even if that means fighting over the other parent. Varian seemed so eager, and hey, she’d always fight for her right to love Eugene, no matter who the opponent was! Eugene glanced over at her, desperate for help, for Rapunzel to admit that this was an elaborate ruse. She simply smiled and dug further into her meal. 

What’s the harm?

-

Quirin paced back and forth in his room, wearing the wood thin with his weight. 

“I should tell the king… no… it had to be a coincidence, right? I saw Ulla take it, but she says she doesn’t have it, it could be a lie…!” He mumbled to himself.

He couldn’t sleep last night, nor the night before. In fact, he’d struggled all week. Laying awake, thinking about what he’d seen. 

A small child.

A shriek.

A black spike, jutting out in perfect harmony with his cries. 

A glowing stripe of hair.

It. 

The moonstone. 

Everything he’d ever known, every clue, every trace seemed irrelevant. He’d been spending the past half a decade looking for the moonstone. Had he been looking in the wrong place? Has each new spike, each life ruined, not been the work of a sadistic woman, but rather a scared child? It seemed preposterous, he didn’t steal the moonstone, after all.

No. He knows who did. 

Ulla had been… well, not nice, never nice. Accepting, maybe. Calm. Apparently her old partner ditched her to raise a family, so she’d latched onto Quirin after saving him from bandits (he didn’t need saving, thank you!) . As a man constantly on the move, he’d made no complaints. Company was very much needed on the journey he was on. 

It was hard to figure out where the rocks were headed, back then. They’d seemed aimless, forever wandering in search of the missing sundrop. It’s why King Frederick sought him out, after all. If the rocks pointed to the sundrop, where he’d find the sundrop, he’d find the princess. 

Alas, that trail ended cold, but all’s well that ends well for the King, at least? 

Ulla, curious, scientific, genius Ulla, she’d begged to see his homeland. His family. The place from which the rocks originated. And while Quirin had been loathe, the longer they traveled, the harder he found it to say no. She was cunning, and quick, and all the things Quirin wasn’t. Opposites attract, so they say.

But that also meant she wasn’t loyal. 

The day she’d betrayed him was the worst day of his life. 

He had let her in, shown her his legacy, his purpose, his destiny. And then Ulla had stolen it. She’d reached out and grasped the stone with a hunger Quirin had never seen. A bright light consumed her, blinding him, and when it vanished, the stone vanished too. 

Ulla had been just as confused as he, but the rocks began to sprout at her feet. When she ran, she left a trail of rocks in her wake. Enraged and humiliated, Quirin had no choice but to follow. He saw the trail of destruction, the despair she left in her wake. 

But then she had vanished. The rocks stopped sprouting at her feet. They only appeared sporadically, causing problems in isolated villages, one after another. By the time Quirin arrived to investigate, she was long gone. 

Until now. 

Now, he had a lead. A lead that wasn’t her. But… if it was correct… and this child truly possessed the moonstone…

Could he do what needed to be done? 

-

The next day came, and Varian was ready. 

He’d spent the whole night preparing, thinking sad thoughts, scary thoughts, every instance he could remember where a rock had bothered him. His mood was in the drain, and he was fully prepared. 

“Last chance, bluebird, you know I love you, we can call this off!” Eugene said when he came to dress Varian for the day. 

“Death before dishonor!” 

“Where did you even learn- never mind. Sure, fine, Rapunzel is waiting.” 

From around the corner, Cass snickered. She’d come to watch, eager to see the two sweetest souls engage in mortal combat. And also mess with Eugene.

Mostly the latter. 

“If you need a weapon, Varian, I got a few knives you can borrow!” She offered as the three made their way to the battlefield. Eugene’s ghostly pale face resembled that of paper with its waxy, white sheen. It was amazing. Before Varian, she’d only seen Eugene this stressed when he had a bad hair day. Now, his hair seemed like the least of his worries. Not when he has a feral child to keep alive. 

“No knives, please and thank you, I would like to live.” He moaned. 

Cassandra’s grin only grew. “Are you even alive right now? They say the old self dies with fatherhood.” 

“No one says that.”

“They could.”

He swatted her away, grumbling. But Varian paid them no heed. His mind was focused on only one thing: victory. By any means necessary. 

The three of them finally made it out into the courtyard. Snow still covered every surface, bathing the world in a glittery white. Rapunzel stood in a warm dress, not wearing shoes, but rather a pair of fuzzy socks. Cassandra wouldn’t let her outside with at least some warmth. She hadn’t bothered to put her hair up for the day, either. 

“You still wanna do this, little man?” She teased, hands on her hips. Eugene sent her a glare. 

“No one loves Eugene more than I do!” Varian declared, letting go of Eugene’s hand and marching forward.

Rapunzel was unfazed. “Really? I changed my whole life for him, remember?” 

Eugene had told him how he and Rapunzel met the other day. Well, most of it. Something told him Varian would not take too kindly to Eugene dying. Or the bit about a cruel mother. Maybe save those for when Varian’s older. 

“So did I!” Varian yelled. They began to circle, a delicate dance. Prey and predator. Friend and foe. 

“He offered you a new life. I convinced him to give it to me.” From the sidelines, Cassandra gasped. “Ooooh, you gonna take that, Varian?” she cried. 

“No!” He answered, and charged at the princess. A blur of yellow engulfed his vision, and like a fly in a trap, he was ensnared, swallowed by a mound of hair. 

With a pull, Rapunzel pulled him close. Grabbed him. And moved her fingers across his sides.

“Noooooo!” He squeaked, trying to wiggle out of her hair, but it was no use! She had him in place, right where she wanted. 

“Surrender!” She cried, tickling his sides. 

“N-neeeever!!” His lip wobbled, and little tears formed. Oh no, did she go too far? It was just supposed to be a little teasing! Rapunzel faltered. 

Just as he’d expected. 

He summoned all the anger built up in him. There would only be one shot at this, after all. He let out the telltale scream of an upset child.

Sure enough, the rocks heard his call. 

They spiralled out from his spot, jutting out in all directions. Rapunzel dropped him with a gasp, narrowly avoiding getting pierced. Her hair floated up, swirling in the sky like clouds that covered her sun, in tandem with Varian’s own hair lighting up and floating. The whole yard reeked of magic.

Everything went still. No one dared move a muscle. Then, like a breath being held, it all deflated. The rocks shrunk down beneath the surface again, and all hair dropped. 

Eugene stood in shock, frozen in place. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Sneaking a glance at Cassandra told him she was just as bewildered. 

Varian opened his eyes. That… that worked…? It worked! He let out a victorious laugh. In your face, momma! No more electric chair for him! All he needed to do was think sad thoughts!

“I did it!” he crowed, jumping up and down. Thrilled, he threw himself at Eugene, happily burrowing himself into his dad’s arms. All that love, all for him!

“Well, you certainly did… something…” Eugene muttered, still dumbstruck. The adults all shared nervous glances. What on earth just happened? 

Quirin stood on the balcony, gripping its railings with white knuckles. It was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. 

[thompsborn]

“you’re the grizzled old mechanic i’m kinda scared of who’s been keeping my car running and you found out i’m living in my car and oh shit you offered me the couch at your place? and you made me breakfast? how do i even pay you back, can i work for you?” au

happy fathers day, here’s some irondad with his lil mechanic son becoming a lil family (and, because i wanted to, some parksborner, too)

—

“So, what happened this time?”

Harley puffs out a breath, arms crossed over his chest and shoulders bunching up to his ears in a half assed kind of shrug. “Honestly? Not sure. I checked under the hood last night and couldn’t see any issues, but I must have been tired or somethin’ ‘cause she barely made it here in one piece. Thank Christ you’re on call or I’d be totally fucked right now.”

Tony hums, leaning forward with slightly furrowed brows and squinted eyes, taking in the engine slowly and precisely to spot anything wrong. “Don’t need an oil change, right?”

Instinctively, Harley rolls his eyes—despite what Tony seems to think, he’s more than capable of fixing up his car and changing the oil himself. It’s more a money issue than a knowledge issue, and Tony, for whatever reason, never charges Harley when he brings his banged up Mustang to his shop after closing hours. So, it’s easier, really, on his wallet and on his physical health to just bring her in and have Tony fix her up. He doesn’t bring any of this up, though, because Tony... Tony is a quiet sort of man, doesn’t like the small talk or the chitter chatter. He’s brooding in the way only a man in his fifties can be, shoulders hunched with the weight of a long life, bags under his eyes and a healthy bit of salt and pepper to his hair. Harley tried making a sarcastic comment his second time he came in and Tony didn’t respond in the slightest, leaving them in an uncomfortable silence until Harley was good to go.

He’d rather have the stupid questions that he always responds with the same answers to than the silence from before.

“No oil change needed,” Harley replies. “Just changed it last week. That’s not the problem.”

Tony quirks a brow and looks at Harley over his shoulder, something unsure and almost condescending on his features. “Just checking,” he says. “Lots of people come here thinking their car is at ends meet, just to be in complete awe when I change their oil and it runs without a hitch.”

“I’m not gonna be one of those people,” Harley tells him. “I know enough to know that.”

“And yet you’re here, asking for my help with your shitmobile, nearly once a week.”

Harley shrugs again and looks away.

“Alright,” Tony murmurs, hands in the air in some sign of surrender. “I’ll take a look and fix her up in time for curfew, kid. No worries.”

Without thinking, Harley says, “I don’t have a curfew,” and only panics for a second before casually adding, “College,” after it in explanation. A false explanation, but—still.

Tony seems unbothered, turning back to look at the engine. “Fine. Then she’ll be ready in time for you to go home and get a full night’s rest before your classes tomorrow. Sound good?”

There are no classes, and there is no full night of rest—Harley will find a vacant lot in the shadow of a building where his car will blend in, and he will sleep in the backseat long enough to be able to function through a shift at work with only a minor crick in his back to deal with.

It’s routine, at this point—park, sleep, work. On a good day, make enough to splurge on a hot meal. Usually, just cheap, greasy fast food.

“Sure,” Harley says anyway. “Sounds good.”

-

Looking back on it, Harley’s not entirely sure how this happened.

Like—he knows how, he lived it, each and every agonizing moment of it, but, sometimes, when he reminisces on the timeline of events, it doesn’t really feel real. It doesn’t feel like something he really experienced.

It is, though. First, with his dad, leaving in broad daylight and never coming back. Harley, seven years old and—and so sad, wondering why daddy left, wondering if daddy ever loved him. Mama pet his hair when he cried and promised him that they didn’t need David Keener to be happy, but there was a lot less happiness in that house when he left. Darcy Keener started to look heavier and heavier with each passing day, until it seemed as though she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. As much as Harley tried to get his little sister to smile, Emilee, far too smart for someone so young, would only start to cry with anguish. She missed their father. Harley did, too.

Then, for a few years, slowly lifting themselves up, building a new foundation without David’s help, until it was stable enough for the three of them, until they weren’t really—happy, no, but—content, maybe. Something close to it.

Until Emilee got sick.

Harley got his first job to try and pay the hospital bills and buy the medicine she needed when they inevitably couldn’t afford to keep her in the hospital anymore. He got his second job while still working his first, dropped out of high school because his mother was too stressed to even notice when he stopped going, managed to start fixing up neighbor’s cars and broken lamps and mowing lawns during the little free time he had just to get that little bit of extra cash. He got the right foods that the doctors said Emilee’s body was capable of processing, he added his money to his mother’s stash set aside to buy her meds, he sat with her every night until she fell asleep before climbing out of his window to work the night shift at his second job. He did everything he possibly could.

He was seventeen when Emilee passed away in her sleep. Peaceful, the doctor’s assured them—she felt no pain, and now she’ll be able to rest. In Heaven, they assured, where she could be happy again.

Harley stopped believing in Heaven the day his dad abandoned them. He didn’t say that, though—just hugged his mother and let her sob into his shoulder.

Darcy lost herself, a little bit at first, and then entirely. She slept in and would be late for her shifts, drank more coffee than was healthy and then made it worse by adding liquor to it at seven in the morning. She looked at Harley with glazed over eyes and never seemed to hear the way he cried at night. One day, she didn’t come home from work, and Harley waited up for her all night, the panic slowly rising in his throat until it felt like he was choking on it, thinking that she might never come back. Thinking that Darcy and David might start to go hand in hand—but she did come home, dead on her feet and looking bruised. She went straight to her room and never responded when Harley asked where she went.

On his eighteenth birthday, Darcy didn’t remember. He bought himself some cupcakes and he sat on the floor of Emilee’s room and he drank the liquor he stole from his mother’s cabinet until he felt numb to it all. Slept like that, curled up atop the carpet, bottle curled up against his chest and arms hugging himself.

She drove to work one day, a little too far away from sober. They said her eyes were probably struggling to focus and her head might have been spinning and she didn’t realize the light was red until it was too late to stop.

He left the night that she died.

New York, of all places—and he still isn’t sure why he chose to run to the city, hours and hours away. The distance, maybe, to separate himself from his past and allow his chest to expand easier. Breathing, sometimes, feels like a task, or a chore. Too much work, but still he does it. Doesn’t have a choice, really.

The drive from Rose Hill to New York was made in his mother’s car, somehow not totaled despite the accident. There were stains that he didn’t want to look at, didn’t want to think about. The first thing he did was trade his piece of shit car for someone else’s piece of shit car just to get rid of the memories, just to free himself from the knowledge that he was driving the thing his mother died in.

That’s what he drives now, the crappy Oldsmobile that he traded with someone on Craigslist. It’s old, run down, in need of a lot of love, but he can’t afford a new car, so he does his best to take care of her. Names her Em, doesn’t think of why.

It’s her and him against the world, though. They have to make it out alive.

-

Someone slash’s his tires while he’s sleeping.

He doesn’t notice it when he first wakes up, just sits up, tries his best to stretch his limbs in the limited space, and reaches for his shitty pre-paid phone that he only bought so that his work can get in contact with him. There’s no missed calls, no unopened texts, and he’s not scheduled for today.

Climbing out of his car to properly shake out his sleep heavy limbs, he looks around the alley that he parked his car in last night—was too tired to drive to the lot he usually parks in at night. That’s his mistake, really, because the lot is vacant and hidden in the shadows and no one ever bothers him there. Alleyways, though, are often visited by other homeless people and the people who make drug deals in the dead of night and, occasionally, random, harmless kids just going on a walk, apparently used to and unafraid of the danger.

There’s no telling who slashes his tires or why the hell they did it, but it’s the first time he’s had to call Tony’s shop during working hours, in need of a tow truck, four new tires, and—well. Harley could do with a hug.

He won’t ask for that, though. It’s been a few years since he had one, anyway.

-

It takes five words for Harley to almost have a panic attack.

“This is pretty pricey, kid,” Tony tells him, arms crossed over his chest as he frowns at the Oldsmobile with furrowed brows. Harley thinks the air is immediately sucked out of his lungs because—well, of course it’s pricey. Of course he shouldn’t have assumed that Tony wouldn’t make him pay just because he’s let Harley get light work done for free before. Of course.

“Yeah,” Harley says, feelings a bit—breathless? He fumbles for his wallet, sinks his teeth into his lower lip so hard that he thinks he tastes copper. There’s a small stack of bills that he pulls out with unsteady fingers. “I, uh—I have—how much is it? I can—I mean, I can try to—or just, just leave, or—or—”

Tony holds out his hands, no longer looking at the car and instead trying to hold Harley’s gaze with his brows raised. “Calm down, kid. It’s fine.”

Harley shakes his head. “No, I—I can’t afford it, so I’ll just—“

“I’m not making you pay,” Tony interrupts, looking confused. “I haven’t made you pay yet, why would I start now? College discount, kid. Most college students can’t afford this shit, and you clearly need to have a working car. You’re fine.”

“But—”

Before Harley can try to argue this, the door leading from the office of the shop is pushed open and a—a teenager?—comes walking out, looking down at his phone with a frown. “Uh, Mr. Stark? I know I was supposed to be helping you out today, but Dr. Banner just texted me saying he was looking at my project and knocked something over and now the lab is—“ the guy squints at his phone, looks bewildered, “—engulfed in blue flames. His words. I think I gotta—“

Tony laughs—laughs, something that Harley hasn’t heard in the months he’s been coming to this shop—and waves his hand. “Go ahead, Pete.”

The guy—Pete—looks up with a sheepish smile, falters when he sees Harley, and only looks conflicted for a few seconds before he spins around and goes back into the office, emerging a few quick moments later with a bag slung over his shoulder and a pep in his step. “See you later, Mr. Stark!” he calls, before making his way out of the shop without looking back.

“He seems...” Harley trails off, effectively distracted from the clawing panic that had been climbing up his throat before. “Happy?”

“Yeah, usually is,” Tony says, sounding fond, lighter than Harley’s ever heard before. “He works with my husband, but he goes to ESU, which is closer to here than to the lab. Doesn’t have a car or anything, so he usually just hangs out here and gives me a hand after his classes until I can give him a ride. But, sometimes, shit happens and he has to take the subway instead.” He turns back to the car, already on the jack and raised up enough to deal with the tires, no longer seems inclined to talk about price or anything as he gets to work on the front driver’s side tire. Instead, he asks, “What school do you go to?”

Harley falters. “Uh, what?”

Tony glances over at him, quirking a brow. “School, kid. Which one?”

“Right. I, uh—“ Harley stops, tries to wrack his brain for a quick, easy answer. After a moment that’s definitely too long, he replies with, “NYU.”

Tony frowns at him. “Really?”

Harley looks away, clears his throat. “Yeah. NYU.”

“Alright,” Tony murmurs, turning back to the tire. “Let’s say I believe you. I don’t, ‘cause that was the most obvious lying I’ve ever seen, but let’s say I do. What do you study? What classes are you taking right now?”

“Why do you care?” Harley fires back, a harsh bite in his tone.

Tony huffs a laugh. “You’re a kid, that’s why. Lying can’t mean anything good.”

“I’m nineteen,” Harley tells him. “Legally, an adult.”

“Still a teenager,” Tony says. “You gonna try to answer the questions, or are you gonna tell me the truth?”

Harley clenches his jaw, grinds his teeth. “It’s not your business.”

Tony falters, hands pressed against the tire that he’s already gotten off. Eventually, he turns around. “Alright,” he says. “Not my business. That’s fine. How about we talk cost instead, hm? Tires aren’t cheap, kiddo.”

And that panic from before comes crawling back, sneaking its way up Harley’s spine as he tightens his fingers around the bills still clutched in his hand. He holds it out and pretends he isn’t visibly shaking. “This is all I have.”

“I’m not taking your money,” Tony tells him.

Harley thinks there are tears burning the backs of his eyes. “Then why the fuck did you bring up cost? Just, take it, and I’ll—I’ll head out, and—“

“I have a feeling,” Tony cuts in, “that, whatever it is you’re lying about, it’s not safe. I have a feeling that you’re not safe. Am I right to assume that?”

Harley blinks at him, wide and misty in the eyes.

Tony hums. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come on, let’s sit down and chat.”

-

There are walls that you build up—a foundation of bricks placed at seven years old when you’re abandoned by a father you thought loved you. Walls that become higher, more reinforced, as years upon years of shit goes by. Harley has a fortress built around him, to keep people out, to keep himself in.

It takes thirty seven minutes for Tony to carefully pick at those walls until they crumble, and it leaves Harley sobbing in a way that he hasn’t let himself do since Emilee died, heaving for breaths that ache and burn his lungs and make his head spin, tears pooling in his eyes and streaming down his face in rivers. Tony looks heartbroken as Harley chokes it all out, tells him everything, admits that he’s been sleeping in his car for over a year now and has nobody left.

Pulls him into a hug, a soft and warm kind that Harley would never assume the brooding mechanic was capable of, and tells him, “It’s gonna be fine, kid,” and brushes callused fingers through Harley’s hair like his mama used to do. When he’s done and exhausted, Tony offers him a place to stay for the night, and Harley is too emotionally drained to refuse, allows himself to be guided to Tony’s car and given a ride to a house that’s only five minutes from the shop.

Dr. Banner—Bruce, apparently—doesn’t seem all that surprised when he gets home, just smiles kindly at Harley and puts on a movie while Tony makes something to eat. When Harley, with his knees curled to his chest and a blanket draped over his shoulders, hoarsely asks why they’re being so nice to him, Bruce softly tells him, “Tony and I had pretty rough childhoods, too. When we see kids that need support, or a home, or even just a hot meal, we do what we can to help. Did it for Peter, and now he’s top of his class at ESU and on track to graduate early. Helped out Harry, too, and that kid is gonna change the world.”

Harley is still confused.

“Sometimes,” Bruce goes on, “all you need is someone to tell you that you’re gonna make it to the other side. That’s what we try to do.”

He eats—more than he’s had to eat in a long, long time. Sleeps on the couch because he refuses to take their guest room, and he has breakfast with them, too. When he goes to leave, though, Tony frowns. “Where are you gonna go?”

“Back to my car, I guess,” Harley says, shrugging.

“That isn’t safe,” Tony says.

Harley shrugs again. “I don’t really have a choice.”

Bruce looks at Tony, at Harley, and tells him, “We have the space. If you need somewhere to stay until you can get your own place, you can stay here.”

He says no. Of course he says no, but when he starts to leave again, he remembers that his car is still in the shop, remembers that his phone is dead and he was supposed to work today and his boss told him that if he was late again then he would be fired. Remembers that he got a hug for the first time in years last night and it made him feel safe in a way he can’t ever remember feeling before, and he turns on his heel with his jaw clenched and his head held high, makes his way back to the kitchen and says, “I have one condition.”

-

On Harley’s second day working at the shop with Tony, the door opens and two guys walks in, in the middle of a conversation that seems energetic and lively. One of them, Harley recognizes at Peter, the guy from before. The other, he doesn’t know. They both stop when they see him, exchange quick glances before making their way over. “Hi,” Peter says.

Harley has motor oil up to his elbows and smeared on his cheek and he doesn’t think he looks very presentable for meeting someone new, but he was raised to be polite. “Hi,” he replies, using a rag to try and wipe the oil from his skin.

“I’m Peter. This—” he gestures to the other guy, “—is Harry. You’re Harley, right?” At Harley’s slow blink, Peter assures, “Dr. Banner mentioned you yesterday, and I remember seeing you, last week, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Harley says. “I’m Harley. Harley Keener.”

Peter grins, and Harry shifts a bit awkwardly from foot to foot but still manages a friendly sort of smile. “Cool,” Peter says. “Do you need any help?”

Harley looks down at the engine he’s been fixing up, knows that he doesn’t need help, no, but probably wouldn’t mind the company since Tony had to take a call and ran off to run an errand right after. “Not really,” he says. “But, you can... sit down, or something, I guess? I’m almost done with this, anyway.”

Harry cocks his head slightly, looks at the engine for a moment and then at Harley again, before looking at Peter with a slightly bigger smile. “We can sit,” Harry says, taking Peter by the wrist and leading him over to the nearest bench.

Turning back to the engine, Harley tries not to notice the weird sort of silence that’s hovering over them. He’s not good at conversation starters, really, and he feels oddly nervous, like he wants to impress them. Can’t really place why.

“So,” Peter starts, breaking the little bought of nothing. “Where’re you from?”

It’s a simple question. It’s a loaded answer.

Harley stops and considers it for a moment.

“Tennessee,” he eventually responds. “But... I think I like it better here.”

When he looks, there’s somewhat knowing smiles pulling on both Peter’s and Harry’s lips, like they can see through his answer, read it for what it really is. He doesn’t mind, he realizes. His walls were already broken through, and he doesn’t want to go back to hiding himself behind the rubble that remains. Rather, he wants to use that rubble and build himself a bridge.

Maybe, that way, he can make it to the other side.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

“It’s three in the morning” for Fuyumi and Hawks please...🥺

Oh, Anon, you came for my Secret Ship with this one!!! I am all about that Huwumi!!!

The clatter of glass being rattled violently jolted her awake. She'd always been a light sleeper, for reasons she didn't like thinking about, and laid still for a moment. She determined the sound was coming from her own window. She flipped over slowly and stared at the looming shadow taking up the whole of her window. She sucked in a breath and frantically threw her glasses on, dropping the small, jagged icicle she'd conjured up with Quirk in her haste. Just because she wasn't a Pro didn't mean she didn't understand the concept of self defense. She made quick of the latch, pushing the slider up. "Hawks?" she wheezed in disbelief.

"The one and only," he said, the teasing tone he always spoke with sounding strained and the words struggling out through his teeth. She stepped back, arms extended to help him slip inside, as he wobbled his way inside. "Pardon the intrusion."

"Hawks, what are you doing here? It's-" she started, hands up in the air uselessly as she stole a glance at her alarm clock, "three in the morning!"

"Sorry about that; didn't mean to drop in unannounced," he drawled with a huffy chuckle. She took the moment to size him up, watching him sway uncertainly before her. It was then she noticed his feathers starting to pool on the floor, wings drooping with the struggle of staying upright.

"You're hurt," she breathed. She guided him over to sit on her futon before squatting down and cupping his face, carefully tilting his head this way and that, checking him over. She was a little relieved to find no head injuries, before she shifted to push at his jacket. “Where are the injuries? How bad are they? Should I call an ambulance?”

He reached out, looping one arm around her waist to pull her a little closer and dropped his head against her shoulder. “‘S not that bad. Mostly minor stuff on my back and shoulders, probably a little banged up in the wing area,” he said, not lifting his head from its perch and flapping his free hand in the air lightly.

“I’m going to go get a first aid kit out of the bathroom so I can patch you up. If they’re really bad, though, then I’m taking you to a doctor,” she warned, moving to pull away. He let out a small whine of protest but let her slip away. She carefully moved over to her desk and turned on the little lamp there, casting the room in a faint glow. “While I’m gone, get your jacket and shirt off for me.”

“Can’t wait to get me undressed, Fu?” he purred, his tone playful but still a bit bogged down. She shook her head but felt her lips twitch up in a small smile. If he was feeling well enough to make flirty commentary, he would be safe for a few minutes. "No rush about the injuries, though. I just... I really needed to see you."

Pink flooded her cheeks at the omission and she scampered out, letting out a quiet mutter that she'd try to be quick.

Fuyumi wasn't sure when whatever was between she and Hawks had gotten to this point of intimacy. As the only daughter - and the only sibling with a somewhat amicable relationship with their father - the job of maintaining positive public relations fell to her. She could be charismatic and superficial - and flirtatious when absolutely necessary - so, when he needed someone to grease the squeaky wheels of Hero society, Enji tended to call upon the now-eldest. She would be dragged along to banquets and charity events and the like to flounce about, playing the role of darling debutante to a tee, and gaining him some amount of clout. After all, Endeavor couldn't be that bad if he raised such a charming young lady.

She absolutely loathed it. She hated having to go and play the part, of having to let men she barely knew get cozy with her just for her father's sake. He was always watching for her, and nothing more than a hand sliding too a little too far above her knee had occurred, but the whole thing was still uncomfortable. And then there was the strain it put on her relationship with her brothers, too. With Shouto, it was more that he was put off by her assisting her father and gave her these looks that said more than words ever could. She opted against pointing out that, unless he do something about his own attitude, she'd most likely have to do clean up duty for him, too. It was always a fight with Natsuo and had come down to some nasty accusations being thrown at her a handful of times.

She had openly sobbed, the first time he said it, before closing herself off from feeling the sting of it when she'd seen how upset his own words had made him.

At one charity event, though, she'd slipped out to get some air and encountered then Number Three Hero, Hawks. He had overheard her grousing to herself about investors and the Hero Commission and chimed in with a few quibbles of his own. It had been a nice reprieve, to speak with someone who wasn't as tucked into the Commissions pocket as some of the other Pros, and from that point forward they sort of gravitated towards each other at social gatherings. They would whisper and gossip about some of the other Heroes in attendance, chat about their personal lives outside of work, about music and books and television dramas. She wasn't sure when she started actively seeking out red feathers or slicked back golden hair, nor when the fluttering had started in her belly at the mere thought, but… She liked it. She liked him. And he liked her. And, well… they fell into whatever their relationship was from there.

They didn't label it, but they were exclusive and belonged to the other and that was enough.

She was quiet and careful as she slipped out of her room and to the bathroom. Endeavor was out of the city for a few days and, as such, Natsuo and Shouto were both staying in the family manor. She knew they’d stayed up later than she had, with the older teaching the younger how to play Mario Kart, and hoped she didn’t wake them up. Locating the first aid kit was easy, but she double-checked it to make sure that all the items were there. She took a second to toss an extra tube of antiseptic cream and an actual bottle of burn cream in it as well. She then grabbed a washcloth and small basin, filling it with lukewarm water and tossing the cloth inside. She was willing to wager there’d be a bit of mess to clear away before she could start cleaning it properly. “Okay, that should be everything,” she mumbled to herself, carefully juggling the items and slipping back out into the hallway.

“Nee-Chan?” She jumped and turned to see Shouto watching her from the other end of the hallway. He was rubbing at one eye with the heel of a hand, voice thick with sleep, eyebrows knit in confusion. 

She relaxed a bit at seeing it was him. Between Natsuo and Shouto, her youngest brother was the easier one to deal with. “Sorry, Shouto, did I wake you?”

“Mm. I heard voices coming from your room. Is everything okay?” he asked, wiping away the last bits of sleep before his eyes wandered down to the items in her arms. He blinked before lifting his gaze back up to meet hers. “Fuyumi?”

“It's nothing major; just an unexpected guest. Don’t worry about it, okay?” she asked, trying her best to sound reassuring. He just continued to stare at her, expression giving away nothing. Maybe he was the harder sibling to deal with; Natsu wore his heart on his sleeve and was incredibly vocal, sure, but at least she could always get a reading on him. But Shouto? Not so much.

"It's that guy, isn't it? The one you're kinda-not-dating?" he prompted, eyes narrowing and a slightly bitter note catching in his voice.

If she wasn't so frazzled, she might have been touched by how affronted he was on her behalf. "Sho, don't believe everything Natsuo tells you. He doesn't know as much about it as he thinks he does," she said gently, readjusting her arms and starting towards her room again. He looked like he had more to say, but she slipped back into her room as quickly as she could. She listened for a moment for the sound of his near-silent footsteps to move away before letting her shoulders go slack.

That would be a conversation - unpleasant - for the morning. Or, rather, later in the morning.

When she peered back into her room proper, Hawks had done as she asked and then some, sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out in nothing but his boxers. What bothered her, though, was the fact he was staring at the window, one hand twitching on his knee with a feather under his palm. His expression was pensive, as if he was anticipating something or someone to come through after him. She made sure to move with a little bit of noise to alert him to her presence without jarring him too much. His gaze softened on her immediately and she felt a small smile turn up on her own lips. "I doubt that the floor is more comfortable than my futon," she commented as she stepped closer.

He flashed her his trademark prankster grin but it didn't reach his eyes. "I didn't want to get it dirty," he said, scooting forward as she settled in behind him. It was a good thing she'd grabbed the cloth and basin, since his back was covered in road rash, bits of broken glass and what she knew by smell was liquor. There were even bits of gravel dug into some of the wounds, presumably from him being thrown out of wherever he'd been before. The worst of them were a two-inch gash right between his wings - jagged and oozing and uneven as if made with broken glass, good God - and a burn mark about the size of a fist on the lower left side of his back. Her fingers trailed down his back as the ghost of contact, fearful of hurting him.

"Keigo, who did this to you?" she asked, taking a breath to calm herself, and reached to wring the cloth out. She needed to have steady hands to prevent making things worse as she tended the wounds.

"Just a little… disagreement with some work buddies. Didn't like something I said and we decided to solve it like gentlemen," he said with a wheezed out laugh. She kept her touches light and delicate as she got the filth off. She could tell that it was more than that. Pros normally knew better than to come to blows over petty disagreements. Plus, the haunted, dull look in his eyes told her that much. But she also didn't want to press him on it. They would come to discuss it on their own terms, when he was ready. "Take it you had something similar going on out there?"

"Shouto heard me let you in. He, Natsu and I will most likely have a chat about that after breakfast," she said with a small huff, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, will they be giving me the shovel talk instead of your old man?" he asked, tone perking up a bit with amusement. She found herself giggling quietly as she worked on putting him back together. The stab wound was, thankfully, not deep enough to warrant the need for stitches, though she was sure that he'd be more than a little uncomfortable while it was covered and healing. Hawks made a noise of contemplation before clicking his tongue. "Ah, but that might be worse. I saw what the little one did to his buddy at the Sports Festival."

"In Shouto's defense," she said, picking up the burn cream and squeezing a generous amount on into her palm, "a good half of those injuries were self-inflicted on Midoriya-Kun's part. He told me so himself." She applied the cream with dainty dabs while she listened to his befuddled muttering at that revelation. She couldn’t blame him, though, as she’d been just as startled about the impractical effects of the Quirk herself. A comfortable silence fell between them as she finished patching him up. With that done, she carefully regrouped the supplies and put them away. “Okay, I’m going to go put everything away. While I’m gone, get as comfortable as you can, okay? I think if you lie down on your side, you can avoid agitating your wounds and still stretch out your wings.”

He hummed quietly, watching her as she left. She made fast work of getting everything put away and washing her hands. She stopped by the kitchen to get him a glass of water and some pain relievers, too. He had been unnervingly quiet while she’d worked on him, but she knew to expect that. When Shouto used to let her dress his wounds from training with Endeavor, he was silent, too. When she returned to her room, he had settled in on the far side of the futon, wings stretched out and dipping to the floor. She offered him the pills and water before heading to turn the lamp back off. With that done, she made her way back over to her futon and removed her glasses before slipping under the covers.

The minute she was in reach, his arms were around her, pulling her flush against him. He dipped his head and kissed her, soft but insistent. She kissed back and moved her arms carefully to loop around his neck. Normally she'd drape them over his shoulders and lightly rub along the base of his wings, delighting in how they would stretch and shudder in delight, but she didn't want to risk it this time. Instead she went for another soothing gesture she's learned in her time with him; gently dragging her nails through the short hairs along the nape of his neck. She felt his chest rumble with a pleased groan as they pulled apart from the kiss. "You know how much you mean to me, right, Fuyumi?" he mumbled, reaching a hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

A welcome, if not strange, sentiment. Apparently whatever happened had really rattled him

She tilted her head to press a kiss to his fingertips, awarding her with a small chuckle. "Of course I do, Keigo. And I hope you know that feeling is mutual," she assured, opting against making any teasing jabs. She could tell that now wasn't the time. Instead she gently pulled him closer, smiling into his hair as he burrowed into the crook of her neck, the arm still around her waist tightening slightly.

"We should get some rest; we're gonna have some explaining to do in the morning," he mumbled, lips brushing her skin with his words. Her heart skipped at the idea of him staying and helping her explain things to her brothers, a flush coming to her face and a giddy flutter kicking up in her belly. She closed her eyes and let out a small, contented sigh. She knew there'd be chaos in the morning, but they would handle that then. Right now, she wanted to indulge in the warmth of Keigo's body against hers.

[roman-writing]

two, across (1/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Lysithea von Ordelia

Rating: T

Wordcount: 6,428 

Summary: Lysithea can barely keep afloat under the workload of giving undergrad lectures and finishing off her PhD thesis. Meanwhile Dr. Hilda V. Goneril is somehow both the laziest person as well as the most successful young professor she has ever known. It's absolutely aggravating.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

“Homes are a crossword puzzle I can’t solve.”

-Maria Tsvetaeva “Moscow in the Plague Year” (trans. Christopher Whyte)

--

Lysithea stares down at the newspaper. The world is falling apart, political crises cropping up everywhere, precarious markets teetering on the edge of another GFC, and worst of all: someone else has already done the crossword.

Even worse still, whoever has done the crossword puzzle has done so absolutely flawlessly. In pen. With no mistakes. She picks up the newspaper, incredulous, to inspect the crossword more closely, but sure enough -- perfectly executed in ballpoint. 

Her hand clenches into a fist, crumpling the thin pages. Breathing deeply, Lysithea smooths the page out again. In her other hand she holds a travel mug filled with a mocha and extra marshmallows. It's 6:46am and the offices of the biosciences department are empty but for her. Or at least she had assumed that the offices of the biosciences department were empty, but clearly that is not the case. Not unless someone waltzed in and stole the free department newspaper before 6am, which was ludicrous. 

Nobody but her bothered to come in this early. Who could have possibly ruined her routine? It's the beginning of the first term of her last year of her PhD thesis, and if there's one thing Lysithea hates more than the thought of having to actually submit her thesis, it's a break in routine.

With a huff, Lysithea takes a sip of her coffee, then starts on a hunt through the offices in search of the culprit. Most of the offices are dark, their doors locked. Her own office is little more than a dingy storage closet that was converted into spare workspace for the youngest of the departmental doctoral students. But when the university allowed her to teach undergraduate courses, they had to clear out an office as well. It came with the territory. 

Directly across from her own door is an office that she rarely saw open throughout all two of her years at Garreg Mach University. The nameplate on the door sports the letters: DR. HILDA V. GONERIL. Lysithea's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The door to Hilda’s office is open a sliver, showing a slit of light from within. Stomping forward, wielding her newspaper and coffee like relics in some holy war, Lysithea barges in without knocking. 

Hilda is not -- as Lysithea had expected -- working. The back of her office chair has been loosened so that it leans precariously back, and one of Hilda's bare feet is propped atop the desk. She is hunched over her foot, wielding a tiny paintbrush and bottle of pink nailpolish that matches the colour of her hair. 

Hilda only glances up in bored disinterest from where she’s painting her toenails, before returning her attention to her present task. “Oh, hey! Lysithea, right? What’s up!”

Instead of answer, Lysithea holds up the newspaper as though it’s a piece of labelled evidence in a murder case. “Did you do this?” 

“Sure did. Hey, do you want me to paint your nails, too? Pink would look great with your complexion.”

“What? No.” Lysithea scrunches up her nose. “Why are you even here this early? I’ve never seen you here before noon.”

In truth, Lysithea has rarely seen her around the office at all. They had been introduced a year ago, when Hilda had been hired as the department’s newest Associate Professor, but as far as Lysithea could tell, the woman might as well have worked on another campus. She could count on one hand the number of times they had exchanged words, none of them particularly memorable. 

Hilda rolls her eyes. “Ugh! I know, right? I drew the short straw, and got the 7am undergrad OChem courses this term. Can you believe it? Being the most junior professor in a department is the worst.” She puts the finishing touches on her foot, and drawls, “Buuut it does mean I get to leave early most days. Tit for tat.” 

Hilda puffs up her cheeks and blows on the wet nailpolish. 

Angry words gather on the tip of Lysithea's tongue. She has to take a deep breath to quell them. "Dr. Goneril -" she begins.

Hilda makes a face. "Ew. What are you? My student? Don't call me that."

Lysithea grits her teeth. "Hilda," she begins again, trying to sweeten her words as much as she possibly can. "I would really appreciate it if you didn't do the crossword in the staff newspaper. Could you maybe get a different paper on your way to work, if you're going to be coming in so early every day this term?"

At that, Hilda lets out a snort of amusement. She puts her foot down on the ground, spreading her legs out so that she's sprawled in her seat. The toes of both feet, Lysithea notices, are perfectly manicured and painted. She must have been here for a while now, if she managed to get the crossword out and do her nails before a lecture. 

"No way, short stack. You know how boring it is here without anyone else around? I need to do something with my hands, or I go, like, crazy." Even as Hilda says it, her fingers are fiddling with the armrests of her office chair, drumming a syncopated rhythm. 

Lysithea frowns, remembers she is trying to be charming -- which she has never been very good at, to be perfectly honest -- and puts on a plasticky smile. "Well, maybe we can work out some sort of deal."

Hilda remains slouched in her seat. "Like what?" 

"We’ll trade. You leave me the crossword on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and I leave you the crossword on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and the weekends. How about that?"

"Hmm." Hilda taps her ankles together, like a child who can't keep herself still for longer than two seconds. Then she announces gleefully, "Nope!" 

"Great! We can -" Lysithea blinks. "Wait. What?"

"No deal!" Hilda says, as cheerfully as before. Her cellphone rings on her desk, and a calendar notification pops up on the screen. "Shit! I'm late." 

Rather than stand up immediately and bolt for the door however, Hilda leans her head back and sighs to the ceiling. 

Lysithea stares at her, then at the phone, which is still chirping away. "Aren't you going to go to class?"

"With wet nail polish? Are you kidding?" Hilda waves her hand in the vague direction of the exit, where the elevators are around the corner. "The little goblins can wait."

"It's the earliest class! You'll be lucky if half of them show up, let alone wait five minutes before bailing."

Hilda yawns. "Good. Maybe then I can just go home and get some more sleep."

"At least turn off your phone," Lysithea snaps. The mechanical chirping is really starting to grate on her nerves. It's way too early for this.

"You know, you're pretty bossy for a PhD student." There is no malice in her tone, and even as she says it, Hilda reaches over and presses a button on her phone so that the alarm stops. 

"So I've been told." Lysithea shifts the newspaper so that it rests in the crook of her elbow. When Hilda doesn't look the least bit concerned that Lysithea is still standing in her office, Lysithea sighs, "Listen. I need this, alright?"

Hilda shoots her an incredulous glance. She has begun to swing her chair around so that she slowly twirls in place, her legs outstretched so as not to hit any of the clutter that’s scattered everywhere. Somehow through the full arc she manages to maintain eye contact the whole way. "You need...a crossword puzzle?" 

"It's -" Lysithea can feel her cheeks burn. "It's just a part of my routine! I don't like having my routine interrupted! It ruins my whole day." 

Hilda continues to twirl in her office chair. Her long pink hair, tied back in twin tails, dangles over the back of the chair, stirring lightly as she turns. Lysithea secretly wonders how on earth someone manages to pull off that hairstyle without appearing completely juvenile. If she wore her hair that way herself, she would look like she was fifteen, but when Hilda does it, she just seems like a free-spirited adult. 

Hilda makes a noise between a sigh and blowing a raspberry. Then, all of a sudden, she stops her chair. She bends over double and tests her toenails, deems them suitably dry, and pulls on her socks and shoes -- a pair of black boots that reach just past her ankle. When she stands abruptly, Lysithea has to resist the urge to take a step back. 

She had forgotten that Hilda was so tall and broad-shouldered; Hilda dressed in such a way to make her seem as delicate as possible, but there was no mistaking the flex of muscle beneath her clothes. Most people were tall when standing next to Lysithea, but Hilda had a presence that seemed to extend beyond her, making her appear larger than she actually was. 

Hilda picks up her phone and begins tapping away at the screen to unlock it. Then, she sticks the phone in her bag -- black and trendy, to match the rest of what she wore -- and slings the bag over her shoulder. 

"I really gotta go now. So..." Hilda walks towards Lysithea, making a shooing motion as if trying to herd a cat. "Chop chop! Let's go! Out of my office!"

"Hang on -! Hey! Just -! Can't we talk about this?"

Lysithea is shuffled out the door, and Hilda flicks the light off, shutting her office behind them and locking it. 

"We did talk." Hilda tosses her keys into her bag, where they clank against her phone and whatever other objects are kept all in a jumble in there. "And I liked it! Surprisingly. We should definitely do it again! You’re here tomorrow, yeah?"

“What do you mean ‘surprisingly’?” Lysithea says, indignant.

But Hilda only pats her on the shoulder and strides off towards the elevators. For a moment, Lysithea stares after her, then gives chase. She catches up when Hilda rounds the corner.

"Just leave me the crossword," she says as Hilda is pressing the button to call the elevator. "You can do the sudoku!"

Hilda wrinkles her nose as though she had been offered garbage from behind the cafeteria. "Boring!" she says in a singsong voice. 

The light for the elevator flickers through the various levels to reach theirs on the fifth floor. When the elevator doors slide open, and Hilda steps forward, Lysithea panics and says the only thing she can think of: “Please.”

At that, Hilda pauses. Her hand lingers against one of the doors, keeping the elevator open. Her fingernails are painted the same colour as her toes, the same colour as her hair, and her knuckles sparkle with various gold and coral rings.

She turns around, and holds out her hand. “Give me your coffee.”

“My -?” Lysithea looks from Hilda, to her mocha, then back to Hilda again. “You want my coffee?” 

Hilda makes a grabby motion with her hand. “Time’s a-ticking. Bring me a coffee every morning, and I’ll let you do the crossword. Deal or no deal?” 

To accentuate her point, she lets the elevator doors begin to shut, enclosing her within. Quick as a flash, Lysithea thrusts her hand forward, so that the elevator doors bounce back against her wrist. She holds out the travel mug -- all whites and pastel purples and cartoon kittens -- and announces, “Deal! It’s a deal!”

With a beaming smile, Hilda takes the mug. Their fingers brush. Hilda’s skin is warm, but calloused. When Hilda takes a sip, her face scrunches up in disgust. “Ugh. Way too sweet, even for me. Make it a cappuccino next time. Double-shot.”

“You annoying -!” Lysithea starts to swear, but the elevator doors are sliding shut, and Hilda is waggling her fingers in a little wave of goodbye. “- asshole!” 

--

The rest of the day goes poorly. Lysithea is convinced it is all because the beginning of her routine was disrupted, and that it only spells misfortune for the rest of the term. It's completely nonsensical, but she can't shake the feeling nonetheless. To top it all off, she only manages to write a hundred words of her thesis, which sets her a hundred words behind her carefully laid plans for the year. Tomorrow, she'll have to write an extra hundred to compensate. Every word feels like pulling teeth. 

Instead of reading articles and writing, as she should be doing, she finds herself clicking through the university faculty website. She has bought herself a hot chocolate from the groundfloor cafe, just to make herself feel better about life in general, and takes a sip as she clicks on the link to 'DR. HILDA V. GONERIL.' 

She nearly chokes on the hot chocolate, when the page loads. 

With only a year and a half as a professor after completing her PhD in molecular biophysics at an outstandingly good overseas university, Dr. Goneril had already published eight articles in her academic career. Lysithea reads through the bibliography list, gobsmacked. It certainly explains why the university wanted her on their staff so badly; any university would salivate over a promising young professor with a matrix like that. 

Four articles a year? Plus teaching two classes a term? That's impossible. There's no way a woman that lazy could have achieved that. Not unless the laziness was an act, and she never slept. Ever.

Four academic articles a year. And here Lysithea sits, struggling to type out two hundred words on an open word document. 

Furiously clicking out of Hilda’s profile, Lysithea opens another tab to the university library database and begins searching for more articles to read for her own research. 

--

"Where's my mug?" Lysithea asks the next morning. 

It's 6:17am, and Hilda is cradling the takeaway cup Lysithea had ordered at the cafe down the street, because the cafe on the groundfloor doesn't open until 7am. Hilda yawns. "I left it at home." 

"Well, bring it tomorrow. I want it back." Lysithea snatches up the newspaper from where it had been deposited on the floor earlier that morning. 

"Sure. Whatever," is Hilda's non committal answer. 

Lysithea doesn't believe for a moment that Hilda ever intends to give the mug back, but she'll be damned if she lets it go without a fight. Edelgard had given her that cup as a gift last year, which meant that it was no doubt expensive as anything. 

Starting off down the hallway to her office, Lysithea can already feel the spring in her step at the thought of everything returning to normal. She has a mocha in hand -- extra marshmallows, as usual -- and a fresh newspaper in the other. It's incidental that Hilda is trailing after her; their offices are directly opposite one another, after all. 

She doesn't pay it much heed as she unlocks her door, and steps inside. A flick of the lights. Her bag tossed onto the spare chair, where visiting undergrad students usually sit. And Lysithea drops into her seat, already flipping to the page with the crossword. She folds up the newspaper just the way she likes it, so that the pages have enough grit to not let her feel the scratch of the table beneath her pen, and feels a wave of relief wash over her. She sips at her coffee with one hand, and holds a pen in the other. 

The first few clues come easily. Lysithea scrawls in three of the answers that immediately pop out to her, and it doesn’t register right away that she has not heard Hilda opening her own office door. Lysithea is tapping the tip of her ballpoint pen against the margins of the newspaper. She scowls down at the next clue, and chews her lower lip.

A shadow falls over the table from someone approaching behind her, and a hand reaches over her shoulder to point at the crossword with one perfectly manicured pink nail. "OBDURATE."

With a start, Lysithea nearly spills her mocha. Hilda is standing behind her, takeaway coffee cup in hand. She is close enough that her arm brushes against Lysithea's shoulder. Lysithea can feel the warmth of skin through her cardigan. 

Scowling, Lysithea leans away in her seat to aim a glare at Hilda. "Excuse me?"

"Five down. The answer is 'OBDURATE.'" Rather than get the hint and move away, Hilda sets down her cup on the table so she can use her other hand to grasp the back of Lysithea's chair and lean against it while she studies the newspaper. 

"Thanks," Lysithea grumbles. She adds the answer, and is annoyed when it fits perfectly.

Hilda points to six down. "Ohh! 'Ermine in summer' is 'STOAT'. And seven down is 'TRIPLETHREAT'."

A muscle in Lysithea's cheek jumps in irritation. She writes the words, then grumbles, “This was not a part of the deal.”

“The deal was: I would let you do the crossword. I never said that I wouldn’t do the crossword with you. Duh!” 

Lysithea tosses down the pen atop the newspaper. “That completely defeats the purpose!”

“CHUTZPAH!” Hilda announces, and grabs the pen from the desk to begin writing it into the boxes. 

“Hey!” 

Lysithea has to wrestle the pen from Hilda’s grasp, but not before Hilda manages to write in another answer. Even then, it galls her to know that Hilda let her have the pen back, and could have easily kept it for herself. 

Lysithea brandishes the pen under Hilda’s nose like a sword. “Quit it! Leave some for me!” 

“You know, you could just get one of those free apps that has, like, a squillion crosswords, right?” 

Glowering, Lysithea turns back to the newspaper. “I like this one.” 

Hilda drops the matter, but only because she is now pointing to another clue with the answer on her lips. Lysithea smacks Hilda’s finger with the pen.

"Geesh. Okay! Okay!" Hilda grabs her cup, but when she straightens she says quickly, "And nine down is 'ABLOOM' okay bye!!"

Lysithea crumples up a spare piece of paper on the desk and lobs it after her, purely out of spite. 

--

Lysithea doesn’t know exactly when it happens, only that it does. Suddenly, horribly, Hilda is part of the routine. 

The realisation dawns on Lysithea during the third week. Every morning Hilda is waiting for her by the elevators on the ground floor. Her smile is brighter than the dawn creeping through the windows. She takes the coffee Lysithea hands her, and immediately launches into loud and colourful conversation about her previous evening, about her students, about her cute neighbor and her cute neighbor’s cat, while Lysithea nods -- groggy, and still half asleep herself -- and mumbles appropriate responses. 

They ride the elevator together. They do the crossword in Lysithea’s office, because even though Hilda’s office is bigger it’s always cluttered to the point that Lysithea can barely stand to be in there for longer than a few minutes at a time. The spare seat in Lysithea’s office has become Hilda’s designated seat, which she hauls over to the desk so they can sit, side-by side. Their elbows press together. They drink their coffee, and bicker over crossword clues, and the fact that Hilda has forgotten -- again! -- to bring back Lysithea’s mug. 

Lysithea has even taken to complaining about Hilda in her texts to Edelgard. Her childhood friend lives two timezones away however, and can only do so much via text when she's busy inheriting her family's multi-million dollar mega-corporation.

The fact remains that on the Thursday of the third week, Lysithea arrives at the elevators on the ground floor at her usual 6:14am, and is surprised to feel utter disappointment that Hilda is not there.

She peers around the corner for any sign of her. She waits. She taps her foot on the ground, and checks her wristwatch, which means she nearly spills Hilda’s cappuccino when turning her wrist over. Finally, at 6:32 she gives up and rides the elevator alone. She watches the floors tick away in bright numbers over the doors, and even though she is rising it feels like her gut is falling.

She places Hilda's coffee cup on the desk, and does the crossword by herself. She should feel relieved. This is what she wanted. The newspaper all to herself. Nobody bothering her. No annoying chatter in her ear. Nobody taking away the satisfaction of figuring out the clues for herself. 

Instead, she keeps shooting glances at the coffee cup as if it might suddenly turn into a rambunctious conversationalist and fill the gap. 

Eventually, with the crossword puzzle only three-quarters of the way finished, other faculty members start to stream into the offices. Lysithea gives up and throws Hilda's coffee into the rubbish bin; it has gone cold. She folds the newspaper back to its original state -- painstakingly ensuring that each crease is exactly as it should be -- and places it on a corner of her desk. She pulls her laptop towards her, and opens up her latest thesis draft document with a beleaguered groan. 

For the first time in three weeks, she doesn't get the full two hundred daily word goal that she set for herself. It irritates her to no end. 

She considers going to have a chat with her counsellor, Mercedes, but decides to just text Edelgard instead. She gets back a reply almost immediately, reminding her to eat something that day, which she has predictably forgotten to do. In response, Lysithea types back a message telling El to get some sleep. The phone goes quiet for a minute, then another text pings back from Edelgard with a series of 'zzz's that makes Lysithea roll her eyes. 

A knock at the door behind her, and Lysithea whirls around in her seat. It's not Hilda. Her stomach twists unpleasantly at the realisation. 

Lysithea puts her phone down. "Hi, Professor Hanneman. Do you need something?"

Hanneman hovers politely in her doorway until she greets him, at which point he pushes the door fully open and steps inside. "Good afternoon, Lysithea." He nods towards the newspaper. "Are you finished with that?"

She isn't. The crossword is nowhere near finished. Lysithea's mouth slants to one side, but she sighs and hands the newspaper over regardless. "Here. It's all yours."

He takes it with a gentle smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes behind his round spectacles. "Thank you."

"You haven't heard anything from Tomas, have you?" Lysithea asks. "It's just -- I sent him the last draft of my thesis a month ago, and he still hasn't gotten back to me.”

At that, he grimaces in sympathy. "I'm sorry, but no. I haven't heard anything. You know how busy he is.”

Crestfallen, Lysithea mumbles, “Yeah.”

“I’ll follow up with him again,” Hanneman assures her, but they both know there’s not much he can do. Tomas is her main thesis supervisor, while Hanneman was only an adjutant brought into the process earlier last year. At the beginning of this whole thesis ordeal, she had thought Tomas would be a great supervisor -- he shared her Alma Mater, and other family connections -- but so far he had been nothing but chilly and unhelpful throughout the process. 

“Thanks. I would appreciate if you did.” 

He nods. He’s about to leave, when she blinks. “Hanneman?” 

“Hmm?” He turns back in the doorway to face her.

Tugging at her lower lip with her teeth, Lysithea asks, “You don’t happen to have Dr. Goneril’s cellphone number, do you?” 

--

After her own lecture later that afternoon, Lysithea stands in her empty classroom and worries her lower lip between her teeth. Her phone is in her hands. A contact is open on the screen with the name 'HILDA' beside the call button. 

Lysithea takes a deep breath. She taps the icon, then raises the phone to her ear. It rings for a long enough time, that she is led to believe Hilda won't pick up, when the dial tone stops.

There's a rustling sound on the other line, followed by a raspy, "Hello?"

"Hi!" Lysithea says. "It's me."

A pause. 

"Who?"

"Lysithea."

More rustling. The distinct noise of the phone being dropped, and then muted swearing, as Hilda fumbles for it. 

"Oh. Yeah. Hey," Hilda says when she's picked up the phone again. She doesn’t sound thrilled, but she doesn’t sound mad either. "What's up?"

"Nothing! I just -" Lysithea has to put her free hand down when she realises she has lifted it to her mouth so she can chew on her fingernails. “I was just wondering if everything was alright. You weren’t here today, but if you’re just playing hooky, then -”

She is interrupted by a series of coughing. Lysithea holds the phone away from her ear until Hilda is finished.

“I mean -” Hilda rasps, “Normally you would be totally on the money, but not this time.”

For some inexplicable reason, that makes Lysithea feel unfathomably guilty, even though she knows that her initial assumption was on the mark. 

“Do you - Do you need me to get you anything?” Lysithea can’t believe that those words just came out of her mouth, but it’s too late to take them back now.

Silence. Then -

“Schweppes Sparkling Lemonade.” 

Lysithea’s brows furrow in confusion. “What?”

“I said: Schweppes Sparkling Lemonade. I’ll text you my address.”

And then Hilda hangs up. True to her word, a text appears almost instantaneously on the screen while Lysithea is still blinking down at her phone in befuddlement. It’s only at that moment that Lysithea remembers she doesn’t own a car, and will need to take public transportation to get out to -- oh, wait, that’s not that far. She could walk, if she had the stamina for it. 

Twenty minutes later, Lysithea is standing outside a two-story, brick-faced apartment complex that looks like it had been built thirty years ago and never renovated. So, basically, like any poor grad student accommodation on the planet. She approaches a door with the chipped brass-plated number ‘2-A.’ 

In one hand she holds a grocery bag, and in the other she triple-checks her phone to make sure this is the right place. Stuffing her phone into her pocket, Lysithea knocks. 

Hilda answers the door draped in a blanket like a maudlin empress surveying her fallen nation. Her normally immaculate appearance has been tossed out with the bathwater. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, and her hair is a mess. The apartment beyond is cast all in shadow. The curtains are drawn, and Lysithea can't make out anything beyond Hilda except clutter and darkness.

“Hey,” Hilda croaks, trying to add a bit of her usual sing-song emphasis but instead dissolving into a fit of coughing. 

Lysithea thinks of a dozen lies and platitudes she should say, but what comes out is: “You look terrible.” 

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Hilda chuckles, and leans in the doorway. “Do you got the goods, dealer?”

Lysithea holds up the grocery bag filled with two large plastic bottles of sparkling lemonade. “Only the finest.” 

“You’re a saint,” Hilda mumbles as she takes the grocery bag and peers inside. “I could seriously kiss you right now.”

At that, Lysithea takes a step back. “No, thank you. Keep your nasty virus to yourself.”

“Guess that means you don’t want to come in, then.”

Lysithea is surprised when she hears herself say, “Next time.”

Even Hilda looks a bit shocked, though it’s difficult to tell. Normally she’s more expressive than this. She mustn’t have the energy to emote, when sick. 

Still, she gamely cracks a smile, and waves Lysithea away. “Next time, then. Go on, now. Shoo. Before you get my nasty virus.” 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Lysithea asks as she steps away.

“I’ll be lecturing in the morning, and then coming back to bed,” Hilda says, though she sounds like she should be organising her casket arrangements rather than teach right now. 

“Oh,” Lysithea says. She tries not to let the disappointment show, and she thinks she does a decent job of hiding that sort of thing. At least, she should be, given her history. 

“But you can buy me a hot drink before I go home.” Hilda offers that like it’s some sort of prize to be won. 

Lysithea frowns. “Is my offering of soda inadequate for Her Highness?”

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” Hilda winks and shuts the door. 

--

Lysithea brings the newspaper, but not the coffee. It’s 7:04am, and the students of Organic Chemistry II have let themselves into the lecture theatre six minutes ago. Lysithea sits in the back corner, trying to get as much distance as possible between herself and any undergrads who might mistake her for one of their flock. None of them seem to pay her any mind. It’s too early for anything but using their bags as pillows and trying to sneak in an extra few minutes of sleep before their professor arrives. 

Exactly nine minutes after the class was meant to start, the double doors to the lecture theatre swing open, and Hilda walks inside. Her heeled boots clack with every step, announcing her presence.

"Sorry I'm late." Hilda drops into the chair at the head of the classroom beside the podium. "I didn't want to come."

She is wearing enormous heart-shaped sunglasses that shield her eyes from view. A dark-washed scarf is wrapped around her neck and shoulders like a shawl, and the total effect makes her look like a celebrity trying to escape the paparazzi. She props her feet atop the table, and waves to the classroom at large without actually looking at anyone. “Pop quiz.”

The class gives out a collective groan of despair. 

Hilda ignores them. She pulls out her cellphone. For a brief moment, Lysithea thinks that Hilda is just going text through the entire lecture, but then the projector screen descends from the ceiling behind her, and the projector itself flickers to life. 

Hilda gives her phone a few idle taps, and a slideshow quiz appears on the screen. “You have twenty minutes.” She tosses her phone to the table. “Go.” 

The students are scrambling for spare paper from their notebooks. Some of them exchange blank pages in a flurry of movement, before they are all hunched over their desks, silent but for the scratch of pens against paper. 

Lysithea reads the list of questions on the screen. They are hard, but not impossible. In their shoes, Lysithea would have aced the quiz. Then again, Lysithea had been a model student that two universities had fought over for the grant money that came tethered to her thesis project. It takes these students the full twenty minutes, and even then a few of them are scrambling for answers and scratching their heads.

Hilda’s phone alarm chirps, and all of the students put their pens down like well-trained Pavlovian subjects. On the other hand, Hilda does not move at all. Her arms are crossed, and most of her face is either hidden by scarf or sunglasses. 

She is, Lysithea realises, fast asleep. 

“Professor Goneril?” one of the students in the front row hazards. Lysithea recognises the student from her own class, a quiet girl by the name of Flayn, related to Seteth, the university’s chaplain. 

At the sound of her title, Hilda’s head jerks. She lowers her feet to the ground, and sits upright. She pushes her sunglasses partially up her face so that she can rub at her eyes with the heel of her palm. From here, Lysithea can see that while Hilda looks far better than their last encounter at her apartment, she still looks like death warmed over. 

Hilda cranes her neck to peer at the clock on the wall, and says, “Turn ‘em in. And if you cheated, I’ll know.”

All of the students exchange glances, then stand to approach her table and deposit their sheets of paper at her feet. 

One of the students lowers his head to whisper to his neighbor. “Do you think she has the place bugged?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” his friend replies under his breath. 

Lysithea rolls her eyes, and says, “No. It’s because I’m here, and I would tell her.” 

The two nearly jump out of their skin. One of them squints at her. “Aren’t you a student from Mathematical Methods for Physical Sciences?” 

Lysithea gives him her very best glower. “I’m the professor of that course.” 

Both their eyes widen, and they shuffle away towards the front of the classroom. 

The lecture as a whole is supposed to last two hours. Hilda only takes an hour and a half, and lets everyone go early. Throughout the entire thing, Lysithea chips away at the crossword to very little effect, and grinds her teeth at the back of the class. 

She herself has to prepare pages and pages of carefully labelled and researched notes every week for her own lectures, and even then she always feels like she is scrambling to use up her total time. If she lets the students out five minutes early, it’s like she’s failed in her duty. Hilda on the other hand breezes through the course content like she wrote the fucking book. 

And she definitely didn’t write the book. Lysithea checked. 

To add insult to injury, Hilda’s slides have an unparalleled clarity that make Lysithea green with envy. The students nod their heads, and type up notes on their laptops. When they raise their hands with questions, Hilda answers breezily and efficiently from her seat despite her lingering cold, checking her fingernails and sometimes even tapping her phone to another pre-prepared slide as though she had expected just that question to pop up during the lecture. 

Whenever Lysithea got a question from her students, she would need to work off the spike of adrenaline by drawing out the answer too small on the whiteboard.  

By the end, Lysithea is fuming. She hasn’t finished the crossword, and she is feeling thoroughly outclassed. 

It’s 8:31, and the students are packing up their bags to leave. Some of them are brave enough to approach Hilda like their approaching a lazy queen sprawled upon her sumptuous plastic throne. Flayn is among them. Lysithea hovers near the exit, clutching her newspaper, while Hilda holds court, waiting. Flayn is the last student to leave, waving at Lysithea, who returns the gesture with a forced grimace. 

Hilda is slinging her designer black bag over her shoulder as she walks towards Lysithea. “Hi! Miss me much?”

Hilda smiles at her, and all of those ugly feelings melt away like a snowbank in late spring. 

“As if,” Lysithea says, already turning to walk towards the nearby cafe down the hall and to the right. 

She orders their usual, but Hilda interrupts to get a lemon honey and ginger tea for herself instead. They sit near the windows, and Lysithea tosses down the newspaper with a scowl.

Hilda sips at her tea. “Someone’s feeling grumpy this morning. What’s wrong? Couldn’t finish the crossword without me?”

“No! I mean -- that’s besides the point!” Lysithea lifts her chin and says, indignant, “One of your students mistook me for an undergrad.”

Rather than laugh, Hilda sticks out her tongue as though at a bad taste. “If that happened to me, I would literally die.”

Lysithea nods. This is the reaction she had been expecting at so grave a transgression.

And then, Hilda asks the worst possible question. “How old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-four.”

Hilda splutters, and has to put down her tea in order to cough into the crook of her elbow. Lysithea can feel her face heating up while Hilda collects herself. 

"Oh my god." Hilda’s face is painted with horror, "Twenty-four? When did you start undergrad? As a foetus?"

Lysithea straightens in her seat, and answers primly, "I was sixteen, thank you very much."

"Twenty-four." Hilda repeats with a shudder. "No wonder. I have students that age. Gross."

Lysithea bristles. "Excuse me?" 

"Oh, I didn’t mean you. I just had an intrusive thought about dating a student, and had the instinctive urge to dry-heave." Hilda flutters her hand at the base of her throat as if she’s going to be sick. 

"I’m not one of your students!"

"Thank god," Hilda mutters. 

"I may not have my PhD yet, but we are still colleagues! And I'll have you know that I am very dateable!"

At that, Hilda’s eyebrows launch themselves over the rims of her sunglasses. "I never thought you weren't."

"Well - good!” Lysithea crosses her arms with a huff, and leans back in her chair. “Because I am! I’m great at -” she struggles for what exactly to say, but is too obstinate to give up, and ends up with, “- being available! For dating!” 

Hilda is biting her lower lip as if she’s desperately trying not to laugh. Lysithea wishes she could see her eyes; it would be much easier to tell what kind of expression Hilda was wearing if she could see her eyes. It certainly doesn’t help that her own face is aflame; she just knows that her pale complexion will have gone ruddy with embarrassment. 

“Glad to hear it,” Hilda drawls, before tilting her head back to drain what remains of her tea. Meanwhile Lysithea clears her throat, and takes an extra large gulp of her hot chocolate. 

Dropping her now empty takeaway cup onto the table, Hilda pushes her chair back. “Thanks for the tea. I’m off to bed to show this virus who’s boss.”

“Yeah. Sure. No problem.” 

Lysithea can still feel the flush in her cheeks. It doesn’t get any better when Hilda lowers her sunglasses just enough to peer over them at Lysithea and flash her a smile.

“See you Monday,” Hilda says, and it’s not a question. She pushes her sunglasses back into place, and swings her bag over her shoulder. 

Then, she pauses. She reaches out, and Lysithea leans back slightly in her seat, but not before Hilda has tapped the tip of her nose.

“You’ve got cocoa on your nose.” Hilda shows Lysithea her finger, which does indeed have a smidge of cocoa powder from the hot chocolate. With a smile, Hilda turns and strides away with far more flounce in her step than a sick woman should be able to achieve. 

Lysithea sits, frozen in place. Then, realising she is staring, she swipes furiously at her face for any residual cocoa powder. When she’s finished, Hilda is long gone.  

[lazy-crow-writingblog]

Peter Parker: Crashing Your Field Trip-Chapter 3: Vacation: Day 1

Peter was the first to wake up. According to the schedule he was given the group would leave around 5pm yesterday and would arrive at the hotel around 10pm. The parents would share a room with there kids and the the two staff members would be in a room together in-case they needed anything. It was 6am, would they be up at this time? Peter really wanted to surprise them. Should he go down now? He didn't want Tony and Stephen to wake up and see him not there. Tony would freak for sure. Maybe later?  Peter pulled out his phone and just started playing games on his phone to try and past the time. He looked over to the sleeping adult. Stephen spooning Tony and Tony drooling on the pillow. He smiled and continued to play games on his phone and just watching videos until he got a text from Ned.

NedAlert: Dude! I just woke up in the hotel! This bed is so soft!

Peter: That sounds cool.

NedAlert: We even get our own rooms!

Peter: Really!?

NedAlert: Well, kinda.

NedAlert: It's still connected to our parents rooms and some kids have to bunk with others.

Peter: I see......

NedAlert: Still cool though.

Peter: I know.

NedAlert: Oh! gotta go! We're going to get breakfast.

NedAlert: Text you later!

Peter: Later.

This was his chance. Should he just go? Maybe he should tell them first? He doesn't Tony and Stephen to freak out. Well Tony would be the one freaking out, Stephen would be the one trying to get the situation calm. Maybe he should take his phone, just so they can call them if they worried. The spider teen got off his bed and walked over to the side where Doctor Strange was laying on. His arm was currently wrapped around Tony and said man with his head on his chest and drooling. Gross. Peter gently shook his sholder to wake up the sleeping doctor. He groaned but opened his eyes non the less.

"Yes, Peter?" He asked with sleep layering his tone.

"Can I go downstairs and get something to eat?" He asked.

"You can order room service."

"I know, I just wanted to get out and stretch my legs a bit."

The look Strange gave him was clear that he didn't buy his excuse, but he didn't make an effort to point it out.

"You know you don't have to ask to go and eat, right?"

A light blush crept up to Peter's cheeks and his eyes shifted down. "I just wanted to be sure."

Despite Peter having spent multiple nights at Tony's place, he still isn't used to the idea of him being able to have anything he wants. Tony has explained to him that he is more than happy to buy Peter what he want and let him eat more then he should, that doesn't stop Peter from feeling like he's asking for to much, and Peter's self consciousness certainly doesn't stop Tony from spoiling the kid with whatever Peter likes. A small smile found it's way on Stephen's lips.

"Go on. Just don't stay to long and try to stay away from Flash's mom."

Peter brighten up, quickly put on his sneaker, grabbed his phone and extra key-card, and headed towards the elevator to go to the main lobby. By the time the elevator reached him it had a guy in there already. They exchanged smiles as Peter enters the elevator and saw the elevator was heading towards the lobby already, all he had to do is wait. Peter looked to the side to see if he could get a better look at the guy, he didn't really do it as he got on. From what he could see the guy looked young. Maybe in his early to late 20's, black curly hair, a dark blue t-shirt and black shorts, dark mocha skin, and he was skinny-ish, about Peter's height but clearly more build then the spider teen. The way the guy carried himself was different though. He had a perfect posture, his arms resting comfortably behind his back and, were those beads around his neck? Nether the less Peter put his attention back on the elevator doors. He was growing impatient, tapping his index fingers against his thighs. The old guy noticed this.

"Nerves?" He asked.

Him suddenly speaking and the accent that accompanied it startled the young boy. He was able to compose himself, hopefully it was fast enough for the guy not to notice. It wasn't, he laughed when he saw this, even his laughed seemed to be distinguished. That gave Peter the chance to notice a gap between his teeth.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." He said still smiling.

"Oh, uh, it's okay. I just didn't expect you to talk." Peter tried to explain himself but was failing.

"Ah, so your not used to talking in elevators?"

"No, not really." Peter went quiet for a moment, his spider-senses weren't going off so he guess the situation was safe. "My name's Peter."

"T'challa. Why are you in such a rush?"

"I'm trying ti meet my friends before they leave."

"Ah, I see."

"What brings you here?" Peter asked as innocently as he could, in reality he was trying to be a bit nosy.

"My friend insisted on us taking a vacation together despite the responsibilities I have to tend to."

"Well he probably has the right idea. Everyone deserve a break after working hard for so long"

T'challa smiled more when he heard that, "I supposed you're right."

The elevator dinged, announcing their arrival to the lobby. When the doors opened a lady was in front of it. She was a little lighter then T'challa, a bit younger too, she her hair was braided and pulled into 2 tight buns on each sides. She offered Peter a smile and he returns it.

"I was just coming to get you. M'baku is eating your plate." She said.

T'challa shook his head, waved Peter goodbye, and followed the lady to wherever this food stealing M'baku was. He didn't think to much of that and instead headed towards the eating area where he knew his classmates would be. When he reached there he scanned the room and when he found them he made immediate eye contact with Flash and the look on his face was satisfying and something he'll never forget. Peter did his best to not show how amused he was with Flash's face and continued to scan a bit further til he saw Ned and M.J. sitting together. A wide grin crossed his face and he quickly and quietly walked behind Ned to which M.J. noticed but said nothing about. He lifted his hand and slapped them down on the boys shoulders, startling him. When he turned around and saw the face of his best friend he was immediately filled with joy.

"Dude, how did you get here?" Ned asked after getting up and giving a Peter a hug.

"I'm on vacation. So technically not on a school trip." He told them.

The three of them sat and talked and ate for a while. All while they did that Peter's spider-senses  were alerting him of someone watching him. That was all he was getting so he figured he was alright. About 40 minutes later the hall is almost empty besides from his classmates, their parents and a few other patrons, he get's a text from Stephen saying that Tony was up and asking when he'd be back up. He texted back in a minute or 2 and started getting ready to leave.

"Hey, I gotta go and get ready. See you guys later."

Peter, unfortunately, wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. Flash's mother came stomping over in clear anger and grabbed Peter by the forearm and started tearing into him.

"Why are you here!? Who let you on this trip!? I made certain you were not to be allowed on this trip!" She screeched gabbing the attention of the little people still in the eating hall.

"Um, actually-" Peter tried to explain himself but she cut him off.

"No! Shut up you miserable twat! I don't want to hear what your bastard mouth has to say! Where are the teachers in charge? Do they know you've sneaked your way here? Where did you stay last night? Somewhere in the halls I supposed, you're probably used to it."

"He's on vacation." M.J. chimed in.

Mrs. Thompson snapped her attention to M.J. "And who said he could do that?"

M.J. shrugged. "Whoever brought him."

The Ned spoke. "You can't blame him for sneaking on to trip he was kicked off of and if he isn't even apart of the group."

Their talk back leaves Mrs. Thompson speechless and slack-jawed and he grip on Peter loosening. With her grip not as tight as it was he yanked his arms out of her hand and made his escape. Him suddenly moving snapped her out of whatever trance and she started yelling after him so he started quickening his pace which basically turned into a quick jog. He made it to the elevator and he thanked whatever god that was listening, so probably not Loki, that it was still on the lobby floor. Once inside he pressed the button for hid floor and the button the closed the door. Good thing to because she was a good 20 feet from him. He arrived at the room he was sharing with Tony and Stephen in 3 minutes. Tony was in the middle of putting a shirt on and Stephen was already dressed. However Stephen eyes shifted to the teens forearm and he frowned.

"Where did that bruise come from?" He asked and Peter froze.

Peter slowly looked at his left arm and sure enough a purple bruise jad formed it's way there. Fuck. What excuse could he tell them? He fell? Ran into something? He didn't have time to think of better ones because Tony walked up to him and started inspecting it.

"It looks like a hand. Did someone grab you?" He asked.

Well no used lying now.

"Flash's mom grabbed my arm when she saw me. But it's alright. I'm fine, really."

Despite their faces not believing that they didn't push any further and just told him to get dressed.

°°°°

Their first stop was the History Museum. Nothing special, they walked around and learned about some old stuff. They did run into a few of Peter's classmates there but Tony wasn't around. The one interesting thing about this was an artifact that was told it used to be able to teleport you wherever by just thinking of a place.

"It's fake." Stephen said.

This confused the billionaire and the spider teen.

"What makes you think that?" Peter asked.

A smirk creeped it's way on to the sorcerer's face. "I put it there."

The teen gasped and his excitement grew.

"What? Wait, so you stole something?"

"I couldn't let them keep the real one here. Can you imagine what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands?"

"So you stole it." Tony said bluntly.

Stephen sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Cool! How did you do it? Was it like a secrete spy mission with magic?" Peter asked with absolute glee in his eye.

Stephen chuckled a little. "No, I just made a portal and swapped them when no one was looking."

"Oh." Peter said before piping up again. "Still cool though."

"Very cool actually. What have you swapped out with something fake wizard boy?" Tony asked in his usual smug manner.

"You want me to go down the list alphabetically or from what I think is best?"

°°°°

After a while in the museum the three of them went to get lunch, which was just McDonald's. Next up on the "schools" trip was to talk with someone who claimed to have worked for Tony's company. When they arrived the guy was just starting his segment. His name was apparently Jack. Peter, Steven, and Tony sat in the back so no one would notice them. Some decathalon kids had simple question. Stuff like "did you handle sensitive stuff?" or "did you ever present an idea to Tony?" Peter leaned over to Tony and quietly asked if he knew him.

"Yeah, but he left because he found out he wasn't very happy in the field he was working." He replied just as quietly.

That answer seemed to satisfy Pete and his attention went back to the guy up-font. The Flash raised his hand to ask a question.

"Have you ever met Tony Stark and did he ever have someone following him?"

Jack thought for a minute. "I've met him a hand-full of times. His company is quite large so I assume he's a very busy man. Have a meeting with someone somewhere at sometime. And yes his assistant, Pepper followed him around. As brilliant as he is I assume something slip his mind from time to time."

"No I mean some like my age."

"Your age? No, I don't think I have. Then again I didn't see much of him." Jack paused for a few moments. "Oh! I did hear talk of him taking a high school student as his new intern. I don't know his name though."

Then Flash's mom piped up. "Was there anything said about him?"

"Well a few of the guys I talked to said that other people said he followed Stark around and that he clearly idolize him and sounded like he had a lot of potential. He sounded cool, wish I could've met him." Jack added a little laugh after that.

Hearing the praise he was getting already made Peter cheeks go a little pink but hearing that his admiration for Tony was so bluntly obvious made his entire face be painted red, slinking downwards in his chair and suddenly wishing they'd skip this part of the trip. Shifting his eyes to his left he could see Tony smiling and to his right Stephen was smirking. Loki seemed to be listening now and decided to stick his nose in the business. Peter didn't bother to try and see what faces Flash and his mom were making.

°°°°

By 10pm the 3 of them were back at the hotel and in the pajamas. The class would be eating in the dinning hall so Peter settled for room service instead.

"You're not going downstairs to eat?" Stephen asked, eyes not leaving the book in his hand.

"If he is then I'm going with him." Tony called from the bathroom with his toothbrush and toothpaste in his mouth.

"No, I'd rather not risk embarrassment from Mr. Stark."

They heard Tony spit out his toothpaste and followed by him standing in the doorway. "Hey, I am cool!"

"And goofy." Stephen said.

That earned him a glare. Tony went to rinse his mouth out before going over to Stephen and just beating him with a pillow. That turned into the 2 grown men having a pillow fight. Peter just sat and watched as the continued to play-fight before stopping when they heard a knock at the door and someone saying room service. Tony answered it and Stephen took the tray. Their bed was a mess but they didn't seem to care. The 3 of them sat and ate and watched t.v. until Stephen and Tony fell asleep. Peter doesn't blame them. Their older then he is so they obviously tire out quickly. Peter laid down on his respected bed and fell asleep himself with the sound of the t.v. in the background. His first day of his vacation was nice, could've gone without being grabbed by Flash's mom but minus that it was great. He can't wait till tomorrow.

****

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Se you next Tuesday!

[strigital]

I WANNA HEAR ABOUT YOUR V if thats ok

you… you really do?

‘cause if that’s true then hell yes! (tbh i’d yell about my ocs from a top of a mountain if only anyone would listen)

heck, where do i even start? anyways, long ass post ahead!

BACKSTORY!

To makelong ass story somewhat short: Jax was raised by her big bro - Alek - and, for aslong as she could remember, she believed her brother’s explanation of theirlonely existence, which was that their parents were, simply put, a couple ofjerks not suited for a family life. By his words their dad was a borderline psychoborgtoo busy ripping implants out of people, while the mom was a dirtgirl tooaddicted to braindance to care for her kids. And when the young lad justcouldn���t take it anymore, he snatched his little sister out of bed and ran withher into the night so they could both start a new life. Jaxine never doubtedthe story, even if the way they lived always seemed kinda fishy - like they werein hiding - not to mention it was somewhat suspicious that her bro wouldconstantly “go to work” armed to the teeth.

Welp, turnsout that all of this was a lie (what a twist!). In truth, Jaxie’s dad was onehelluva Netrunner who got his bread by getting people into parts of the Netthat they had no legal access to and occasionally stealing a few files fromcorpos here and there to sell them to fixers for some extra eddies. And iftheir dad was all about that software, their mom was the hardware maestro whocould build a computer out of scrap metal like it was Legos. They were quite apower couple and managed to attract more than  a few followers and basically started theirown tiny little gang whose main job was to ruin all the fun for the corps inthe virtual world. And, of course, something had to go wrong eventually. So itdid. They stole info about a shipment of expensive Arasaka tech and sold it toa fixer. But before they could get their hands on that juicy high tech, somerat snitched on them. One of their guys turned up to be a corpo whistleblower whose sole purpose was to sniff out the infamous Netrunner who was stealing theirdata. A whole ass witch hunt began and the dad knew he fucked up big time. Sobig, in fact, he knew for damn sure Arasaka was coming for him and his family.So he put his little daughter into his son’s arms along with some valuable datashards regarding his work, made him promise he’ll keep his sis safe and senthim on his merry way, whilst running with the wife in the opposite direction.

And itworked! Surprisingly. Alek did such an amazing job at concealing theirfootsteps they managed to live pretty happily and untouched by the corpos formany years. The brother became a solo and an edgerunner pretty early and tookon an alias of the ‘Vulture’ - ‘V’ for short. He was so damn good at his job theynever knew poverty. Buuut as they say ‘the faster you run away from yourpast…’ Jax was almost 18 when Arasaka found them. He gunned them all downlike dogs, even though he knew there was no way he’d survive. In the aftermathof the bloodbath, leaning against the wall of their wrecked living room,bleeding and dying, he promised her he was going to be fine, gave her thosemysterious shards, told her to grab his gun and bike and go to Night City, makea simple delivery to his old friend. Jax felt it was a goodbye and that those mercswere no damn drug dealers who came to collect an old debt. But she listened tohim anyway and rode to Night City.

There, this‘friend’ person who turned out to be the last surviving associate of her parents,told her the truth. The entire story and not a single lie. That day she made ither life goal to harass Arasaka at every turn, make their lives miserable, DDoSthe fuck out of their Net, mess up their systems real good! She adopted herbrother’s alias (though this time it most likely stood for ‘Vendetta’ howeversaucy that might sound) and began to follow in her parents’ footsteps, learningall she could about hacking and tech. Eventually, V got good enough at it soshe could jam tracking devices and disable surveillance programming in order toremain ‘inivisible’ to those who’d find her pranks unfunny. Though, apparently,someone’s been looking for her recently… Wonder what’s that all about, huh?

TL;DR!

JaxineBryce is a trash goblin and a bi disaster, who’s a not-so-bad Netrunner and asomewhat-acceptable Techie. She came to NC after her brother’s death to be apain in the Arasaka Corp.’s ass for personal reasons as well as for shits andgiggles.

She’s ofmixed race, though she mostly takes after her Asian mom. Her hazel eyesare long gone and replaced by some cute orange-glowing optics, and herbluish-black hair is always a hot mess that she just can’t be bothered to take careof it (if she could she’d wear a ‘Bad Hair Day’ beanie hat all day every day).Doesn’t really have that much skin wiring and such, prefers to conceal most of her cyberwareand look as natural as possible due to her fear of slipping into cyberpsychosis.

She alwaysloved to blast Johnny Silverhand on full volume in her room, but ever sinceArasaka kinda sorta ruined her life, she really started to like this guy, evengot herself a glowing tattoo of Samurais (not to mention the Samurai jacket,which was a birthday gift from the brother!).

She can’tdo shit in combat (besides firing a gun and only because her bro took her outshooting once), but boy can she fuck up your cyberware if you get too close.For these reasons she desperately relies on Jackie to be the ‘wall’ between herand the enemy, but at the same time she always makes T-Bug’s work a tad biteasier.

Other thanthat, she absolutely loves NiCola, dreams of owning at least a couple of cats, believes coffee and ramen to be the crowning achievments of humanity, is an AI rights supporter and a speed junkie to the bone despite not being the best driver in the book. Can’treally drive cars that well, but boy does she love bikes! And adding her ownlittle touches to her vehicles. Like, that one time she spray-painted Jackie’snew car neon pink and now he won’t leave her alone with his car unsupervised…

Jaxine issomewhat introverted and really clings onto people that she knows. T-Bug alwaysappeared to her like a caring big sister, while doctor Victor became a newfather figure in her life after her brother’s demise. V’s also got the biggestof crushes on Jackie, though she’d rather die in a fire than tell him, mostlybecause she really doesn’t want to ruin their amazing friendship (besides, shewon’t survive a day in NC without Jackie’s help). And even though she jokesaround a lot, she has a tendency to fall in and out of depression. Jackie’s happy attitudealways helped her deal with those kind of anxious feelings and going out forthe night on the town with her best amigo will always be her preferred way todo therapy. Despite all that, Jaxine’s genuinely a ‘good guy’, but definitely nota ‘knight in shining armor’. Sure, she’ll help you out if she happens upon youwhile on a job, but don’t expect her to go on a righteous quest to save theworld. Her only goal in life is avenging her family, letting go of the past andfinding a place to truly call home and nothing else. As soon as there’s nothingof importance holding her in Night City, she’ll hop on her bike and be gonebefore sunrise.

[blankdblank]

Forgotten Pt 4

Prologue - Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 -

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim, @jotink78

X Thranduil - @evyiione, @sweetlytenacious25, @tigereyesf

“Ada, you have to come out!”

Thranduil’s eyes fell hastily to his phone screen between the busy hustle of patients from the crash that had left him terribly late for the flight out from Lothlorien to Rivendell where his family was waiting for him. Yet again work had taken him from his initial promised travels to see them. For years his Mother had been away on an expedition and was finally home and here he was being held away from her, and now this, for the past hour his son seemed to be flooding his phone with these candid pictures of a woman he claimed to be staying in their rental home. Each image however seemed far too perfect, for all the faces of all the Elves he had come across in both university and in the hospitals he had both worked in and interned in he had never seen any Elleth so perfect.

Clearly with the glow around her and how seamlessly those curls fell around her face pooling over her shoulders in each picture obviously marked them as professionally done in his franticly paced mind. Yet each one still gave him a moments solace in this hectic setting, reminding him of home and family. A week and a half had passed when a shifting of weight by the Dean of Medicine at the hospital raised a brow asking, “Checking in on the new art exhibit at Lothlorien?”

Thranduil’s head turned to peer up to the man answering with a shake of his head, “No. My son is trying to hurry me along. Friend of my dad’s, staying with him for a few weeks.”

The man’s lips parted, “She’s staying with your family?!”

Thranduil nodded, “Yes.” Standing to finish off his third cup of coffee ready to head out to his rounds only to stop hearing the Dean say, “We can handle this. You go on ahead, we’ve already kept you a week past your original flight date.”

Thrandil raised a brow, “You’re certain?”

The Dean nodded, “Go on.” Before the Dean could change his mind he rushed off to his locker to grab his things and head back to his apartment to grab his bag and catch the first flight out to Lothlorien.

.

Clearly he had missed a run in with the mysterious woman, not just once either, several times over the next few years. A call overhead brought the drowsy surgeon into the Dean’s office where he sat down and nearly fell out of his chair hearing his transfer had been approved. By the next week through the halls his eyes locked on a familiar blonde Elf passing through the halls. For two days a grin eased on the younger Greenleaf’s face as his father settled into taking over his role while sharing the tasks he hoped for him to continue when he took over at the clinic. There were extra requests slipped in as well nearly stirring an eye roll from his son.

Oropher, “Now usually I have lunch at two.”

Thranduil chuckled flipping through the file in his palm inside the elevator, “You are planning my lunches as well?”

Oropher gave him a playful glare, “Jaqi eats lunch usually then as well.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes mid chuckle, “Not you too. First Legolas,”

Oropher’s hand settled on his arm making their eyes lock as he softly stated, “There aren’t many Elves out in Erebor. You’ll be surrounded by mainly Dwarves who might take the grudge they have against me and use it against you making it harder for you to fit in.”

Thranduil chuckled, “Ada, when have you known me to fit in?”

Oropher, “You know what I mean. She has a magnificent heart and talents you would never guess from an Elleth so young. Just like you there are few deemed her friends outside the Durins. I know her and her kindness, you would not be wasting-,”

Thranduil shook his head, “I never said it would be a waste of my time.”

“Then what is the problem?”

Thranduil wet is lips and guided his father inside an empty room, “Ada, Legolas keeps sending me these pictures of her. If she is half as breath taking-,”

Oropher waved his hand between them, “Do not go about trying to settle her as vain, she will easily beat that out of you.” Making Thranduil chuckle again, “She grew up around Dwarves, to them, as painful,” he wet his lips making Thranduil shift his weight seeing the irritation and pain flashing over his face, “Our first conversation, I complimented her, and she was shocked.” Thranduil’s brow rose, “To them, she is valued on her personality, with looks far from appealing. We went out to Rivendell and she had them in awe and she realized she was the swan in the lake of ducks. We may not be the finest in the flock but I know, with hearts like yours you could truly freeze them all by making her smile.”

“Ada.”

“Just go and say hello, I’ve already asked her to help keep the Dwarves from being too rough on you.”

Thranduil chuckled then sighed seeing he would not relent, “I will say hello.”

Oropher grinned, “Good.” He chuckled knowing that as soon as he met you it would merely be a helpless battle against his heart trying to keep him from trying anything with you. He would clearly fall for you just as quickly as he, Taule and Legolas had, all eager to loop you into their family.

.

With moving van loaded Thranduil stole one last hug from his son and father and climbed into the cab waiting to drive him to the airport. For all his worries as to what he was undertaking he relished the thought of being out in the open, right in the center of that idyllic scene he had seen so many pictures from his father over the years stirring up his hunger to be under the stars surrounded by a vast stretch of green. Even if he had to deal with an endless string of ‘have yous-,’ from his relatives concerning the simplest of interactions with this mystery woman haunting his dreams.

…

In the news of the doctor’s departure came an altogether more startling announcement, the pub was now up for sale and in a willful move the young Durins had swooped in and taken it up for themselves with all they had saved up. Gratefully they settled into the empty apartment above the pub with the tall redheaded Elleth behind them gritting her teeth at being trapped out here in this nowhere town after her fiancé had sunk the money she had imagined to be for their lavish service into some ruined pub. But at least with her and her sunken mood the Durin clan were glad to have the innocent young hopeful among them back within view in hopes of reigning the Elleth into line or drive her away.

Not two days later Fili had given his news as well, he would be joining the law firm in town along with Oin and Gloin, while spending the majority of his days working in Bilbo’s shop to also fuel his desire to sculpt as he kept up his day job. And certainly Sigrid was pleased to be back again and found herself happily welcomed back into the family fold, taking up a permanent spot on the paper and small shifts to fill in for Kili at the pub on his off days. Even with Tauriel and her cloud of gloom she brought to town in the muddle of all the changes swirling around the cards would fall as they may and everyone was simply hoping for the best for their little town.

…

“Here you go.” A large grin eased onto your face as Nori passed over the keys and final ownership papers to the worn down cottage next door to Bifur and Bofur’s just days after Oropher had left. For years now the old owner’s family were locked in a bitter inheritance feud locking the sale of the cottage, which in the last big set of storms a few months back had half of the roof cave in making the entire innards have to be torn out and redone.

On a vacation from the shop you unlocked your door with a crew of construction workers behind you who all aided in pulling back the vines and random weeds then aided in tearing out the drywall coating the original stone walls. After treating the mold having grown there and double checking the foundations and plumbing the roof was first to be added with new coatings for the walls and insulation were next once the wiring, lightings and plumbing fixtures were changed. In the empty house you walked around trying not to cry knowing you were about to take a big step on your own. That trail of thought halted seeing the moving van pull up at the Manor on Raven Hill that Oropher had just emptied the week prior. Nipping at your lip you spotted the tall blonde in the distance you assumed to be his son, the mysterious Thranduil you had yet to meet in the years you had known his father. A clear ring from your phone in the kitchen broke that trail of thought when you were called into the shop to help with a particularly stubborn engine.

.

By the third day you had an empty shell of a home, shelving and cabinets were next to be installed with final touches to be added. Each nook and cranny was planned out and you walked out to the shop where you spotted Bilbo and Thorin locked another bout of hopeless flirting with the crimson haired niece of the Hobbit sitting hopelessly on a stool sighing as she eyed the book in her palms that she recently finished and realized there were three more in a series after it. On your left you eyed Dwalin coming up to you with keys in hand grinning as he said, “Just filled her up this morning, should get you there with half a tank to spare hopefully. Just-.”

“Don’t touch the radio, I know.” He chuckled and eased the key ring into your palm.

Another sigh came from the teen and you watched Bilbo turn and say, “I’ve told you I cannot make another run out to town. We could get them delivered you know.”

Mal sighed replying, “I don’t have the money for overnight shipping and I’ve nothing to read for three days.”

Bilbo shook his head and you said rather reluctantly, “I’m heading out to Dale. It’s a full day of roaming through shops but there’s a book shop you can roam through while I browse. If you like.”

Instantly her face lit up and you could see the ease spreading across Bilbo and Thorin’s faces allowing them more time to timidly ease out their plans for dinner after Dwalin had finally cornered them into the task by inviting the boys to help them with their project for school freeing the anxious pair for their first night alone. You forced a smile and she jolted up following you to the truck outside as Dwalin moved back to forcing the pairs hands into something more concrete.

On the road out of town you sat quietly on the bench seat and watched the road realizing just how long this trip was going to take with a stranger you hadn’t so much as said hello to before today. Wetting your lips you said, “Um, so, I might have misheard him the other day but Bilbo called you Mallard?”

She glanced at you with a weak laugh, “No, I mean ya, my name’s Mallory. I sort of collect ducks, always loved them, nickname sort of stuck.” After wetting her lips she asked, “You live with the wood shop Brothers?”

You nodded, “Ya, my godfathers. Bifur and Bofur.”

“Oh, your, um, parents live far away? Nobody really talks about you growing up.”

You glanced at her with a weak chuckle, “We lived on a military base in Valinor, there was an attack when I was eleven. Got sent around until they finally followed my Mother’s wishes and sent me here.” In another glance at her you giggled saying with a smile, “No need to have that face, or apologize. You didn’t do it. People just assume it’s a sore subject being so far from Valinor, but honestly I prefer the silence.”

She nodded and glanced at the road as you pulled out of the edge of town, “You get along with all the Durins? I noticed the guys seem to like you.”

You chuckled and said, “Um. That’s a loaded question.”

She peered over at you, “How?”

“By Dwarvish standards, I’m not very attractive.” Her brow inched up, “More so when I was younger. I didn’t have many friends. I preferred being on my own, sort of added to the silence on where I came from. Fili and Kili were popular. It wasn’t till a few years back they really noticed how, entertaining, I guess for lack of a better term, I was. We’re sort of finding our footing as friends.”

“Oh. Not more than friends?”

In a glance at her you giggled again, “We’re practically family.”

Mal, “You’re not interested at all? I mean Kili-,”

You giggled again, “Kili,” you glanced at her instantly seeing she wasn’t going to let this go reminding you of her attentions on him since she first spotted him, “I can see how others find him attractive.” The gaze of her emerald eyes was practically burning into the side of your face, “Can I tell you something honestly?”

You glanced at her and caught her eager nod, “Only my godfather’s really know this. I have a cousin, he pulled me away from the fires on the base, kept me safe. Kili reminds me of him.” You glanced at her again catching her exhale of relief, “Growing up it was nice seeing someone so, identical from time to time. Might have given some a hint of a crush but, I just missed my cousin.” She nodded again, “If anything I, and now you cannot tell anyone, I will deny this, I had the hugest crush on Fili. He still gets me with those damn dimples of his when his eyes light up.”

Mal chuckled, “Damn dimples.” She wet her lips, “You do know he follows you around, Kili.”

You glanced at her with another nod, “Summer before you moved in, we sort of had a falling out. He thought he was helping and he managed to just really stab me in the chest. He’s still trying to make it up to me I guess. That’s why the guys don’t like leaving him alone with me. In case he says anything stupid. Again.”

Mal, “His girlfriend, she seems-..”

“I know, Dis and I get the same off feeling about her. Eventually Kili will catch on. He’s got such a gentleness about him he needs to learn how to stick up for himself for once.” In another glance at her you asked, “So what books are you going for?”

Her face lit up and she started spilling about the series she was hoping to fill out as your mind instantly jumped to wondering what Oropher was up to wishing you could have done all this with him.

…

For the near hour long drive you watched the speck in the distance growing nearer until you were driving through the great city. Outside the massive book shop you let her out giving her your number as you drove a few squares over to the main shop, more like warehouse, you were to shop for your furniture. “Barge on in’ was stamped on the outside of the building and you parked and entered the ridiculously named place. Which really was just a collection of smaller companies all bound together to improve their sales by sharing a single location for browsing. With a sigh you eased the cardigan on from the seat behind you to warm it up on the ride over as the cool air in the doorway hit you.

Straight to the couches you started already feeling the eyes of the already busy salesmen along the way wishing they were free as you smoothed your fingers through your hair as it drooped over your shoulder. Easing the few tangles free until you came to a set of couches making you come to the admission that you believed not to ever have very many guests at all. Between the leather pair and the velour one you scanned over them then moved on to a comfy looking grey set not far away only to step back at the salesman with a wide grin who hopped over the back of it extending his legs onto the foot rest asking, “Just browsing or something more serious?”

His brow ticked up and you freed your lower lip from between your teeth, “Depends how busy you might get.”

“What could you mean by that?” His hand patted the cushion beside his making you roll your eyes and step closer after his purr, “Come on, can’t buy a couch on looks alone.”

Easing back into the couch that was just plushy enough to sink into and oversized enough to allow you ample room for spreading out with a blanket, “It is comfy.”

He looked you over, “Choosing for you or your boyfriend?” He asked scanning over your hands for any sign of a wedding band.

You shook your head, “No, seems large enough for spreading out with a good book.”

“Ah. Current couch not pulling its weight?”

“Current couch isn’t mine. Got my own place finally, need to fill it. Hence the busy comment, a lot to look for.”

He grinned offering his hand, “Bard, at your service.”

You shook his hand after raising your mental wall, “Jaqi. Bard, as in the Bard on the building?”

He nodded, “And I rarely get called away, take as long as you need browsing.” He grinned again at your nod then rose when you did asking with a gesture at the couch, “Up to snuff?”

You nodded, “I’ll take it.”

He nodded moving to grab one of the info sheets for the couch set then asked, “What are we looking for next?”

“I need some side tables and a desk set next, then the new bed frame and dresser, two sets actually, then a wardrobe, not sure what I’ll put in it yet.”

Bard chuckled, “For you or your guests?”

“I’m not exactly sure if I’ll have guests. We usually go to my godfather’s cousin’s house. It’s the largest for family events.”

He chuckled, “So, a wardrobe for a mysterious reason. Not a problem. My youngest absolutely loves them, keeps her art supplies in it.”

“Ooh, good choice. Might use mine for blankets though, extra pillows maybe for the living room.”

He nodded, “Nice choice, perfect for reading.”

“Well it does feed into the study, which I managed to pack an extra set of shelves for my books.”

He grinned and guided you to the area for tables and tried to guess which ones you would choose in each area you were led to next, each time being pleasantly wrong. A couple hours later however you were joined by Mal, who was practically giddy, bouncing as she delved into her choices as you looked through the mattresses on your last stop. Rolling your eyes you ignored her rock like choice to move towards the cloudlike mattresses and picked it for yourself with a firmer one for any guests you might possibly ever have. With the last items checked off your list you followed Bard to his office to ring it all up making Mal’s mouth drop open at the total.

A swipe of your card later and you signed the final papers and set up a delivery time then made your way to the next set of shops, before parking again Mal had already started reading and you left her in the truck to walk through the bath and bedding shop. Two carts were filled, paid for and transferred into the covered bed of the truck with only one more stop after at the paint shop. Climbing in again when you locked the cover to the bed you started the drive back home again, thankful for being able to handle all of your main needs in one trip while also aiding the young woman still new to town you hoped to possibly befriend someday.

.

Outside Bilbo’s cottage you parked and cleared your throat signaling Mal you had arrived. In a curious glance up she gave you a wave and hopped out of the truck and dashed inside to continue reading. Wetting your lips you drove the few minutes away to unload everything in your new cottage then drove the truck off to Dwalin’s leaving him the keys, stealing a glimpse in at the boys and their projects and walking home again.

Unable to sleep you packed the sheets and beddings in the closets near where they were going and set up the items for the bathrooms and kitchen then started with the paint you had chosen for the kitchen to coat the bare spots of the walls. After cracking the windows you moved on to the dining room and managed to get through the whole house by morning. The doorbell broke your grin at finishing your task signaling the arrival of your new fridge and appliances you had ordered online. Finally aired out you closed the windows and groaned moving to your pile of pillows in the middle of the living room for a nap after you had unloaded your groceries from your trip to the market in town.

Nightfall came with a sighting of your new neighbor. Once again the blonde was pacing in his own kitchen setting up his own cutlery and dishes where he deemed best between clear glances through the windows as, once you had changed into your bathing suit, you walked to the lake for a set of laps stealing a glance at Bifur and Bofur gladly helping their intendeds to move their belongings in. Again you forced yourself to smile knowing they had found their Ones and had fallen so happily into their new beginnings as you started yours. Sinking deeper into the cold waters you caught sight of the distant blonde, now shirtless openly watching you from between his open curtains making you mumble to yourself, “I forgot to buy the damn curtains…”

A sigh left you in your first stroke, for barely ten minutes you swam until a crash of thunder sounded making you sigh again knowing Bofur would come out if you didn’t go inside to drag you out of the lake himself. On the path in however you could feel those distant blue eyes on you while you wrung out your hair wondering why he hadn’t said anything or even tried to speak to you yet. Far from aware of the troubles his son had put him through in the past few years knowing you.

… Thranduil moves in …

Thranduil’s first day moving in had been a hassle, unbearably tedious after having helped his Father move into his place the day before. Box after box the house was filled and he just had enough and flat out refused to deal with the hassle of dinner. So after a long walk he strolled into the barely populated pub. Removed the jacket over his jeans and a sweater, laid his jacket over the back of a chair claiming the seat along the wall ordering a pint and their dinner special for the night before his eyes shifted landing on a beaming smile poking out from under a mess of frizzy curls. 

One glance and he couldn’t look away, spending most of the night watching as you laughed at the jokes shared between the men at your table and the brunette from behind the bar that seemed to have a serious problem with him giving you any attention at all. But the redhead wearing his ring and beads openly declared you as free game, at least unless those beads tucked behind your ear bound you to one of the men at the table.

Walking back home the name he’d heard the others calling you appeared on a sign outside a large shop with a listing of the major machines you worked on, biting his lip he slid his hands in his pockets turning forward again mumbling to himself, “Sailing. Can’t be that hard.” Returning home his first mission was scanning through boat listings, mumbling again, “Can’t be in too good shape.” Finally he settled on the rusted boat with a bum seized up engine, clearly not worth the effort for some mechanics, but he had the money and it certainly would give him more than enough time to gather the courage to speak with you.

...

Frerin, “Ooh, look at that, another blonde.”

Softly you stated, “That would be the son.”

Thorin chuckled mumbling as he raised his glass for a sip, “Never guessed that one.”

Dwalin chuckled stating, “You’d think he’d come over, the raving blonde just keeps staring. Right at you.”

You rolled your eyes, “Probably cuz I’m covered in grease and my hair is a poofed out mess.”

Thorin, “Still, at least we’d figured he’d say hello.”

“He just moved in.”

Frerin, “Ya, but you’ve been like kin to his Adad years now, thought he’d love to steal a chance at an instant friend.”

“He’s had years to meet me, probably just as happily married.”

Dwalin gruffly chimed in, lowering his mug from a sip, “Not unless he’s got another hand hidden somewhere for his wedding band.” That made you force your face to remain still realizing the reason the giant Adonis on legs kept staring at you and stayed away was because he possibly was just overworked and possibly shy.

Frerin made you roll your eyes stating, “Bet’s on five days to wander over for a hello.”

Thorin nodded, chuckling and patting the table as Gloin copied down the bets on the next table over, grinning as Thorin stated, “One month on actually asking you out.”

Rolling your eyes you heard them planning your whole expected timeline out just mentally hoping that this time it won’t be just teasing, that just once the object of this game could actually like you and make a move, eventually.

.

A few hours had passed when the lights were switched on in your small cottage and he caught a glimpse of you lowering onto the floor after the lights cut off to sleep. A sight nearly driving him down across the stretch of green between you to bring you to one of his fully furnished spare rooms Oropher had taken so much of his free time in pulling together to fit the lavish abode. But he kept his distance and finalized the details on payment with the owner of the rusted heap he wished to have you tear apart and rebuild for him.

Lunch rolled around and once again you sat at the pub wondering when the phone call alerting you of the delivery of your furniture would arrive. Lost in thought you sat at the bar tapping a pretzel stick into a napkin narrowing your eyes the more you focused, completely missing the blonde along the wall watching you curiously while Kili lowered to rest his head on his crossed arms staring at you timing how long you were going between blinks.

The opening of the door and glint of light reflecting off the mirror behind the bar shining in your face snapped you out of your thoughts as you eyed the familiar brunette entering the pub. A grin eased onto his lips as he approached Sigrid, who just stepped out of the back room with a growing smile and an eager trot saying, “Da.” She giggled and asked after their hug, “What are you doing in town?”

Bard chuckled saying, with a wave of his cell phone, “Phone can’t find a signal, have to let a client know I’m coming. Thought I might drop in on you, ask if I could use yours.”

Sigrid giggled pointing at you signaling your wave and forced smile stirring his out again as you asked, “Wouldn’t happen to be my delivery would it?”

He nodded and asked, “Did you drive out here?” You shook your head and he motioned himself towards the door, “We’ve room in the truck, you can point us the right way.”

Again Kili swatted away your hand when you tried to pay making you roll your eyes on the path to the door. Behind him you climbed into the truck and guided it along to the house where you told the group of Men where to unload the largest pieces they unwrapped for you and left the smaller pieces in the living room for you to set up later as you wished.

…

Lunch had ended and back to the clinic Thranduil went, back to the unsettling waiting for anyone to show up at all. Still unable to sleep in the vast change he sipped on his latest cup of coffee then nearly knocked the table over jolting upright when the bell sounded alerting him to Bilbo coming in. The absence of the usual receptionist on the aid’s day off brought a momentary furrow to Bilbo’s brow as his Nephews filed in after him. Curiously the tall blonde smiled at the group then accepted Bilbo’s handshake, “Bilbo Baggins. My Nephews Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippen.”

He wet his lips through Thranduil stating, “Thranduil Greenleaf.”

Bilbo nodded shifting his weight on his feet, “We have an appointment for their annual check ups?”

Thranduil’s brows furrowed for a moment then he shook his head, “Sorry, my mistake, our receptionist quit a few days back and deleted two weeks of appointments out of spite. It appears I might just have to go round town knocking on doors to see who I’ll be upsetting next.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but chuckle as Thranduil did out of nerves for saying that, “Well I doubt you’d have to do more then just ask Dis to put a notice in the paper and by noon you’ll have all the names and times.”

Thranduil nodded, “I will remember that,” motioning to his office he said, “Right through here.” One at a time after finding their files he gave them a check up and recorded the information and moved to sit behind the desk to schedule their next appointment himself.

Bilbo glanced around then said, “You know I have a niece,” Thranduil peered up at him curiously, “She’s got a degree in records management and has worked as a receptionist before. She’s terribly bored in my shop, loathes aiding in working with the figurines, I could get her to drop by if you like.”

Thranduil chuckled, “That would, be a big help, thank you.”

Bilbo nodded accepting the reservation card, “I’ll send Mallard your way.” He nodded then guided the boys through the door leaving Thranduil with his brows furrowed.

Whispering to himself as he rose to put away their files he asked, “Mallard? I need some more coffee.”

.

Not ten minutes later he rushed back out of his office again finding a redheaded half hobbit in the doorway with a weak smile as Pippen dashed away again towards their shop leaving her to approach him offering her hand to say, “Mallory Baggins.”

He grinned, “Nice to meet you Mallory, I’m Thranduil Greenleaf.” He shifted on his feet in a step back, “I’ll show you around. To be certain.. You do want the job?”

She nodded, “Yes please, get me out of the shop.”

He wet his lips turning to show her the ins and outs of the clinic and what she would be expected to do and right away she filled out the employment papers and then dug into the files reorganizing them properly. Once that was done she did what Bilbo had suggested and dropped by on Dis’ break at the paper and sure enough sat at her new desk taking down the information for the appointments that had been lost she relayed to Thranduil.

Halfway through however she caught his eyes shifting to the windows peering out into the street catching your passing by with Dwalin. A grin eased onto her face when she looked down again to keep him from being embarrassed and then joined him on a walk after closing the clinic for their lunch break.

Inside the pub they gave their orders and as Mal recovered from her blush at having knocked over the same cup of toothpicks Kili kept moving in hopes of her missing it in his own little amusing game. She sat beside Thranduil, who gave her a soft smile trying not to openly stare at you between Frerin and Dwalin while Bilbo and Thorin eased into their own table sharing a hushed conversation of their own. His eyes snapped back to her as she said, “She’s single you know.”

Thranduil forced a smile, “My father mentioned that, yes.”

Mal nodded, “I could call her over..”

Thranduil landed his eyes on hers with a competitive smirk, “And I could easily call Kili over here to speak to you while I distract Miss Pear.” Her cheeks lit up and he chuckled as Kili leaned in over her shoulder to set their orders on the table marking his clear victory in this round of a game he knew she would not let up on.

…

It wasn’t till a couple days later after Thranduil had gratefully received word of the arriving boat he had finally managed to achieve a few hours of sleep together instead of short bursts of naps. So when a certain Durin had showed up late for his appointment he grinned at the chance to strike back at Mal after her latest urgings to him on having lunch with you. Shirtless on the table he sat asking about a scrape he got a few days prior checking at his request wondering if the stinging was due to an infection. His grin only deepened when Mal passed through the clinic to the cracked door she heard Thranduil’s voice through with a file for the next patient only to freeze wide eyed after scanning them over the dark hair coated bare chest on the curly haired grinning Dwarf.

Suddenly she ducked out of the room closing the door behind her only to crack it open passing the file through the door. “Mr Hrorn just arrived.”

Thranduil accepted it saying, “Thank you Mallard. We’ll be through in a moment.”

Kili grinned and bit his tongue through the final bandage being added to his back after a cleaning of the scrape and a shot of antibiotics. Back in the waiting room leaning on the counter he grinned at Mal after Thranduil led Mr Hrorn through to the exam room and lowly stated, “You don’t look like a Mallard to me.” Firing a wink at her making her blush brightly on his path to the door.

Pt 5

[esther-aria]

Top Hats: Full Story

There’s this town. I guess, the only way to describe it is as being somewhere far, far away. It’s small. The kind of town that isn’t marked by a road sign or anything if you’re traveling. The kind of town most people just, pass by. But—as it normally goes—to the people living within its borders, this little town is the world.

In it, there are houses filled with families, streets lined with stores, a post office, a fire station, a library, the Mayor’s office, a school. The people there go to work, pay their bills, laugh with friends, and go home to sleep in their beds every night. A nice normal little town…

Of course. There is one thing that isn’t quite so normal. In this town, every single person, big or small, young or old, boy or girl, wears a top hat. All day. Every day.

Now. Let me get one thing straight. The story I’m about to tell you, it isn’t some fairy tale. Every detail of it is true. I should know. I was there. Avera was my world. My name’s Ruth, for what it’s worth, and I have a story of how these hats dictated the lives of the people of Avera. Because you see, what we wear, they’re not just hats. They’re your life on display for everyone to see. The hat is a symbol of every wrong thing you’ve done in your life. The taller your hat, the more mistakes you’ve made. And every single person knows it. I mean, it’s not really something you’d point out to someone’s face. More something that’s discussed behind their back. The hats influenced your life. In many ways the hats were your life. A summary of it anyways. A summary of all of your wrongs, your mistakes and, really, that’s how most people evaluate their lives anyways, right?

But this story isn’t just about the hats. It’s about a girl I knew. A girl whose life was more affected by the hats than anyone. Her name is Mia. And she wore the tallest top hat in Avera.

Let me just start out with this. I knew Mia but, no, we weren’t friends. Mia – well – Mia didn’t have many friends. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that Mia didn’t have any friends. No one would have admitted it out loud, but Mia wasn’t someone many parents wanted their kids to be friends with.

I remember the first time I saw Mia. It was the first day of school my second grade year. She was just starting kindergarten. Her hat wasn’t so tall then, not by adult standards. But it was enough that she sat in the back with the other taller hat kids. It was strange, I remember thinking, she didn’t act like most of the other Tall Hatters: teasing and bullying the other kids, interrupting the teacher in class, nothing like that. She was quiet, she kept to herself. I remember though, thinking how much she reminded me of a diamond. Mia was beautiful always, even then. All the girls in high school hated her for it, hated because the boys loved it. But back in elementary school, I saw her and thought “diamond.” Overlarge gray eyes stared out from behind a curtain of white blonde hair. Eyes that were full of ice. Eyes that could cut through you like you were nothing. Because, as I learned later, those are the real attributes of diamonds. They’re nice to look at and all, but they’re stone cold and—when used correctly—they can cut anything into pieces.

There was a school bully during those years. Ulises Diaz. The kind of kid who used the same hands to bring a gift to his teacher as to tear out kids’ hair on the playground. The same mouth to simper sweetly during class as to dish out violent insults in the hallways. The same smile to shine on the lunch lady in order to get him an extra snack in the lunch line as to bestow on a student, cornered and alone, before he began his torment. And from the minute Mia stepped foot onto Avera Elementary soil, Ulises took a special interest in her. In short, Ulises took Mia’s life and shattered it from the bottom up. To say her life was a nightmare would be too gentle. With nightmares, escape comes with the sunrise. But for Mia… for Mia there was never an escape. Ulises began his war when he boarded the bus in the morning and gathered all the other riders around to laugh at Mia’s worn out clothing and holey shoes, continued through lunch when he stole from her whatever pitiful amounts of food she’d brought for the day, and ended with a scathing insult that rang through the halls along with the final bell.

He was relentless. He was powerful. No one dared to stand against him. Say what you will about children, but from what I’ve seen they’re not much different from adults. Yes, their worlds might be a bit smaller, but they are still worlds. Their emotions are still emotions. Cruelty is cruelty. And fear is fear. And Ulises dished out both with extra helpings from childhood on. And so Mia was cut off from the start.

Fast forward ten years. I was nearing the end of my high school career and Mia...  well, she wasn’t the same helpless little girl anymore. Life had hardened her. And she didn’t hesitate to let it show. Her hat was so tall it skimmed the doorframes of every classroom she walked in. And Mia bore it with a kind of pride. Her eyes flashed like glowing steel as she made her way down the hall. She was known by every name you can imagine. And she lived up to those names with a vengeance. Everyone at Avera High knew the stories of Mia’s weekend exploits. You name it, Mia had done it. At least, that’s what everyone believed. Me included. It only took one glance of Mia, gliding down the hall, eyes judging, mouth smirking, to know without a doubt what kind of life she was living.

I do remember though… this one day.

In the middle of my senior year. I had left class to go use the bathroom. I walked in, and as I reached the first stall I heard a horrible noise. I can still close my eyes sometimes in an empty room and hear it. There was a gurgle, and then retching. The sound of something sloshing into the toilet. Great racking breaths. And then a sob. A sob so full of pain it turned my stomach over just listening to it. I was frozen by it. The sob. It tore at me. Then, as I was standing by the stall, frozen, I heard the toilet flush. The door smashed open. And then Mia’s diamond eyes were drilling mine. Full of such hatred, such anger, such… pain.

“I…”

My mouth didn’t work. Without a word she moved past me. “Mia, I –”

But she was gone.

I turned back and looked around the bathroom. Frantically searching the dank walls, the chipped tiles, the dirty mirrors, everywhere, expecting there to be a change. Some testament to the event that had just taken place. Some evidence to justify the rapid beating of my heart. But there was nothing. No proof besides her sob’s echo in my ears. Did it really happen, that sob? Could a diamond, a cold-hard stone, really have made such a desperate sound? Even now… I’m not certain.

I never told anyone about The Bathroom. And Mia and I continued never speaking. Never looking. Never existing to the other. I graduated. Went to college. Met my husband. Started a family. And forgot her. At least, that’s what I told myself. But sometimes, at night, that sob would echo through my dreams. And I would wake, stomach churning, heart pumping, in a cold sweat.  I never told my husband what it was that scared me so badly. I just let him put his arms around me, comfort me, love me, until I slept again.

Until, that is, the night that changed everything. I worked part time as a nurse in the ER at the Fidel & Creda Truman Hospital a few days a week. Normally during the hours when the children were at school. But, one evening, I got called in for a night shift.  They were short-staffed and when I heard the secretary’s harried voice on the other end of the line, I couldn’t tell her no. It turned out not to be so busy of a night though. A few allergic reactions. Some broken bones. My shift was nearing its last half hour or so, I had just finished seeing to a little boy with a hairline fracture, when I noticed a frantic rush of doctors heading towards the lobby. An ambulance was parked out front. The EMTs were unloading the stretcher. I slid in behind Arden, a fellow nurse, and asked her what was going on.

“Overdose, I think. Someone found her in Mara Leah Park and called it in.”

The stretcher and its occupant whisked by, and we all pretended to busy ourselves while still trying to sneak a look. I didn’t catch more than a pale arm resting on a thin torso and a tall – very tall – hat before they turned into one of the rooms.

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

Ulises came home smelling like booze. He threw on lights as he thundered through the apartment. I laid so still. Eyes slammed shut, I barely breathed. Wishing, pleading. That he’d just get into bed and ignore me. That he’d let me be invisible, just this once-

“Miaaa!”

Sloppy hands grappled at the bed sheets as my silent plea faded into the night. 

“Mia!”

I groaned. “WHAT, Ulises?”

“Where’s my dinner?”

I started to feel the familiar fire spark in my chest. What- the dinner that I bought with the money you never bring home? That I made with the ingredients that we never have because you throw away any paychecks you get on drinks? That would have gone cold hours ago anyways because you’re only home once the bartender finally decides to kick you out for the night? But I crush the words between my teeth. Biting down on my tongue before it betrays me.

“Did you hear me? I said: Where. Is. My. Dinner?”

“What do you want from me, Ulises? It’s 3 in the morning. Any decent person in this town went to bed hours ago.”

By now my hair’s twisted between his fingers, pulled tight as he brings his hot, rancid breath right up to my face. His bulging body fills up the room like a fat rhino and his dark hairline is seeped in sweat. Pit-black eyes level into mine, my roots feel the pain of one final tug, and he releases, “Get up and make me something to eat.”

Knowing what it will cost me, I grab the covers and pull them back over my head. Eyes snapped shut, blood roaring through my ears, I tell him, “Get up and do it yourself.”

The fight didn’t last long. Ulises’ fingers were back around my hair and he lifted me from the bed like a farmer would a chicken he was about to axe. I break his hold, sacrificing a few chunks of hair, and hurdle over our ugly green sofa as a plate smashes into the wall right where my head had just been. Pieces of cheap china scatter into the fraying carpet, flecks of paint from the wall falling down after them.

I land on it wrong. My ankle. But I don’t let it stop me. I make it to the doorway and find that Ulises is already there. His massive chest heaving, and a sick light in his eyes that stops me dead. “You want to leave so bad, Mia darling?”

I don’t trust my tongue to speak, it’s done enough damage already tonight. His mouth tilts up into a wild, carnivorous smile, and his hand closes around the doorknob.

“Then get out.”

I hold my face frozen as fear pumps through me. Ulises’ smile grows, he smells the fear anyways. “Get out of this house.”

If I stay still enough… if I don’t speak, maybe he’ll let it go. He can’t make me leave, not now. But no—

His eyes catch fire. “You don’t want to live by my rules, then I have no choice!”

He moves towards me, and I break. “No! No, Ulises please! I’m sorry! I’ll make dinner, I’ll make anything you want, please don’t—”

But with one hand he grabs the back of my neck and with the other he’s pulled the door open.

“ULISES—”

I fall forward through the doorway and twist up from the ground to watch the apartment door as it’s slammed shut in my face.

I wait. One beat. Two.

He’s not going to let me back in. Every part of me trembles. None of our neighbors have come out. To help me, to do anything. I know they’re up, how could they not be after that? But no one so much as even opens their door to see. I go to stand and collapse on the ground again, turning to see that my left ankle is the size of the fist Ulises’ hurled at my face. I turn and start walking down the street, being careful to favor it… Pain medicine. I need pain medicine.

I made my way down a couple blocks to the 24-hour drugstore. The door opens with a puff and I’m bathed in harsh fluorescent lighting. Goosebumps spread along my arm as the frigid air surrounds me and I walk straight to the medicine aisle, not making eye contact with anyone. Not that there’d be anyone willing to make eye contact with me anyways. When there’s roadkill on the side of the street, and the animal’s guts are strewn all around its corpse, and another nightcrawler’s sitting there chewing on the body, and you’re torn between closing your eyes just to blot it out and staring transfixed at the carnagraphic horrors this world can create… that horror is me. I’m the roadkill. With a top hat so tall it bends in half just so I can get through doorways. It’s incredible to me, that I can be so unbelievably obvious, something everyone in this town can see three miles coming, and yet so totally invisible not a single person in this place will even look at me.

What am I even doing here. Right, pain medicine. My fingers close around the tiny box and I remember I don’t have my wallet. Well. Avera owes me one anyways.

The door puffs shut behind me and I start walking. It’s not like anybody’s looking.

The throbbing in my ankle reminds me that walking any long distance isn’t really an option. I yank open the lid on the meds and start downing pills when my eyes land on the sign for Mara Leah Park. Good enough. I limp into the park, trying to look for something to sit on, but the streetlights have been busted in this town for ages. My ankle hurts… There’s no way Ulises’ letting me back in tonight… I don’t know why I even bother staying with him. Not like he would blink twice if I dropped dead. I spill a few more pills into my hand and choke them down. Not like anyone in this town would blink twice. Not for Mia, tallest top hat in all Avera. I know what they all think of me. You can see it on their short-hatted faces.  I know what they think. I know what I look like. I know what I am…

I go to swallow a couple more pills, but the bottle’s empty. Whatever. I can barely feel my ankle now anyways. I see a bench a few feet away. Or is it more than that? Everything seems farther away now. Like it’s running away from me. I mean… who can blame it though, really. I’d run too if I wasn’t-

The bench is just so far… It just keeps running.

Maybe I could sleep here for now. Just on this sidewalk. The sidewalk isn’t running. I wonder why not. Can’t you see my hat, sidewalk? Can’t you see what it means? I am my hat, sidewalk. I am. I. Am. It. And there’s nothing you can do to change that…

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

She slept for three days.

We’ve been watching her the whole time. Twenty-four hour suicide watch because we can’t be sure yet. The whole town’s talking about it. A group of teenagers walking to school in the morning literally stumbled across her lying down in the middle of the path, unconscious, barely breathing. One of them, little Aqilah Pradhi—she babysits my kids when my husband and I go out—she had the sense to call an ambulance. They rushed her in and pumped her stomach while the nurses gossiped. Then she slept and the stories flew.

But today, she’s awake. Not talking to anyone, but she’s awake. Those cold diamond eyes are at work again. I can feel them on my back when I walk past her room. A dozen times today I almost bring my eyes up to meet hers, but I can’t. Because every time I try I hear that sob again. The one I can’t face. The one I can’t accept happened. 

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

They think I tried to kill myself.

Like I’d go to that much effort.

I’m stuck here for a few more days while they continue “observing” me. I’m off suicide watch, so I guess that’s nice. Not really a lot to do though, I told them not to let Ulises in (if he even bothers to show up), and it’s not like there’s anyone else to visit me so… I just sort of sit here. I suppose you could call it peaceful. If it weren’t for those snoopy nurses sticking their beaks in my room and in my business twenty-four hours a day. Stupid hens. Clucking together in a pack as they gossip about the town, the doctors, each other, me.

Except that one nurse.

Ruth.

She never sticks her beak in my room. I barely see her ever even near my room. And when she does it’s like. Like… her face is attached to an anvil dragging along the ground underneath her. Short dark hair frizzes around her face, bangs hide her eyes from me. It’s like no power in the world could make her look up at me… It’s almost like she remembers.

But how could she. It was years ago and only for a second. And no one remembers me anyway if they can help it.

My eyes are following Ruth and her anvil-face when a small flock of nurses hustles past my doorway. There’s something weird going on with the hens today though. More clucking than normal. And it seems different. It doesn’t look like the typical hush hush gossip that they normally do. They’re all waddling around excited, moving from pack to pack and back again.

May as well find out.

“Hey!”

One of the hens pauses in her mad run down the hallway.

“Yes, Mia? Do you need something?”

So polite. So fake.

“Yea. What’s going on today?”

“Oh! Oh— no, I guess you wouldn’t— And it’s absolutely fantastic news! If it’s true that is. My neighbor, Rona Hedda, was telling me that she’d heard from the man who was bagging her groceries yesterday that his aunt was—well. Basically! That a cleaning team just went out to the Mayor’s office!”

“The Mayor’s office huh? That’s… interesting.”

She nodded her head in a hen-y bob and scurried off again.

The Mayor… coming to town. But that’s, no. Something small started to tug on my heart but I grabbed it and smashed it before it could take hold.

Not a chance, Mia.

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

Arden’s running around the office telling everyone the Mayor’s coming to town. Now, normally I do my best to hear what Arden says in one ear and then push it out the other as fast as possible. But in this case, well, I think she might be right. The Mayor’s offices are being cleaned out. Which can only mean one thing.

The Mayor’s coming to town.

Now, I know for most places the mayor lives in the town where he works. Runs business every day, meets with council members weekly, all that. But that isn’t true for Avera’s Mayor. He doesn’t live here, he’s always out travelling, working on projects. But he does come to visit. And when he visits, he doesn’t hold council meetings, he has appointments. He’s been our Mayor for as long as anyone can remember, coming in and out of town, but a constant presence nonetheless. Not many people have seen him up close. But one thing I know for sure, the reason he’s our Mayor, the reason we’ve never even considered electing anyone else, it’s because of this. The Mayor is a man so good, he doesn’t wear a top hat.

The Mayor’s appointments are not scheduled things. There’s no rhyme or reason to them, at least none that me or, well, anyone else in town for that matter can figure. Sometimes rumors fly about them for months before they’re announced. And sometimes they come up with no warning at all. But, when they do happen, the whole town comes out for it. It’s only happened once before in my lifetime, and Renato Nova was chosen to have an appointment with the Mayor.

Renato ran the bakery in town. He was a nice man. Thick black hair, a pleasantly plump belly, a fairly short hat, and a smile that would shoot across his face when he made eye contact with a customer but have disappeared by the time he’d turned around to locate their order. He never really bothered himself with anyone else’s business, preferring to make and serve his sweets and little else. He lived alone and might’ve had a cat or two. Just someone vaguely kind that most people in Avera didn’t spare too much thought on. At least, not until he was called for an appointment.

The day they announced it the whole town turned their eyes to Renato. I was only a young girl then—not even in school—but I remember him walking by, seeing only the Mayor’s office ahead of him. And smiling. Not his normal lightning shot, shy smile. But like the one someone gets right after they’ve been shocked by friends at a surprise party. Afraid, but also bemusedly joyous. Knowing that even though they’re scared, the thing that’s scared them is wonderful and exciting and good.

He was in the Mayor’s office for a long time, Renato. Almost the whole day. I was in bed when those tall oak doors finally opened and he stepped out. My mother told me though, he came out of that building a different man. The doors closed behind him, he took a deep breath and walked home with this… purpose. As he passed people on the street he smiled and waved with a new sort of assurance. Strangest of all though, was that he walked home and immediately started packing a suitcase. Started throwing a bunch of his clothes into one, some of his most important belongings. He told his neighbors that the Mayor had told him about a place where his skills were needed. Somewhere outside of Avera, someplace new.

Now, Avera isn’t a place that many people leave. We’re a small town and, for the most part, businesses are run by families and everyone is fairly content to settle down where they’re at. And Renato had always seemed that way too. But now, at the Mayor’s call, he packed a suitcase and his cats and left town with a smile. Going out to do work the Mayor had laid out for him.

So this morning, as a cleaning team moves in to prepare the Mayor’s office for his arrival, the question everyone’s asking is, of course: Will it be me this time?

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

Today’s the day. Freedom be mine. Not that I really have anywhere to go. Ulises never even tried to come see me so, no point in trying to plead my case.

They laid out the clothes I came in with on my bed so, I guess there’s nothing left to do now but leave. There’s a group of hens out in the lobby, clucking away like usual. As I get closer they all turn as one big flock to stare at me. Eyes wide, beaks open. That’s weird. I mean, I’m the road kill. There’s normally a flicker of eye contact, a flash of disgust or fear, and then avoidance. This is just open gawking. Maybe this suicide scare has put me over the edge. I’ve moved to full-on freak show. Well guess what hens, that’s nothing new. Mia the Tall-hatter, just add suicidal onto the long list of names I have trailing along behind me.

The hospital doors snap shut and I’m free. No more hens. No more twenty-four hour watch. And no more Ruth, with her anvil-weighted face, dragging along past my room every day.

At least that’s what I thought. Until I heard my name being yelled behind me. Who in the town of Avera wants to yell my name out in public? I turn and see Ruth jogging after me, a group of hens clustered around the doorway to the hospital are watching, fluttering and jostling.

“Mia!”

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

They made the announcement this afternoon. I had stopped at the post office to mail in some bills when I saw Aqilah Pradhi sprinting towards me.

“Ms. Ruth! Ms. Ruth! You have to go tell her, you have to go get her right now! She can’t miss it!”

Aqilah’s normally a calm, sensible girl, so it took me a minute to process through her ramblings.

“What’s happening, sweetie? I have to tell who what? Slow down for a second and just breathe, ok?”

She allowed a few starving pants of air into her lungs before “Ms. Ruth, the hospital! You have to go and get Mia right now or she’ll miss it!”

“Miss what, Aqilah?”

“Her appointment, Ms. Ruth! Mia’s been picked for an appointment! Today, at 3 o’clock.”

Dramatically, the clock tower in the square began its chiming to announce half past two. Aqilah and I turned to stare at it as her words finally gained meaning for me.

“Mia? Mia has an appointment. Today?”

Aqilah nodded. “At three. Ms. Ruth, you have to go get her!”

My head full of jumbled thoughts, I look down to tell Aqilah that there’s no way I can make it in time and that we should just call the hospital and let them know. The words are on the edge of my tongue, making their way up to my teeth when I hear it. The sob. My heart skips. I see her diamond eyes bearing into mine for an instant, before—like in The Bathroom—in a flash they’re gone. My eyes turned towards the Mayor’s office and, I swore, a figure moved in one of the upper windows. Then I flicked back to look at the clock one last time. I knew. No one should go and tell Mia this news but me. I looked up to the sky, sighed, prayed my legs would make the trip. And then I ran.

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

What kind of cruel prank is this? After all of this time, all of the anvil-dragging, Ruth comes running to me, screaming my name, telling me this obvious lie. As if the Mayor would even bother to wave to me on the street, to give me directions to the grocery store, as if he’d take a minute out of his day to spend with me, Mia the Roadkill.

Ruth’s dragging on my hand, talking a mile a minute, but my feet stay planted because there’s no possible way I’m going to let them do this to me.

“Please, Mia. We have to hurry. You only have ten minutes before your appointment’s supposed to start. We have to go!”

Her eyes lift to meet mine and I find my fire.

“We? No. We don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to do anything. I don't know what kind of joke you hens are trying to pull, but I’m not having it. I’ve had enough of all your talking about me outside my room, gossiping about what exactly it is I’ve done that’s made my hat so tall. Enough of it! Now let me go and leave me alone.”

My hand rips out of hers and I finally start moving. Away from them all. From the hens, the hospital, and Ruth.

“Mia! No—wait, Mia… Mia! Please!”

I’m storming. The fire’s roaring in my chest. Just who do these women think they are? I thought sick jokes like this ended in high school. I guess nothing ever changes.

My feet are rolling and I’m out on the street. I don’t know where I’m going to go, but wherever it is, it’s not going to be anywhere near here. Not with these people. Not anywhere anyone in this town can look at me. Can ogle and point and shun. Where my hat and I can just sit and stare at each other and our ugliness. Our tallness. Our—

That hen Ruth is back. Walking two steps behind me. How long has she been there? Why can’t they just let me be!

I spin. “Are you honestly still trying to keep this going?”

She cowers. Less of a hen actually, more of a mouse. With her frizzy hair and fluffy sweater and wide, frightened face. She’s staring at me with her sad mouse-brown eyes like I’m the one that’s hurting her.

“No, Mia. Mia, please listen to me—”

“I’ve had enough of this! Just leave me alo—”

“Mia, I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the nurses. I’m sorry for what happened to you in the park. I’m—I’m sorry about that time in high school when I didn’t… when I should’ve…”

That stops me.

I turn and am confronted with mouse-eyes that are threatening to spill tears. My fire dies a little. I wait.

Ruth takes in a breath and, “I should’ve helped. I’m sorry, Mia… I should have helped you. You were alone and you were in pain and… and I should have helped.”

A thousand things fly through my head: fiery comebacks, words that drip venom, memories I’d thought I’d erased forever, but one thing screams louder than all the rest.

“But—nobody remembers me.”

Now her tears really do fall. “I remember, Mia. I remember every day.”

We stand for a minute, so very apart. Roadkill and Mouse. Tall hat and short. And I try so hard to come up with something to say that will send her away, far away, to give me time to close up this gaping hole she’s just torn in my shell. But instead, she steps closer. Her eyes hold a kindness I can barely recognize, it’s been so long since I’ve seen it. She holds out her hand and quietly urges, “Mia, He wants to meet with you.”

More scared than I’ve ever been of anything in my life. More than Ulises. More than my father. More than the kids in middle school. I take her hand, and we run.

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

We make it to The Office at four minutes past. There’s a crowd of people poorly pretending that they’re not watching. I walk Mia up to the edge of the property, but stop—unsure if I should go any further. 

I turn and look into her diamond eyes and discover they’re not cold and unreadable anymore. Each bit of them is glittering with a different emotion: pain, relief, fear, confusion, and hope. She hasn’t let go of my hand yet. She lifts her foot towards the steps that lead up to the Mayor’s office, but she pauses—hovering.

I give her hand a squeeze. “You can do it, Mia.”

Her eyes dart at me, and then back up to the building on top of the hill, and with a deep breath in, she places her foot down on the step. Her hand slips away and she starts to climb.

“Mia—”

Diamond eyes find mine again.

“I don’t know if—if you want, but—I can… I can wait here for you. If you’d like. I can be here, when your appointment’s over. I, I don’t have to leave you alone, if you don’t want.”

And then I see something I never once imagined was possible, a smile—the smallest of genuine smiles found its way onto Mia’s mouth. And though she didn’t say anything else, she turned and continued her walk up those stairs, that smile was all I needed. So I found a bench in the square and I waited.

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

I reached the end of the longest walk of my life and found myself standing in front of the tallest oak doors I’d ever seen. Should I… should I knock? Or just go in? I don’t even know how these appointments normally—

The door starts to open and I’m face-to-face with a girl in business clothes. “Mia?”

I nod quickly, “Yea, that’s me.”

She smiles a warm, full smile and opens it wider to let me inside. And that’s when I notice. Her hat. It’s nearly level with mine. And she’s here? Working in the Mayor’s office? She leads me through the lobby and past several rooms of offices and I… it’s so weird. The people working, their hats are all different sizes! In fact, I think there might be even more people here with taller hats than shorter. A man with an incredibly short hat walks up to us and I know, I just know what he’s about to say. Sorry, there’s been a mistake. He doesn’t want her. Just send her back out into the streets and go get the real candidate for the appointment.

But he just smiles at me too. “Is there anything you want today, Mia? Maybe something to drink or eat?”

“Oh, um. No. I mean, I don’t want—no I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?” His concern is so confusing. What on earth could a man with a hat so short be doing offering kindness to me?

The girl who let me in leads us to the elevator and we ride it up to the top floor, the floor where the Mayor’s office is supposed to be. There’s another door. This one stained a golden honey color, and I realize I’ve never been so afraid of a door in my life. But I’ve also never wanted to go through a door so much either.

With a smile of reassurance, the girl turns to go back down the elevator. “He’ll be with you in a minute, Mia.” And I’m alone.

As I wait, I begin to realize how little I really know about the Mayor. It’s not like I’ve ever seen him. It’s not like anyone has ever seen him. Are all the rumors people say about him true? About where he goes?  Why he’s never in Avera? How long he’s been our Mayor? And his hat? The fear trickles down my back as I eye the honey-colored door and I start to really wonder what on earth this man could possibly want to talk about with someone like me.

But then I hear steps. Steps from the other side of the door. My heart just might drop down out of my chest. My stomach is twisting itself into all sorts of knots and my nails clench into my sweating palms.

The doorknob turns and suddenly he’s there. And it’s true, what everyone’s said. A man so good, he doesn’t even wear a hat.

“Mia, I’m so happy you were able to make our appointment.”

His voice washed over me, covered me, welcomed me in like a reassuring hand pushing me forward. I walked through the door and left my fear out in the hallway behind me. It was me He wanted to meet with. There hadn’t been a mistake, He’d actually wanted to see me. 

He guides me over to His desk and offers me the seat across from His. He gestures for me to sit without touching my back, almost as if He already knows how little I like to be touched. He sits across from me and regards me for a moment, His eyes staring directly into mine. No darting, no flinching, no gawking. He just looks at me as if we’ve met each other before. Then He speaks, with a voice as warm as His honeyed door. “So Mia, I know why I asked you here to see me today, but I was wondering if there was anything you wanted to know before we started talking about that?”

His eyes were full of care, and I knew that no matter what I asked or said, He’d listen to it, and He would hear every word, regardless of how irrelevant, or strange, or dumb my questions might be.

“I guess…” unsure how to ask it, I figured I’d just say it straight. “The people in your office…”

“Yes?”

“What’s with their hats?”

His eyes crinkled a smile. “What about their hats?”

“Well. You’re the Mayor. But there’s so many people working here with tall hats…”

“Why shouldn’t I employ people with taller hats?”

One of my eyebrows shot up. What kind of trick was He trying to play? “… Tall-hatted people, I mean, they’re the ones that screw up all the time. They’re the ones who do stuff wrong. That’s… why their hats are so tall. Everyone knows that. Why would you want to hire people to work here with hats so tall? Like, what if people find out you have tall-hatters working for you? Nobody likes to work with people with tall hats, nobody even likes to be around people with tall hats.” Nobody likes to look at roadkill.

His smile’s gone, clouded in an instant with a storm. And His eyes—I nearly gasp aloud from the pain that fills them so quickly. Without a word, He stands up and walks over to a door I hadn’t noticed before. “Follow me please, Mia. I want to show you something.”

Confused, and slightly nervous from the emotions I can read so clearly on His face, I get up to follow Him. Who cares so much about tall-hatters anyways? It’s not like I’m worth much worry.

He pauses on the stairs and looks back at me, only for a moment, but again I’m thrown by the sorrow that has written itself across every inch of His face. What could possibly be causing the Mayor of Avera so much pain? Why would a man without a hat ever be so sad?

The door leads to a stairway and climbs higher and higher. We keep going up until we pass through a door that puts us on the roof of the building. The Mayor walks towards the edge of the roof, the side that overlooks all of Avera. “Mia, I want you to tell me what you see.”

I stand near Him and look out on the town that rejected me, that beat me down and left me alone in the world. From here, up on the hill on top of the Mayor’s office, it looks so small. I can see the people moving around in the square. From this height… it’s impossible to tell who is who. Or even—

“You… you can’t tell. From up here, on the roof, you can’t tell how tall anyone’s hats are. All you can see is—”

“Is that they’re all wearing hats.” He’s turned out towards the town, eyes taking in everything, everyone. “Each and every person. There is not a single person in Avera without one. And that’s what I see, Mia. That’s all I see. A top hat is part of an Averian, yes, but they are so much more than their hats,” His eyes lock mine. “You are so much more than your hat, Mia.”

For the second time today, I feel seen. Ruth looked at me and remembered me for more than just the things everyone’s said I’ve done. She reached out and touched me. She’s waiting for me outside right now. The Mayor is looking at me, and I see in His eyes that He really means what He says. He sees the top hat, who could miss it? But He sees the rest of me too.

“Mia, you are more than your hat. You are more than Mia the Roadkill, something on the side of the street people try not to see. You are incredible talents. An amazing wit. A loving heart that’s been beaten fragile and crushed broken by life’s cruelty. You are unjust circumstances and poor decisions. You are loved by people you never dared to love back and wounded by those you made the mistake of letting in. But you are someone whole, Mia. And someone with amazing gifts to offer.”

I can’t stop the tears. They run down my face and drop onto the roof of the Mayor’s office. He looks at me, and I know He’s not embarrassed by my tears. He understands them. He understands me.

With every tear that smacks against the cement of the roof, I feel a strip of my shame peeling away. I cry until the ground is covered in it. In my mistakes and my anger and my hate. I cry until there’s nothing left to cry out anymore. And He is there through it all, never leaving my side, never stepping away in disgust like all the others.

Once I’ve cried myself dry and peeled myself raw, He leads me back down the steps into His office once again. We’re sitting across from each other and I feel lighter than I have in years.

“I have a question to ask you, Mia. But before I do, do you have any other questions? Is there anything else you need to know?”

My mind is still on the roof, looking over Avera at all of its people, moving through life, wearing their top hats.

“I guess—I don’t really understand. Why do you only make an appointment with someone every once in awhile? Why don’t you meet with people every day?”

He nods. And then looks out the window of his office for a moment, “I’m never very far from Avera, you know. I do a lot of work outside of the town, but I’m always able to leave what I’m doing and be here as soon as I’m needed.”

He turns to me, “Appointments work both ways, Mia. My office doors are always open. I always make sure I can be reached should anyone ever need me. I make sure to have contact information left behind whenever I go out on a trip, so that anyone can find me and speak with me at any time. There are a few that come to visit, or who call me when they need to, some of them even choose to work with me in this office. But there are so many… so many, Mia who walk by this office every day without pausing. Who go through their problems alone when I would be so glad to help them through it. I make appointments when I need to tell an Averian something, or to ask something of them. But mostly, I would love for them to seek me out. I would love to be able to give them a hand, no matter what they need. But—” and His eyes fill up with an ancient sorrow, and, again, I can barely breathe because of how deep it is, “—there are so many people who never ask.”

I look at this man, this wonderful and amazing man who clearly cares about Avera so much. So much more than anyone realizes. And I force down a hope that I feel rising in my chest.

“So, now we get to the purpose of your appointment, Mia. You see, I have a favor to ask you. Mia, you are someone so completely needed, so wonderfully unique. You’ve seen Avera at its worst, Mia, because of the way it treated you. You’ve seen how cruel people can be and how little they understand about the people around them.” Ulises. The hens. “However, you’ve also seen what I see. You’ve seen that these people are really all the same. They are small, and they need guidance, they feel lost and they feel remorse.” Ruth. “But they are capable of so much good if only they’d let Me and my employees help them when they need it. So what I need to ask of you is no small thing. It will not be easy. It will require a lot of work and patience and care for a group of people who rarely treated you kindly. But Mia—”

The hope pushes through my barrier and starts to rise once more.

“Mia, how would you like to start working with Me?”

A battle starts inside of me. Anger clashing against hope. Hurt fighting with peace. The hens, Ruth. Ulises, The Mayor. My top hat. My top hat.

I look up into the Mayor’s kind, accepting face. A face that washes away any memory of Mia the Roadkill. Suicidal Mia. Mia who’s done it all. I look into that face, and I am just Mia.

 “I think… there’s nothing in the world that I’d like more.”

A smile buds on His face and blooms into the most joyous grin. He laughs a deep, honest laugh of relief and excitement and says, “Well then, let’s get to work.”

We turn to leave His office and, through the window, I catch a glimpse of Ruth. She’s still outside, still waiting on the park bench. For me. Just like she said she would. The Mayor is at my side, eyes already seeing what I see.

“There’s always work to be done, and we want all the help we can get.”

With a nod, I head for the door. Not believing how a life can so quickly be changed. I’m out the doors, taking in Avera, as I realize how slowly some people can be changed too. I see the faces of all the people who have scorned and rejected me through my life. Who have whispered about me and called me names, refused to help me and hated me without cause. But then I see Ruth, with her mouse eyes looking at me with concern and questions. I allow a smile to finds its way onto my face, it feels like the first one that’s been there in years, and I hold out my hand to her.

“Come on, there’s Someone who wants to meet you.”

esther.aria

[chaosmagetwin]

The Wild Adventures of Ashley and Paul: Chapter 5

The Prompt list with extra errata! : http://chaosmagetwin.tumblr.com/post/158711979060/100-dialogue-prompts-part-2

Prologue: http://chaosmagetwin.tumblr.com/post/157921576040/the-wild-adventures-of-ashley-and-paul-prologue

Chapter 1: http://chaosmagetwin.tumblr.com/post/157956747605/the-wild-adventures-of-ashley-and-paul-chapter-1

Chapter 2: http://chaosmagetwin.tumblr.com/post/158205424995/the-wild-adventures-of-ashley-and-paul-chapter-2

Chapter 3: http://chaosmagetwin.tumblr.com/post/158480935710/the-wild-adventures-of-ashley-and-paul-chapter-3

http://chaosmagetwin.tumblr.com/post/158711541725/the-wild-adventures-of-ashley-and-paul-chapter-4

Ashley sighed and stared at the ceiling from the examination table. The doctor had already come in and chewed her out for not coming in sooner, never mind that she was half demon and regenerated. Never mind that she should have been completely fine when she woke up today. Paul, meanwhile, sat in a chair, reading some pink magazine with a bored expression that matched how she felt. 

“So....” Paul said hesitantly, finally breaking the ten minutes of silence. “Are, uh... are you going to put your shirt back on?” She couldn’t help grinning. She liked making him flustered. It was a nice compliment when she made it hard for him to think. 

“Maybe. I think the doctor will be back in a few minutes though.” She looked over at him and felt her own smile waver. His face was running through a few unreadable emotions. It settled on unhappy. “What....?”

“It’s just... we never finished that talk. About what we’re going to do. The story started, and I just.... It’s...” he sighed, and folded the magazine shut. “What are we, Ashley? To each other?”

She looked away to hide her emotions for a moment. He was right. Laying in front of him with just a bra for a top wasn’t fair if they couldn’t be together. She hadn’t really thought this through. “I... I don’t know. The Author said it didn’t matter what we chose....” She looked back at him and sat up. “He said we could be anything we want to each other.”

“But we’re still in this story. And... Do we want... to be an us?” He seemed to be struggling to find the right words. “You know the authors will twist everything. And our relationship will be out there for all the voyeurs.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.... I can’t make a decision right now.” She sighed and rubbed the back of her head in frustration and confusion. “I... I think... maybe we should break up.” Her gut clenched as she spoke the words, a near physical pain as she tore her own heart in half. She clenched her teeth to keep from crying for a moment, and looked down at the floor. She couldn’t bear to see his face. 

“I... I’ll be outside...” She looked up in shock from hearing his voice clogged with emotion. She only caught the glimpse of his back as he shut the door behind himself. 

“. . . fuck. FUCK! I’m such an idiot!” She slammed the back of her head against the examination table. “Goddamnit. AGH. I can’t believe I said that!” She wiped her face with her uninjured arm and sniffed, trying to get herself back under control. 

It didn’t help at all.

“So, Miss, er.. Ashley.” The doctors words seemed to come through a filter, as if she spoke from a long distance. “Your test results are back. Technically speaking, you are right. Your regeneration should be in effect, but a poison is preventing it. It’s a high technology variant, but luckily, we’ve seen it before... usually in corpses. Fortunately for you, we had some work done in case anyone like you did come in. We have what we think is a cure. Unfortunately... it has never been tested. Frankly, the only reason you’re still alive is because of your regeneration.” The doctor looked up from her papers, then looked around. “Where did that young man go?” She looked back at Ashley, then sighed. “Ah. Never mind.”

Ashley cleared her throat. “So, uh.... when can I start...?” She was surprised to hear her own voice so hoarse. For a half second she thought, so this is what I would sound like if I were a smoker...?

“Immediately. I brought it with me, but we’ll have to keep an eye on you for a couple days. I’d like to move you to the ICU and get you into a bubble in case it wrecks your immune system or something. I need to ask, because you’re going to need someone around you can trust. Did you break up with that young man, or...?”

Ashley nodded, trying to not look glum. “We’re characters, and... I just... we just... it’s hard... hard to explain.” She cleared her throat again. “And i kind of want to be done.. with this.” She motioned to her face. The doctor nodded. “But... I think we’re still friends...”

She looked away as the doctor raised an eyebrow. “How ever you want to do it. Let’s get this started. I’ll let him know what room you’ll be in while the nurse moves you.” 

“You’re a murderer! How are you working in a hospital!?” The old man blinked at her, slightly surprised. he may have been older, but she recognized his face immediately. It was the assassin.

“Ah, yes.... This is that time period, isn’t it? Don’t worry about it. I’m not here for you or your friend today. It’s been quite a few years since then....” The aged assassin was wearing a nurses blue scrubs, and had arrived to take her to another floor. For a second she had wondered if she were hallucinating, but she had only just been injected by the cure. “Do not worry, little devil girl, I’m here to help. I’m just moving you from here to the ICU.” 

“You’re here to murder someone, aren’t you?!” She could hardly believe this conversation.

“Well, of course. Normally, I wouldn’t be helping anyone, but I was caught by that doctor on my way to the elevator. An order later, and here we are....” He scratched his bearded face idly, as if waiting for something. “Would you mind calming down? We all have our story arcs. Just pretend I’m a nurse for a bit or something.”

“... I... Why are you trying to kill us?” How could she ask anything else, really?

“Hmm... i can’t really explain that to you. But I’m not trying to kill both of you.. just him. and don’t bother attacking me. It wouldn’t stop past me from attacking you in your future. Also, I can’t tell you the outcome, because then that would change the future, and that is... problematic. Are you ready, yet?”

“.... Let me get this straight. You’re a time traveling assassin who has been sent... back in time? to kill Paul for some reason. And you want me to, what, ignore that you are here?”

“Yes.” His voice was amusingly bland. Ashley could only respond with a sigh.

“Let’s get on with it, then.”

“Hey! GET BACK HERE!” Paul sighed as he heard Ashley’s voice ring out in the hall. It’d been nearly two hours since he’d seen her last. Since she had broken up with him. “That cat stole my cereal!” He blinked in surprise. A cat did what now? He knocked on the open door to her room and peered in. “Paul!” Her voice swooped up an octave and her face brightened. “Did you see that? Please tell me you saw that.”

He swallowed hard, and looked around for a cat for a moment before shaking his head. There was no cat, and the cereal she seemed to be referencing was in a styrofoam bowl on a rolling stand just out of her arms reach. “No, I didn’t. Are you okay?” She nodded vigorously. “Uh.. okay. That’s good. Are you.... high?” She grinned and nodded again, though with a little more forced control this time.

“Yeah, they... gave me an antidote to the poison. That’s why I didn’t heal. Poison.” For a moment they stared at each other.

“Ashley, are you sure you want me here? The doctor said you did, but... I mean...”

“Yes! I want you here! You’re my best friend, even if I cna’t date you.... c’mere.” She patted the bed next to her legs. “They got my legs strapped down under the blanket, cause I’m kind of.... uh... messed up? I thought I saw the assassin earlier, but he was old, and a time traveler. But now I don’t know what to think.... you didn’t see a cat, did you?”

He shook his head. “Your cereal is right here.” He pulled the table closer to her as he sat down carefully. He winced as the bed groaned under his weight, and sighed before standing back up. “No cat. What are you seeing right now?”

She shrugged, before looking him up and down. “You’re made of wood and got flowers growing out of your ears, and I think there are some fish swimming in your eyes. So... Yeah. Very high on this stuff. They thought it might compromise my immune system, but I guess the side effects were different than they thought.” She grabbed the bowl of cereal and carefully took a bite. “I havn’t eaten all day.... and it’s like... midnight, right?”

“More like nine in the morning.” He smiled sadly. “Ashley, I...” he jumped as three gunshots, quickly followed by the running of footsteps rang through the hall. “What the hell?!”

“HEY! CAN YOU STOP SHOOTING PEOPLE RIGHT NOW?! We’re trying to sleep!” Ashley harrumphed. “I knew I saw the assassin. Ass ass in. Hah!” She took another bite of her cereal, obviously distracted by something on his shoulder. “Paul, it’s late. I know I broke up with you, but.... can you stay?”

Paul looked outside into the hall, and saw exactly what she was referencing. He’d never seen the assassin before, but he had the same silhouette  as the one that had been shooting at them last night. The same sculpted muscles, the same intense heat that way outstripped everyone but Ashley. He was in the process of fighting with the security guards, a wild grin on his face. “Hold on, Ashley.” Paul stepped out into the hall while ripping his right handed glove off, and switched his hand into the blaster mode. “Hey! Stop!” The assassin’s eyes flicked to Paul, and quickly dodged into another room. “Wait!” The security guard followed, but Paul knew that he had escaped when he heard glass shattering. 

“What... the fuck.” Paul turned around, and saw Keith. “Dude, your hand.... your arm... what the fuck.” He was wearing a pair of too long and loose blue jeans and a black hoodie, tennis shoes barely visible beneath the cuffs of the jeans. On his arm was a leash, leading to a panting golden retriever. “I thought you were just a built guy! I didn’t know you were.... you know! BUILT!”

“You mean, a cyborg....?” 

“Yeah! I mean, I thought you were like... part demon, or blessed by Ashley or something, and that was why you were so big?!”

“Blessed by Ashley...?” Paul couldn’t help but feel a little incredulous. “She’s not a goddes, you know. She’s just a half devil. Demon.”

“Yeah, but, she’s the sister of Satan. and that dude is practically a god, so... you know.... I’m just surprised is all.” Paul sighed and turned his hand back to normal just so he could face-palm. 

“This is why you can’t have nice things, Keith. You make too many assumptions. Why are you here, anyways?”

Keith looked embarrassed and rubbed the back of his head. “Oh, uh, well... I uh... couldn’t make it last night, so.. I thought I would stop by this morning for breakfast and stuff.... but Karen and Sarah said you guys went to the hospital... so... I uh... came by to see if you guys wanted some company.”

“... That’s.. actually very nice of you. Ashley’s in this room. Did you hear about what happened to the school? or see?” Keith nodded.

“Nobody knows what happened. The cops think it has something to do with somebodies story, so, they’re doing some investigations. The school’s never disappeared before... Amelie, the magical girl Cheerleader captain? She’s... pissed. Put lightly. What happened here, anyways?” He motioned around the hallway.

Paul sighed, and gave a shrug. “It’s... a long story. Who’s this?” He knelt down to pet the dog carefully. He grinned as it panted happily at him and licked his hands. 

“This is Astro! I brought him, cause I figured you guys would enjoy him. I know I do when I’m sick.” Keith knelt down as well, rubbing Astro’s rump. “How is she, anyways? Sarah said she got shot....?”

“She’s fine. It was a shoulder shot. She regenerates, so, it’s not so bad. Turns out the shot was poisoned somehow, too, and it kept her from healing... You’re actually pretty lucky you weren’t at our place last night. There were a lot of bullets flying around. Come on in, and we’ll tell you all about it. Or... I will. Ashley is.. sort of high at the moment.” Keith laughed as they stood up and entered Ashley’s room, who grinned at Paul and gave a wobblier nervous smile at Keith. 

“Hey, Ashley. I brought Astro!” He laughed nervously. “he’s... my dog. Come on, boy. Up!” The retriever hopped up calmly onto the bed, and Paul felt something in him lighten as he saw her reaction. He couldn’t help but smile a little as she grinned at the dog.

“I’m not breaking up with you.” Paul said suddenly. Ashley looked up at him, surprised. He saw her mouth open, and cut her off. “If you think I’m leaving you and your demon eyes and evil horns you’re wrong. I love you. I don’t care if there are others watching, or whatever. I’m not breaking up with you.”

[mirannalegacy-blog]

Avant Le Deluge: Chapter 2

3.21.4 ATC                                          

Anndara

They had to leave today.  Despite all of Dr. Lo’s protests, Overseer Jerome had made it clear that they were not welcome on his station any more.  Anndara sat up in the medbed while the others sifted through the boxes Dr. Lo had put together for them.  She had been allowed to change out of the hospital gown.  With some assistance she had put on a baggy shirt and sweatpants, the legs rolled up so she could swap out the bandages in the evening.  It made her feel better to be in something clean that she hadn’t almost died in.    

Osanna came up to her, carrying a box that had been maked with Anndara’s name.  It was odd, being the one who had been unconscious for most of the time they had been together.  It seemed that they had all forged some type of connection, she could feel it.  Something in the force snaking between all of them, even her.  Osanna set the box down on the bed and Anndara took a good look at her.

She was about her height, on the short side for their age, and thin like her as well but she didn’t find that surprising.  Osanna had been born into slavery and the Sith were not kind to their slaves.  For the past three years Anndara had been...an experiment was one word for it she supposed.  Her eyes were bloodshot and Anndara was certain that hers were not better.  Her red skin was marked by the stripes of black that followed her lekku and matched the curve of her face, much different from the spots marking the green Regan.

“Dr. Lo and I put this together for you.  We...we found a hover chair too,” Osanna said, pulling off the lid.  

“Thanks, you didn’t have to, you know,” Anndara said.

“I wanted to,” Osanna replied quietly, “You saved my life and I feel responsible for…”

She trailed off and Anndara lowered her gaze to what remained of her legs.  She still couldn’t totally wrap her head around the idea that she couldn’t walk or that her legs were actually gone.  She kept thinking that they would just spring back into being or magically grow back.  Something.  It felt like...like she had lost a part of herself.  There was a substantial part that was gone in a literal way, but some other sensation gnawed at the back of her mind.  And then there was the phantom pains that were starting.  Just little twinges.  But they were there.  Dr. Lo had said once the initial med shots wore off they might become more common.  She hoped not.  But she couldn't regret what she had done, especially since this really couldn't be reversed, no matter how much she hoped.

“I couldn’t leave you behind,” She said.  Her pulse quickened and her breath shortened as a pain shot through the leg that wasn't there.  She gritted her teeth and shut her eyes, “It’s not what Jedi do.”

“You’re not a Jedi."

It was a very straight forward statement and she knew that Osanna didn't really mean anything by it, but it still stung a little.  Her eyes snapped open and she made a face, “well, it’s not what I do.  You saved me, I saved you.  We can call it even and say we’re friends.”

Osanna stared at her for a moment.  Anndara wondered if what she had said was outlandish until Osanna held out her hand.

“Dr. Lo taught me this last night.  You shake hands, right?”  She said.  Anndara smiled and clasped Osanna’s scarlet hand with her considerably less colorful one.  

“Right.  Friends.”

Osanna blinked and smiled a small smile, “friends.”

“So what did you pack me?”  Anndara said smiling as well for what seemed like the first time in forever.  

They shifted through the contents of the box, Osanna pointing out the fuzzy blanket and cryo pack a young family had donated, the box of mild painkillers a miner who had also lost his leg had given with a note of suggestions for adjusting.  There was a data pad with a small box of datachips.  Flipping through the chips she noted a few popular but rather outdated hologames, one from Dr. Lo marked treatment plan, and two from the Local Community Officer who had decided that they should have something to read and had issued them Imperial and Republic library cards (under fake names Anndara noted). It was an ordinary datapad, with a screen and holoprojector light, but it was set up to connect not only with the holonet but the library linkups.  She felt a rush of excitement.  Even if she was three years removed from her schooling she had always loved learning and reading.  Aurelia had been much more inclined to learning and sparring.  Anndara had usually been on the other end of those sparring matches.  It never ended well for her.  

“Did you get one of these?”  Anndara asked, holding up library chips. Osanna set down the very patched jacket she had dug out from the bottom of the box.

“Yes, why?”

“Have you ever used a library?”

“No.”

“Do you like reading?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“Can you read?”

“Not well?”

“I’ll help you.  We can pick out some books once we get on our way to...wherever we’re going.”  The sentence had started out excited and hopeful but ended in uncertainty.  Osanna nodded, her eyes going unfocused for a moment.

“We should get out to the ship,” she said.  Anndara agreed quietly.

“What’s this about a chair?” she asked.

“It’s right here,” Dr. Lo said, stepping into the room pushing the hover chair.  

The chair itself was standard Republic Government issue, complete with standard adaptive tech logos on the side, no flashy colors.  It was a contoured, padded seat with an adjustable back.  Two handles protruded from the top of the back.  The armrests extended from the back of the chair as well and had control panels set into the padding.

“So, It’s not great,” Dr. Lo mused, “but it will work.  It’s got a standard repulsor lift and motor.  But it wont go over a walking pace.  That’s a regulation thing.  Kinda stupid since you can’t get out of danger very quickly, we don’t typically let models like this on the job site because of that.”

“Why?”  Anndara interjected, “What if I get into danger, as I seem to be really good at that?”

“You’ll have to have someone pushing you or mod the chair on your own, but for civie use, this is the best you’ll get without a permit,” he replied, drumming his fingers on the chair’s back, “Some law about abuse of technology.  I don’t know why its like that, so that might be something you want to look into.  As for the basics, always remember to sink it with a ship’s artificial grav otherwise the change in relative motion will throw you at a wall.  Always charge it before going planetside and keep the extra battery pack in the base.  Typically it will run for three days without charging, but if you get into a situation where you can’t charge it, you’ll be a sitting duck.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.  Sure, a three day charge was great, but the idea of stalling out somewhere did not appeal to her.  It seemed incredibly undignified and the icey feeling of helplessness threatened to steel over her mind.

“Here’s the thousand credit question.  How do I get into it?”  She said, trying to focus on the present.  

“Right, here we go,” Dr. Lo said and he pried out one of the control panels from the arm rest.  “Most people like to keep one of the pads next to their beds or at their work stations.  Just keep it where ever you need to move in and out of the chair most frequently,” He explained.  He began to point out the different functions on the screen, “you have your basic elevation and speed controls.  Try brining it over the bed.”

She gamely took the controller and began adjusting settings.  She quickly learned that it was a fairly temperamental thing and that the controls were very sensitive as it collided with the ceiling.  She had only attempted to add five inches to the hight.  Great.  Just off to a great start.  She tried again, being more careful this time, and brought it as close to the bed as possible.

“This is the hard part.  Scoot yourself onto the chair.” Dr. Lo said, patting the seat.  Oh boy.  

                                                      _________

                                                          Regan

They had hit the JACKPOT.  HOLY BLASTERS AND ALL THAT WAS GOOD.  Regan stared in disbelief at the locker she had just broken into.  While the others had been packing up the donations and saying their farewells to the doctor, she had been making herself at home on The Horranth--Stars, they would have to change that name.  She had been rooting around in the crew quarters when she found a false panel (always check for smuggling holes the minute you acquire a new vessel, that’s what Dad always said), and the small locker that had been wedged in the compartment had taken some time to get it out.  And it was heavy.  Then there was the lock.  But it had all been worth it.  The credits, all 150,000 of them, gleamed at her.

Everything--and she meant everything--up until this moment had seemed absolutely hopeless after last night.  But now?  They could fuel this thing for months.  A YEAR maybe.  Part of her--the part that she had only ever listened to on occasion--whispered in her ear that the others didn’t haveto know.  She didn’t owe them anything.  This little voice from the back of her head was soundly beaten down by a vision of hellfire and collapsing walls and then the push.  It always came back to the push.  She owed them.  Not just Melyra, Melyra was her friend, of course she would share with her friend.  But the push.  She put her head in her hands.  That was life debt material right there.  She might not be a Wookie, but she could say she was in deep.

Aurelia

“That’s the ship we stole?”  

Aurelia almost started laughing at the awe in her sister’s voice.  Osanna and Melyra followed close behind them, bringing up the rear of their small column with some crates of dry rations on a hover cart.  The Horranth stood before them, a hulking shape of grungy, gunky green against the neat background of the station.  It was a deep bellied ship, its engines and thrusters housed at the rear of the vessel and the domed cockpit protruding slightly from its nose.  Windows were slashed along the starboard and port sides of the vessels, where she knew the crew quarters were.  There were no visible weapons systems, which in Aurelia’s mind was good.  But she had already had an earful from Regan about the necessity of defending themselves, she was sure the twi’lek had other ideas for modifications.      

“Yeah,” Aurelia said as her sister hummed along in the chair beside her, “What do you think?”

“Ugliest shade of green I’ve ever seen and bigger than any standard transport.  What is it?” she asked, eyes darting from cockpit to cargo bay where the boarding ramp was descending as Regan came out.

“That,” Melyra said as she adopted a rather pompous tone, “Is a modified Corellian W19 medium freighter with added bonuses such as a full working refresher.”

“So you were listening,” Regan called, Melyra blew a raspberry at her, “first time for everything I suppose.  Get your butts on board and strap in.  We’ve got a lot to do and I want to haul jets ASAP.”

Regan turned, waving them aboard.  Aurelia shot Melyra a quizzical look over her shoulder.

“She always this eager to be gone?”  She asked.

Melyra shrugged, “Depends.  There’s bad blood here now.  Jerome complicated things.”

Aurelia considered this for a moment.  She decided to let her curiosity drop.  She agreed that they needed to be gone.  There was no telling if the Empire suspected that they were still alive.  There would be a price on her head by now in the Republic as well.  She tried not to think on that at the moment.  She could ponder all she wanted in deep space.  She trotted up the boarding ramp.

She followed Regan into the belly of the beast and took stock of her surroundings.  It wasn’t that she hadn’t paid attention during their initial flight in The Horranth, but she had been a bit more concerned with keeping her sister alive.  It was big.  Not big like the military transports she had stowed away on to get to her sister, but big in a way that they could have a bolo-ball match in here if they wanted.  The walls of the bay were curved, but the view of the complete internal silhouette of the ship was truncated by floor of the deck above.  She knew that directly in front of them was the engine room as well as a comms room.  Above them were the cockpit, common area, armory, and med bay.  And Above that was the half level. The crew quarters.

“OK,” Regan said, cracking her knuckles and bringing Aurelia back to the present, “quick rundown before we take off.  I’ve got the nav computer hookd up and ready to run hyperspace coordinates to Lah’mu.  Its out of the way but not far from Dantooine, either.  And if we want to find work I know a guy there.  Not a lot of people on Lah’mu, fewer than Dantooine has left actually, so they’re always grateful for someone to run goods for them.  It is a pretty long haul, it’ll take a while to get there.  That is if we’re all sticking together.  Otherwise, Mel and I will drop you off wherever you want to go.”

She looked at the Koras and Osanna expectantly and they in tern cast hurried and confused looks among themselves.  Aurelia felt her sister shift uncomfortably.

“We don’t really have anywhere to go.  Our family is gone.  And I don’t want to think about what the Jedi would do to us if we went back to them now,”  She supplied, placing a hand on Anndara’s shoulder, “We all came out of a pretty rough situation and we all seem to get along.  So yeah, let’s do a job.”

Osanna nodded, “I don’t have any clue where I would go anyways.  If it’s okay, I’ll stay here.”

Aurelia noticed that Regan almost looked relieved, like a weight was being taken off of her shoulders.

“Cool,” she said, a grin creeping over her face.  She turned to Melyra, “Get the hatched secured and get ready for takeoff.”

The twi’lek skipped up the stairs, two at a time, pumping her fist as she chanted, “Let’s!  Haul!  Jets!”

Melyra rolled her eyes and turned to the panels next to the exit.  She began flipping switches and adjusting displays as the gangplank retracted and the hatch sealed with a hiss.  

“Sooo...” Aurelia said as the three of them were suddenly left with nothing to do, “Do we strap in?”

The floor began to shiver slightly and the hum of the engines filled the space.  Melyra cleared her throat as she walked behind them and began up the stairs.

“Yes, particularly if you’ve never jumped to hyperspace in a craft this small before,” she said.  As she disappeared onto the next deck she called, “and shut down that chair before the jump!  I’m not cleaning you off the walls!”

The ship lurched upwards. The three hurriedly clambered up the steps, pausing occasionally to help Anndara.  As they entered the cockpit they found Regan and Melyra in the pilot and co-pilot’s chairs.  Regan half turned to them and flashed a smile.

“Pretty fucking spiffy, huh?” she turned back to the controls as the ship gained altitude and they left the docking bay, “The previous owners of this ship might have been slime balls and shit decorators, but damn did their pilot know how to customize.”

She settled herself back in the seat a little more and pulled on the control wheel.  The ship pulled away from the station, the cockpit still facing it. It was like one of the zooming shots from the holofilms, Aurelia thought, as the station shrunk in size.  It was like...looking down at a miniature, glittering against the dark backdrop.  She plunked down in a chair and Osanna followed suit.  They heard a dull thud as Anndara powered down her chair and magnetized it to the wall at the back of the cockpit.

As they continued their trajectory, the view from the window spinning dizzyingly as Regan brought the ship to the angle she wanted.  Melyra was tapping at a screen and nodded at Regan once her hands had stilled.  Anticipation well in Aurelia’s gut.

“You guys ever actually seen a jump before?” Regan asked, reaching out to the control panel to grasp a lever.  Melyra did the same.  When Aurelia and the others quietly said no, Regan’s smile broadened as she said, “It’s a fucking treat.  Punch it.”

They pulled down on the levelers in sync.  The sky seemed to stretch before them, stars blurring into streaks.  It seemed to Aurelia that time and space stretched infinitely around them.  And then, like a child firing a rubber band from their fingers, they launched forwards.  The force hit her chest and pushed her into her seat.  It wasn’t surprising, she had felt the jolt on many ships before, but the breath went out of her as they were pulled into the hyperspace lane and the cosmos swilled around her.  Her eyes were wide and her jaw was slack.  It was quiet in the cockpit.  Regan leaned back in her chair and folded her arms behind her head.

“A real mcfucking beauty,” she said quietly.

[delibleink]

Indelible

tw: attempted suicide

“So I was thinking I should just fuck it and ask for the raise, you know?”

Ridley struggled to open the cardboard carton of .38 Special’s. He used his teeth to try and pull the flap of the lid out while Eleanor topped off her scotch. “Don’t know why you didn’t just do it last week like I told you,” Ridley said. “Can’t hurt. Your boss loves you.”

Eleanor held out her hand and asked for the box. Ridley passed it over the table and rolled his eyes when she used her sharp nails to flip the lid open. She smirked at him and shook the bullets around. “My boss doesn’t love me. He just appreciates the work I do. That doesn’t mean he’s gonna give me an extra 5k.”

After a few seconds of rifling through the box, he placed one bullet on the table. “Okay, fine, but you deserve a raise. You fucking shed blood for that piece of shit everyday. It’s the least he can do.”

Eleanor shook her head and knocked back her drink. “I have to make it sound like I’m grateful, though. Not like I’m entitled. I read online that turns people off.”

Ridley slid the lone bullet into the chamber of the revolver before turning to the side, closing his eyes, and spinning it. Once the whirring ceased, he clicked the chamber closed and cocked the gun. “Well don’t go running in there demanding shit. But you gotta make it clear that there are perks to paying you more. Like, you’ll work harder.” Ridley slid the barrel of the gun into his mouth, pulled the trigger, and heard the decisive click of an empty chamber. He sighed and slid the revolver across the table. “Seriously, Elle. Make yourself sound like an investment.”

Eleanor took the revolver and wiped the tip of the barrel with the edge of her sleeve. “I guess. I just don’t like coming off like I’ve got a big head. It’s literally just because we need the cash. I couldn’t give less of a shit about me being an investment or whatever.” She placed the barrel inside of her mouth, cocked the gun, and took a deep breath before pulling the trigger. Another click. An empty barrel.

She slid the revolver back and Ridley plucked it back up, this time deciding to press the tip of the barrel to his right temple. “Jesus, stop over thinking this,” Ridley scolded. “Just ask for the damn raise. If he says no, he says no. It’s not like he’ll fire you.” Click. Ridley passed the gun back.

Eleanor nodded before pressing the gun to the underside of her chin. Click. Pass. “That’s true...alright. I’m gonna ask tomorrow.”

Ridley mimicked Eleanor and placed the gun underneath his chin as well. “Good. Because you keep bringing this up when it literally doesn’t—”

BAM!

Eleanor jumped and nearly spilled her scotch on her shirt. She looked up just in time to see violent spatters of blood and grey matter explode out of the top of Ridley’s head and drizzle down onto the tabletop. The blood bloomed across the wallpaper behind him and chunks of bone and flesh were dripping down the wall and onto the floor. Ridley’s forehead fell onto the tabletop with a dull thunk and the gun clattered to the ground. Eleanor saw the exit wound on top of Ridley’s head and watched as blood continued to trickle out of it.

She topped off her glass again and took a large gulp. She raised a brow at the still body before her. “You good?”

There was no movement for a few seconds, but the muscles in Ridley’s hand pulsed and flexed before his index finger finally came up in a silent gesture asking Eleanor to wait a moment. His forehead rolled back and forth against the table before Ridley lifted his head and sat back in his chair, coughing and hacking into the crook of his elbow. He prodded the roof of his mouth with his tongue and ran a hand over the entry wound on the bottom of his chin that had already started to heal. “Fuck, that one hurt!”

Eleanor snorted and stared at the wallpaper behind him. “Yeah you also fucked up the wallpaper. Again.”

Ridley frowned, reached under the table, and retrieved the gun that he had dropped. “You were supposed to put up the plastic tarps on the wall too. We definitely said we’d do that next time.”

Eleanor shrugged and placed her glass to the side. “Whatever. What’s the score now? 7 to 5?”

Ridley smirked as he loaded another bullet into the chamber. “I’m still winning.”

“Only because you’re the one who keeps spinning the barrel. Hand it the fuck over, you’re cheating.”

“That you’re complaining about a game of pure chance is ridiculous. You’re just mad because you’re losing.”

“Hand it over.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Ridley reached across the table, took Eleanor’s glass, and filled it with more scotch as Eleanor spun the barrel and clicked the chamber closed. “You better ask for that raise tomorrow. I’m so done hearing you complain.”

Eleanor noticed the aging problem first. Her best friend from primary school would call her on the evenings, complaining about the arthritis the doctor had found in her hands. Meanwhile, Eleanor would be prodding at her elastic skin in the mirror, realizing she hadn’t looked or felt any different than she did ten years prior. Ridley had noticed a separate but equally peculiar situation during his time growing up in California when a mining accident left him with a steel bar lodged straight into his chest. An excruciating extraction aside, the wound closed up neatly right before his eyes, and Ridley walked back to his home, a perfect vision of health.

It wasn’t until Ridley and Eleanor met in California — when Ridley noticed his hair wasn’t greying  and when Eleanor survived an almost universally lethal carriage accident — that they realized they were one and the same. Two peculiar anomalies flitting through the world on a plane of existence far removed from the ticking time bombs they passed everyday.

The rules were unclear even to them. Bruises and cuts were non-existent, yet Eleanor caught flus nearly every year. Their joints never ached and their muscles were never sore, but Ridley always got migraines after a long day of work. The exceptions and contradictions were too plentiful to keep track of, and Eleanor and Ridley silently agreed that ignorance on the subject neither added nor took anything away from them. Living on was far more important.

Necessity dictated small apartments that could be cleared quickly, short leases, no Facebooks or Snapchats under any circumstances, cashier jobs in sprawling shopping centers where they would be easily forgotten, and a complete disregard for strangers that never extended past a simple “Hello,” “How’s the weather?” or “Do you happen to have a phone charger?” Invisibility became performance art, and spectators only marvelled at their ability to vanish long enough for the new neighbors and coworkers to filter in and fill the gaps.

The illusion was one that couldn’t be broken, and this was something they both learned was crucial to their existence. Local newspapers, national news stations, law enforcement, and even government officials were truly drawn to cases of a young man miraculously surviving a gunshot wound to the head after a mugging, or cases of a young couple living in an unassuming neighborhood who hadn’t gotten a day older in the twenty years they’d been in the neighborhood. Attention wasn’t something either of them reacted well to, and they quickly discovered that it was better to not leave impressions that were lasting. Escaping cities, dying hair, changing names, and starting over was always such tedious work

But Ridley shared the Instagram profile he just created with his coworker at the bar, the lease to their apartment was extended yesterday, and Eleanor probably got her raise today. The barista at the Starbucks downstairs actually knew his order by heart now and didn’t need to ask him for his name before she wrote it on the side of the cup. Eleanor said she actually went out for lunch with her boss last week and asked him about his kids and his wife. He asked her about Ridley and about how she was liking the city. At the end of the day, they’d sit on the couch, split a bottle that Ridley stole from the bar, and laugh at how absolutely simple transparency seemed in practice.

However, transparency, like all mortal things, needed to come to a definitive end.

“Alright, Elle. New drink. Need you to try it.”

Eleanor was marking up a manuscript on the kitchen table and didn’t look up from her work. “If it has vodka in it, get it the fuck away from me.”

Ridley placed the Target bag on top of the kitchen table and pulled out an industrial sized bottle of Drano. He reached behind him and pulled out two glasses from the dish rack. “Not that kind of drink, babe.”

“Oh, God,” Eleanor groaned. She pushed her papers to the side and pulled out the bottle of Clorox from the bag. “Did we not already establish that poisoning doesn’t work?”

“No,” Ridley corrected. “We established that arsenic, cyanide, and hemlock doesn’t work.” He carefully measured out two parts Drano, one part Clorox. The smell made Ridley feel like all of the hair on in the inside of his nose had just burned off, but he grabbed two spoons and mixed together the vile cocktail in the hopes that combining the two flavors would make for a doubly lethal combination. It was his hope that bathroom cleaners and liquors had this quality in common.

“So, we’re downing drain cleaner and bleach?”

Ridley pulled a third bottle out of the bag, uncapped it, and poured into each of the cups. “And a little triple sec for flavor.”

Eleanor wrinkled her nose and grabbed one of the cups. “You couldn’t have chased this with something pleasant like….cranberry juice or something?”

“Ah, yes,” Ridley teased. “Little Ellie doesn’t like taking things straight.”

“It isn’t that, it’s just….shit. Is this even going to work?”

Ridley capped all of the bottles and sat down in the chair next to Eleanor, grabbing his own cup. “I don’t know. I’ll be happy with a burned esophagus and a violent stomach ache at this point.”

Eleanor’s eyes scanned the chemical ingredients on the backs of the bottles, and Ridley kindly indulged her. If they tried nothing, there was a one hundred percent chance that nothing would happen. Doing something, no matter how futile it seemed after countless failed experiments, at least lowered that percentage a bit. Doing nothing ironically ruined the entire spirit of their new sedentary lifestyle. The rationale was to create an effective fear tactic — a potent form of motivation. The longer they went without results, the more likely it would be that people would begin to notice that Eleanor never wrinkled and Ridley never lost his hair. Neither was willing to go down that road again.

Sighing in reluctance, Eleanor lifted her glass towards Riley. “Alright. We’ll make it a toast then.”

Ridley smiled crookedly and began to pick up his cup before he held his hand up. “Wait, wait! Real quick first.”

Ridley cradled Eleanor’s jaw in his hands and pulled her in for a short, sweet kiss, taking a moment to revel in the feel of Eleanor’s bottom lip gently caught in between of his. He whispered against her lips. “Just in case this actually does work...I love you.”

Eleanor rubbed her nose against his own. “I love you too, Rid.”

He hooked his elbow with Eleanor’s as they both stared at each other over the tops of their cups. “Alright,” Ridley announced. “Bottoms up, cutie.”

Unlike their past poisoning efforts, this concoction was painful from beginning to end. Ridley immediately felt the lining of his esophagus being stripped raw and could feel the cleaners fighting their way through his throat. He was able to follow the pain all the way from his tongue, deep into his chest, and splashing around in his stomach. Eleanor’s glass had already cracked against floor and he could hear her gagging, coughing, and gasping. Ridley felt his entire body seize as he felt a crippling, burning pain radiate through his abdomen. His hands pressed against his stomach, and a particularly potent wave of pain sent him collapsing out of his chair and onto the kitchen floor. His insides felt like they’d been pulled out and exposed to the cold air. He could see Eleanor from the corner of his eye wrapping her hands around her throat and struggling to speak.

Ridley kicked his boot against her shin until she was looking at him. He stuck his fingers into the back of his throat and waited for her to do the same. They both struggled to pull themselves up with the help of the counter before they emptied their stomachs into the sink. It was a mix of the cleaning fluids, bile, and food. The smell itself was enough to make Ridley want to pass out onto the floor and hope that some higher power would take pity on his stupidity and put him out of his misery. But as Ridley hung his head over the sink and finally rid himself of everything that his stomach was holding, he started to feel the burning give way for the soothing reparations that his body was rapidly attempting to enact.

Eleanor sat on the ground with her back against the cabinets and Ridley watched her swallow and work the muscles in her throat. Ridley couldn’t feel the pain in his chest any longer, and suddenly breathing wasn’t a laboriously excruciating process anymore. He cleared his throat a few times and waited five more minutes for the mucous lining in his esophagus to reform. He hummed a few times and sung a few bars of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star until his voice had fully returned.

Eleanor was the first to speak. “You’re a motherfucking idiot.”

Somehow, the expletive made Ridley laugh desperately, like someone had told a horrible joke that was so bad he had to laugh. He joined Eleanor on the floor and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Okay, so Drano was a bad idea.”

She muttered something under her breath that Ridley didn’t quite hear. She swallowed a few more times, probably still trying to get a feel for her throat. “Maybe we should just chug a bottle of Everclear.”

Ridley snorted. “If Drano didn’t work, the fuck makes you think Everclear will?”

“I don’t. But at least we’ll be drunk as all Hell afterwards. Sounds a lot more pleasant to me.”

“Maybe we can do it this weekend. Celebrate your raise.”

Eleanor nodded to herself and rested her head against Ridley’s shoulder. She grabbed for his hand, linked their fingers together, and rested them both on her lap. “You know for a second I thought it was gonna work.”

Ridley pressed his lips to the top of Eleanor’s head and placed a few kisses there. “We’ll figure it out, Elle. I promise.”

Ridley had just finished working three all-nighters in a row at the bar, and Eleanor had a perfectly awful weekend after trying to collect all of her final manuscripts in time so that she could submit them to her editor for their monthly issue. He couldn’t remember the last time they went on a date — you tend to take those things for granted when you’ve been with someone for so long. Ridley turned off Eleanor’s alarm clock and let her sleep in on Monday. He made pancakes and even added those gross white chocolate chips she liked so much. They snuggled in bed together and tried to clear through all of the episodes and long movies that had been cluttering their DVR for weeks. When the evening rolled around, Ridley told Eleanor to throw on something sexy. He took her to a French bistro that he came upon on his walk back from work one day.

After dinner, they ran to the park across the street, laid out their jackets on the grass, and stared at the city skyline and the horizon while they waited for it to grow dark.

“You’re lucky it’s the day after the issue got sent to the printers,” Eleanor said. “I can’t always skip work to go on dorky dates with you.”

Ridley shrugged. “You looked like you needed it. Besides, excuse the fuck out of me if I felt like being romantic. Who knows how many more opportunities we’re gonna have for mundane shit like dates?”

“So you’re trying to get in all the corniness while you can?”

“If we’re gonna go all Shakespearean soon, then yeah. I’m gonna be a dork about dates. And your ungrateful ass is going to go on all of them, and you’re gonna love the shit out of all of them because I spent so much time planning them.”

“The day you plan a trip to fucking Disney World and propose to me in front of a thousand Mickey Mouse’s dancing to Beyonce, then I’ll be impressed. You’ve been around for how many years? You have to up your game.”

“We’ve only known each other for ninety two years. You’re not ready for Disney World.”

Eleanor’s bubbling laughter caused the heads of other couples in the park to turn their heads, but Ridley merely pulled Eleanor closer to him, kissed the side of her neck, and let her bury her face into the collar of his coat. His fingers were raking through her hair, occasionally massaging her scalp in that way he knew she liked so much. Her breath was warm against his neck, and he could feel Eleanor’s fingers sliding carefully and lightly over the back of his hand resting across his stomach. Ridley stared down at Eleanor’s gloves and smiled when he noticed that she’d cut the fingertips off again and that she was still wearing that charm bracelet he had gotten her in Spain back in the 20s.

They laid in the grass for a while, and Ridley swore that Eleanor was asleep against him. But just as he was about to doze off himself, Eleanor muttered into his jacket. “Would you be mad if I brought up something serious?”

Ridley shivered when her voice vibrated against his skin, but he shook his head. “How serious are we talking?”

Eleanor curled her fingers around the lapel of his jacket and held it close to her nose, just like she does with her blankets at night. “...I saw...well, I thought I saw someone I knew. This weekend. Like at work.”

Ridley’s hand stopped in her hair for a moment before continuing to run his fingers through it, this time more slowly. “Who did you think you saw?”

“Peter. You know. One of the New York Times writers that I met in the 1860s.”

Ridley rifled through his mind for the name. “...you never told me about a Peter.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I would have remembered that.”

Eleanor told him that she had almost married Peter, and that the two of them had plans to move out of the city, to own a house in the suburbs, to have six kids. But it was around that time when Peter was starting to become far sighted, and was perplexed by the fact that Eleanor was able to keep so young for him. She escaped to Los Angeles and stayed there until she met Ridley.

It was the first time he was hearing it.

“I was in the office working late on the manuscripts,” she began. “But the department was showing around all the new interns and I almost swore that it was him. I mean, it couldn’t have been, obviously, but...they had the same face, Rids. It was the same face.”

There was something wistful in her voice that Ridley wasn’t sure if he liked. It made him feel like he was being left out of some pertinent secret, one that clearly wasn’t necessary for him to know. “Who was the kid?” Ridley asked. “Grandson?”

“Great grandson,” Eleanor corrected. “I asked if his family was ever involved in publishing and he mentioned Grandpa Peter who worked for the New York Times.” He heard Eleanor sniff but he decided not to comment on it. “The jawline was the same. The dimples were in the same place. Peter was a little taller, but I thought I was going to run up to this stranger and just…”

Eleanor trailed off and Ridley didn’t know if he wanted to know how she was going to finish the sentence. “Did you do anything else?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I tried to reach out for him at one point — touch his jawline, or just feel his cheeks in my hands again, but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want the guy to think I was some freak or anything. He didn’t know me.”

Ridley never ran into any old flames and had decided that forgetting about his family and not following them would be less painful in the long run. Eleanor had done something similar with her own family. But he wondered now if Eleanor’s mood today was due to more than just being tired from a hectic weekend at the office. Peter would have been her husband had she not been frozen in time like this. It must have been like seeing someone back from the dead, just as perfect and just as familiar as they were over a hundred years ago. So perfect, perhaps, that even speaking his name out loud was sullying some pristine memory of him that Eleanor had hoped to keep. It was clearly so precious that even Ridley didn’t know.

Ridley pulled Eleanor closer. “Is he…?”

Eleanor hummed into his neck. “I went back and checked the obituaries. He’s been dead for years.” Her voice was shaking and it sounded thick from all of her tears. “I mean, I knew, Ridley, I did, but I just...it’s not fucking fair, you know?.”

He was pressing kisses against her temples and curling locks of her hair around his fingers. “I know, Eleanor. We didn’t ask for this.”

Her laugh sounded bitter when he said that, but she didn’t respond to him. Instead they stayed out in the park until the sun disappeared behind the skyline and the park lights starts to flicker on and light up their lounging spot with warm, artificial light. There was a strange ache festering in Ridley’s chest, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or scream.

Ridley was wrapping half of Eleanor’s scarf around his own neck when he felt her smiling into her shoulder, talking as if he wasn’t even there. “I had already picked out my wedding dress. It was going to be a wedding in the garden of his mother’s house. I was going to have four bridesmaids and a flower girl. I wanted everything to be pink. And the cake had to be chocolate, I told him. Otherwise I wouldn’t eat it.”

It was a Friday night and Ridley was about to get ready to head out to the bar when he finally heard the sound of Eleanor’s stockinged feet padding down the hallway.

“What’s up, babe?” he asked. He was stuffing his keys into his pocket as he stood facing Eleanor, waiting for her to say something. She looked like she hadn’t washed her hair in a couple of days and she was chewing on her thumb nail. She was staring at the floor by his feet instead of at him, and he wondered if she had just woken up from a nap or was just exhausted from work.

Eleanor cleared her throat and spoke quietly. “I had another idea...you know, one that might actually work.”

Ridley felt his eyes widen. He looked up at the clock hanging above the doorway to the living room and sighed. He was talking to her as he stuffed his keys into his pocket and hurried to the front door. “Look, that’s great, Elle, but can we do this later? I have to run to work and there’s—”

“What’s more important, Ridley?” Eleanor said, raising her voice. “Your stupid fucking job or finally ending things?”

“I don’t have time to be fucking shooting myself in the dick or trying to shank myself in the eye, Elle. I have work tonight, alright?”

“No you don’t,” Eleanor told him. “I already called in for you. You’re sick. You’re not coming in.”

Ridley cursed under his breathe and threw his keys from his pocket and down roughly on the glass coffee table. “What the fuck, Elle?” he asked tiredly. “It’s a huge ass tip night, you’re not doing this to me.”

“What, so it’s okay for you to call me out of work for a stupid date but I can’t do it for you when it’s actually something important?”

“Yeah, speaking of that stupid date, you’ve been acting like a fucking mental case ever since we came back from it. More shit that you forgot to tell me lately? What is this, another burning secret that you only now decided to spit up? Come on! What is it?”

Eleanor started grinding her teeth together and refused to meet his eyes. Ridley’s hands came up to cover his face. “Ellie, for fuck’s sake, whatever you have this time around is still going to be there when I get back. I need to go.”

“You can’t go,” she said slowly for him, “because I need your help with this one.”

Ridley sighed in exasperation, shed his jacket, and threw it on the couch. He made a show of sitting down on the couch, crossing his ankle over his knee, and leaning his elbows on the back of it. “Alright. Fine. What do you need help with?”

It looked like she wanted to curse him out again or at the very least just walk away and forget she had said anything to him, but she was tapping her toes against the linoleum like she really wanted to say something. Eleanor was still leaning against the doorway, and when she finally stepped away from it and walked into the kitchen, Ridley heard the dull, heavy dragging noise before he saw it. Eleanor rounded the island table in the middle of the kitchen and lifted the head of the axe so that it was being cradled in the palm of her other hand. She looked down and twirled the handle a few times before she sighed and thrust the axe in his direction. “I figured we should just Jeffrey Dahmer this shit.”

Ridley felt his heart drop when he looked at the outdoor axe cradled in her hands like it was nothing out of the ordinary, just something she had picked up on her way home. At first, he thought it was some joke that she was playing on him. They did that sort of thing with each other all the time. Like that time Ridley suggested they act out the entirety of the last act of Romeo and Juliet just to give the newspapers something to chew on for a while. Morbidity was something that the two of them traded back and forth almost too easily, but Eleanor wasn’t laughing. She was waiting for him to pick up the axe.

But Ridley could already feel himself shaking his head. “Fuck you, Eleanor, I’m not doing that.”

Eleanor sighed like she was talking to a child. “Ridley. We’ve tried everything else. Drowning, suffocating, poison, running in front of eighteen wheelers, I mean, I can’t think of anything else. Can you?”

“We said,” Ridley enunciated carefully. “We fucking said. That we weren’t doing this. Either we go out together or we don’t go out at all. I’m not killing you, Elle.”

It was one of the things that they insisted on earlier when they agreed to actively pursue their deaths. They had to do it together — the same way at the same time. They had made a map of all the methods that they could systematically go through until they achieved an end. But on that night when they were filling legal pads up with ideas, there was one that Ridley immediately told Eleanor to scrap because he refused to have either of them take part in it, and it partly included Eleanor walking into their living room trying to put an axe into Ridley’s hands. The harsh reality of that method was that, while it was the one method that seemed almost fool proof, it required that one person be alive to actually commit it. You couldn’t exactly ask your neighbors to help chop you up into bits.

Which meant that one of them was going to survive this and be alone.

“Elle, no,” Ridley repeated once more. “What did I tell you when I found out that you were like me? What did I say?”

Eleanor swallowed and stared down at her feet. “You said that you didn’t care if I hated you or if you disgusted me. You weren’t letting me out of your sight.”

“Exactly,” Ridley said. “That hasn’t changed, Eleanor. It was always the two of us versus everyone else. No one else understood us. No one else knew what we were. No one else knew how we lived. That’s been us, Elle, just us. It’s always going to be us. I’m not fucking killing you.”

Eleanor was running her hand through her hair in frustration. “Ridley, we’re running out of options. We can only stay here so long. People are going to realize we aren’t aging soon. We said we’d do this.”

“Not this. We’re not doing this.”

“...what if I did it to you instead?”

“God, don’t be so fucking stupid, Eleanor!” Ridley shouted. “Did you even think about what we’d have to do once one of us kills the other? I’m not going to start pulling out trash bags and stuffing them in dumpsters in order to hide your body. I’m not leaving without you. Besides, who the fuck am I going to get to chop me up if it actually does work?”

Eleanor looked like she was going to scream something back at him, but her mouth closed shut like a latch. He could see the small shine in her eyes like she was about ready to cry, and for a moment she looked a little bit younger than she usually did. Something about her seemed smaller, quieter, and a little bit more desperate than usual, and her entire body seemed like it wanted to curl in on itself. It was the first time that he’d ever seen her look another age than the one she would always be until the day she died, and he tried to think back to moments in his life where he’d ever felt as small as she looked. Back before they destroyed all photos of themselves, Eleanor had shown Ridley all of the black and white photos that her father had taken of her growing up, and Ridley swore that if he still had the photos of Eleanor when she was ten years old, he’d find fifty different things in common.

But Eleanor lifted her chin, blinked a few times, and looked right at Ridley, looking just as old as she always did. “I’m tired, Ridley,” she muttered. “I’m just really tired.”

Ridley couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t feel tired. There were hazy distant memories of expensive trips to Europe, long summers spent in beachside hotels, fearless forays into unknown countries, wonderful food, breathtaking sights, and kisses that were chilling and deep because of the knowledge that they didn’t have to end. They were warm, comfortable thoughts that spoke of simpler times that seemed like they’d stretch on forever without any signs of fizzling out.

But as he got older, his mind perceived time differently, and it seemed like time passed by him more and more quickly. It soon got to the point where Ridley marked months like days and found fewer and fewer things in life that surprised him. When you’re alive long enough, nothing is surprising, and nothing is new. He held onto small things like Eleanor wearing a different pair of shoes every day for two weeks at a time, Eleanor braiding her hair on different sides of her head everyday, walking to the bar using a different route every day, moving cities every decade or so to see something new or breathe in air he hadn’t touched yet.

Death was only terrifying because of the pervasive fear that there is something left on Earth that hadn’t been seen, hadn’t been said, hadn’t been finished. But Ridley had been living on repeats and rehashes for as long as he could remember, and he’s sure Eleanor had too.

Ridley stood up from the couch, grabbed the head of the axe, and flipped it so that he was holding it by the handle. “I don’t want to do this.”

Eleanor nodded. “I know you don’t.”

Ridley leaned the axe against the couch, wrapped one of his arms around Eleanor’s waist, and kissed her. Her hands were cupping his jaw, and her fingernails were gently scraping across his cheeks. He leaned their foreheads together and revelled in the feel of her breath mixing with his. He paused to appreciate her smell, the feel of her waist that was still tiny enough for him to wrap his whole arm around, the sound of her breathing, the thin, downy feel of her hair.

He stepped away from her, and Eleanor was already eyeing the axe, expecting him to pick it up. But Ridley walked back to the kitchen and left Eleanor standing in the living room. He started searching through the drawers and cabinets until he found his revolver and his case of .38 Special’s. He plucked one bullet out of the box, opened the chamber, and loaded the gun. He walked back into the living room in time for Eleanor to see him spin the barrel with his eyes closed and click the chamber shut once the barrel stopped spinning. He held the gun out to her. “Ladies first.”

Eleanor stared down at the gun. “What is this?”

“We’re being fair about this,” Ridley said. “Whoever wins gets to die.”

“This isn’t a fucking game, Ridley!”

“I’m not treating it like one,” Ridley insisted. “If we didn’t choose coming in, then I don’t want to choose coming out.”

Eleanor glared at the gun. “Since when are you such a fan of symmetry?”

Ridley shrugged. “If you want me to do this for you, you better hope your luck is on its shit today.”

He waved the gun back and forth, balancing it on his index finger by the trigger until Eleanor finally grabbed the gun from him. There was a moment’s hesitation when she looked at the axe leaning against the couch before pulling her eyes back to the gun in her hands. But she pulled her hair out of her face and stepped back until she was half a foot away from him. Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment, breathed in deeply through her nose, and finally brought the gun up to her temple. For the first time since the two of them had started playing this game out of boredom, Eleanor looked positively frightened.

“We’re only doing one round,” Eleanor told him.

Ridley nodded. “That’s fine with me.”

“And we have to respect the outcome. No matter who wins. Can we both agree on that?”

“Of course,” Ridley promised. “Like I said. This is only fair.”

Eleanor’s breath came out shaky and the hand that was holding the gun was shaking slightly. “Okay.”

Ridley smiled. “Just in case this actually works. I love you.”

Eleanor nibbled on her bottom lip and cocked the gun. “I love you, too.”

She pulled the trigger.