Chapter Text
A new academic year had rolled over and soon enough it was Societies’ Day once again. The student union hall was filled to the brim with a patchwork quilt of clashing banners and the atmosphere was thick with an almost warlike competition for the attention of the fresh-faced first years. The three societies that managed the highest number of new recruits at the end of the day would be in charge of organising the Halloween fest and given free rein over no small amount of funds that came with that coveted privilege.
Not that this prize was in any way a major concern for Bilbo. Not even a week into her third year in college and she was already stressing about staggering piles of books to read, papers to structure and deadlines to meet. She had better ways to spend her Fridays, the only day of the week she had no lectures and could, possibly, sleep in a bit. Still, here she was, bright and chirpy at 9AM, volunteering for the cause of queer youth.
The problem was, Bilbo had not, in fact, volunteered to man the LGBTQA+ Society table. She had been voluntold by her dorm mate Orianna, who possessed the kind of contagious enthusiasm that could rally anyone to her cause, or at least guilt them into holding a clipboard. So there Bilbo was, clutching said clipboard like a lifeline with her sweaty hands.
It didn’t help that Bilbo stood out like an old-fashioned postcard in a room full of modern posters. She wore a forest-green vintage dress with puffed sleeves and a lace collar, cinched at the waist with a thin red leather belt that made her already curvy figure even more pronounced. The dress flared out into a modest skirt that brushed her knees, revealing a pair of mustard-yellow tights and Mary Jane red shoes that clicked faintly every time she shifted her weight, which she did far too often because those shoes hadn't been a good idea for a day that would consist mostly of standing on her feet. Her very full chest (that she’d only squeezed into the unforgiving dress’s cut via shapewear) made her “Ask Me About Queer Literature” badge sit at an awkward tilt, refusing to stay pinned properly.
She sighed, pushing her light brown curls out of her face for the third time in as many minutes, regretting having agreed to get a shaggy bob haircut that was short enough that no band or hairpin would hold it. All in the name of fashion and a fresh start of the year, getting rid of her long mane as if that would help her forgive and forget her past grievances.
Being short and somewhat chubby, she was used to being looked down on by almost everyone she interacted with, but the gods of fate had been particularly cruel today, because next to them stood the Metal Society, and it seemed that they only accepted students over six feet. And broader than a wardrobe. As if it wasn’t hard enough attempting to project a confident stance despite her diminutive build.
The metalheads weren’t the best of neighbours. For starters, they were continuously blasting some dreadful guitar shredding from a Bluetooth speaker (they had already been told twice to turn it down, but they inevitably turned it up every time a new “banger” came on the playlist). Not to mention how the two stands' colours clashed, rainbow versus night-gloom. True to their overdramatic aesthetics, they had evidently decided to decorate as if the event was the background for a heavy metal album cover. Their table was draped in black velvet, scattered with grim-looking skull paraphernalia, and manned (and womanned) by a crew of leather-clad titans. Bilbo would have swore she saw one of them sharpening an actual axe.
“This is perfect”, Orianna exclaimed as soon as she sauntered over to the table, late as always (Bilbo had been there since 8:30!), her eyes gleaming with the fervor of someone about to make a masterpiece—or a mess. She was resplendent in her signature rainbow overalls, a bright colour clash that could have blinded a less prepared spectator. Her red hair, curled and pinned back just so, displayed her custom oversized earrings: “Ori” and “Anna”, they read. Her chosen name or, as she would claim whenever someone wound her up the wrong way, her chosen pronouns. “Let them bigots sweat trying to put that in practice in the name of political correctness,” she'd say.
“Perfect?” replied Bilbo, both eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “Perfect, how?”
“We’ll attract the edgy queer crowd!” exclaimed Orianna, as if it was self-evident. “Don’t be prejudiced. Queer metalheads are a thing, Bilbo!”
“I’m pretty sure they think we’re the enemy”, Bilbo muttered, stealing a glance at the Metal Society table. The nearest member, a fortress of a man with a shaved head and tattoos covering every visible inch of skin, was leaning on the edge of their table like a gargoyle. His tree-trunk arms were crossed, and his glare could have frozen lava mid-flow.
“Pfft!” Orianna said, brushing off the observation with a dismissive wave. “They’re just posturing. Metalheads are basically theatre kids who discovered electric guitars”.
Bilbo snorted despite herself but quickly schooled her expression back to normal.
“Hey, metalheads!” Orianna called cheekily, leaning slightly toward the other table. Bilbo’s blood turned to ice as every black-clad student in a twenty-foot radius turned to glare at Orianna.
“Orianna!” Bilbo hissed.
“What?” Orianna replied, unbothered.
“It’s called networking. You should try it”. She waved at the tattooed gargoyle. “Love your ink! What’s that on your forearm? A wyrm? A kraken? Or is it a self-portrait? Even I wouldn’t dare to commit to such open enthusiasm for oversized glans!”
The man’s face twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile.
“You’re loud”, he growled, but somehow managed to do so in a non threatening way.
“Thank you!” Orianna chirped, unflappable. “I’ve been told I have excellent projection. It’s the years of theatre training”.
He raised one bushy eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Not a compliment”.
Bilbo winced. But Orianna? Orianna grinned. “Noted. What would you say is my best selling point then?”
The thug turned fully then. And gave them the slowest, most excruciating once-over Bilbo had ever experienced.
“Colours”, he said, finally.
“Oooh” Orianna replied with a wink, “you’re good at this. Keep it up, and I might just have to propose something indecent by lunch time”.
Before he could respond (if he was going to…) someone from the Culinary Society table chimed in. “Orianna, are you bothering your neighbours at Student Union here too? Isn’t it enough with your dorm mates?”
It was a chubby ginger girl in a checkered apron, holding out a tray of meticulously decorated cupcakes. Orianna lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Bambi! My favorite person in the entire world!” she declared, swooping toward the tray. “What have you brought us? Something to soothe the savage metal beast?” She shot another wink at the tattooed man, who didn’t so much as twitch, though his disquietingly even gaze was still fixed on them.
Bambi rolled her eyes but held out the tray. “These are Pride-themed. Thought you might want some for your stand”.
“Indeed I do, cheers” Orianna said, putting the tray in the table before snagging two and shoving the one toward Bilbo. “Here, Billie-bee, eat this before you faint from all that stress-sweating”.
“I can’t eat that now”. Bilbo’s face turned crimson. “And I am not sweating”, she hissed, and then tried to look under her arms as inconspicuously as possible. “Please tell me I am not because crepe is not a forgiving material!”.
“You look fine, Wilhelmina”, said Orianna, rolling her eyes fondly. “Prim and proper like a light academia librarian. Now… I’m feeling the appeal of darkness today”, she muttered, before she walked the few paces that separated the two stands to offer Bilbo’s rejected cupcake to the tattooed man. And proceeded to talk his ear off (that was getting increasingly red, the only evident sign that Orianna’s attention was getting to him) as he munched on the muffin.
It was Bilbo’s turn to roll her eyes. Orianna was an unapologetic flirt and it seemed she had found today’s challenge. Even if it meant abandoning the ship to the less than capable hands of one socially anxious Wilhelmina Roberta Baggins.
“Oh, hey, Bilbo!” called a voice from the other side of the table, just as she was starting to panic about how she was supposed to meet the ambitious enrolment numbers working on her own.
She turned to see Leaf, a tall, nonbinary student with a halo of soft blonde dreadlocks and a tie-dyed tank top that was cropped short enough to display their navel piercing. They were standing in the middle of the corridor between stands, handing out flyers to passersby.
“Have you read Swordspoint?” Leaf asked as soon as there was a lull in the foot traffic. “It made me think of you. It’s chock-full of angst and humour…and queer assassins ”
Bilbo’s eyes lit up despite herself. “Ellen Kushner? I devoured all her books when I was in high school!” she said, clutching the clipboard tighter against her bosom as though it might anchor her enthusiasm.
“Wasn’t it amazing?” Leaf said, grinning. “I mean, all those sexually charged sword fighting scenes?”
Bilbo nodded so vigorously her curls bounced. “And not just the sex… the romance! There are so many relationships and the worldbuilding was so… I don’t know, layered? Like there were so many factions and disputed interests, and secrets!”
“And pining!” Leaf said, planting their hands on the table. “It’s what I’ve been looking for: two comrades in arms that would give their life to save each other… but aren’t brave enough to confess their feelings. Tragic gays are my kryptonite”.
Before Bilbo could respond, an older student walked by and plucked a flyer from the table. “What are you discussing so passionately over here?” they asked with a friendly smile.
“Books”, Bilbo said quickly, standing up a little straighter. “I’m the society’s official book nerd, apparently”. She gestured to her badge and gave a self-deprecating smile.
“Ask her about anything queer and literary, and you’ll get an essay”, Leaf added with a wink.
Bilbo blushed. “Only if you want one!” she said hurriedly, but the student chuckled and walked off, flipping through the flyer.
“You’re really good at this,” Leaf said once they were alone again.
“At what?”
“Making people feel like they want to stay. You’re approachable”, Leaf said, their tone warm. “Even if Orianna kind of railroaded you into this”.
Bilbo smiled shyly, but before she could respond, Orianna swept back toward the table, her rainbow overalls shining like a beacon. “What did I miss while I was talking to Mr. BDE over there? Anyone swooning over our literature queen yet?”
“Orianna!” Bilbo groaned, her face turning pink again.
“Just saying what we’re all thinking: you’re a treasure waiting to be plundered”, Orianna said, wrapping her arm around Bilbo’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, Billie-boobies. Your moment will come”.
“Stop it! My childhood nickname was Billie Bob not…that!”, chided Bilbo, looking around to see if anyone had overheard. “I don’t even know why I trusted you with the family story if you're just going to make fun of me. Besides it’s not OK to joke about someone’s anatomy like that… particularly not the… the breast area”.
“I’m sorry”, Orianna sounded actually contrite, though her gaze strayed too low from Bilbo’a eyes as she explained, waving dramatically. “I do tend to over-fixate because they are so… magnificent… whereas I am… well…”, she gestured to her own almost flat chest.
“I’d give anything to be like that”, replied Bilbo. “You know how hard it is to breathe in this spandex body? But I couldn’t not wear this dress after I had it shipped from across the pond”.
“It’s a beautiful dress”, agreed Orianna, squeezing a little around her waist. “And you look like a yummy ripe peach”.
Bilbo batted her hands away and returned her attention to the clipboard, its smooth surface suddenly fascinating as Orianna sashayed away to charm yet another passerby. If she could just project confidence, pretend she was one of those people who thrived in these social whirlpools, maybe she’d make it through the day unscathed. Unfortunately, her comfort zone implied avoiding eye contact with anyone not already part of her group.
“Deep breaths, Billie-Bob” she muttered under her breath, glancing at the dwindling stack of flyers. She mustered what courage she had left and advanced, ready to engage.
As the day wore on, her efforts began to pay off. She even managed to sign up two new recruits, an achievement that left her with the faint glow of accomplishment. She was on her way back to the table, ready to report her success to Leaf, when her gaze was unceremoniously snared by her.
Her.
Because all of a sudden, in the Metal Society stand, sitting behind the table like some imposing Norse deity who had misplaced her hammer, was the most terrifyingly beautiful woman Bilbo had ever seen, wearing an expression that said she might personally take on God if He stepped out of line.
She was… the best word was statuesque. Tall, very tall. Even though she was seated, she looked likely to be nearly a foot taller than Bilbo, with broad shoulders and an unapologetically bulky frame that made her seem capable of carrying the entire table on her back if the mood struck. Her black hair, impossibly thick and long, tumbled down her back from a tall ponytail interspersed with tiny braids, contrasting sharply with the undercut shaved around her pierced ears. She had the sharp, cold blue eyes of someone who probably didn't ask for directions and the nose of a Roman emperor.
Bilbo swallowed. Hard.
“See something interesting?” Orianna asked, her tone light but with enough mischief to make Bilbo’s eyes widen in alarm.
“Nope” Bilbo said too quickly, clutching her clipboard like a shield and turning quickly on her heels to begin rearranging a stack of rainbow bookmarks for the fourth time.
But Orianna’s gaze had already found her mark.
“Ah” she said after a moment, her grin widening to Cheshire Cat proportions. “You’ve been struck by the Curse of the Butch”.
“Shh!” Bilbo hissed, mortified. The last thing she needed was for the Viking goddess, or any of her leather-clad friends, to hear about her pathetic crush forming in real time.
“It’s okay to admit it!” Orianna teased. “It’s very noble of you. You like a woman who could crush your enemies, scatter their armies, and still have time to read poetry”.
“She’s just… interesting,” Bilbo mumbled, which was a bit like calling the sun somewhat bright. She tried to focus on adjusting her badge, which had managed to slip sideways again.
“I’m sure she’ll be interested in crushing your head between her thighs if you wanted to pay her homage, in verse or prose”, remarked Orianna, as crash as always.
“Orianna! Don’t be lewd!”, chided Bilbo, blushing to the tips of her ears. She wasn’t going to let her thoughts wander in that… particular direction. As appealing as it might be.
“That’s like asking me to stop breathing, darling”, replied Orianna, and shrugged. “Sorry. No can do”.
“At least try not to embarrass me?”, pleaded Bilbo, then managed to trip on her own foot when she tried to walk the few steps that separated them, intent on containing her physically if need be. She yelped in sudden pain and swayed on her spot, feeling a bit lightheaded. Orianna rushed to help her.
“Excuse me!” Orianna called over her head to the Metal Society table, waving dramatically like she was signaling a ship at sea. “Could you pass us one of those chairs? Our table didn’t come with enough, and I think Bilbo’s about to faint”.
Bilbo snapped her head around so fast she nearly got whiplash. “I’m fine!” she squeaked, her voice a full octave higher than usual.
But it was too late. The Valkyrie, all six feet of her (at least in those chunky platform military boots) had unfolded herself to her full, towering height, and walked over with the measured pace of someone who didn’t see the need to rush for mere mortals. Her sharp kohl-rimmed eyes locking on her and the way she positively loomed over them both made Bilbo’s pulse quicken. Not in a fun way.
“You need a chair?” She asked. Her voice was low and even, but her tone had the abruptness of someone cutting straight to the point.
“Um, yes?” Bilbo managed, feeling very much like she’d been called on in class without raising her hand.
“What chair?” she asked, her voice flat and clipped.
“Any chair will do” Orianna said brightly. “We’re short, and Bilbo here is feeling poorly”.
“I can… I can stand” Bilbo blurted, wishing she could crawl under the table instead.The unwavering blue gaze dropped to her, scanning her in one swift, clinical motion. “You don’t look strong enough to stand on high heels”, she said bluntly, before turning and grabbing a chair from behind her table.
Bilbo’s mouth fell open. “I… I’m perfectly capable!” she sputtered, but the tall woman had already returned with the chair, dropping it beside her with a loud clang that made Bilbo flinch.
“There, my chair”, She said. “Sit, if you’re weak”.
The words landed like a slap, even though Bilbo could tell they weren’t meant to be cruel. It was the way she said them— so matter-of-fact, as if Bilbo had failed some unspoken test. Her cold blue eyes scanned Bilbo again for a second too long, then flicked away quickly as though she wasn’t worth further examination.
Bilbo just stared at her walking away, her anger boiling steadily until she managed to blurt a shrill reply. “Excuse me?!”
The woman turned and frowned, as though Bilbo’s confusion was some kind of personal affront. “What?”
“I’m not weak” Bilbo said, heat rising in her cheeks again. “I was standing perfectly fine until…”
“Then you didn’t need the chair”, she cut her off, her tone as unyielding as her posture. “Why ask for something you don’t need? It’s time waste”.
“I didn’t ask!” Bilbo shot back openly, indignant now, though her voice and her heartbeat still wavered under the other woman’s glacial stare.
The woman blinked, as if processing this information, then shrugged. “Fine. Don’t use it. But then don’t make me waste my time again”.
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Bilbo seething in anger, disbelief, and no small amount of embarrassed arousal.
“Wow”, Orianna whispered, leaning in conspiratorially once she was out of earshot. “That was… frosty. How’re you holding up?”
“I feel like I’ve been graded and failed”, Bilbo muttered angrily.
“Hey, look on the bright side”, Orianna said with a grin. “At least she noticed you. That’s progress!”
Bilbo sighed, sinking into the chair. Progress? Sure. If by progress Orianna meant spiraling into a crush on a woman who probably thought emotions were a waste of time.
“Well”, Orianna said after a long pause, biting back a grin. “She’s got a way with people, doesn’t she?”
“A way to make them feel like garbage,” Bilbo muttered, though her tone lacked real bite. Maybe it was the despair taking over her ire.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic”. Orianna perched on the edge of the table, swinging one rainbow-striped leg. “You’re not garbage… if anything you’re compost: organic, rich, full of potential”.
“Oh yes, comparing me to dirt crawling with worms makes me feel so much better”, Bilbo said dryly, fiddling with the hem of her dress. “Now go. I’ll stay here putting all the new sign-ups together in a list”.
She tried to focus on her work. Still, her eyes couldn’t help but drift across the room to where the woman (“The Woman”, Bilbo’s brain whispered insistently, emphasising the capital letters somehow as if she were some kind of Superheroine) stood with her back to them, towering over the Metal Society table. She was engrossed in a conversation with another member, a muscled ginger with a fluffy beard long enough to be tied in a braid that reached his barrel chest. Every few minutes, Bilbo’s gaze flicked back to her, cataloging details she hadn’t dared to notice before, too caught on those frosty blue eyes.
Insignificant details like how muscled her thighs looked inside the snug leather leggings tucked into mid-calf, 18-eyelet black Doc Martens. Yet how maddeningly loose-fitting her band T-shirt (“Khazad-Doom”, Bilbo read after squinting, though the fiery runic script made it look like something out of Tolkien’s fever dreams) was, leaving everything to the imagination. Over it all, a long black leather coat with dramatic tails that swayed whenever she shifted, adorned with a scattering of pins and patches.
“Can’t you be more obvious?” Orianna teased when she came back to the table with a new page full of names, snapping Bilbo back to reality.
“I’m not…” Bilbo started, but Orianna waved her off, already sliding off the table with an unmistakable glint in her eye.
“Be right back, Billie Bob” she said, sashaying toward the Metal Society table with a confidence Bilbo could only dream of. She watched in horror as Orianna sidled up to the intimidating woman and her friend, making small talk and at one point, waving back toward their table with a theatrical flair. Whatever she said earned a small nod before Orianna sauntered back, triumphant.
“Okay” Orianna said, dropping into her chair like she’d just won a war. “Her name’s Thorin. She’s a master student in engineering, which… honestly? Tracks”.
Bilbo rolled her eyes, though her heart thudded uncomfortably. “Perfect. Exactly what every English major dreams of: a crush on someone who could build a bridge over my emotional turmoils to effectively avoid them”.
“Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Orianna replied, laughing. “She asked after you, actually”.
“Did she?”, gasped Bilbo, leaning forward eagerly. “Did she ask you for my number? Don’t you dare give it to her! She could ask me herself and apologise while she’s at it!”
“Hold your horses”, said Orianna, holding her hands up placatingly. “She just asked if you were feeling better. And then she told me off for letting weak people work in the stand”.
“Weak people!”, repeated Bilbo incredulously, her voice raising in ire.
“I think she meant sick… or something like that…she… she’s got an accent. I hadn’t realised before because well… she doesn’t speak much, does she?”, explained Orianna.
“What do you mean an accent?”, asked Bilbo frowning. “Everyone’s got an accent, I wouldn’t have expected that prejudiced remark from you of all people!”
Orianna rolled her eyes. “I mean English is clearly not her first language. She’s… can you guess it?”
Bilbo looked back at the woman. And found her looking straight at her, so she blushed again and pretended to be writing.
“I don’t know… somewhere Nordic?”, she muttered.
“Can you be more specific?”
“Is this a guessing game now?”, she asked a little bristly.
“Everything in life can be a game if you want, Bilbo!”, replied Orianna, tutting fondly.
“Fine, don’t tell me. I don’t care”, Bilbo crossed her arms.
She did care. In fact, the accent comment had only made her care more, if that was possible.
“Iceland”, blurted out Orianna less than ten seconds of silence later. It was obvious she was eager to share and couldn’t tease Bilbo any longer. “How cool is that? I’ve never met anyone from Iceland!”
Very cool indeed, thought Bilbo. “It tracks, ice queen and all”, she said out loud, feigning indifference. She darted a quick glance back to the woman. Only her sharp profile was visible from this angle, as she had moved and was talking to a group of first years that had circled their table.
“It does, doesn’t it?”, grinned Orianna. “Anyway, let’s talk pins!”
“What?” Bilbo struggled to follow.
“Her coat”, Orianna explained, gesturing toward Thorin. “Pins and patches galore. There’s lots of band pins with unpronounceable names, a very predictable “Grrrl PWR” one… and a Labrys pin, which is, y’know, significant”.
Bilbo blinked twice. “Significant how?”
“Darling” Orianna said, patting Bilbo’s back and waving around her with the other arm, “how are you on this side of the counter and not fluent in queer semiotics?”
Bilbo shrugged. “All the flags with different colour combinations and little secret symbols confuse me. I’m fine with the normal rainbow flag. It’s pretty and straightforward. Everyone knows what it means”.
“Don’t talk heresy to me! The rainbow flag is so dated”. Orianna gasped theatrically, clutching her chest. “Also… I can’t believe you don’t know what a Labrys is!”
“Should I?” Bilbo asked, growing wary.
“It’s only one of the oldest lesbian symbols!”, Orianna exclaimed with mock outrage. “The Labrys axe, used by the badass warrior women, Amazons, associated with independence, strength, and all things sapphic”.
“I think you’re extrapolating. There’s axes everywhere in metal paraphernalia. From here, I can already count five. And I very much doubt every student here wearing axes is hailing Amazons and Lesbians”, retorted Bilbo.
“You’ll be surprised. While I agree that metalheads are overly fond of axes, I’m positive that her metal pin was the Labrys flag. Really, Bilbo, what kind of lesbian are you?”
Bilbo groaned, self-doubt settling in as she buried her face in her hands. “This is why I stick to books. No one quizzes me about secret symbols in books”.
Orianna patted her shoulder consolingly. “Don’t worry. I’ll forgive your ignorance this time. Because you need to concentrate and make a plan: she’s out there, wearing her queer warrior badge with pride, and you’re sitting here, oblivious”.
“Oblivious to what?” Bilbo mumbled. “My crush may be a lesbian, and I emphasise the “may”, but still as inaccessible as Mount Everest. She made it clear she despised me. I’ve nothing to do”.
Orianna snorted. “You’ll do fine. She’s probably just waiting for the right book nerd to warm her icy heart”.
“Perfect,” Bilbo muttered to herself. “I’ll just introduce myself and ask if she’s read Orlando. What could go wrong?”
“I believe in you, Billie Bob. I’m positive you can just charm those leather leggings off her. She's clearly waiting to melt her ice for someone with an adorable vintage dress and an endless supply of boobs… I meant books!”.
Bilbo slapped her, harder this time, on the back of her neck and waved her off to work. She then sighed, sinking lower into her chair.
Only then, did she risk another glance. Thorin (because of course her name was something as mythically sounding as Thorin), was now adjusting a stack of fliers with clinical efficiency, her expression unchanged.
“Great”, Bilbo muttered to herself. “I’ve got a crush on a Viking queen and I didn’t even know butches were my type”.
Thorin chose that exact moment to glance in her direction, her gaze settling on Bilbo with all the intensity of a hawk spotting an indecisive mouse. Bilbo felt herself turn to jelly, then cursed herself for turning to jelly.
Somehow, she doubted she’d be climbing any metaphorical mountains anytime soon.
As even the hottest ring of hell offers some intermittent respite, the lunch bell eventually chimed, signaling a temporary halt to the bustling chaos of Societies’ Day. The doors closed to visitors and the volunteers shuffled toward the catered table at the back of the hall, where sandwiches, crisps, and tiny bottles of juice awaited.
Bilbo followed the stream reluctantly, her stomach growling despite her desire to keep a low profile. She hovered near the sandwiches, eyeing a coronation chicken suspiciously, mindful of the high calorie intake.
By the time Bilbo had picked up her sandwich and returned to their table, Orianna was deep in conversation with the tattooed metalhead, who looked both amused and mildly terrified. She seemed intent on chatting him up with all the zeal of someone who could charm a rattlesnake into sharing its den.
“Billie!” Orianna called, waving her over. “Come mingle with the neighbours! It’s good for your soul, darling”.
“I’m fine here”, Bilbo replied, but Orianna was already heading her way, sandwich and juice box precariously balanced in one hand.
“You’re missing all the fun!” Orianna said, plopping down next to her. “Honestly, when’s the last time you made a friend who didn’t have spines?”
“I’ll have you know books are excellent companions” Bilbo replied, twitching her nose a little in distaste before taking a careful bite on her plain chicken sandwich.
“And yet, they won’t hold your hand at Pride”, Orianna teased, nudging her shoulder. Then, with a theatrical gasp, she gestured too wildly to invite the metalheads over to their table, sending a dollop of curry sauce splattering onto Bilbo’s dress.
Bilbo froze, staring in horror at the bright yellow stain spreading across her carefully chosen and nosebleedingly expensive vintage frock. “Orianna!” she wailed, voice wobbling.
“Oh no, no, no!” Orianna cried, grabbing napkins and dabbing uselessly at the stain. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! It’s just…curry is so traitorous!”
Bilbo looked ready to cry. “This is vintage! And the dry cleaner is going to be closed tomorrow! I…oh God, I am going back to my parents’ tonight and they live over an hour away, and I still have to wait for the bus and then the train with this… mess all over me!”
“Wait” The voice was sharp, cutting through the noise of the room like a blade. Both women turned to see Thorin standing there, her cold blue eyes fixed on the stain, which unfortunately meant, on Bilbo’s bosom too. She felt herself blush, as if her mortification wasn’t enough as is.
“Not ruined yet” Thorin said matter-of-factly, as though daring Bilbo to argue. “But you’ll need to sort it out now”.
“I can’t…” Bilbo started, but Thorin was already shaking her head.
“I have a box full of unsold band T-shirts from our last gig in the van. It’s parked outside”, she explained, flicking her head significantly to the door. “I’m sure an XXL will look like a dress on someone as tiny as you. You’ll be drowning in it, but at least you won’t have to wear a stained dress”.
Bilbo blinked, struggling to process the gesture. “I…thank you, but…”
“And…”, Thorin interrupted, “…I’ll drive you to the dry cleaner now. They’re closing soon, but you can be there on time if we are fast”.
“You don’t have to…”
“I said I would and I will”. Thorin raised an eyebrow challengingly, clearly not interested in further debate. “Come on. No point sitting here wasting time whining about it”.
“You’re sure?”
“Sure”, Thorin sighed, as if dealing with a particularly slow student. “Go get your things. The clock’s ticking”.
Bilbo, too flustered to argue any further, dashed to the coat room to get her purse and coat, muttering under her breath about intimidating engineers with no patience for social niceties.
Orianna, meanwhile, grinned wickedly and leaned a bit towards Thorin as she murmured, conspiratorially. “You’re a real knight in shining leather, aren’t you?”
Thorin gave her a flat look. “She’s lucky I am willing to help her with her pretty dress”.
“Uh-huh”, Orianna replied, the teasing smirk never leaving her face. “And you’re just so inconvenienced to be helping her out of it, right?”
Thorin ignored her, checking her watch before turning sharply on her heels that being chunky Docs on linoleum, squeaked something fierce, which dampened the dramatic move somewhat. “Tell her to hurry. I’m not waiting all day”.
As she walked toward the door to wait, Orianna leaned closer to the tattooed metalhead who had an equally knowing smirk on his face. “Oh, this is going to be fun... Now, whatever could we do to entertain ourselves, hmmm?” She arched her brows significantly. She was good at this game and she always got what she wanted.
Meanwhile, Bilbo was sprinting through the student hall following the retreating back and dramatically flowing coat tails of her surprise rescuer. Her mind was whirring as she couldn’t decide if this was a very realistic nightmare scenario or the start of a very confusing rom-com. When she stepped back outside, the sight of Thorin standing beside a battered black van with the words “Khazad-Doom” scrawled in faded lettering across the side was surreal enough to make her pause.
“Get in”, Thorin called, already moving to unlock the van’s side door that jarred ominously as it slid open, revealing lots of cables and black boxes.
Bilbo hesitated. This was moving closer to a kidnap nightmare scenario. “I thought you said you’d drive me?”
“I will. But first, the shirt”. Thorin popped open a box marked MERCH. She pulled out a pristine black T-shirt and handed it to Bilbo. It was the same model she was wearing, with its “Khazad-Doom” logo splashed across the front in fiery red and gold. “You can change in the back while I drive”.
Bilbo’s face went molten. “What? While you drive? I can’t… I mean…I’m not going to… there isn’t even a place to sit!” She flailed slightly, clutching the oversized shirt like it was a soft toy.
Thorin tilted her head, her expression quizzical. “What’s the problem?”
“The… the problem?” Bilbo stammered, “For starters, my dress has a back zipper, and I can’t reach it by myself…” She looked down, mortified, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.
Thorin studied her for a moment, then sighed, as if Bilbo had just announced she needed assistance tying her shoes. “Turn around”.
“What?”
“Turn around” Thorin repeated, her tone brisk. “I’ll unzip it for you. Don’t worry, I don’t bite”.
Bilbo turned slowly, her hands gripping the skirt of her dress. Her cheeks were on fire as she felt the cool touch of Thorin’s long fingers against her upper back, and just for a second, the sensitive spot at her nape where her bob haircut had been just slightly buzzed. Then, very quickly, the zipper slid down with a quiet hiss that sounded as definitive as a death blow. Bilbo felt the chill of the afternoon air against her bare skin, and her nipples hardened to an almost painful degree.
“Done”. Thorin’s voice was low like a caress and wavered slightly. “Or Undone, I guess”.
Bilbo whirled around, clutching the front of her dress to keep it from slipping further. “Thanks” she mumbled, unable to meet her eyes as she pushed the oversized T-shirt over her head. It engulfed her instantly, the hem brushing her mid-thigh, leaving yellow tights on full display, and more leg than she was used to showing.
She reached down, wriggling out of her dress while still half-hidden by the baggy shirt. The maneuver was less than graceful, and by the time she was done, she was sure she had managed to look even more utterly ridiculous than before, running around with a big stain on her dress.
Thorin narrowed her kohl-rimmed eyes, her blue gaze cool even at such a short distance. “You look like a superhero”.
Bilbo froze in the process of tugging futilely at the edge of the T-shirt. “What?”
“Black spandex and yellow tights” Thorin said, gesturing with her eyebrows. “It’s very… aerodynamic”.
Bilbo’s face burned anew. “Are you teasing me?”
“No” Thorin’s expression was as frosty as before, but there was a faint quirk at the corner of her mouth. “I wouldn’t dare to”.
Bilbo wasn’t entirely convinced, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. “Let’s just get to the dry cleaner”, she muttered, scrambling into the front passenger seat and looking pointedly at Thorin. “I’m sitting here”.
Thorin climbed into the driver’s seat without further comment, and as the van rumbled to life, Bilbo tugged once again at the hem of the oversized T-shirt that had rode even further up as she was sitting. It was useless so she settled on putting her purse on her lap in an attempt to hide just how much plumper her thighs looked when she was sitting.
A superhero? If only. Right now, she felt more like the awkward sidekick, complete with unrequited crush and a ridiculous uniform.