#we were going to steal a stop sign but that shit was welded to the pole so 🤷🏼‍♀️

[lochnessies]

friend and i went bowling and stole a sign from our university

[lavelled]

frenching my athletes.

A stabbing in Southport, Merseyside, United Kingdom, near Sussex Road, left three little girls dead. Please don’t harm children.

Your handiwork, Henri.

Why not blaze a trail like Malcolm X, next to your bedhire wife, whom you don’t live with, and go console the mournful parents by pointing heavenward to declare pedos first and coax them to watch your bullshit interview?

An unasked-for televised event was your Oprah interview. It caused a self-made billionaire and media leader to plead, on air, to be chiseled free. It was where the wife, in scripted speech and zero cyber allowance, taught us that the Internet is the wild, wild, West and oppressive racism permeates on the corner of Lord Privilege Avenue and Barrington Court. Your new interview on online harm was that royal curriculum of sort of admitting yes you’re that leading hunched figure on the Internet posting internal messages of fenced-in childhood rape that spell disaster while your NDA-signed robot, paid to not look at media reports, feigns digital awareness concern. I’m supposed to flip the normal life lies, rat rationality, do-goodness, nope they’re pathologically evil. As if it were so easy.

You advertise Rachel’s homemaker show, for whatever reason, with a nod to rape culture so that even Martha Stewart equals a bowl of soup or starter course to you. You need to stop borrowing Martha’s domestic businesswoman identity. The Executive Summit doesn’t exist. You use repurposed photos to mislead the public. Hamptons is “mattress” and “stamped” and “knotted” toward an unconsenting girl. Your partnered lies result in self-harm and tragedy, but do continue.

Because we’re all so rapt, hemorrhaging sympathy for a life-stealing prince with access to media. One person not buying your shit is model and author, Stephanie Adams, who jumped to her death in NYC on the eve of your vanity wedding. She was holding her young son at the time.

A 2005 AP Archive birthday promotional video: Prince Harry Celebrates 21st Birthday On Thursday. 45 seconds—amidst a prairie grassland barns & noble—you talk of a roll in the hay. Your words: “Probably do something crude. Nothing worth mentioning on camera. We’ve celebrated other guys’ birthdays so far with cards, but, luckily, I think we finish exercise, so we may tuck into a beer or two if we’re lucky.” You’re Charlie demanding, in opposite Irish pro-bono terms, that you’re owed a girl after burying her into the earth. The old brooms that lean on green windows? You are trying to claim first cousin anatomical property in rape-like fashion.

In Xtinction, we’ve lifted digital camouflaging on Archillect, Murat Pak, Elon Musk, Piers Morgan, Spencer Morgan and Bill Ackman. You’re the main Twitterer for miles around. You controlled former President Trump’s page upon a time where you etched the garish: “Despite the constant negative press covfefe.” At 12:06 a.m. A morsel of non-words welded together for Tom.

Another endeavor of yours was tweeting insult-laden mapwork about Haters and Losers.

Loser is the world’s biggest action star who performs his own mountainside and flying stunts.

Hate means implicit cruelty and other trappings, but mostly girl-owner (philanthropist). You rearrange letters in Cheat. In 2003, you tried to play victim by pointing a finger or foot at an uncle jailer, wearing painted artistic bloodstains. Though, you’ve been presiding judge. Google: Prince Won’t Face 2nd Probe on Cheating Claims—NBC News.

Hate means 8. You linked, chained, harnessed, handcuffed my star cult. No small matter, it’s just the cult is being killed off by your wife and family. Evan Wright, Rolling Stone reporter and author of Generation Kill, which was a tv series. Suicide. Gun to the head. July 12, 2024. British fashion designer, Alexander McQueen. Suicide. February 11, 2010. Green Street, London.

You tweeted this gleaming passage: “I would like to extend my best wishes to all, even the haters and losers, on this special date, September 11.” That’s one way to use the World Trade Center inferno to tell America, the military, all humanity of your 911 policing job.

Smart.

K

[mandobls]

the mandalorian and the caretaker | one - bounty

pairs: the mandalorian x reader

genre: fluff, action!! force-sensitive!caretaker!reader, s2f2l, slow?? burn??

warnings: one swear, canon-level violence

word count: 2.8k

description: it always starts like this. a job.

a/n: the parts of this series are gonna be a little longer! i had to rewatch some parts for this lmao. i try to keep it on the short side when i start accounts, but i think i’ve had enough of 300-word-long drabbles for the time being. i’m gonna keep these to two-ish chapters each part, but we’ll see lol.

masterlist | series masterlist | taglist

“i have a camtono of beskar waiting for you upon delivery of the asset and its caretaker,” the client hisses.

“alive.” the mandalorian’s attention is drawn to the man on his right. he’s nervous. it might have something to do with the way the hunter’d threatened to blast him earlier.

“yes. alive.” the client leans in conspiratorially, as if sharing a trivial secret. “although i acknowledge that bounty hunting is a complicated profession. this being the case, proof of termination of both is also acceptable for a lower fee.” 

the mandalorian stalks out, glancing down at the newly-acquired tracking fob in his hand. unconventional, but the promise of payment looms large. 

the fob would have to do.

upon arriving at arvala-7, the ugnaught called kuill--too kind for this age--proves to be generous.

he has arrived at the encampment far quicker than he would have alone. peering through his periscope presents a sight he isn’t the fondest of. he groans quietly. a bounty droid.

“...subparagraph 16 of the bondsman guild protocol waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.” there’s a beat, then the sound of blaster bolts. 

the mandalorian pushes onto his feet with a sigh. “droids.”

the exhilaration of taking the whole encampment down almost makes up for the shot he’d caught with his just-smelted pauldron, courtesy of the droid.

“well, now we just need to get the door open,” he mutters. 

the machine gun catches his eye.

as soon as the two step over the fallen door, their tracking fobs beep rapidly.

“my sensors indicate that there are two life forms present,” the droid says. the mandalorian pulls his fob out, pointing it towards a curled-up figure and a covered egg of some sort, just to be sure. they step closer.

a press of a button has the egg opening. he steps back in alarm, but there is little movement within it.

“wait, they said 50 years old,” he says, peering into the egg.

“species age differently. perhaps it could live many centuries,” answers the droid beside him. 

his attention turns to the figure

it’s a girl, legs tucked below the floating egg, wearing a loose white tunic and brown, flowy pants. the mandalorian nudges her lightly with the barrel of his blaster. she doesn’t stir, but her chest rises and falls with her breath.

“is this the 50-year old one?” he asks, mostly to himself. (the damned droid answers, though.)

“most likely not. i detect signs of the girl being human, and her description fits the asset’s caretaker.” the mandalorian nods, eyes lingering a little longer on her face.

the droid raises his blaster-

“no. we’ll bring them in alive.”

“the commission was quite specific. the asset and its caretaker were to be terminated.” the droid raises his blaster again, pointed towards the girl.

a blast rings through the room. the droid, now fried, drops to the floor with a clang.

the mandalorian studies the two, reaching hesitantly towards the child. its three-fingered hand reaches back. 

he quickly connects the egg to the controls on his wrist and glances back down at the girl. she’s still asleep. he cuffs her quickly and sighs, gathering her legs in one arm and her lower back in the other, picking her up with a light grunt.

it’s a trek back to the ship. mud splatters around his heavy footfalls and the heat is nearly unbearable. the limp girl in his arms doesn’t make it any easier. the child is very much awake, making noises at the reptilian creatures following them. 

the mandalorian stops. he feels uneasy here.

a shadow flits past, and he places the caretaker next to the egg. the child’s eyes follow her figure. he places a wary hand on the blaster at his hip-

a snarl sounds at his right. it’s another bounty hunter, weapon pointed at the child. the mandalorian pushes the egg away, pulling his rifle off his back while keeping an eye on the girl, still knocked out in harm’s way.

two others jump into view, and he takes them down, shooting the last one into dust as it reaches for the girl. 

there are no others, but a still-beeping tracking fob is on the ground, where the now-disintegrated bounty hunter once was. he walks over, crushing it under his boot.

a quiet groan comes from the girl, and the mandalorian spins around. she’s in cuffs and can’t escape, but he keeps a hand on his blaster in case. 

she rises to her feet, and he tenses as she staggers over to the child, paying him no mind. the kid coos with a toothless grin, and he can see her relieved smile from where he stands. 

“hey, love,” she whispers, one hand pulling the other with it as she strokes the child’s head. she glances over at the mandalorian with a smile too sweet for the situation she’s in.

“not going to run?” he asks, strapping the rifle onto his back, grip on the blaster loose.

“you won’t hurt us.” he almost scoffs aloud.

“how do you know that?” she shrugs, placing a gentle hand on the child’s back.

“just have a feeling.” 

he studies her for a second. “let’s go. it’ll be dark soon.” the mandalorian sweeps past, having deemed her harmless. the egg follows, and she yelps. “keep up.”

the sun is already down when he decides to rest. the girl is across from him, next to the child as he cauterizes his wound. as soon as he got a better look at it earlier, the girl looked ready to throw up. he looks up to make sure they don’t try anything, even after her calm demeanor earlier. the girl is asleep again, head leaning against the egg as the child grabs at her hair. his eyes follow the bridge of her nose, the curve of her slightly-open lips, the-

“shit,” he mutters, tearing the cauterizer from his skin where it burned him. he needs to focus.

the child is relentless, getting out of the egg somehow and reaching up. he does it again before the mandalorian closes the egg, laying down to sleep warily.

he’s shaken awake lightly, warm hand resting somewhere below his pauldron. his eyes open to the same sweet smile as before, and he has to blink a few times to remember where he is. sitting up abruptly and almost knocking foreheads with the girl, he checks the cuffs around her wrists, still intact, and the egg, still occupied by the green child. he lets out a sigh of relief, studying the girl beside him.

“you seemed tired, so i let you sleep, but i heard voices just now, and i think we should get going soon. if not now.” he nods, checking over her once more just in case.

he’s never captured a bounty so kind to him before.

“let’s go,” he says, standing and leaving her to follow. 

she does, of course. the child is programmed to follow him, and she is programmed to follow the child.

they reach his ship, and it’s in disarray, jawas invading the area, stripping it of its parts. the mandalorian curses, reaching for his rifle.

“stand back,” he grunts, and the girl does, pulling the child with her. he can only take a few shots before they’re retreating. the ship is already tarnished, though, and he stalks down the hill.

“listen.” he turns towards the girl. “i’m leaving the child here. it can’t be moved, so don’t try to run with it. stay here.” she nods, watching as he sprints off. he’s far behind the jawas’ ship, but desperation is far greater than logic.

he returns soon enough, body sore from electricity and defeated. the girl leans against the hole-littered wall, watching the child sleep. he silently thanks the stars he doesn’t have to worry about escaped quarry.

just in case, he trudges to the cockpit, flicking switches even though there are gaping holes in the ship’s walls. nothing, of course. he turns back to the girl, who is already standing.

“come on.”

they walk until it’s dark, the girl with at least one bound hand on the egg at all times. the child happily coos as they walk, even though the only scenery is dune after dune of sand. kuill is working on something when they approach.

“i thought you were dead,” he says, turning and eyeing the mandalorian’s new companions. 

the caretaker lifts the child from the egg, setting him down so he can play. she watches him fondly.

“they were what was causing all the fuss?” the mandalorian ignores the question, focusing on his immediate problem.

“my ship has been destroyed. we’re trapped here.”

“stripped, not destroyed,” says the ugnaught, grabbing something from his shed. “the jawas steal. they don’t destroy.” he hands it to the bounty hunter, and he gratefully takes it to fix the electricity-worn control panel on his forearm.

“stolen or destroyed, makes no difference to me,” he mutters, glancing at the child and his caretaker. “they’re protected by their crawling fortress. there’s no way to recover the parts.”

“you can trade,” the ugnaught suggests.

“with jawas? are you out of your mind?”

“i will take you to them.” kuill takes the repairing device back. “i have spoken.” 

the mandalorian sighs behind his helmet, turning back to the child. he points, bewildered, turning to the girl.

“is that- can he-” she looks at him with a slightly regretful expression and a small smile, nodding as the child swallows a frog whole. he sighs again, shaking his head.

it’s raining as they start on their way to the jawas’ ship. the mandalorian sits on a platform that a bluurg drags slowly. the child’s caretaker sits uncomfortably beside him, so he can keep an eye on her. the egg is closed beside the girl, and she shields herself from the rain with a piece of scrap metal haphazardly welded to an electrostaff too beat up to ever work again. morning arrives by the time they finally reach the jawas, and kuill greets them with a wave. 

“they really don’t like you, for some reason,” he remarks as they raise weapons warily.

“well, i did disintegrate a few of them,” the mandalorian replies, paying no mind to the caretaker, whose eyes widen as she covers the petal-shaped ears of the child.

“you need to drop your rifle,” kuill calls over his shoulder.

“i’m a mandalorian. weapons are part of my religion.”

“then you are not getting your parts back.” 

he sighs, starting to put it away.

“fine.” a jawa exclaims something as he gets off.

kuill translates. “and the blaster.” 

they poke at him, setting off his temper when they demand his beskar and insult his pronunciation of their language.

“you understand this?” he asks, flamethrower on his wrist exploding outward and roaring as the jawas scramble.

a hand (that is definitely not kuill’s) is placed on his shoulder, then moves to pull his forearm backward and shut off the fire. the girl (who he didn’t even realize had approached) kneels in between the two as the jawas recover.

“he is of mandalore,” she says in jawa. “he cannot trade his beskar.” the jawas seem to consider this, considerably more pleased with the new arrival. “is there anything else we can trade?” (to say that the mandalorian is caught off-guard is an understatement, but he doesn’t show it.)

the jawa that was speaking stands taller, pointing at the child and speaking its language. the caretaker stands with a start. 

“get away from him, please!” she cries, walking over as they scatter.

“there must be something else,” kuill says as they turn back to the jawas. they huddle, considering what else they can ask for. they turn around, and the mandalorian already knows it’s nothing good. they make their request, and he can pick out two words with his broken jawa vocabulary.

“the egg? what egg?” he asks. 

they chant the whole way, as if it didn’t get on his nerves the first few times. he’s stooped in the cockpit, obviously made for jawas. the girl has a little bit of an easier time squeezing in, but they both hit their heads against the ceiling at a particularly violent bump all the same. he sighs, but she just laughs, obviously amused. 

the three, a mandalorian, a girl, and a child, exit the ship, walking down the ramp.

it’s still a bit of a walk, and they make it in uncomfortable silence.

she hesitates for a second before asking, “uh, do you think that you could take these off?” his head turns toward her, silent. “just for a little!” she says. “it’s just that, if there’s anything dangerous i want to make sure i can protect-” he stops the two, grabbing her bound hands and unlocking the cuffs, hanging them on his belt for later.

“until this is done.” he starts walking again, and she smiles brightly behind him.

“okay!” she says, jogging up on the other side of the child, making faces and exaggeratedly showing off her wrists. raw and tender from the cuffs, but free. the child squeals, sensing her excitement. the mandalorian watches from the corner of his limited vision. he can’t imagine what would happen to her if he hadn’t been the one to find them first.

they finally reach the cave the jawas had described, and they regard it in interest. he turns to her.

“stay here.” she nods, watching as he checks his weapons are in place and carefully ventures into the cave.

he’s launched out only moments later, slamming into the ground with a groan. the girl scrambles back, pulling the egg with her. the beskar in his pauldron and the pain weighs him down as he stumbles onto his feet. (it feels like something helps him do it, but there is no one behind him.)

his rifle (which would be incredibly helpful in this moment) is jammed, and he struggles with it a bit too long, flying into the air as the mudhorn charges him. he thinks he can hear the caretaker gasp to his right. the muddy animal turns to the child and the girl with a growl. 

she grounds herself, gripping the egg with one hand and raising the other, as if she’s going to stop it with just her hand. 

the mandalorian, exasperated and panicked, connects the egg to his wrist, flinging it to the side, subsequently pulling the egg and dragging the girl through the mud with an oof.

the mudhorn crashes into the rock where they once were, grunting as it catches sight of the mandalorian again. he unleashes the flamethrower that scared the jawas so well earlier. it does nothing against thick skin, and the mandalorian is driven into the mud by its horn.

he activates his grappling hook, at it catches around the mudhorn’s eye. he almost celebrates, but is cut off before he can. the beast drags him along the ground, and he’s forced to roll away before he’s launched back into the cave. he’s charged again, slamming back into the mud with a vision-blurring impact. 

all he has is his knife, and he weakly brandishes it as the mudhorn rears to charge again. it approaches, closer and closer and-

it stops. then starts to float. he watches as it kicks the air in confusion. the mandalorian has time to catch sight of the girl somewhere to his left, hand raised and eyebrows furrowed as if... she’s the one doing it. 

she gasps, eyes flying open as she drops the beast on the ground, giving him enough time to stab through its thick skin and kill it. he retrieves his knife, turning back to the girl, who’s unsteadily walked a little closer.

“what was that?” he demands, looking at the now-dead mudhorn again. she grins sleepily.

“wasn’t all me,” she says, looking back at the child, completely knocked out in the egg. “lost my concentration when he passed out.” she looks into his visor again. “sorry ‘bout that.” 

he’s about to respond, but she turns away, walking towards the cave. 

(and it’s a good thing too, because he might have blurted out something about how beautiful she looks with mud in her hair.)

he follows, turning on the light attached to his helmet to find her feeling for “the egg” already.

he never gets the chance to put the cuffs back on her.

it proves to be enough for the jawas, and they return to his ship with all of the parts. with everyone’s help, the ship is fixed quickly, and it is time. the ugnaught denies a job, finished with his life of servitude. the mandalorian understands.

so, they are alone. the mandalorian is in the pilot’s seat, and the girl is in the passenger’s seat with the egg on her lap. the bounty’s seat. he finally remembers what she is here for.

but he doesn’t want to.

the mandalorian and the caretaker taglist: @twofacedbassy​, @peggers-n-beggers​, @krissykat0207​, @holybatflapexpert​, @cosmichellfire​, @optionl, @dreamxcollide​, @disasteren​, @honestlystop​

permanent taglist: @llama259, @lustriix​

[fluidityandgiggles]

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 6

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Last Chapter

Writing Masterlist - for previous chapters not otherwise linked, Read on AO3

Notes (I guess): I started writing this chapter while writing chapter five and I was expecting to have fun with it, and I did, and it has a new OC in it. One that I’ve been talking about through this entire fic basically. One I’m terribly in love with and would start a fire for. So... I’m sorry if it seems like you have to keep up with all those OCs, but it really isn’t. It’s mostly just India, and this gal in this here chapter.

I apologize in advance. (Also Remy’s dad’s phone number starts with 212, which if anyone didn’t know is the Manhattan area code. Just pointing that out.)

As usual, thanks to @broadwaytheanimatedseries​ for the original thirty second long recording of them rambling about this idea, to @whatwashernameagain​ for Keep Him Safe and just for being pure and sweet as she is, and for @anony-phangirl​ , @asleepybisexual​ and @winglessnymph​ for dealing with my insanity and random bouts of ideas.

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222​ , @ab-artist​ , @secretlyanxiouspersona​ , @your-username-is-unavailable​ , @virgilcrofters​ , @why-things-go-boom​ , @ilovemygaydad​ , @violetblossem​

(If you want to be tagged or removed, please let me know! Preferably via notes/reblogs, I have bad memory, but… you do you.)

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter also discusses forms of child abuse and drug use.

—————

Emile was sent to the hospital the moment they explained the situation to the doctor on campus and was released from the ER a couple of days later. It was the very day Remy made the worst decision of his life. He missed some classes, Remy was glad to fill him up on those, and his mother had to fly in from Minnesota to look after him for the time he was there.

(Nathalie Picani was an incredibly nice woman, Remy decided within five seconds of meeting her. And he was yet to be proven wrong.)

But on the day Emile was released, Remy finally did it. He did the one thing he said he'd never do.

On that one fateful night in early November, Remy Harris agreed to babysit for Linda and Stephen Hollander. The victim? Remy. And also Leah.

"Would you please tell me who Leah is?" India asked him after a group meeting.

"Linda's daughter." Remy couldn't stop shaking. "She's six. Almost seven. And I don't want to babysit her."

"You're making a much bigger deal out of this than it really is and it's driving you crazy. It's a six year old. What's the worst that could possibly happen?"

But then, a couple hours later, Linda dropped the demon child off at Weld Hall - Remy wasn't a fan of her knowing where he stayed, thank you very much - and left. Well, then.

"You don't look like a Rebecca," the demon child muttered when she first saw Remy. And he was thankful. Both for the child having the sense to not imagine him as a Rebecca, and for the fact that it was nearing winter and he could start wearing baggier clothes, meaning he didn't have to bind.

(His back and boobs were going to thank him for it for the next six months, give or take.)

"Because it's not my name. My name is Remy, and Linda is just a bitch."

"A bitch is like my auntie when she doesn't listen to Mom, right…?"

What?!

"Auntie Steph wants to take me to see Lion King in New York on Christmas and Mom thinks that she shouldn't because I don't deserve to so she called her a bitch. Is that what you mean?" Less than a second later, "I dreamed last night that I was in a bouncy castle, and there was a clown, and I really don't like clowns, I think they're scary…"

She avoided eye contact. Much like two other figures in Remy's life. He didn't want to make wrong assumptions, but the thought was there.

"I saw a movie about real-real lions and you know that Simba is Nala's brother? Boy lions are really lazy, they don't hunt for themselves, the girl lions do it for them. Did you know that hyenas don't like boys? Like, at all? They have a really weird—"

"Look, kid, I'm sure all that is very interesting, but why do you know all this shit about hyenas?"

"My name is Leah Mae Hollander and I'm not a kid, I'm seven!"

"You'll be seven in two weeks."

"Girl hyenas have pen—"

"Yeah, I'm not gonna let you finish that! Let's do something other than talking."

He failed to notice her expression change when he said that.

——

Remy didn't have the heart to tell Leah that he already knew who George Michael is and that Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go was the song his dad used to wake him up all the time, which is why he doesn't like it, when a tiny gray bunny followed Katherine into the suite.

She swore she didn't steal him. And for once, he actually believed her.

"But it's a song about oh oh oh Remy that's a bunny I wanna cuddle the bunny can I please please cuddle the bunny?" He couldn't even answer before she dashed from the couch and grabbed the bunny a little too harshly. "Fluffy bunbun! You're so cute, little bunny!"

"Leah, someone needs this bunny right now. Would you mind putting him down so we could take him back?"

The look she gave him could kill a man.

"I found him. He's mine now."

"No, his name is Mycroft and he belongs to a very good friend of mine who is sick and needs him back." She tried using puppy eyes. Well… "You can come with me. But I'm taking the bunny back."

"Okay!"

Leah bounced all the way down the hall, and insisted on knocking on the door herself. It took several tries before Emile opened the door, still looking incredibly pale.

"I'm actually surprised you're doing this well," the nurse said while changing Emile's IV. "The lab suspected GHB, and—"

"Let's celebrate the small miracles instead of constantly pointing out facts that my son would rather forget."

"I can't hang out right now," Emile sighed. He sounded incredibly tired, almost… as if he's been crying. "I need to study for—"

"You, my good bitch, need to study for nothing. Get back in bed and I'll make you more tea."

"I'm not actually sick…"

"No, but it will help calm you down. And your mom would hate me if I didn't."

"Hello, I'm Leah!" Oh yeah. The demon child was here too. Emile looked down at her, forcing a smile. "I'm seven."

"You're not seven."

"Not yet but almost."

"Remy, please, she's clearly seven!" Leah's smile grew at that. "I'm Emile, I'm sixteen. Thank you so much for returning my bunny, Leah!"

"He's my bunny now."

For a second, Remy thought Emile was trying to imitate him. He never saw his adorable blond friend be evil... "How about he'll be ours, together?"

"...fine."

Leah bolted into the suite after the bunny, who was placed on the ground and started hopping towards his food. She was an interesting kid. A demon child, but still interesting.

Remy didn't know if he liked her or not.

"Thanks for coming to check on me, but I'm okay. You don't have to do anything. I'll be fine." Emile kissed Remy's cheek as he entered after Leah… and then didn't immediately leave. There was no way he was going to. "Remy, please!"

"No! You were—"

"I know what I was. I kept being reminded of what I was when I was in the hospital. Please stop reminding me."

"I was in the hospital two months ago," Leah started rambling again and broke whatever tension was between the boys. "Mom took Rachel to the park and I wanted to go too, because the park has the slides and the swings and there's a red slide that has rollers on it and it's funner because of the rollers and I really like it but every time I go there someone is already on it and nobody lets me slide on it so I really wanted to, so I took my rollerblades and I was on my way and then I tripped and it was very close to my home and it all hurt so our neighbor Matilda called Dad and when we went to the hospital he told me that I'm stupid and shouldn't do that ever again and when I tried to tell him that it was because I wanted to slide he called me stupid again and said the fuck word."

"And what happened then?" Emile asked softly, finally going to sit down and allowing Remy to make him tea. Well, sorta.

"I broke my arm. And it was very cool! I had a cast and everything, and nobody signed it, not even Mom or Dad, so I signed it for myself. And I did whatever I wanted!"

"What did you sign then?"

"It was a story about a group of princesses who went to fight a knight who was trying to kill their dragon friend."

Something didn't seem right to Remy. Other than absolutely not understanding a single word she said (that was a bit of an exaggeration, yes), something about the story didn't… make sense. And earlier when he cut her off, she looked incredibly offended.

Yeah… nothing matched up.

"Wait… Leah, let's work it through, okay?" She hummed in agreement. Remy was looking for mugs in the suite kitchenette. "You broke your arm rollerblading?"

"Yeah, I said that—"

"And Stephen called you stupid for breaking your arm rollerblading?"

"Yeah! I told you that!"

"And what did Linda say?"

"She said that I'm a stupid child for thinking I can rollerblade. But I can! I learned how to last year, and I'm practicing, and the park isn't that far, so I can!"

"Are you trying to analyze your sister?" Emile looked overly worried. "The tea bags are in that wooden box on the toaster oven."

"I'm not trying to analyze anything, but… something is weird." There were about ten different types of tea in there. Oh dear. Chamomile…? Emile likes chamomile, right?

"I saw Monsters, Inc. last week," Leah said out of the blue. "I saw it on my birthday and I stayed until the very-very end, and Mike Wazowski actually did a musical called put that thing back where it came from or so help me! And there's a song that's like, there's a child there's a child there's a human child, running ‘round the restaurant, this is really wild, what in heaven's name will become of us, we who are living in Monstropolis?"

"You saw that last week?" Emile sounded happy. "Remy, please no chamomile. It makes my stomach feel worse. Peppermint, please?"

"Alright."

"You saw Monsters, Inc.?"

"Yeah! I like Mike. He's fun."

Linda said that Leah was disruptive, annoying, a monster of a child. So far she… certainly talked a lot, but she wasn't disruptive, or annoying (well, maybe a little), and she didn't seem stupid at all. On their way over here she kept pointing at the suite numbers (not that many, but apparently she loved it) and asking Remy to read them to her, after which she'd declare whether or not they were multiples of three. And she couldn't stop talking about animals, some of which Remy didn't even know existed - she kept talking about betta fish for some reason, whatever those fish were, and how people killed their fish by putting more than one in the fish tank or putting cold water instead of warm (he was starting to think she just really liked betta fish). And those things meant she was… the opposite of stupid. No?

He was being redundant in his own head, it wasn't nice.

"Leah, I don't think you're stupid." Leah made a squeaky noise in response. "Linda and Stephen make no sense."

"But I can't do anything right…"

"Says who?"

"Remy Harris, you came here to make yourself useful, now where's my tea?" Emile laughed.

Once the tea was made, they sat down and watched Monsters, Inc. as per Leah's request.

Things were going to be okay today.

——

"How was babysitting the little rascal?"

"Dad… don't call her that."

"Changed your mind?"

"I don't know… I don't remember Linda berating me as much as she does Leah, and it sucks. I almost want to call social services and I only met that girl today!"

"Remy, kiddo, calm down. You'll get to see her again for thanksgiving and get a better picture of what's going on—"

"But I don't want to see them for thanksgiving and I'm worried for Leah! She's learning to play the piano, she can calculate stuff really quickly for a six year old, she remembers things with scary accuracy, it's almost inhuman… and she was called names by Linda and her husband for breaking her arm rollerblading. That's not—"

"How's Emile? Last time I called you said he was in the hospital."

"Yeah… he had a blood test. They found traces of GHB. He doesn't want to talk about it though."

"I know you probably don't want to hear this—"

"Don't tell me if I don't want to know about this…"

"When you were three, your mom used to go out a lot. She loved clubbing."

"She went out a lot my whole childhood, Dad. It's not news. She never really grew up since the eighties."

"She was seventeen when she had you, you can be a little bit—"

"Which means she's thirty-five, in a good enough position to raise children, and she chooses to call her daughter names for not fulfilling her expectations. Huh, kind of like how she treats me, isn't it?"

"...you'll be the death of me, child."

"I know. I'm already working on it. You can't see me but I'm winking at you."

"Remy, please don't make this harder than it is. Do you think I want her to want contact with you?"

"No, I don't. I don't want her to either. But it's not like I have any choice. You're making me do this!"

"You're being a brat."

"Thank you so much, I totally needed to hear that."

Remy hung up. Something was… not quite right. He just had to—

Incoming Call: 212-729-5555

"I don't want to talk to you right now."

"You said you didn't want to babysit Linda's kids, and now you're protecting her child like your life depends on it. Do you want to listen to what I have to say or not?"

"...sure. Whatever."

"When you were six, I had to leave you with your grandparents one night because your mom didn't come home from one of her parties. She almost died that night."

"And that has to do with what exactly?"

"That has to do with you being super worried about Emile. He's alive, isn't he? And he's doing alright. All you can do now is be there to support him."

"Well… yeah, you're right. I hate it when you're right."

"Now, about Leah. I know you don't trust your mom, I know you can't stand her, but it's no reason to call social services."

"Okay, I call her Linda to distance myself from her. She's not my mom. And the way Leah says she treats her is horrendous, and I would say it's abusive but I don't know the severity of it yet. So will you please just…"

"I think you need to take a day off, think about it, and we'll talk tomorrow."

"...fine. Good night, Dad. I'm going to go to sleep."

"Good. Good night, son. Sleep tight."