#COS LOOK AT THIS BEAST OF A MAN I’VE BAGGED

[calinaannehart]

[wild-houseplant]

Have Warden, Will Travel- Chapter 16

I’m a lazy little sod who’s taken an age to get this to Tumblr. Sorry about that. We’re still on Broken Circle, so the usual death, gore, and general misery-- but with an added bonus of ableism. I’ve fixed up a couple sentences since I last mentioned it (look at me editing my first draft! Gosh!!) AO3 chapter here if needed, and the rest is in this post! Please drink your fluids and look at something nice today!!

§

Why was it never long before Zevran heard another noise? How many people lived in this shoebox of a place? He could have sworn they’d passed some thirty bodies between the great doors and the stockroom. At this point, that was probably more than the population of Redcliffe.

Swallowing back a sigh, he touched Rhodri’s elbow and gestured ahead to an open room off slightly to the left. They hugged the wall, approaching out of sight. There were at least three voices, if he wasn’t mistaken. Two deep, one light, all speaking in a hush.

“What are we doing here, Willard?”

Someone tsked impatiently. “We’re making sure no-one disrupts Uldred’s plan. I thought I was quite clear…”

Rhodri stilled, head tilting in the direction of the other group. “I think I hear Tara,” she whispered.

“You know what I meant. Uldred isn’t even Uldred any more! This has gone much too far, I don’t–”

“This is what we’re faced with, Tara. There is no turning back now, do you understand me? If we turn back now, we will lose everything we've fought for!”

The Warden turned sharply to Wynne. “That filth is roping my apprentices into this,” she growled.

Before Wynne could answer, she stepped away from the wall and waved a hand. “Tara?” she called out, her voice gently rasping. “Ah, and Georgie, too. Good. Come over here, if you please, away from Willard.”

Zevran and the rest of the party peeled themselves away from the wall. Two wiry mages, a boy and a girl who couldn’t have been more than fourteen, were watching the party with open mouths. A third mage, substantially older and wearing a gold robe instead of the younger ones’ blue ones, observed the scenario with a curled lip.

“We…” the girl looked uneasily between them and her co-conspirators.

“We are explicitly here to thwart Uldred’s plans,” Wynne said firmly. “Join us now, or fight to the death.”

Rhodri’s eyes widened. She beckoned frantically to the apprentices. 

“Come, leave him,” she said urgently. “Please, please be sensible– SHIT!”

The man named Willard threw a gashed hand in the party’s direction, and a stream of rippling, singing blood was narrowly stopped by Rhodri’s shield.

Chaos ensued. Willard tipped his head back and lifted his arms, as if to call to something, only to have a fire blob fall out of thin air and… into him? This was without a doubt the strangest pornography Zevran had ever witnessed, and by far the most unpleasant. 

The blob was Willard and Willard was the blob, a blazing bag of flesh and char who was apparently as foul-tempered as he had been prior to the possession. Willard the Fire Blob threw himself at the party, magic assaults aplenty. That was probably for the best on his end, because the teenagers flopped over most unceremoniously, asleep before they could finish crumpling on the floor.

With a snort, Zevran distracted Willard long enough for Rhodri, for whom sleep spells were becoming something of a personal trademark, to bolt over and haul the anaesthetised teenagers away by their ankles. 

With five against one, Willard the Fire Blob didn’t have a hope. Especially, Zevran decided as he slipped around and neatly snicked Willard’s throat open, against someone like him. After all, who in the Fereldan Circle– and who in the Fade, for that matter, expects an Antivan Crow? What a gorgeous thing it was for a powerful beast to be easy prey.

Willard died immediately.

Tara and Georgie, once awakened, looked rather nonplussed about the whole affair.

Wynne marched over to where the blinking pair sat, shaking her head. “Blood magic,” she said reproachfully. “I expected better from both of you.”

“We were trying to free ourselves!” the boy protested. “Uldred promised us the Circle would support Loghain and Loghain would help us be free of the Chantry!”

Rhodri squatted down near them. “I have always told you,” she said gently, “that blood magic is dangerous, and only a last resort if you have had the proper tutelage and testing. No-one here is qualified to teach it, or even practice it.” She frowned. “You understood that. You never wanted to get into any of it. Why did you side with him?”

“A lot can change in a few months,” the boy snarled. “You might know that if you hadn’t fucked off and left us in this miserable pit!”

“Georgie!” the girl whispered furiously, shooting Rhodri an apologetic look.

“Shut up!” he barked at her. “Rhodri didn’t even try to take anyone with her! Didn’t leave a note, no letters. It was like we never existed to you once you were free.” The little bastard glared at the Warden and spat out, “Soulless Tranquil bitch.”

  Zevran couldn’t remember a time in his life where he hadn’t attended Saturday prayers at the Chantry. The whorehouse children were many things, the whores would regularly say, but they were not unbelievers. 

The tiny Rialto Alienage Chantry was the most gorgeous building he had ever seen. The carvings of Shartan and Andraste, inlaid in the supports and the hardwood walls, were so magnificent, so consecrated in their perfection that not even the guards would threaten to raze it to the ground. 

After the Crows had bought him, his new house of prayer became the gilded, stained-glass edifice in Antiva City, which his mother’s taxes had no doubt been funnelled into while she lived. Magnificent, certainly, and inspiring an awe that matched the tone of the Canticles.

Now, in that grand place, he was down on both knees, eschewing the embroidered hassock for the well-deserved hardness of the marble floor. His prayer beads smelled of ancient sweat and Antivan cypress, hanging from his clasped, trembling hands, a fingerwidth away from the bridge of his nose. 

You have walked beside me Down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh. You have stood with me when all others Have forsaken me.

The cold guilt turning in his belly was tamped down momentarily with a fervent plea for forgiveness, and Zevran did it again when the unpleasantness resurged, and again, and again. If he had to spend the rest of his life on his knees, he would do it. 

He prayed until his legs had gone numb, and even then was only interrupted when a hard kick toppled him over. Zevran clutched the prayer beads, not bothering to reach for any of the daggers on his person, and lifted his gaze without moving his head.

Master Eoman watched him from his great height, swinging a set of polished rosewood prayer beads on his finger.

“I heard you praying for that little half-breed,” he sneered at a respectably low volume.

Zevran gave no answer. What was there to say?

The Master squatted down and smirked at him softly. “Is there really any point, though?”

“The Maker has never told me otherwise.”

Zevran's insolence was met with a triumphant smile that made his blood curdle. 

“I’ll tell you something now, Thirty-Three,” Eoman whispered, teeth gleaming. “No prayer will turn the Maker’s eye to something like her, and you can be sure it’ll have the opposite effect if you're the one praying.”  

The Master chuckled and shook his head. “To come this far as a Crow means something's forsaken you. If you believe in the Maker’s divine hand shielding people from the worst things in life, you’d know that Forty-Seven-Two is nothing even to the All-Loving. She had no soul, and neither do you..” Eoman drew a finger under Zevran’s tightening jaw and forced it up to face him. His eyes narrowed menacingly. “And as sure as day follows night follows day, Thirty-Three, your turn will come. You’ll follow her footsteps and die as you lived: nothing.”

There should have been the usual anger and indignance that came with serious blasphemy. Failing that, at least a desire to point out that disputing the existence of a soul insulted the Maker. And yet, nothing compelled him to disagree. Zevran swallowed back the bile crawling up his throat, resisting the urge to curl into himself.

Master Eoman flicked Zevran’s jaw out of his fingers and stood up again. He wiped his hand on his cloak. “If you have the urge to do a good deed, you might pick yourself up off the floor before you leave a mark there. Or at least consider wasting away on one of the darker tiles.”

Without another word, the Master turned and strode away toward the Revered Mother's office. Zevran wanted to die.

Zevran clenched his fists as the briefest shock rippled over Rhodri’s face. When her usual frown was in place again, she raised an eyebrow at the boy. “‘Tranquil,’” she echoed, folding her arms. “Hm. I suppose I have Willard to thank for you picking up cheap slurs, is it?”

The boy scoffed. “People have always called you that–”

“But you never did,” she said simply. “In any case, we don’t have time to discuss the likelihood of the Templars burning my letters to you, or the fact that you two and Clarrie were in crucial, uninterruptible examinations when I was conscripted into the Grey Wardens–”

“You wrote to us?” the girl gasped.

Rhodri sighed. “Yes, Tara, many times. If we make it out of here alive, I suggest you take your questions to the First Enchanter about that."

"But–"

"Later, if you please. Now, as the Senior Enchanter has already said,” she indicated a frowning Wynne, “we are eradicating the blood magic in this Tower, and making very quick work of it. You two are fighting a losing battle, and I want you to give up now.”

“Rhodri, don’t you remember what it was like?” Tara protested. “The floggings, the dungeons, the constant surveillance? Greagoir's brutal, and he lets that handful of underlings get away with everything! We can’t keep living like this. We have to fight for change!”

“Do you think the Circle will ever be the same after this?” Wynne asked gravely. “It has already changed.” She rubbed her brow and sighed. “You are one of a miraculous handful of survivors, and unless you stand down from this now, your luck is about to take a turn for the worse.”

“They will stand down,” Rhodri said firmly. She looked around at Wynne. “May I have a moment with them, please, Senior Enchanter? They’re my students. They’ll listen to me.”

When Wynne nodded, the two teenagers were pulled to their feet and walked just outside of hearing distance. With their backs to the party, it was hard to know what was being said, but Zevran was sure he caught the apprentices’ eyes briefly widening. A suspicious look from the boy was quelled by some unknown thing from the Warden; hope threatened in the girl’s eyes and didn’t dim. 

And then they nodded, to themselves and to each other, and that was that. The three of them returned to the party.

“And?” Wynne asked. “What have you decided, Tara? Georgie?”

“Your side,” they replied together. 

“We didn’t actually do any blood magic,” the girl added quickly. “Just watched. Willard only wanted us to give him some of our blood.”

Rhodri said a filthy enough word to make Wynne purse her lips. She watched the apprentices worriedly. "Did he take any of your blood?"

They shook their heads. The boy held out his hands, dirty but admittedly free of blood.

"See?" he said calmly. "Nothing. Not even on my sleeves."

The Warden relaxed. Wynne relented with a sigh. 

“Very well," Wynne said. "I will give you the benefit of the doubt for the time being.” She pointed in the direction the party had come from. “The other survivors are in the library annexe. Wait with them.”

The apprentices nodded and as they made to leave, Rhodri pulled the boy aside.

“Pharamond and Owain still live,” Zevran heard her murmur to him. “I don’t know if your sudden affinity for slurs has brought other behaviours, but I expect you to treat them, and any other Tranquil mages, with respect.”

The apprentice winced. “I know,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have called you that. I only said it because I was angry. I– I didn’t mean it.”

Rhodri shook her head. “That’s beside the point. If you want to insult me, that is your prerogative, but it will not come at the cost of the Tranquil mages’ dignity.”

“I’m sorry, Rhodri.” His voice cracked a little.

“Prove it to me, Georgie. Go back with Tara to the annexe, and don’t abide a single bad word about Owain and Pharamond.” She bent down until they were eye-level and watched him gravely. “They’ve been good to you all these years, and someone needs to care about them, even if they feel nothing. I expect nothing less of you.”

He sniffled. “I'll do it.”

“Good.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t say these things if I thought you incapable of doing better. You’re a kind boy, and I know you won’t disappoint me.”

He nodded.

“Good,” she said again, and gestured to the girl. “You two go, then, and tell the others we’re well.”

Wynne and Rhodri waved the apprentices goodbye, heaving their own private sighs once they were out of sight.

Zevran sighed too, and didn’t know why. Something in here smelled like victory; he didn’t know what that was, either.

The party moved into the adjoining corridor. After seeing so many rounding hallways, Zevran couldn’t help but note a curious craving for straight lines.

And relative safety, but the former of these seemed a more likely encounter at this point.

The rooms in this stretch were, at least, much smaller than what they’d been walking through. That meant fewer enemies behind each closed door, which was always a good thing. 

They were nicer, too. Three or four of them were dormitories– and not the open slather, forty bunk beds to a single space affair like what they’d seen downstairs. At most, one dormitory had five beds big enough to sleep two or three people each, separated from one another by a three-quarter wall that opened out into a common hallway.

Zevran gave a low whistle as he poked his head around one of the walls to look inside one of the bedrooms. Along with the bed, the room boasted its own storage trunk, wardrobe, and vanity–or rather, the broken remains of them now. It must have been positively palatial by Circle standards while it was still intact.

“Who gets to sleep in here?” he asked, regretting it instantly as the Warden stiffened. 

Wynne looked over her shoulder at him. "The mages who pass their apprenticeship," she said, not unkindly but with a matter-of-factness he had often heard in himself when talking about life in the Crows. 

Leliana frowned. "But there are so few beds here. The dormitories downstairs–"

Alistair touched her shoulder and shook his head. "Don't think about it too much," he said grimly, wincing a little as Leliana's face went white.

Wynne called Rhodri and pointed at the room Zevran had peeked into. "Nobody took your room, Rhodri. If you stored anything useful in there before you left, you should collect it now. I'll do the same, actually…" she strode further down the tight corridor and went into the fourth room.

Rhodri wasted no time, wading over the wreckage to the trunk, which sported only a little damage to the top. She hauled the lid open, and a hard breath tumbled out of her.

“The pictures,” she mumbled, fishing out a hand-sized paper and kissing it. “They’re still intact.”

Rhodri looked over at him. Zevran glanced over his shoulder; Alistair and Leliana had gone with Wynne, so it had to have been him she'd meant it for. It almost came across as a request to come nearer and look with her, but why she would want him close by for that–

Oh. Oh. No, he knew. She kissed it because it was the picture of a lover. Perhaps she had been aware of Zevran’s flirtations, let him do it because she was too polite to turn him down– perhaps even too afraid to upset him– and now was the moment before the gentlest rejection in history. It had been a while since he had made any come-ons with any real intention, but she might have decided to dissuade him from starting up again. How awfully decent of her to be so thoughtful about it all.

His stomach sank anyway.

Still, he waded over the wreckage to her, ready enough to accept the rejection. She didn’t smile, but leaned in toward him when he drew close enough. Salt, burnt blood, scorched earth, all sweetened by sundried linen. The smell should have made his stomach turn. It did on some level, but he couldn’t find it in himself to shift away from her.

She brought the picture near him, a colour portrait of a tall, sharp-faced man with a sharkmouth and wavy, brown hair, standing with his arm around the waist of a slender, raven-haired woman who wore a remarkably familiar frown. They were flanked on either side by two older teenagers with confident smirks (twins, Zevran presumed), along with a beaming redheaded boy, and a solemn, bright-eyed young girl who held the woman’s hand. All but the woman wore luxurious, patterned robes and had staves strapped to their backs (the woman had a lush velvet gown that went to the floor) and every one of them stood proudly, resplendent in their finery. These had to be relatives.

“My mother and father,” Rhodri said softly, “and my younger siblings. The twins, Mazarin and Evander. Owen is this one here, and my youngest sister, Bethann. They all live in Minrathous, of course, so I got a picture each year to see what had changed as the time passed.” She gulped. “This is the last one they sent before my mother went missing.”

Not a picture of a lover, then. Zevran’s skin prickled with shame under the lightness in his chest. He smiled, and he couldn’t decide if it came because he’d summoned it, or if it had simply been waiting for the opportunity to emerge.

“I see looks run in the family,” he nodded at the picture. “Your mother is a stunning beauty.”

Compliments to mothers were always welcome with marks. Other family members less so, but treasured mothers were a shrine at which all good words were expected to be laid. And certainly, Zevran hadn’t said anything untrue.

“Yes,” her thumb brushed over the woman’s cheek. “My father always kissed my mother’s hands and told her so.” She sighed and slipped the picture into her satchel. “They’re a funny bunch. Full of stories and wickedness. I think they’d love you.”

Zevran’s body locked, and Rhodri– the Warden! why did he keep calling her that?-- to his incalculable relief, wasn’t even looking at him. Already bending down to close the chest and, with a quiet request that he follow her, walking past him and out of the little room. She had no idea, and his muscles loosened again on that basis alone.

Wynne appeared in the corridor, with Alistair and Leliana hot on her heels.

“Are you ready to move on?” she asked.

The Warden touched a hand to her satchel and nodded. 

§

Try as he might, Zevran couldn’t shake the feeling he had stumbled into a particularly bad party. The rampant destruction the company encountered on the next floor up wasn’t out-of-place at boisterous, down-at-heel celebrations. Drunk humans, especially, had a real affinity for shattering windows and other glass, upending anything not nailed to the ground, and getting into fights that had the host finding bloodpatches and loose teeth on the premises for a week. 

Really, if it weren’t for the monsters and the fact that the floor and walls were festooned with swollen, bulbous entrails big enough to eclipse him, Zevran could have convinced himself he’d walked in on the tail-end of a human gang leader’s birthday. Was it always this awful here? Oh, to have been back downstairs, where the walls were cleaner and the main task was pilfering lyrium from the First Enchanter’s office. (And, in the Warden’s case, a black leather book that, she declared to the baffled party, belonged more to Morrigan than to Irving).

And the timing of all this had been particularly bad (though when, precisely, was a good time to see tree trunk-sized gizzards and tendons snaking their way around like bunting?). The kitchen was the last room the party passed through before stepping into the– well, what was that room? The entrails parlour? Whatever it had been, Zevran found himself deeply regretting any gratitude he might have felt that the food in said kitchen was still fresh.

Perhaps the only good thing about having to enter said parlour via the kitchen was the fact that the party had been able to loop back down to the library annexe and drop off food to the ecstatic survivors. And, Zevran was quietly pleased to note, Rhodri had spoken with the Tranquil mages and seemed satisfied with the way Georgie– and the others there, had been treating them. As good as the situation could possibly be, then.

Really, the problems had only truly started once they entered the entrails parlour. Even then, Zevran might have felt reasonably at ease with the situation had Wynne not audibly gasped. Touched a hand to her mouth, even.

“Th–this cannot continue,” she stammered softly. “If there were so many deaths on the lower floors, what has gone on up here? Is this from possessions?”

The blanched Warden reached around and touched Alistair, who was wearing a quizzical frown.

“You see it, too, right?” he murmured to her.

“Mmm,” she nodded weakly. “So much like Darkspawn corruption.”

Zevran’s stomach dropped at that. Wynne and Leliana looked around at them sharply.

“You do not think…?” Wynne’s eyes widened. “... Do you?”

They shook their heads. “The blood’s too red,” Alistair said. “Darkspawn blood is much darker. I’d hazard a guess that this is Abomination corruption.”

“Maker preserve us,” Leliana whispered. “These poor people.”

At the mention of sympathy, the two mages straightened up.

“We must stop them,” Wynne declared.

“Mmm!” Zevran smiled. “Better the abominations die than us!” He spun his blades in his hands, half to offset the nerves and half to encourage himself.

“Keep that enthusiasm,” Alistair muttered darkly. “I’ve a feeling it’s only going to get worse from here.”

Zevran shrugged with all the good-naturedness he could muster. “We will either come out of this alive, my friend, or we will not.”

“We can’t afford to fail,” Rhodri said simply. “Come, please. We should move on.”

§

The last room to clear out on that floor sat directly across from the staircase. The door was closed, and Zevran wasn’t sure if it was his tired muscles talking (in all fairness, the previous door had housed another of those bodacious desire demons), but there was something vaguely soporific about the air. Softer, warmer, with the vague, heavy pull of an Antivan summer afternoon in the minutes before a downpour broke the stifling humidity. He couldn’t help but love it.

From behind him, Alistair yawned. “That desire demon really took it out of me, you know,” he mumbled. He uncorked a stamina potion and downed it in two mouthfuls.

Wynne and Rhodri shared an uncertain hum. “I think we ought to brace ourselves,” the Senior Enchanter said, blinking owlishly. “There seems to be something that saps energy at proximity.”

Rhodri stifled a yawn and led the group away from the door. “We should split into two,” she declared. “Someone come in with me, and if we both fall asleep, the other contingent can drag us out, yes?”

Without thinking, Zevran, who was already feeling much more energised, gave a small wave and stepped forward. 

“I am ready and willing!” he waggled his brows daringly. “Shall we?”

Rhodri nodded. They strode back to the door. 

“Stay behind me,” Rhodri murmured. “If I fall and you’re still standing, go out and fetch the others. I’m too heavy for you to carry alone, and you need to get out before you drop, too.”

Zevran opened his mouth to complain, but under the sombre look she was pinning him down with, he could do nothing but nod once. Appearing satisfied, she opened the door and let out a surprised ‘Ae ae!’

“It’s Niall!”

Zevran looked around her shoulder and saw a rail-thin human lying on the floor. His long, dark hair spilled around him like a halo, and his cheeks were so sunken that Zevran had thought him dead until he saw his chest barely rise. Under one of his skeletal hands was a scroll– litanies were long texts, were they not? Was this what the mages were after?

“Oh dear,” Zevran sighed. His body slumped a little under the effort, which was decidedly less than promising.

When he looked up again, he was already being shoved back toward the door. He turned around and caught sight of a colossal red… thing looming behind Rhodri. A blob, not unlike the other blobs, but larger and with a sag to its entire body that gave the distinct impression of melting. Its one, yellow eye sat in a black socket, turned directly onto him.

“Wh–?” 

“Go,” Rhodri gasped. “It’s a sloth demon. I’m too close to it, I can’t cast–” she groaned and sank to her knees like an invisible hand was pressing down on her from above. “Go, Zev!”

“Ah,” the demon lamented in a guttural purr. “But we were just starting to have fun.”

Zevran’s knees buckled. “Ah… hello?” he called out the door. “We may–” he paused and yawned, an unfortunately pleasant heaviness creeping into his bones. Where was this bloody demon during the insomnia nights? “May need… reinforcements…”

Footsteps were coming, no doubt bound for the same fate, and Zevran was on the floor, sinking into the stone like it was a feather mattress. The gentle light filtering through the windows was just the right dimness for a midday nap, and what a gorgeous thing it was to feel so dreamy and leaden. Unwise, of course, but with a body that was nailed to the floor by forces unseen, what was he to do? He glanced over as a hand– ah, lovely Rhodri’s hand, reached back and took his shoulder.

“Go, Zev,” she slurred, giving it a futile push. 

There was no going for either of them, and Zevran didn’t mind that. Her hand stayed where it was on him, and he drank in the tender, earnest weight like parched earth. Those rubbed-eye shapes danced over his field of vision, cutting off grey eyes watching him with such apology. What a fool he'd been. What a damned fool. His mouth twitched in a rueful smile.

The (hopefully reassuring), "Goodnight, mi sol," he mumbled sounded like it had come from someone else. Maybe it had.

Zevran was satisfied either way; he gave in.

[amorevolousfaith]

Chapter 9 : The Village

Pairing: Din (Mando) Djarin X Reader

Rating: 18+ (MINORS BEGONE!)

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: Cannon violence, decapitation, adult language, mentions of kidnapping, Proselytism, Chaotic energy, lots of sexual tension, smut, sexism, consumption of alcohol, talks of polyamory, talks of drugging, fucked traditions, allusions to smut.

Summary: You and the Mandalorian have a complicated history and your future just seems to get more complicated as you go along. No thanks to the strange alien baby you both ended up co-parenting.

“So, what does this round two entail?” Cara questions as I pull the child’s blanket from my bag, the child coos shuffling closer to me as I huddle him up with it. “Raiders,” Din spoke simply, “So basically, we’re running off a bunch of raiders for lunch money?” She guesses, damn right on the nail. “They’re quartering us to the middle of nowhere. Last I checked that's a pretty square deal for someone in your position.” Mando counters, “Not to mention it’ll buy us a few days to figure out where to go next, maybe I can scrounge up some supplies.” I quip, running my fingers over the sleepy child’s head and ears. “Worst case scenario you tune up your blaster, best case we're a deterrent.” Mando continues, “I can’t imagine there is anything in these trees that an ex-shock trooper couldn’t handle.” Mando muses. “Don’t be so sure, many places unknowingly have beasts lurking in their shadows.” I smirk, “What’s that supposed to mean?” Cara scoffs, “Ignore her, she’s spouting monster talk.” Mando grunts. “Bold words coming from a man who can barely ride a bluurg.” I snip, I hear a grunt from Mando as he leans back against the cart, throwing an arm over my back and letting it rest there.

“I still don’t get it.” Cara grumbles, “My people are the best beast slayers the galaxy has to offer, even if our known religion is focused on taming them. All I’m saying is you’d be surprised how many times our people landed on a planet and uprooted some wild beasts the people had no idea existed.” I snort leaning back onto Mando’s arm. “Is that what all the tattoos are for? The things you’ve killed?” She questions, “No, the things I’ve tamed.” I laugh. “Most of the people have small things like butterflies.” I smile freeing one hand to pull the top hem of my shirt, displaying the small patch of three butterflies on my collarbone. “But it’s rare to find people with bigger tattoos, those are the people who tamed the real beasts,” I explained, pulling up my shirt to expose my rib cage and the bird-like creature decorating it. “What the hell is that thing?” She questions leaning forward to get a better look, “A nasty creature. Lives in the dense jungle area of my village, has colorful feathers and talons that can crush a mythosaur, but the real danger comes at night. Its feathers fade into black after the suns sets and its eyes flush out to a soul sucking white.” I describe. “It sounds more terrifying than it actually is. They have this horrible fear of sneezing, I’ve seen one lay an egg at the sound of a sneeze.” I laugh.

Cara Dune looks at me blankly, like I just grew a second head and she doesn’t know if she should tell me or not. “And you tamed that thing?” She mumbles, “When I came of age, yes, you're not allowed to try to tame anything potentially dangerous before sixteen.” I hum, before yawning. Cara yawns right after before she snorts, “Can’t imagine living on your planet,” she scoffs leaning back. “Trust me it isn’t fun, the men there are insufferable.” I scoff, recalling the many misogynic males.  “Explains how you deal with Mando,” She teases, “Him? No, he’s just a safety hazard. Likes to turn himself into a public menace every time he steps onto a new planet.” I laugh. “Are you sure you guys aren’t married or something?” Cara questions, “Do you want an honest answer?” I grumble dryly.

She gives a noncommittal shrug not caring if I do or don’t, but willing to listen. “I’m pretty sure we’re not, and I’m pretty sure we’re just two people co-parenting an alien baby, whether Mando admits it or not. It scares me to think about what covert will make of this when they find out, given that Mandalorian culture is so heavily influenced by children in their care, no matter where they come from.” I scoff with a shrug. “Sounds like you got more than what you were kidnapped for, you're gonna need all the luck you can get and I for one wish you the best,” she mumbles tiredly, her eyes closing, “Yeah,” I yawn, “We’re gonna need it.” I whisper before my eyes flutter shut.

I turn my head when I feel a pull at my hair, I hum ignoring it in favor of the comforting warmth that blankets over me. A coo causes me to stir again, but a squeal and whine wakes me up. I squint and let my eyes adjust to the barely morning sky, only to meet big brown watery eyes. “Páiste,” I sigh, letting my head fall back onto what I’m sleeping on, only to hiss when my head meets a hard surface. My eyes shoot up to see a slumped form covered in Beskar armor, “Dibu e Debu.” I hiss, I turn only to realize the warmth I thought was so comfortable is actually Din’s arm that lays thrown over me and curling me into his chest. I lift myself off the Mandalorian, glancing over to Cara who is thankfully still asleep, Din doesn’t seem to wake up as I remove myself from him.

The child however let out a whine like gurgle, his tiny hands out and his little fists clenching my direction. “Alright ad’ika, alright.” I mumble groggily, “Don’t wake up the others.” I whisper, picking him up and letting him curl up in my arms. I bounce him softly, hopefully soothing him back to sleep. “Nuhoy.” I mumble tiredly, half asleep myself, “Your Mando’a is getting better.” Din’s modulated voice calls, I force down a jump in the hope I don’t stir the child. “Really?” I whisper, not partially curious, Din hums with a small nod. “I could probably use some more learning, he responds better to your Mando’a better than my native tongue.” I huff, Din lets out a chuckle, “Can’t imagine why.” He grunts sitting up and holding his arms out. The child turns and holds his arms out in return, I hum and hand the child over to Din, “My language isn’t really built for comforting words, it’s an aggressive language made to sound intimidating.” I mumble.

“It works, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get a little scared every time you yell at me with it.” Mando chuckles, I small smile edges on my lips, “Guess it’s not completely useless then.” I muse leaning forward and propping my head in my hand. I close my eyes and soak up the first morning rays as the sun breaks through the horizon. “There is this one name, my father used it for my mother when they spoke softly. I always loved the sound of it.” I whisper, “What was it?” He questions, “A rún, it meant my love.” I answer. “It sounds nice, I see why you like it,” Mando agrees, “Do they have pet names in Mando’a? I never really saw any in the books.” I mumble, “There’s a few, but they’re words Mandalorians keep to themselves.” Din explains. “Ironic given they have a whole section dedicated to curses.” I snort, “We’re warriors, what do you expect?” He chuckles.

“Well tell me at least one,” I huff, Mando pauses his helmet still facing me as I stare back at him, “Mesh’la.” He finally answers. “And what does it mean?” I question, “Beautiful.” He answers. “Mesh’la,” I test out, “Really rolls off the tongue, I can see why it's spoken in such a soft manner.” I muse. Mando hums, nodding his head. “Hey Mando, what's Kov'nyn?” I mumble, Mando who had been looking down at the child who was finally lulled to sleep snaps his head back up to me, “Keldabe kiss? Why?” He questions. “I read it in the book, one of the few things that mentioned intimacy other than the more graphic descriptions of expanding one’s clan details.” I recall. Mando tenses at the mention, “It’s a kiss,” He explains, “Then why don’t they just call it a kiss?” I grunt. “We do, but it isn’t your typical kiss. We can’t take off our helmets, so touching of foreheads is our version of a kiss, to everyone else they call it a Keldabe kiss and a Kov'nyn to the Mandalorians.” He explains slowly.

“Huh, that's cute. It would almost be better than a physical kiss if it wasn’t for the fact it was pleasantly stimulating.” I laugh, Mando grunts in response. “Don’t be such a baby Mando, I’m only teasing.” I giggle, “Well stop, you're horrible at it.” He grumbles, “At least I don’t act like I don’t have a drop of sexuality in my body.” I scoff. “At least—” Mando starts, “Will you two please stop, it’s too early for your marital issues.” Cara groans, “We aren’t married.” I huff, “Keep telling yourselves that.” She grunts in return. With no other choice but to wake up Cara sits up, a grumpy look smeared across her face.

It isn’t too long after that, does the child wake up, just in time too because the trees break open to reveal ponds and huts out in a small clearing. Adults farming the ponds as the children run in circles, I smile at them as they run up the cart, aweing at the child who stood at the edge looking back at them. "Well they look happy to see us,” Mando hums, “Looks like,” Cara smiles. I stuff the child’s blanket back into my bag before shuffling to the back of the cart, Mando holds out his hand to help me out and I take it appreciatively.

I smile to all the children as I take the child into my arms, Din carries one of his crates as we’re shown to a hut. Mando and I linger in the doorway when we see a pretty woman who is standing inside tying up the blinds. “Please come in,” She calls softly, “I hope this is comfortable for you.” She smiles. “Sorry, all we have is the barn.” She excuses, “I’m sure we’ve slept in worse places, isn’t that right Mando?” I muse placing the child onto the floor. “I stacked some blankets over here,” She calls pointing to a stack of quilts in the corner, “Thank you, that’s very kind.” Mando spoke stiffly. I quirk my eyebrow at his odd tone, before turning back around and pulling the child’s blanket out and folding over the crib in the room. I jump when Mando suddenly whips around pointing his blaster, “Dibu e Debu Mando!” I chide turning to see him pointing it at a girl who tucks herself against the doorway.

The woman smiled apologetically, gently pulling the girl away from the door and into her side, I pushed Mando’s blaster down with a matching expression. “This is my daughter Winta.” She introduces, “We don’t get a lot of visitors around here, she’s not used to strangers.” she excuses. “It’s alright, we’re just jumpy, isn’t that right Mando?” I question with a sharp look, Mando wordlessly tucks his blaster back into his holster. “These nice people are going to help protect us from the bad ones.” she coos down to her daughter, I smile at her soft tone, it reminds me much of how my mother spoke to me. “Thank you,” Winta whispers, I send the little girl a soft look, “You're very welcome, Winta.” I beam brightly. My tone gives the girl a little more confidence, “Come on Winta, let's give our guests a little more room.” The kind woman smiles. I wave goodbye to the little girl but once they’re out of sight I turn and smack Din’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you pulled a blaster on that little girl.” I huff, “I didn’t know,” Din argues, I roll my eyes. “Her weight against the creaky board pretty much gave it away.” I muse, “Excuse me for not knowing the difference.” He scoffed, “You're excused.” I quip smugly.

I help Din get everything settled in, however we both avoided the fact there’s only one bed. But we aren’t exactly foreign to the situation, Din and I take turns with the cabin of the ship, one of us usually getting in a few hours of sleep before we trade off. This however is a tad bit different, I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Until then Din sits at a table working in his rifle as I sit on the floor with the child, I cup my hands over my eyes before snapping them open, gasping softly every time I reveal my eyes. The child seems very entertained every time I gasp, bouncing in place as a large gummy smile spreads across his face.

“You should get something to eat,” He calls, I roll my eyes, “I’ll be fine Din,” I spoke softly. The child tilts his head in my direction before looking over at Mando, “I’ll watch the kid, We’ll be alright.” he mumbles. I bite the inside of my cheek before letting out a sigh, “Alright. I’ll be back.” I quip standing to my feet. “Try not to die.” I joke with a playful smirk, Din leans back in his seat and crosses his arms with his head tilted to the side. “Come back alive.” He jokes in return, “Always,” I grin leaving the barn.

The walk to the people’s small cantina was short but peaceful, the air clean with a soft breeze blowing. The people who also gathered to eat introduced themselves, many of them thanking me for coming to help them. It seems these raiders had really taken a number on the people. After I eat, I make a plate for Din and the child, before heading back admiring the way the sun sets as I walk, only to walk into the barn and find Winta and her mother. Omera, who I now know as the mother of Winta, a fact I only know thanks to the villagers, stands by a big platter of food that wasn’t there before. “It seems you beat me to the punch,” I muse, watching as Mando’s frame goes rigid like he’s been caught, it makes a small smirk crawl to my lips. I look over to Winta as she feeds the child, “Careful, I’d seen him swallow whole frogs,” I tease. The little girl’s eyes widen as the child coos up at her from the crib Din must have put him in.

“Can I play with him?” She questions, “I don’t see why not,” I muse, placing down the platter of food I reach into the crib and pull the child out. I set him down before moving over to stand by Din. “Come on!” she calls walking to the door, “Wait a—” I yelp reaching forward, I didn’t think she meant outside. “He’ll be fine.” Omera calls softly, “I don’t think—” Din starts in, “They’ll be fine.” Omera soothes yet again. I look at Din worriedly, “The other adults will look after them, right?” I question, “We all look after each other here.” Omera informs me with a sweet smile. I lick my lips and let out a shaky sigh, I almost jump when Din’s hand finds my back, but I relax into it taking what little comfort Din doesn’t typically offer.

“I brought you food, I noticed you didn’t come with her when she left.” Omera offers with a small smile gently nudging her head in my direction, “I didn’t know she was going to bring you food back.” She mumbles playing with her hands. “That’s very kind of you,” Mando spoke awkwardly, turning back around to fiddle with his rifle. It makes a smile crawl to my lips as I take a seat in the rocking chair by the crib. Omera’s eyes follow my movements before darting back over to Din. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” She questions, “Go ahead,” Mando answers, still fiddling with his rifle. I mind my business occupying myself by digging into my bag and pulling out a data pad holding the Mondo’a I’ve been trying to learn.

“How long has it been since you’ve taken that thing off?” She questions, Din pauses and tilts his head to look at me, I’m not sure what he’s trying to ask me but an amused smile forms on my lips. “Yesterday? Wasn’t it? You took a shower before me, I think.” I recall with a mocking thoughtful look knowing damn well the Mandalorian did. “I meant in front of someone else, unless you take it off in front of her.” Omera explains, I let out a snort, “Nope, he wouldn’t dare. But she does have a valid question, when was the last time you took that off in front of someone?” I question. Mando stops fiddling with his rifle, glancing at me before walking over to the window in front of Omera, I watch as he points outside to the playing children.

“I wasn’t much older than they are,” He answers, I watch Omera’s face twist up, shock and a tinge of pity pinching up her pretty face. “You haven’t shown your face to anyone since you were a kid?” she questions weakly, “No. I was happy they took me in. My parents were killed and The Mandalorians took care of me.” He explains. “Is that what happened to her?” Omera question looking over at me, I think over my answer carefully, wondering how I should say it. “Not quite, but they still took care of me. Mando takes care of me when I need it.” I spoke carefully, mindful of how I word things. “I’m sorry,” She apologizes, “This is the way.” Mando and I chime together. “Let us know if you need anything.” She offers, “Thank you,” I chime sweetly, she nods her head before making a swift exit.

Wordlessly I reach into my bag and pull out a familiar black blindfold, I tie it over my eyes before leaning back in the rocking chair, soothing myself of any possible worries. “You brought the blindfold?” Din muses, “Ret’lini.” I respond in Mando’a, Mando doesn’t answer but I hear a familiar hiss of his helmet and my heart picks up just like it always does when I hear that sound. When Din was charged with teaching me The Way we had a rocky relationship, it took three months of us struggling to communicate and get along, it wasn’t until I had completed my training and we started traveling did he finally trusted me enough to wear a blindfold while he had his helmet off. Since then, it’s just been something we did that made things a bit easier in our small cramped, shared, space. There have been times where I learned to stitch Din up blindfolded after a particularly rough Quarry, we were able to eat in the same room thanks to the blindfold, and if I felt like Din should relax a little while the ship was in hyperspace all I would have to do is slip on the blindfold and Din would get a few hours of being helmetless.

“She likes you, you know,” I muse, “Who?” He questions, “Omera,” I laugh. “And I guess I was wrong about the drop of sexuality thing, because clearly, you do.” I tease, Din lets out a huff and I can just feel him rolling his eyes “Not that I blame you, she is extremely pretty,” I hum, tilting my head up to face the roof of the barn. “Does it bother you?” Din questions, “Not particularly, more funny than anything to watch you awkwardly fumble over your words.” I snort. “Shabii’gar.” He grunts, the response has a loud laugh break from my lips, “We both know you wouldn’t.” I snort. “You should hurry up and eat, I’m sure you and Cara have some recon to do.” I sigh, Din doesn’t speak again, not until I hear him speak with his modulated voice that he’s leaving. When I hear his exiting footsteps, I pull off the blindfold.

I spent Din’s time away reading the data pad, checking outside every so often for Winta and the child. It isn’t until Din and Cara come back later in the night do I actually stand up from the rocking chair. “Well?” I question, “It’s not just raiders, there's an AT-ST.” He sums up, my eyes widen at the mention of the machine. “How the hell did they get their hands on one of those?” I huff, “Not a clue.” He grunts in return. “What are you going to tell the village?” I question, glancing over to the sleeping child in his crib, “I’m…not sure.” He hesitates. “You get the bed tonight, sleep on it and hopefully we think of something in the morning.” I sigh, scratching at my head. Din doesn’t argue, only follows the not so suggesting suggestion and takes the bed.

<---- Prev // Masterlist // Next ---->

[shoutogepi]

Orange Lamborghini

Bakugou Katsuki

word count : 6.3k 

[ ✘ (nsfw!) ]  

themes : lil toucha ass play, car sex, baku being a damn tease

bio : You keep telling yourself you’re done with Bakugou, but the last time is never really the last time, is it?

author’s note : i know i said i was gonna post a tamaki fic but it’s a certain violent blonde’s birthday tomorrow!! (happy 4/20 ayy) so here you go ;) … also this is a part two to my other baku fic, “fuck you i just might”, but you don’t have to read that one before this if you don’t wanna!

side note : Y/H/N is your hero name, and reader is a pro hero working at the same agency as Bakugou. ALSO he smells like caramel bc of his quirk, dont fight me on this >:(

also available on AO3 here

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

“🅂taying late again?” Reo, the owner of the coffee cart stationed in the lobby of the hero agency, quizzes as he throws you an accusatory look.

You stand before him, hand awkwardly looped around your elbow and a small, bashful smile on your lips. He totally knows. But you appreciate that he never outright says anything, and you know for a fact that he would never peep even a whisper to anyone. You are probably his most loyal customer, and you’d like to think he considers you a friend after all this time— not to mention, all the coffee you’ve purchased from him.

Reo gauges your meek expression, and he only smiles as he pours the creamer into the dark brown liquid. “They must be working you hard… I’ve never seen a top hero work such long hours, staying even after everyone else has left. Well, almost everyone, that is.”

Yeah, he most certainly knows.

“What can I say?” You blabber, perhaps answering him a bit too quickly. “Work is my whole life. I don’t have time for anything else, I guess.” The sentiment is a little awkward but full of candor, and when the words leave your lips you’re surprised to hear them carry such a solemn tone.

The man nods in understanding, handing you your cup of coffee before he grabs a cookie from the glass display case and offers it to you as well. “On the house,” he states and you share a long showdown of a gaze with him before you reluctantly pluck the treat from his outreached tongs.

“Thanks Reo, you have a good night now.” Bowing slightly to the elder, you turn and take your leave, quiet steps echoing in the otherwise empty foyer.

Just as the elevator doors open to take you back up into the higher levels of the building, Reo calls out to you. “You know, you should find someone that’s just as hardworking as you. Maybe they’re closer than you think.”

Flustered by the old man’s advice, you only nod and bow again, jamming your thumb into the button. A sigh of relief escapes you as the doors conceal you from his prying eyes. That man has a sixth sense, you swear.

The elevator doors open and you briskly walk through them, along the corridor and around the corner before you finally reach the conference room. Taking a deep breath, you slip through the doorway, eyes trained on the table half-covered in paperwork. Bakugou is sitting behind the spread out files, his red eyes jumping up to regard your approaching form. Placing the cookie wrapped in napkin on the table, you nod at him as you turn and open a cabinet, fingers pinching a fresh manilla folder and shutting the door with a bump from your hip.

“Working late, huh?” His rough voice splits the silence hanging in the air, and when you turn to look at the blonde, he’s lounged back, corded bicep hung carelessly over the back of the chair and a cocky look on his face. But his eyes hold another emotion as they give you a once-over, one that makes your insides stir in both memory and apprehension.

You nod again, a coy smile gracing your lips as you take a sip of your coffee, your own gaze lingering on the muscles that poke out from the hem of his tight tank top. “You too?” You ask, even though the answer is obvious.

Bakugou’s hand twirls the pen he was previously using in rapid, effortless circles, and his knee bounces slowly underneath the table. “You gonna eat that?” He answers your question with his own, slanted eyes flicking towards the cookie resting on the tabletop just an arm’s length away from him.

“You want it?” You can’t help but be surprised— you always expected Bakugou to be an uppity-ass, no-junk-food kind of guy.

“It’s Reo’s, right?” The blonde replies gruffly, thick fingers reaching out to grab the confection. “Shit tastes like heaven.”

Your eyes widen as you connect the dots. Why, that sly little…

“Don’t work yourself too hard,” you chirp out as you turn on your heel, ready to retreat back to the safety of your office.

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes return back to your departing figure, a thin brow raised and a snarl of a smirk splitting his lips. “Aw, ‘ya worrying ‘bout me now, Princess?”

“Fuck you,” it flows from your mouth, years of foul-mouthing built up into a knee-jerk reaction. Your eyes widen as his turn to slits, that stupid smirk morphing into a gleaming grin.

“Don’t tempt me.”

A wave of heat washes over you from head to toe before settling between your legs. You don’t bother to stick around, your feet carrying you out of the conference room as Bakugou’s harsh laughter trails behind you, echoing down the hallway.

Closing the door to your office behind you, you lean your back against it as you slide toward the floor, shutting your eyes tight as the memory washes over you. He’d taken you— right there on the desk you’re supposed to be working at— and ugh, it was fucking good. Shit, he was good. Dropping the folder on the floor your fingers fly to your temple, rubbing your skull in a useless attempt to push the memory away.

Alright, if you’re being honest… that was just the first time. There were, well, a handful of times following the initial incident, much to your now chagrin. There was that time in his office on the other side of the building that had a perfect view of the ocean, which you had become very familiar with while your face was pressed up against the glass and he ravaged you from behind. There was also that time when it was around this time of night and he had thrown all your paperwork off of the conference table and taken you right there, pounding into you like no tomorrow. Yeah, there were a few times you’d found yourself naked before him, pussy gripping his thick cock as your lips clashed with his.

But last time was the last time. You can’t just keep fucking him like this, all over the agency in such scandalous secrecy… the two of you hiding this gruesomely passionate beast you co-own, feeding it only once the the coast is clear and, oh, he feeds it so well… every meal a juicy, fat steak dripping with desire and euphoria, encasing your senses in a silky smooth film as his calloused hands glide all over your—  No!

You shake your head abruptly, derailing your sinful train of thought. You agreed that last time was it, fin. And… the time before that, too… and maybe the one before then as well— well, it doesn’t matter because last time was actually the last time. Pulling yourself together, you make your way toward your desk and begrudgingly begin your work.

By the time the folder is full, the clock indicates that tomorrow has begun and thus, it’s time for you to go home. Without a glance towards the conference room, you make your way toward the elevator, letting out a long sigh as the weight of the day slips from your shoulders. Jabbing your thumb into the button, you lean against the railing and check your phone out of habit. Two new messages from Jirou pique your interest, and you eagerly open the chat log to see what she’d sent.

Jiji 🎸: Girls meeting at the usual tmrw night!! Hope you can make it :)

Jiji 🎸: We all miss ya girly, you’ve been working too much lately ❤️

A part of you feels bad for misleading your friends. It’s not that you aren’t working late these days… it’s that your workload is not the only thing you’re doing when you stay after hours at the agency. Your friends had started to notice all the late nights you’d been spending at your job, and they’d begun to pout when you would bail on their bar-nights. They understood that you were working, and you hoped that they didn’t harbor any further suspicions. You had not told a single soul about your rendezvous with Bakugou Katsuki— the only person who seemed to have an inkling of your relationship, if you could call it that, was Reo.

Sliding your phone into your bag, you decide to try to make it tomorrow night. The last time had been the last time with Bakugou, so you would definitely be free tomorrow night, especially after finishing up the paperwork you had just completed minutes prior. With a wave of determination washing over you, a small smile appears on your lips as you fiddle with your staff key-card absentmindedly, wondering what you should wear when tomorrow night comes around.

When the elevator dings and opens its doors, your feet take you out of the steel chamber and into the cement confines of the parking garage. At this time of night, the only way in and out of the building is through the parking garage gate, seeing as the custodians lock up the front doors long before midnight. But you don’t mind, because the night air is fresh and cool on your face, and the subway is only a three minute walk from the garage exit. Just before you can reach out to tap your key against the automatic gate, an ear-splitting screech roars behind you and you jump, shooting straight up into the air.

Whipping around, headlights nearly blind you as they point right into your eyes. Squinting at the obnoxious light, your vision widens again when you recognize the outline of a sleek and shiny Lamborghini. An orange Lamborghini, to be precise. And a license plate with “G-ZER0” unmistakably tacked onto the front bumper, which sits almost flush against the smooth cement floor.

“Oi, Y/H/N,” a blonde head pokes out from the driver’s window, narrowed red eyes glaring at you. But his lips are curled into a smirk, clearly enjoying your frightened-animal-like reaction to the startling revv of his engine. “You’re blockin’ the way.”

Your hands indignantly turn into fists at your hips, a frown and a furrowed brow marring your expression as you turn around. Smacking the key card against the scanner you strut directly in the middle of the pavement for as long as you can before the road widens. Once the car can easily fit on either side of you, you move over to the sidewalk, arms crossed over your chest as the low car matches your pace, engine purring loudly.

The window next to you rolls down soundlessly, and the blonde leans slightly over his console to crane his face up in order to see yours. “Where are you goin’?” Bakugou inquires, and you can feel his intense gaze on the side of your face but you do not turn to acknowledge him.

“Subway.” You reply shortly, eyes trained straight ahead of you. Three minutes until you reach the subway station, exactly two corners and two blocks away.

The car roars as the angry blonde hits the pedals again, exhaust crackling with a ferocity similar to a big cat’s. The sound is deafening but you don’t waver, feet placing calmly in front of one another. “At this hour?” He pauses for a moment, long enough for you to let your guard down and chance a look at him. Which is a mistake, because goddamn he looks sexy as hell sitting in that exorbitant car, one hand thrown atop the wheel with his bicep on display, the other arm perched atop the console between the seats and those vermillion eyes blazing into you. It’s only a mere second that you give him, but he knows your resolve flutters as you look away quickly, your pace increasing to make him press on the gas just a hair harder to keep up with you.

Your breath catches in your throat when he speaks again, your heart pummeling your ribcage with vigor and a claminess lining your palms.

“Get in.”

It’s neither a question nor a statement— it’s a demand. One that has heat rising between your legs, the embers that had been so surely extinguished suddenly igniting furiously with but a scrap of sustenance. You grit your teeth and keep walking, determined not to get in the car. If you get in that car… you don’t know where you’ll end up. Or, you do know where you might end up, and that would be very bad. It takes a lot of your willpower to spit out a simple, “No thanks.”

Bakugou grumbles at your stubbornness, the vehicle screeching again as he demonstrates his displeasure and the unnecessary horsepower underneath his hood. “Come on, Y/N. Just get in,” he presses, his voice not as harsh as it was just a moment ago.

But you hold your own, flipping a stray lock of hair over your shoulder. “Aw,” you smirk, humoring him for a millisecond as your eyes flick over to him, “‘ya worrying ‘bout me now, Boom-Boy?” Your lips curl into a satisfied smirk as he visibly bristles in the corner of your eye.

“Damn it, I’m trying ‘ta— tch,” Bakugou grumbles and cuts himself off before he apparently decides he’s not going to play the familiar game of cat and mouse with you, “Fuck this.” Tires squealing on the rubble, the sleek car leaves you in the dust, sharply turning the corner ahead of you before disappearing into the night, the noise of the thundering engine echoing through the tall cityscape.

You glare at the corner ahead of you, unimpressed. He was trying to— to what, put you in a pissy mood? Hell of a job he did, if that was the case. Frown sinking into your cheeks deeper than before, you continue your way to the subway station while you pull your phone out to distract you from your miffed thoughts. Turning around the very same corner the orange sports car had rounded just a minute ago, you nearly drop your belongings when a pair of rough hands grip your biceps.

Relief washes over you for a moment when you meet Bakugou's irritated expression, before horror spreads through your limbs as he shoves you into his open passenger door. Without much of a fight you’re inside the vehicle, fruitlessly yanking the door handle only to find it’s locked shut. Sliding back into the luxurious leather seat, you scowl at the hero as he slams his door closed and snags the black seatbelt over his torso. “The fuck, Bakugou?” You hiss, attempting the door again to no avail.

“Hey, easy with that!” He growls, a thick finger flicking the pedal shifter into drive and slapping his boot against the gas. His eyes meet yours as a wicked grin lifts his lips. “Buckle up, Princess.”

Your head smacks against the back of the seat as the car lurches into a velocity that no doubt exceeds the speed-limit. Your hands scramble over your shoulder and you frantically grab the metal clip, unceremoniously shoving the belt across your lap to find its destination. Once the joint clicks into place, your eyes fly to the man beside you, pure rage boiling underneath your skin. “You asshole! I’m gonna rip your dick off!” You yell, the slightly ajar windows letting air zip into the cabin and howl in your ears, your hair flying around your face.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he quips dryly, voice deep but holding an infuriatingly potent tone of amusement.

You shut up at that, heat rising to your cheeks as you look out the window defiantly, away from him. Your eyes trail over the interior of the car, curiosity winning you over as you your fingers trace the smooth features lining the inside of the door. There’s a soft underlighting beneath the seats, glowing an acidic green to compliment the orange of the exterior in a display that screams man with an enormous ego. You roll your eyes, adjusting your legs to point away from him as much as possible.

“I didn’t know you had a Lamborghini. This how you get into your slutty fangirls’ pants? Take ‘em for a ride in the Baku-bile?” You ask, shooting daggers into his sharp jawline. The premise of him fucking faceless girls in the very seat you’re in makes you want to throw up in disgust.

Bakugou snorts at the name, scarlet eyes snapping toward you before settling back on the road. “Don’t need to show ‘em my car to take ‘em for a ride,” he answers snidely, a sharp canine gleaming at you from his smirk.

You don’t acknowledge his reply, one arm crossed over your chest and the other gripping the side of the door harshly as the city flies by outside the windows. You wonder where he’s taking you, because he never asked for your address, but you sure as hell aren’t going to start up a conversation again with that dickwad, so you just simmer in your displeasure instead.

The ride is surprisingly smooth and you would never admit it, but the feeling of him stepping on the acceleration makes your heart thud, adrenaline coursing through your veins and washing over you. You try your best to hide your excitement with every boost of speed, but you don’t catch Bakugou’s eyes lingering on your tiny smile every time he accelerates. You almost whine when the car slows and you pull into an empty parking lot, apprehension settling in your chest as the engine cuts and you’re left in silence, with him. A public park stretches before the lot, empty swings and monkey-bars twirling leisurely in the wind.

He doesn’t say a word, so after an incredibly long and awkward minute you break the ice. “Bakugou… what are we doing here?” You turn to him expectantly, lips melting back into a frown as you give him a once-over. He’s still in that tank top, which you curse for being a part of his hero costume. Why the hell did he have to choose something so flattering?

The blonde casts a side glance at you, leaning back slightly in his seat. “Wanted to have a chat with ‘ya,” he says, turning to look at you fully. The car seems like it is not big enough, for he’s only a short distance away from you and looking handsome as ever. The park before the windshield is illuminated by only the moon and starlight, casting a soft glow onto his smooth skin. The stubble on his jaw scatters tiny shadows across his chin, and those scarlet eyes peer into yours deeply. The moment is full of unrestrained tension, until he speaks again. “Coulda done this in the garage but your stubborn ass wouldn’t gimme the time of day,” he grumbles, effectively releasing you from his trance.

You blink and look away before returning your attention to him, a sour expression on your face. “Okay, dipshit, what did you wanna talk about?” You huff, arms crossing over your chest defensively. So you might have gotten yourself into this, but only a tiny bit.

You’re left hanging, expectantly eyeing him with a measured gaze. His eyes are locked with yours, but his mouth doesn’t move, not a semblance of a word on his lips. You give him that ‘eyes widening and head jutting forward, I’m waiting for you to talk’ look, but still he’s quiet. Tossing your hair over your shoulder impatiently, you let out a frustrated sigh as you close your eyes. “Look,” you start, turning back to him ready to flame his ass, “I don’t—”

Bakugou’s lips are on yours, his hands clutching your jaw and pushing your mouth into his while he leans forward over the console between the seats. A moan tears from your lungs, the familiar scent of caramel crashing over you as he fills up your senses, fingertips weaving into the hair behind your ears. His tongue thrusts into your mouth, greeting yours like a lover desperate to hold his beloved, caressing and rolling and dancing.

Suddenly your hands are on him, one around his back and pressing him toward you while the other threads through his silky soft tresses. A groan rumbles out of him as you pull against his scalp, one of his hands slipping down the back of your head to hold where your neck meets your shoulders, squeezing the sides of your throat gently. An embarrassing mewl floats out of you at that, a string of saliva connecting your mouths as you both gasp for breath.

His red eyes twinkle at you mockingly, a sultry snarl on his lips. But Bakugou doesn’t dare say a word, instead claiming your lips again with his own, sucking in your bottom lip and biting gently with his pointy canines. The hand on your neck remains strong, while his other hand slithers down your chest, groping your breast with enthusiasm and his thumb roving over your already-hard nipple, which he can feel through the fabric of your skin-tight hero costume and bra. He moans at the discovery, fingers eagerly flying to your side and unraveling the zipper there, watching as the skin of your exposed chest becomes illuminated in a mixture of moonlight and the green glow emanating from beneath the seats. Tugging the wire to rest atop your tits, he nearly growls at the sight of them, diving face-first toward you and wrapping his mouth around a nipple. You buck into him, falling back uncomfortably onto the door, but he just crawls onto his seat and leans further into you, red eyes darting up to catch your wanton expression.

Desperately gripping at the shreds of your sanity, a tiny part of you screams out at the wrongness of the situation. “We shouldn't… fuck, Bakug— ohhh,” you whimper as he nibbles at you, your heart rate skyrocketing in desire as you close your eyes, trapping your trembling lip between your teeth. The rationale is pushed away, the only thing you can pay attention to being the way Bakugou’s mouth feels latched onto you, and the hand traveling down your torso to tease between your legs. His rough fingers prod at your cunt through your leotard, expertly locating your clit through the cloth and focusing extra attention there. Simmering tendrils of heat burst through you and you cry out, legs weakly drawing his wide frame closer to you.

After a moment Bakugou sits back in his seat, pulling you with him. It’s a little rocky, not a perfect transition, but you make your way to sit on his lap nonetheless. His large hands palm your tits roughly, pinching your nipples as his tongue wrestles with yours, your moans leaking into his mouth. His body jerks in surprise as your hips begin to roll against his, and you can feel just how bad he wants this too, rubbing into you against your thigh. It only makes him touch you harder, leaning down slightly and becoming lost in the heated kiss. A hand trails down your waist to grab a handful of your ass, cupping the flesh before he slaps it harshly, then holding it in his palm again as his fingers dig into your skin. He drinks up every noise you release, like a starved man receiving his first meal in forever. He pulls away to kiss down your neck, tongue licking a stripe down your throat before his warm mouth lands on your skin, nipping and lathering and sucking.

“This is,” you gasp, coming up for air and that scrap of sanity surfacing in your mind again, “We shouldn’t be doing this, we— we said that last time was the, ahuh-ahh, last… last time.”

Bakugou sucks harder against your neck, his hands on either ass cheek and pulling your bottom against him. The friction of his cock against your core, even with your clothes separating you, makes your head spin and your voice die out. “You want me to stop, hah?” He grumbles against your throat, slick with his saliva. He rolls your hips against his particularly hard, and your hand reaches out to latch onto his shoulder as your pussy twinges in your panties.

You cannot reply, only a high-pitched whimper tumbles out of you because suddenly he’s pushing aside your leotard and panties, digits dipping into your humiliatingly wet entrance. His fingers easily glide up and down your slit, thumb flicking cruelly against your clit as you double over, nails breaching the skin on his shoulders.

“Doesn’t seem like you know what you want,” he comments, voice gravelly and timbre. His other hand rests on your hip, keeping you from grinding against him. He’s looking up at you, eyes darkened with lust and that haughty grin splitting his lips.

You glare at him, eyebrow twitching at his torment, mouth wavering as his fingers continue to tease along your sopping folds. After being with him so many times, you know what he’s waiting for, but you’re absolutely torn; a moth drawn to the flame yet wary of being burnt. “Please, Bakugou,” you murmur, eyes begging him to give you more.

Bakugou’s brow quirks upright, a single knuckle pushing into you and rubbing against your velvet walls. “Please, what, Princess?” He drawls out, almost purring at having you in his favorite position. That being, you, desperate for his touch.

You groan, throwing your head back as another knuckle slides inside, two wide fingertips stretching your cunt so infuriatingly shallowly. You try to move your hips but his grip is iron on your waist, and a long whine falls out of your mouth. “Just— Pleaseee Katsuki,” you beg, not wanting to say the words he truly wants, but not giving him nothing as his name leaves your lips so seductively.

His nostrils flare as he exhales, shifting underneath you as you feel his cock twitch against your leg. “I thought you wanted me to stop?” He growls, tone low enough you can feel his words shake his lungs. They shake something within you, too.

“No,” you breathe out, placing your lips softly against his before pulling away, your eyes boring into his, “I want this, I want you so bad.”

Bakugou groans as he drives his fingers into you knuckle-deep, curling his fingertips and rubbing against your insides. You moan like a whore at the sensation, his thumb still working on your clit clumsily as he pumps his fingers into you. His lips capture yours again, the hand on your hip jumping up to grab onto your neck again and push your lips harder onto his.

A searing heat ebbs through your body as his digits dutifully work within you, and you can’t help but begin to drop your hips against his hand, grinding onto his fingers without restraint. Bakugou clearly appreciates that, a loud moan ripping out of his lungs at the novelty and his fingers press harder into you, colliding into that spongy spot deep inside. You sob at the intensity, pleasure wracking through you as the angle only makes it easier for him to hit that spot— again, and again, and again— until white shapes flash before your eyes and you’re clutching onto him, screaming out as ecstasy thrums through your entire being.

After a minute of your pussy fluttering around him, Bakugou’s fingers pull out of you, and you finally open your eyes to see him looking at you like you’re the hottest person on the planet. “Fuck,” he snarls, lip twitching as he lifts his hips, tugging down his black pants and briefs half-way down his thighs. His heavy cock smacks against his abdomen, looking pale and pretty in the low lighting, glistening with a bead of pre rolling down the side of his length.

You lick your lips at the sight, the desire to shove him into your mouth overcoming you. Bakugou catches your reaction, a low chuckle reverberating his chest and making you glance at him. “I wanna suck you off,” you say quietly, looking over to the passenger seat and wondering if you could do it from that position, because you certainly can’t do it from where you are now.

“Thas’kay Princess,” he mumbles, grabbing your chin and forcing your lips to meet his once again. His tongue glides over your lip slowly, his other hand smacking your ass roughly before he grabs the inside of your thigh, spreading you above him. “That can wait. Need you right now.”

His words send a different kind of shiver down your spine— the kind that was the whole reason why you’d told yourself you needed to stop fucking him in the first place. But right now, in this moment, there is no way you’re not going to fuck him. You’d already come this far, you might as well just indulge yourself in him.

So you do, and you both let out a breath of satisfaction as you rub your dripping cunt against the underside of his length. You lather him up, slickening his member in your arousal from back to front before you press your lips onto his, soft but passionate, and you welcome him inside with ease.

Bakugou’s head falls back onto the headrest as his hands lay slack on your hips. He’s reclined, but his red eyes jump between your face, your tits, and your cunt that sucks him up so greedily as you begin to bounce above him. His mouth hangs open slightly as you find your rhythm, your hands ripping up the bottom of his tank top to lay your palms on his chest and his abs, a thumb scratching through his kept and dark happy trail. “Hah— fuck, Y/NNN,” he moans, closing his eyes to succumb to the pleasure for a moment before he forces them back open, refusing to miss out on such a dreamy sight. Memorizing your body, willing himself to remember each moan and blissful expression you give, storing it away so he can burn them into his spank bank.

Once he’s had his fill of the wondrous sight, he sits up, mouth sucking in your nipple as his hands still your hips, grabbing the flesh there and wiggling to adjust himself underneath you. Ecstasy shoots through you as he takes the lead, thrusting up harshly to prod deep inside your womb, stretching you out and rubbing so deliciously against your g-spot. “Oh, god, Katsuki,” you wheeze as he just goes faster, thick and muscular thighs providing enough means to continue like this for who knows how long. Just as you begin to feel your orgasm build once again, his pace slows, and you’re about to complain before a long finger is thrust into your mouth.

Bakugou groans as your tongue coats the digit in spit, not needing instruction. “You gonna be a good girl for me, Princess?” He questions before he takes the finger out.

Your arms fold around his neck as you nod and kiss him again, drunk on his lips and his touch. He welcomes the tender moment, a hand planting on your ass and spreading you again before his wet finger meets your asshole, making you jump into him with wide eyes. “Ka—”

His lips pull you back in, silencing your hesitance as he begins to thrust his cock up into you again, pace measured and slow. The roll of his hips provides a new type of pleasure as his cock drags against your inner walls, your clit rolling on his pelvis. You quiver on top of him, hole puckering as his finger rubs around your rim. You whimper when he pushes inside, the small stretch foreign and stinging. But he doesn’t push it any further, just continues to lazily grind up inside of you, his tongue playing with yours. He only breaks away to whisper praise to you that makes your pussy shiver around him, “Good girl, you’re sucha good girl Y/N.”

Before long the digit is up to the second knuckle, and you’re a moaning mess above him. The feeling of his finger in your ass, with his cock stretching and pushing in and out of you— it has your eyes crossing in pleasure. The thin wall separating his cock and his finger continues to rub exquisitely on both sides, sending waves of fuzzy bliss coursing through your limbs.

The extra penetration seems to also be affecting Bakugou, for his thrusts begin to pick up as he starts slapping up into you with renewed ferocity. The stimulation from your pussy and your clit already have you clenching, but then he starts to push his finger in and out of your ass slowly, and you’re holding onto him for dear life, your head on his shoulder as you mewl into his neck. You can feel your orgasm approaching, and so can Bakugou, who nuzzles your face a bit before he kisses you again. Your lips dance sloppily, your body jostling as he pounds into you from below, and you begin to whimper as your cunt tightens around his cock.

“Still want me to stop?” He hisses, rough palm clapping across your ass cheek.

“Fuck no,” you pant, planting your knees on the seat beside his thighs and bucking up and down in tune with his pace.

Bakugou groans at your initiative, knuckle sliding deeper inside of you and gauging your reaction as your shudder against him in pleasure. “You like a finger in the ass, hah? Fucking slut,” he snarls as he rubs the digit inside of you, eliciting a low moan from the depths of your lungs.

You’re bouncing on his lap as best as you can, your head skimming the top of the car’s interior while you claw at his shoulders. “God, Katsuki, mphhh—” The added pressure of you sinking down as he ruts up is almost enough for you to cum, and Bakugou knows exactly how close to the finish line you are, grabbing your jaw and tugging your face to hang directly in front of his.

You brow furrows and your heartbeat hastens at the intimacy, passion crackling between the pair of you as his vermillion orbs burn into you. You don’t want to let him see such a vulnerable part of you, but he starts to slam into that spot deep inside of you mercilessly, determined to show you how good he can make you feel. Your orgasm tears through you and an overwhelming heat blasts into your body like wildfire through dry grass. A broken shriek releases from you as your eyes slam shut, limbs shaking, nails diving into his traps, and toes curling in your shoes.

Bakugou gasps as you constrict around him, moving his hands to clasp onto your hips tightly, throwing your body down to meet his as he pistons into you. Skull falling backwards limply, your tongue lolls out like a bitch in heat, his actions dragging out your mind-numbing climax delightfully long. He launches at the exposed skin of your neck, teeth sinking into your throat hard enough to leave dark bruises there, moaning shamelessly into your flesh as his thrusts become quicker, needier. “S-Shit, where should I— ‘m gonna—”

Your fingers rush to his hair, snapping his head backwards and his eyes widen in surprise, but you smother his open mouth with yours immediately, your tongue plunging into his wet cavern and claiming him as your own. Your hips hurl onto his with finality and the blonde stiffens beneath you, trembling fingers pressing into your skin. A loud groan rattles both of your bodies as his load spills into you, coating your womb in his sticky release as you continue to drop onto his searing cock slowly. When he comes down from his high he squeezes your waist gently to signal you to stop, sitting back with his jaw hung open slightly, laboured and choppy breaths making his sculpted chest rise and fall sharply.

You let him pull you into his embrace, his large biceps caging you against his chest as he tries to catch his breath. It’s peaceful laying in his arms, the post-orgasm bliss thriving and filling the entire cabin of the vehicle in a hot and sweet scent. Or maybe that was just Bakugou— you subtly sniff his skin and smile, the caramel-like aroma from his exertion wafting off of him. He’s warm, and somehow even though his muscles are rock-hard beneath you, his embrace is soft. You nuzzle into his neck as his fingers glide over your moist back, arms locked around your waist.

Neither of you say a word, two heartbeats thumping rapidly against each other as you enjoy each other’s presence. The both of you desperately cling to this moment of serenity, knowing that soon enough you’ll have to go back to normal, and this will have just been another “last time.”  

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

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no one asked for this but i did it anyway 🤪🤪 happy birthday blasty 💥💚🧡

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[obliviouskind]

Charon Akagi

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I feel I need to preface this post by admitting to this: for a long while, I had no opinions nor takes on Charon as an actual character, nor did I really consider ever delving deeper into him for my own personal world building. He was but a background character that I, admittedly, considered either just… writing out entirely, or to simply replace him with someone nameless, as well as faceless – just to make matters easier for myself. However, since then my opinion has changed.  And I feel it would be fun to share some thoughts about the Sinnoh fandoms greatest punching bag, y’know? I personally find the idea of Charon being a part of Cyrus’s family lineage to be incredibly intriguing, as well as befitting the role that he comes to play within the canonical storyline. (Both the games, and my own.) I’ve decided to fit him in as a second cousin of Cyrus’s father, making him a definite part of the family line – but separated enough to where interaction between his branch and theirs were minimal at best – nonexistent, at worst. That isn’t to say, however, that he was unknown to them all.

Cyrus can recall having seen the man on television long ago, as he was publicly shunned for his immoral research practices and forced to issue an apology to Sinnoh's broader public - only for him to spit into the mic, scream at the top of his lungs and leave the stage with his hands cuffed behind his back.  That they were related, he only learned as he grew older - a disgrace of the Akagi in some regards, Charon was considered; but to Cyrus he had simply seemed like a man who saw the world in a slightly different light.

An ability that, later down the line, became very appealing. The research of Galactic in its early years was done, more often than not, by freelance researchers or hired such scientists - something that took both resources, as well as allowed for far too many hands and eyes to enter domains better left hidden... As one can imagine, it was something that came to be dangerous as time went on as there aren't many who will actually keep quiet about experimenting on beasts or disturbing holy grounds in the pursuit of knowledge. 

Charon however, held no such regard for what was appropriate in the field of science - and Cyrus chose him for that fact.  That he was family only served to make things easier.

(Have a fun basic ‘family tree’ while we are at it, ey?)

However, let’s… Dial it back just a few notches, and sort of talk about my overall idea for Charon as he is, rather than his relation to Cyrus and his cause.

It is strongly suggested within the canonical games that The Old Chateau, situated at the lip of Eterna Forest, just outside of Eterna itself, is the old home of Charon and his family… And this is a theory that I personally have decided to run a mile with. For one; the Akagi have always been an established family within the region for many generations, meaning that they have been able to accumulate generational wealth for quite some time now. The Old Chateau is therefore an old family heirloom of sorts, one of which eventually fell into the hands of Charon’s particular family branch, rather than that of Cyrus’s. I also want to note that within Galactic HQ, there are notes that are suggested to be written by Charon: “… Finally, I came to realize that the Pokémon only wished to be friends. I have decided to name this most wondrous Pokémon 'Rotom.' Simple though it may be, Rotom emerged to me from the motor of a lawn mower. Motor and Rotom... Surely the link is obvious?””

The way I see it is that, not only did Charon encounter Rotom within his old home – he also gave it its name.

(Now, to put it out there: I am indeed aware of the fact that there’s potential, and commonly accepted within the fandom, that these are Cyrus’s notes. But, this is my playhouse, and I already have a vastly different story established for Cyrus’s youth. So, Rotom is in my mind Charon's to claim.)

Next, I want to just… Sort of ramble out a few bullet points, to get some ideas and concepts out there without having to prep them as much as I have the rest:

The Old Chateau is, obviously, abandoned     by the time the events of the game takes place - but given that Charon is     an older gentleman during the     story, I don’t find it all that unreasonable that over, say, 50 years or     so the home has managed to crumble into its current state. 

The reason for its abandonment is due to the fact that Charon’s family no     longer are alive. How or why this came to be the case is a mystery of the region to this day, some suggest food poisoning, some say there was     a car accident. What all of the     theories have in common, however, is the fact that the young son survived it all. 

Surviving     isn’t the same as thriving,     however. Charon was young when     he lost his parents, as well as his younger     sister and though in his fathers will, the home was assigned to be his - a child can’t do much with a home on their own.

Charon became a pawn of the state all throughout his early years. He     was assigned to foster homes, ones who both treated him very well and those who treated him     poorly but where he came to excel in life, was in academics. 

Despite     a rocky home life, the boy advanced his schooling far faster than any other child of his year group - leaving     him to skip several grades at a     time. He thrived in school just     as much as he decayed in his     personal home life. 

Charon has been described by every     foster parent that he has had, as a vile child. He personally has never seen it that     way.

Random trivia: He has two gold teeth.

It was at the age of 18 that he finally was set free     from the endless cycle, never having been adopted into a new home but     feeling better off because of it. Independent,     he made a life for himself on his own terms… And it wasn’t until much, much later in his life that he     returned to his childhood manor once more. In search of memories, perhaps, or maybe he just     wished to have one last look at what was left for him to care for.

He never returned to it after that.

Something that I feel needs to be stressed, as an ending statement is this: I wholeheartedly reject the idea that Charon is a man thats disliked by any of his co-workers, or the overall organization itself (grunts, hunters etc etc..). Some may find him rude or unpleasant, sure – and he is: Mars could lay claim to this. But, anyone that hasn’t work directly with him would not know that part of his personality, nor habits... nor should they really care.   He (within a Platinum, as well as my own, timeline) is the reason that Galactic even managed to do what it was that they did - and he would be nothing but praised for his efforts as they really were the only reason their Messiah even had a shot at reaching Godhood. 

Out of all the commanders, he is the one that stood Cyrus the closest - and he always will be. Family bond or not. 

(He is also the only member of the organization who was (canonically) taken by Interpol… I’ll just let that one sit.)

[kylorengarbagedump]

cocky. beautiful. bastard. - chapter 2

Read on AO3. Part 1 here. Part 3 here.

Summary:  It's time for you to learn the rules.

Words: 7500

Warnings: more delayed orgasm, cum eating, mando’a

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: Hello! I know I mentioned this would be expanded to three parts, but I actually decided to crank it up to five, oops. I have some shit planned for this fic--I needed a break, needed to write something fun and hot, haha.

I have been blown away by the feedback on this fic!! THANK YOU SO MUCH! I really really hope you like this installment, it's literally 7500 words and 6000 of it is porn. ToT LMAO. Let me know what you think!! I love y'all so very very much.

This morning, you’d woken up on your half-stuffed mattress, rolled onto your cracked stone floor, and bathed yourself in the kitchen basin, scrubbed your skin with the ratty sponge. You’d stuffed your face with the stale roll you’d made for your stew the previous night and shoved the bowls in the conservator before tugging on underwear and tossing your robe over it. In your tote, you’d carted your usual: a jar of lotion, mint cologne, and the little case that stored your identification and tip portions, and when you left your flat, you’d slipped on a pair of sandals and locked the door.

As you followed the Supreme Leader of the First Order onto the ramp of his sleek, knife-wing shuttle, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever cross that threshold again.

He had been silent since the moment you’d left the brothel, and when you boarded the ship, you glanced around the empty hull, discovering that the both of you were alone. Before you could question it, he was in the cockpit, the ramp was whirring, and your mind was spinning, elated and confused.

Counting the handful of seats, your mouth screwed in consideration. Your eyes crept to the front, spying a pilot’s seat--occupied--and a co-pilot’s seat, invitingly empty. With a shrug, you strode over to it and plopped down, stowing your belongings on your lap. He did not address you, did not even acknowledge the weight of your stare as he fiddled with the controls, engine roaring to life.

Kylo Ren was not only beautiful. He was huge. Of course, by now, you knew he had a massive cock, equally large hands--but the rest of him was just as proportional, just as hypnotizing. His shoulders were broad, even swathed under his cloak, his arms thick, his whole torso wide and solid with muscle. In a flash, you pictured him naked, a little thrill shooting through your spine. He’d said you were his, whatever that meant, and in comparison to what you’d woken up to this morning, the idea was more and more inviting.

He stole a glance--his gaze arrested your breath--and gripped the controls; in seconds, the ship was hovering, screaming, shooting into the sky.

You watched, speechless, as the pane of transparisteel was swallowed by white yellow blue black starlight, and then you were careening through space, hurtling out of the atmosphere and toward an unknown destination. The vastness of it mesmerized you, an echo of this man’s own engulfing perpetuity--both of them equally perplexing, equally captivating.

Maybe that was a little dramatic, but to be fair, despite the sore throb between your legs and the ache at your ass, just being this close to him buzzed your skin.

He guided the ship toward another, larger vessel--a Star Destroyer, you knew that much--and as he docked it in the hangar, the reality of your arrangement descended upon you. Hordes of Stormtroopers marched across ebony tile, cut through by officers in black uniforms, all of them with duty, all of them striding with purpose. Meanwhile, you’d just been plucked from a brothel on Nevarro, clad in your skivvies and a chemise cover-up. There was no shame in that admission, but more so the recognition that you were now far from home, in the company of a total stranger--a total stranger with the power to crush you between his palms without blinking.

Said stranger went through a sequence on the dash--the engine died, the ramp lowered to the ground. He stood, a towering dark wall, and studied the bay before turning his eyes to you. They flicked over your figure for a moment--appraising--and without a word, he turned, marching off the ship. You scrambled to your feet and followed, walking in double-time to match his pace.

When you entered the bay, dozens of faces snapped to you, and then shot to the floor, perhaps due to your attire and with whom you’d arrived. It was strange, to be important enough to not only warrant a glance, but to warrant its immediate aversion. As you walked, the masses parted for their Supreme Leader, and you trailed in his wake, feeling altogether powerful and powerless, an ember wisp to his raging inferno.

The Star Destroyer itself was repetitive and long, but while you followed your new leader, you took in every detail. To you, it might as well have been a palace, some sort of opulent, obsidian cavern, with floors clean enough to reflect your anxious face. Not anxious out of fear, of course--if the chakaar wanted to kill you, he could’ve done so when you’d mouthed off to him in the brothel--but anticipation. How this had happened to you, you weren’t sure, but a portion of you hoped the arrangement wouldn’t be temporary.

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren stopped in front of a blast door, passing a hand over a sensor--it opened for him, and he stood to the side, observing you in expectation. The intensity of his gaze rippled heat through your thighs, and you entered, shoulders squared, ignoring the irritating thump of your heart. He stalked behind you, a heavy shadow, his presence both looming and lascivious as you glanced around his quarters. The ceilings soared high, stark white floors sweeping to white walls, a set of stairs descending in front of you, spilling out into an empty, bright floorspace.

You turned to him, gripping your bag. “Welcome home?”

He sniffed. “If you learn the rules. Earn your place.”

“My place?” A hand rested on your hip, and you cocked a playful brow. “And what exactly is my place?”

“It’s simple.” He stepped toward you, scorching you in his stare--your chest tightened. “Your place is wherever I direct you. Doing whatever I’ve ordered.”

You swallowed. His. “Mm. Okay. And what might you order me to do?”

Another long stride, and he circled you, skating a leather finger down your arm as his mouth swooped to your ear. “Bid etyc, kih tracinya,” he murmured. “You know very well why I brought you here.”

Though his release was dripping down your thighs, it was difficult to resist the urge to spin around and hop on top of him. How could you possibly help yourself? He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, and he’d made you cum hard on his enormous cock. Twice.

“Me? Dirty?” You went to lean into him, and he stepped back, making you stumble. You pouted. “Hey!”

He huffed, crossing away from you, and you turned to follow him down the steps, grumbling to yourself. His chambers were huge, at least twice or maybe three times the size of the entirety of your efficiency--so large you couldn’t identify the location of the refresher, or the food storage, or even the bedroom.

“So,” you said, still scanning your surroundings, “where do you expect me to eat and sleep? What am I supposed to wear?”

“I don’t care.”

You balked, staring at his back. “You don’t care?”

He opened a door, gazing over something, not bothering to look at you. “No.”

“Okay.” You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Chakaar.”

At this, Kylo Ren spun, cloak whirling at his ankles, stalking to you in long strides. The thump of his boots rattled your bones, his size consumed your sight. You didn’t flinch--only stuck your chin out with a smirk. He stopped inches from you, chest rising, eyes glittering under the searing light of his quarters, vestiges of a beast.

He took your chin between gloved fingers. “This nasty little mouth is going to be my first project,” he purred, and tugged you flush to his solid frame. “When you speak to me, you will address me as Supreme Leader. Do you understand?”

You didn’t reply--you were too busy trying to pull your brain from a sea of lust. Ren pinched your jaw, and you whimpered, your thighs pressing together, skin flush with heat.

“Say it.”

A slow breath left your nose, warmth washing over his hand. Despite your desire to antagonize him, there was a deeper, greater desire to please him--to earn your place.

“Yes,” you replied, “Supreme Leader.”

“Hm.” He thumbed your lower lip, his voice black smoke. “Good girl.”

Two words, but still you clenched. “I might not be good all the time, you know.”

“Don’t worry.” A tiny smirk on Ren’s pretty mouth, and he leaned to your ear again. “I’m counting on it.”

The Supreme Leader released you, your skin frosting in his absence, and he moved past you, up the steps. You tracked him, shrinking in the enormity of the strange, soulless room where he apparently meant to abandon you. Frowning, you crossed your arms.

“Where are you going?” you asked, fumbling with your belongings. “Uh, Supreme Leader.”

“I’m departing.” Ren didn’t even bother to peer over his shoulder. “Remain here until I return.” In a flourish, he disappeared through the blast door.

You sighed, deflating. Nothing to do but become more familiar with what the Supreme Fucking Leader of the First Fucking Order had determined to be your new home.

If you earned your place.

You were alone for hours. After a bit of exploring, you’d located the food storage (a bunch of military rations, which you ate anyway), the refresher (replete with a tall standing shower), and the bedroom, at the bottom of another set of stairs--the most impressive to you. The Supreme Leader of the First Order slept on a wide mattress built into a nook, its supporting wall replaced with a massive pane of transparisteel. Beyond it, the galaxy floated by, a nebulous nightlight and blanket to his slumber.

You shrugged off your robe and underwear and climbed on top of the rumpled, soft sheets, curling on your side to watch ships wink in and out of existence. Nevarro was a tiny sphere in the darkness, everything and everyone you’d known shrinking to a speckle in the sky. Despite all of this newness, nestled in the bed of Kylo Ren, you were not afraid--you were exhilarated. You’d forgotten to contact Cerra, but in the moment, you didn’t particularly care. A sunshine vibration settled in your chest. At some point, your lids fell closed.

Thwack.

A sharp thigh smack ripped you to consciousness, and you squealed, whirling to face your attacker. At the edge of the bed stood the Supreme Leader, hair caked with sweat and filth, face smattered with dark red crust. You screamed, skittering back, until you realized he’d come from battle. This was his normal. And even as the stench of rotting copper filled your nose, when his gaze skimmed your naked body, you fought the urge to shiver.

“Uh, hello,” you said. “What was that for?”

“Come.” He gave no further instruction, and spun on his heel to climb the stairs.

The rules. You didn’t need to be told twice.

Kylo Ren led you into the refresher--a spark lighting between your legs at your impending reality--and activated the shower before peeling off his gloves. This was casual, emotionless to him, as if he was not the most powerful man in the universe, as if you, a former brothel wench, were not about to see him entirely naked. You could only stare, entranced, while he moved to his tunic hook by hook before shucking it to the floor, then pulled his undershirt free, revealing to you his thick, muscled torso. Carmine mud had soaked through his clothing, a mist over his skin.

The rest of his disrobing was similar--the removal of his boots, his pants and undergarments, until he was bare, human and ethereal, a deity decorated in blood and dirt. He gazed at you, face blank, urging you into the water with a nod of his head. Hiding your joy, you obliged, and stepped under the spray.

The moment the water hit you, Ren’s grip was at your shoulder, whipping you around and shoving your back to the chilly tile. You released a breath, staring at him, and his hand drifted to your neck, thumb rising to pry open your mouth.

“You will bathe me,” he said, tracing the line of your lower lip, “get me hard, and suck me off.” His thumb slid past your teeth, depressed your tongue. “And if you can make me cum, I might reward you.”

Heat--whether it was from the shower or your mind--rushed your flesh. You liked the idea of a challenge. You nodded, and he released your tongue.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

He gave your throat a warning squeeze. “Don’t make me wait.”

Biting your lip, you sought out the shampoo, finding it within an assortment of plain, regulation-type bottles. Everything you’d come across in his quarters had been quite plain, considering he had the opportunity to access the best of everything. Shrugging, you popped the top, squirted some in your palms before returning it, and lathered it between them. Turning to face him, your jaw dropped when you took in the enormity of his form. The Supreme Leader of the First Order was a molded machine, as gorgeous as he was terrifying. And you couldn’t wait to put your hands on him.

You crossed behind him, inspecting the collection of white scars that had faded across his skin before reaching to massage the shampoo into his hair. He was so tall, you had to stand on the tips of your toes to meet the top of his head, but you managed, working your fingers through the knotted tresses, freeing it of mud and blood. The water ran an eerie crimson as you combed through his dark locks, and when your nails scritched his scalp, you felt him tense, felt him fight a shiver from his spine. Hiding a grin, you did it again, drawing lines across his head, and you heard it--a soft, satisfied moan, caught in his chest. You swallowed, cunt throbbing.

“Do you like that?” you asked. “Supreme Leader?”

He only hummed, non-committal. You were determined to make him make that noise again.

Having finished with his hair, you let the water clear the soap from his head until his locks laid flat on his face, exposing his wide, rounded ears, flushed red from the shower. A devious little thought flicked in your brain--you grabbed the soap (also plain, a boring yellow bar) and made some lather, circled to face him.

The shampoo had loosened most of the muck from his face, but you decided to clean the rest, swirling tiny circles across his forehead, his cheeks, staring into his eyes. He stared back, watching you from behind an invisible barrier--and when you rubbed the shell of his ears, his gaze broke, lids fluttering in delight before he caught himself, lip curling in a hint of irritation. You smirked, another clench between your legs.

“What about that?” you murmured, ghosting your thumbs over the helix--another groan trapped in his throat. “You like that, sir?”

Ren stiffened his jaw, but didn’t move, almost daring you to continue. But you decided to move on with your task--there would be plenty more opportunities to tease him.

You cleared his face of debris before standing back to admire his body. To your disappointment,  his cock was still soft, but you knew this was through sheer effort, through a determination to make you earn it.

Starting with his shoulders, you ran your soapy hands down his strong neck, skimming across the long scar that arced over his eye, a pretty crevice in his flesh. You were close enough now that you realized he was covered in scars, marring his arms, his torso, his abdomen. Rather than repel you, they drew you closer--the evidence of his survival, the physical remnants of his conquests made your mouth water.

Stepping into him, you massaged the soap into his flesh, working it into his muscles, down his biceps, glancing at him when you did, a spark of excitement in his gaze. You kept his attention while you washed over his hands, circling each of his fingers with your fist, pumping them like you might his cock. They were thick, rigid in your palms as you cleaned them free of grime. His eye twitched.

Grinning, you gathered more soap, swirling large loops  over his broad, solid chest. His firmness made you throb, made you want to step even closer--but you focused on your duty, reminded of your mystery reward. You kneaded over his pectorals, flicking his nipples with your thumbs before dropping lower, smoothing soap across his abdomen. Kylo Ren tensed when you cleansed his stomach, and you glanced at him again. His pupils dilated--your fingers followed the line of his hip bones, inching toward his thighs, and he swallowed, shifting on his feet. You were getting close.

Licking your lips, you foamed more lather and shifted behind him, caressing suds into the powerful planes of his back. Here, you could see more scars, more war-made muscle, and you cleansed it all, digging into his shoulder blades, down his spine to his ass, squeezing handfuls of it--he tensed again. Keeping a giggle to yourself, you returned to face him, still juggling suds, and finally, finally dropped to your knees.

Kylo Ren’s thighs were just as large as the rest of him, big slabs of muscle smooth to your touch. He stared down at you, observing you with restrained desire, and you coasted over his quadriceps, the backs of his knees, his calves, rubbing up and down his flesh, all the while avoiding his cock. You marveled at him, at this marble-carved man, at the ripples under his skin as you kneaded over hard ridges of strength. Around you, the water faded to a translucent pink, filtering clear--you took the bar of soap a last time between your palms, placed it on the floor, and massaged a wide circle around his dick.

His legs and stomach tightened, and you smirked, keeping his focus and beginning at his hips, mouthing open, soft kisses to the inside of his thighs, moving closer while your soapy hand slipped over his length. Ren’s lips parted, and you did it again--a gentle graze of his shaft--and kissed his pubic bone, licking a stripe to the base of his cock. When you took it in your lathered fist, he gasped--you grinned, and started pumping it long, slow strokes.

A shuddered exhale escaped him, and you were spurred on, spreading your knees and continuing to kiss around the root, reveling when you felt him swelling and pulsing against your palm. You rolled your fingers around his shaft, cupped his balls, water washing bubbles to his feet, and you tickled the underside of his dick, making it twitch. With a grin, you wrapped him in your fist again, increasing your pace, letting him grow even harder in your hand--and Ren released a shaky, blissful breath. Celebrating an internal triumph, you peppered tiny kisses around the hilt of his cock before circling your thumb around the head, smearing precum into his skin.

“Don’t be coy, Supreme Leader,” you said. “I know you like that.”

He snatched your scalp, cranked your neck back into the water. “I don’t remember asking for your commentary.”

Wincing, you obliged him with a tight, languid stroke. “You’re right.” You squeezed his fully erect cock, wet and clean. He was even bigger up close. “I have a better idea.”

In one motion, you took the head in your mouth, dropping your jaw to seal your lips around it with a lewd moan. Ren strangled a gasp--you curled your fingers around the base of his dick, eyes trained on his while you swallowed his length inch by inch. He was thick, throbbing on your tongue, and you pressed it to his shaft as you pulled back, fist following your mouth’s lead. The dry rub of water scraped your grip, so you released him for a moment, locking with his gaze and dribbling a long line of saliva onto his dick. Ren gulped again, his amber irises hazy with lust, and you slicked him in preparation before sucking on the head of his cock.

Big hands coiled in your hair, and you groaned, pleased, twisting your wrist and bobbing back and forth on his length. His breath quickened, his grip tightened, and you whimpered, the ache between your legs burning you with desperation. But you were learning the rules--you already knew he would be serious about making you earn it. So you pressed your thighs together, another hand curving to grip his ass while you drooled and gagged on his cock.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Can you handle all of me in that little mouth?”

You hummed in agreement, taking him deeper, driving him into the wet heat of your throat--you wheezed, but fought through the tears, your gaze on his own, even as the spray of the shower fuzzed your sight. Fist moving faster, slippery with spit, you suckled in another inch, jaw sore from his size. You could only imagine how obscene you looked--dripping with water, salivating down your chin, tears stinging your eyes as you swallowed his dick.

It was incredible, getting to please him like this; since the very first time he’d fucked you, before you even knew his face, you’d dreamed of making his massive dick twitch and cum in your mouth. But now with the knowledge that this dick belonged to the Supreme Leader--you were intoxicated, your clit stiff and screaming for attention, your skin crackling with need. Yes, you needed to make this bastard cum, because you just as badly needed him to return the favor.

You tightened your fist, jerking him faster, and he yanked your hair, pushing your nose against the patch of hair at his groin. Ren fucked hard into your throat, and you heaved, writhed, sobbing onto his cock, both hands burrowing into his thighs as he pistoned his hips against your face. He panted through hoarse groans, his face flush, cheeks red, cock pulsing with an impending climax. Between clenched teeth, he growled, thrusting deep, gaze black and feral.

“That’s it,” he breathed, “that’s it…” He snapped his pelvis, and you retched, slobbering around his cock, clinging to his flesh. “Take my cum down your throat, tracinya. Fuck, take it--”

Kylo Ren suppressed a groan, rocked into your face, heavy cock throbbing and spilling the hot, salty loads of his release. You moaned, sucking it down, watching his chin tremble as you drained him through his climax, humming until he started to soften. Grunting, he slid out, untangled his fingers from your hair, and ruffled the wet fringe from his face before focusing on you. He scanned you: skin soaked, jaw sore, smugly satisfied. You’d certainly earned your reward, now.

“Good girl.” He pinched your chin, thumbed your swollen lip. “Come.”

He turned off the water and exited the shower, leaving you needy and clenching in the dewy air. Frowning, you stood, seething from the ache at your knees, and peered through the fog to spy the Supreme Leader toweling himself off before exiting the refresher. You mimicked him, drying yourself too, and trailed him with a grumble as he strode through his quarters, still entirely naked. A glimmer of hope when he arrived at his bed--until he reached into one of the closets at the side and started pulling on a pair of compression garments. You paused, folded your arms over your chest.

“Uh. Excuse me. Supreme Leader?”

“Hm.”

“Aren’t you. Y’know. Gonna make me cum?”

He huffed. “No.”

You gawked. “I’m sorry, what?” You paced over to him, feet sticky on the cold white floors. “You said you’d reward me.”

“No.” Ren was impassive. “I said I might reward you.” He grabbed a pair of pants, pulled those on, too. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck in the future.”

Gaping, you blinked, laughing in disbelief. You’d played by his stupid rules, worked to earn your place. Had you seriously done all of that just to have him deny you? Whatever game he was playing, it was frying your patience. He’d had you convinced from your trysts at work that he’d want you to have a good time, too--but perhaps he was just like every other man. A whirlwind of curses flew through your mind, in Basic and Mando’a, but you settled on a language that he didn’t understand.

“Ugh! Doompa wermo nek!” you snarled, stomping past him and flopping on his bed. “Oto to crispo chuba!”

For a moment, Ren did not respond, his silence a thickening cloud in the room. For that moment--that short, foolish moment--you felt as if you’d finally gotten one over on him, and a smile snuck onto your face. But it was only a moment.

“You want to kill me, hm?”

“Oh.” He spoke Huttese, too. Your heart sank. “Fuck.”

The Supreme Leader clucked his tongue--you could feel him behind you, footsteps drawing closer. Squealing, you hid your face in his sheets, moving to crawl away, but he seized your ankle and tore you from the mattress, flipping you onto your back. A burgeoning brute, he pounced, palms on either side of your head, wet hair flinging droplets onto your face. His eyes were simmering honey, prepared to boil, igniting a clamor between your thighs.

“Look at what we have here,” he murmured. “A schutta of many talents.”

You sighed. “What language don’t you speak?” you asked. “Di’kutla chakaar.”

Ren hovered closer, placed a knee on the mattress. “Mm, don’t think I heard you, tracinya.” A warm, strong hand moved to your throat, thumb pressing into the divot under your trachea. “What was that?”

His touch stoked the fire in your belly, the greed in his gaze inciting your own. Whatever game indeed. This was a revelation--the Supreme Leader hadn’t lied to you about there being rules. You had just misunderstood them. Certainly, there was a part of him that enjoyed your obedience. But there was clearly another, greater part that craved your defiance.

“I called you,” you replied, peeling the words from your teeth, “a stupid bastard.”

Kylo Ren smirked.

In a single breath, your wrists were gathered and tacked above your head, your legs spread open. And when you tried to move, you found you couldn’t, held by invisible bondage, paralyzed by the air. You thrashed, to no avail, pulse skipping in your veins--he observed you in satisfaction, attention wandering your vulnerable body. It was the same magic he’d used to make you cum, you were sure of it.

“What is this?” You tried to wriggle again, but it was useless.

Ren leaned back, smoothing his palms over your thighs. “This,” he said, “is how I get you to do whatever I want.”

“Oh?” An eager flicker in your chest. “And what exactly do you want?”

“You.” A hand stroked up, over the roll of your belly and down your hip, painting goosebumps across your skin. “Begging for my cock.”

You snorted. “After the stunt you just pulled?” you asked. “I’ve had enough of your cock. It won’t be that easy.”

Delight flashed over his face. “You’re right, kih tracinya.” A snap of his wrist, and your knees were thrown toward your stomach. “It’ll be even easier.”

Ren bent forward, palms gliding up and down your sides, and pressed a hot, wet kiss to your throat. You shuddered, a groan escaping, head rolling onto his sheets, and he growled, nipping at the thin tissue, mouthing more nibbles along your neck. His lips were soft--softer than you remembered when they’d been at your cunt--his tongue laving at every tiny mark he left behind, his hands gripping, squeezing at your stomach, drifting to your hips and to your thighs. The heat of his bare skin inspired your own, pleasure quaking through you, a building fissure in your flesh--when he dragged his teeth across your collarbone, you whimpered in need.

A hand left your hip, curled in your hair and tugged your head back. “Poor thing. Listen to you whine.” Ren peppered heated kisses along your jaw. “When was the last time you fucked a man who wasn’t behind a screen?”

It was difficult to speak through trembling breath. But you managed. “When was the last time you fucked a woman without using magic?”

Face still buried in your neck, he huffed--a low, dark sound in his chest. “You think I can’t break you without the Force?” Kylo Ren sank his teeth into the exposed column of your throat, and you wailed in pain. He dug in, forcing a shriek before he released you, speaking into your ear. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

The Force--you’d heard it referenced before, in passing. You’d just had no idea it was a real thing. And that this man was someone who could control it. As you’d thought it, he released you from its hold, but the ache at your neck had stymied any snark in your mind for the moment. He took the opportunity to bind your wrists with his sheets before standing back, admiring his handiwork. You gazed at him--your chakaar was wild with lust.

He grappled an ankle in each hand and tossed them over his shoulders. “This should be a familiar position for you,” he muttered, before attacking your neck again.

This time, he was savage, groaning as he sucked welts into your skin, grazing his teeth over your shoulder, biting mark after mark into the muscle. Though you squealed, yelped with pain, you relished it, ecstatic at the show of possession, impatient to see the patchwork of bruises gifted to you by the Supreme Leader of the First Order. Ren hunched over you, finding your breasts, crushing them in his grip--you gasped, but he continued, punishing your tits under his palms. Voracious, he moved to your sternum in a streak of saliva, thumb and forefinger tweaking your nipples in pinching bolts of pleasure.

“Ka’ra,” you gasped. “You’re a dirty bastard, aren--mmf!”

Ren had crammed two fingers in your mouth, shoving them to the back of your tongue. “Come again?”

Before you could protest, he took a nipple in his lips, the other still battered by his thumb, and suckled, tongue swirling around it, gentle moans escaping him. You whinged, trying to buck your hips, finding yourself pinned by his weight--arousal controlled you, your core contracting in a cry for something to fill it. He must have known this, too, from the way his hand floated across your belly and between your thighs, petting your folds with a tender touch.

You moaned onto him, eyes lolling back, overwhelmed; Ren was in your mouth, at your tits, teasing your pussy--he may as well have been in your head, hijacking your mind, making you yearn for his cock. He sucked your nipple fat between his teeth, and you returned the favor, wrapping your lips around his fingers; he rewarded you with a slight spread of your pussy, earning a squeak, tempting you to crack.

“Ready to beg?” A quick bite to your nipple, and you released a muffled squeal, shaking your head. “No?” He stroked your engorged clit--you howled. “Are you sure?”

Without giving you a chance to respond, he wiggled his hand further into your throat while he stroked your clit again, and again, thumb catching on the hood, slipping to your entrance before teasing more. You writhed, lids squeezing shut as you fought his hold, but his natural strength rivaled the Force--he caged you, a warden to your orgasm. He tapped your swollen nub, testing a tiny circle around it, and you sobbed, bounced your wrists against the bed, staving the urge to bite his fucking fingers.

“Needy slut,” he muttered. “I can feel how wet you are. How badly this cunt needs to get fucked.”

He continued to glance over your clit, making you throb, making your pussy scream for more. Another swift circle, and another, flooding you with bliss--and he stopped, back to feather-light touches. You wanted to burst, you sucked hard on his hand, skating your teeth over his knuckles in complaint. Growling, he relieved your clit for a split-second, only to spank your pussy with his palm. Pain and pleasure ruptured through your thighs, and you shrieked, gagged around him.

“You can’t help yourself,” he said, and spanked your cunt again. “You’re dripping for my cock.”

Perhaps it was the delirium--the potent cocktail of your need, his torture, the extended denial--but you fractured. And you nodded, agreeing with him.

A grunt of approval. “There we go.” His voice was filthy with victory.

You loved it.

“Dush, etyc kih tracinya.” Ren shifted, pulled his fingers from your mouth to splay your legs wide with his hands, dipping between them to kiss down your belly. “Sucking me off made you want to cum. Didn’t it?”

You nodded again. “Yes…”

“Yes?”

The bloated, heavy ache between your legs took rein of your tongue. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Mm. Good girl.”

The very same Supreme Leader rose to his feet, looming over you, displaying the huge, straining erection behind his pants. His eyes glued to yours while he pulled it free, circled his hand around its massive length, and you gazed at it, still agog. You supposed you’d never get used to how big he really was. Ren pumped himself once, twice, drinking you in, before shoving you further onto the bed and climbing over you.

His lips found your throat again, sucking softly at it. “Do you remember how I had to stuff myself in that little cunt?” he murmured. “How tight you were around me?”

Mouth dry, you replied, “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Good girl.” He propped your calves up on his shoulders, lowering himself to your entrance, taunting you with it. “And do you remember how good it felt to cum on me?”

“Yes,” you sputtered, growing frustrated, “yes, Supreme Leader.”

“And do you remember…” another false-thrust, another anticipatory clench. “... how you begged for me like a filthy little bitch?”

It took all of your power not to crack wise. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

Humming, he nipped your ear. “Then beg for my cock.”

“Ka’ra!” You lost it. “Shut up and fuck me, chakaar!”

He clucked his tongue. “You were doing so well.”

Kylo Ren slicked the head of his dick on your juices before pushing in just an inch, sucking in air through his teeth as he enticed you with a hint of stretch. Staring at himself throbbing inside of you, he held it, and eased out, then driving back in by centimeters--prying into your cunt, giving you only a bit of bliss before stealing it away. He shook with self-control, drawing in more oxygen, hissing in pleasure at even the slightest squeeze from your core.

Whinging, you tried to jerk your hips to take more, but found it difficult with your ankles at his ears. Hair tumbling into his face, he slipped out, slid in again, giving you an inch each time, letting your walls clamp around the length that wasn’t there. Ren leaned up, allowing the both of you watch his hips roll, watch his thick, heavy cock push you open with its head and pull back out. Frustration turned to tears--the sight alone was enough to splinter you, but his steady breath, the agony of being empty, the twitching of your clit, all of it compounded. It made you break.

“Please,” you whispered, “please, Supreme Leader, please fuck me, please give me your cock.”

It was impossible to miss the arrogant shimmer in his eyes. “No.”

Your face fell. “What?”

“You’ll take what I give you,” he said, “and if you behave, I will make you cum.”

Hundreds, thousands of thoughts raced through your mind in that moment, most of them profane, all of them capable of getting you in trouble. Yes, you were learning the rules. And you knew the only way you’d be sated is if you played by them. Steeling your jaw, you met his gaze.

“Yes,” you mumbled. “Supreme Leader.”

Ren settled over you, nuzzling into your neck. “Jate, little flame,” he rasped. “Now take my cock.”

With a slow rock of his hips, he pushed in--millimeter by millimeter, digging you open, in and out, in and out, letting you feel every vein of his cock, every thump of his pulse as he drove deeper inside of you. You stilled your chest, trembling with blissful, beautiful pain, the sweet sting of being full, the addiction of being stretched. Kylo Ren seated himself, fully sheathed in your tight, slick cunt, exhaling as you clenched around him. Gritting his teeth, he dragged out, deserting you in the same, torturous fashion.

This was, you realized, your consequence. He was going to make you beg for him until the very end.

“Supreme Leader,” you said, grinding your wrists together. “Please, fuck me.”

He huffed. “No.” Another slow thrust in, stretching you again, and he caught a groan in his chest.

“Please,” you gasped. “Please, I want your cock.”

Leaning closer, smothering you with his frame, he glided out. “Too bad.”

“Please,” you said, as he stroked into you, wet and hot around his dick. “Please.”

“Beg all you want.” He shuddered when you squeezed him, his hips twisting into you. “Fuck.”

Sex with the Supreme Leader before had been incredible, sure. But the warmth, the strength, the size of his body over yours, the ability to feel his breath, his heartbeat, the rumble of his voice--incredible became inconceivable. Never had you imagined that you could ever be so aroused, so desperate. Never had you considered pleading and squirming through tears for the fill of cock. Never, through any of your antics, had you been this entranced by any single man.

But Kylo Ren truly was not just a man, you were learning.

He was also an utter bastard.

He was also still, despite it all, a corporeal god.

Ren’s rhythm continued to torment you, pumping slowly in and out of your pussy. You could only wince, inhale, and clench around his girth with each thrust--a strategy that seemed to work. Though his hips kept their pace, his breath quickened, his heart pounded, another groan stopped in his throat. Spurred on, you continued, constricting him, walls milking his dick, working him to his peak inside of your pussy.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Nasty fucking whore. You want me to cum in this cunt, don’t you?”

Lust tore through you. “Yes, Supreme Leader, yes, I want you to cum in me, please, please…”

“Fuck.” Ren slammed into you, jerked out, slammed in again. “Yes.” Another hard, brutal thrust, piercing your cervix, and you quailed. “Fuck. Watch me.” He panted, propped himself onto his palms, sliding out until just the head of his dick was buried in your core. “Watch me fill you.” A quick snap of his hips, and he choked, trapped a deep groan--and came.

His cock, swollen and flush and veiny with the promise of orgasm, jumped and twitched inside of you, a climax so intense it pulsed to his groin. He gasped, tensing with every wave of pleasure as he poured hot cum inside of you, a rapid throb of release. A few aftershock ripples, and it dissipated, his cock softening.

“That’s right.” Ren’s chin dropped to his chest, his lungs filled with satisfied air. Exhaling, he glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his gaze. “I think you’ve earned it.”

In a smooth motion, he pulled out of you and tugged your ass to the edge of the mattress while he dropped to his knees on the ground. Sweat was a second skin, your arms strained, your heart ramming against your ribs. And you gaped, a mere spectator to two large hands wrenching your knees wide before the Supreme Leader dove face-first into your abused pussy.

The words that left you were nonsense, a multilingual damnation of his soft, skilled mouth. Ren devoured your cunt, staring into your eyes while he gathered his cum and your own on his tongue, gulping it down, his lips brushing your neglected clit. A feral, anguished cry escaped you, an appeal for mercy--you were so stirred, so edged that even the slightest attention to the nub hurled you near-orgasm.

“Fuck.” No other words would come to you. “Please. Fuck.”

Finally, benevolent god he was, Ren sucked your clit between his teeth. You screeched in ecstasy, head thrown back on the bed as he licked, lapped, suckled at it, humming at your flesh. He flicked the tip with his tongue, traced tight circles around it, and when your breath picked up in expectation of orgasm, a hand left your thigh, two fingers gliding easily into your core. You moaned, writhed in delight, and Ren crooked them inside of you, the intrusion forcing his cum and your own to drip onto the sheets. Like a starved animal, he abandoned your clit for only a minute to gather the creamy globs with his mouth.

“Supreme Leader,” you groaned, “ka’ra…”

Smirking, he swallowed, sealed his plush lips around your throbbing clit, and sucked. Pleasure commandeered your brain, shutting out rationality, logic, reality itself. Thick fingers curled in your pussy, and you spasmed around him while he groaned against you. The vibration of his voice ricocheted to your thighs, and you cried out, soaring higher, higher, until you were at the peak, a witless body suspended in space. A twist of his hand, a lave of his tongue, and you ascended.

A scream shredded your throat, submerged in a storm of euphoria, sight whiter than the walls of Ren’s quarters. Convulsions wracked you, quaked to your bones, and you heaved, hunted for air while he suckled you through the receding tide of your release. You felt your cunt quivering at his face, felt the mixture of cum at his chin, and you drifted to full consciousness, lids flitting open.

Ren smacked his lips, standing and wiping his face. At some point, he’d tucked himself away. He scanned your panting, exhausted figure before reaching over you and freeing your wrists from his sheets. A groan of relief fled you, and you winced when you dragged your arms down to rub away the fatigue.

Seeing this, the Supreme Leader took your wrists in his own hands, encircling them with ease, and massaged his thumbs where you’d been bound. Your breath skipped, your eyes widened--he did not look at you, did not acknowledge this gesture was his own, even as he adjusted his grip to rub the opposite side of your joints. When he was finished, he glimpsed you for a shooting-star-second--and released you, letting all of you sink into his bed as he paced to his closet.

“You are mine.” He said this while he clothed himself. “Expect to travel with me. Expect to serve me.” His voice was empty. Dead. “Expect me to use you however I please.”

You arched your head back and gazed through the transparisteel, the galaxy appearing just as infinite and enigmatic from this angle as it did from any other. This view, a comfortable bed, a real refresher, and the attention of the Supreme Leader of the First Order? You could be fine with that.

More than fine with that.

“Tracinya.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” you said. “I understand.”

As Ren continued to dress, you hoisted yourself onto a pillow, pulled the covers over you. He still hadn’t told you if you could sleep there, but he hadn’t stopped you, either. After a moment, he crossed to you, boots striking the floor, and a gloved grip pinched your shoulder like a handle, turning you to face him. His hair was still half-dry.

“You’re learning the rules well.” He thumbed your lip.

For some strange reason, you blushed. “Only the most sincere effort for you, chakaar.”

He huffed. “Good girl,” he said. “Welcome home.”

Then he turned and left you there, climbing the steps, his footfalls disappearing into the air.

Four words this time, fizzing your blood with glee--home. You wanted to encapsulate this feeling, inject it daily, like a drug. Sighing, content, you stared into the stars, your sterling sentinels. Nevarro was as distant in your memory as it was in space. For now, you belonged to the Supreme Leader. For now, you’d never felt more pleased.

[boldlyanxious]

Remember When 18-Party

RW master list

Casual drug and alcohol use

She shouldn't be surprised when she heard boots land behind her not long after she left the grocery store. She groaned internally as she heard the familiar sound of his cape fluttering. The timing couldn't be better for such an inconvenience because her destination was her co-worker's party rather than home so he still wouldn't know the direction she lived in.

"Greetings, Disapproving Night Beast. I was just not thinking of you."

"We have things to discuss."

"I have nothing to say."

He took a step towards her. Her grocery bag made a crinkling sound as she gripped it tighter but she refused to be cowed. She left her feet planted and didn't break eye contact.

"You are getting information from somewhere. Tell me," he commanded.

From the look he gave her, he was not expecting her to laugh. It was very clear he expected her to yield to his demands for information. Possibly it would have been effective if she hadn't already given them all the information she had.

"This isn't a movie plot and I'm not a super spy. I've already told you everything I know."

"I will find a way to get you to tell me everything. So you aren't working for them anymore, but they would be interested to know more about you."

His step towards her along with his words felt much more menacing and she took a half step back to keep herself upright. Marinette hoped her eyes didn't betray her terror at his implication. She would certainly give him any information she had at that veiled threat but she knew nothing. He just seemed to refuse to accept that. Perhaps he disapproved of her being with Red Robin. Based on conversations she had heard Batman and his team had a varied past with the law and the media but currently they were celebrated by both. Perhaps this dark side of him was what had turned opinion in the past.

"When you have done that, what then? Will you feel any better when you finally realize that I never knew anything?"

She turned away and continued walking, not even turning when he promised to be back after she had a chance to think about it. She was shaking. She wasn't sure if it was anger or fear. She felt like crying. She wished she didn't think of Tim and how comforting it would be to have him wrap his arms around her but she knew he would be out patrolling just like Batman was.

She actually really hoped the party would distract her from thinking about it for a bit. If she thought too hard she would have all her things packed and be gone by morning.

---

Tim got home from patrol and he was actually in a pretty good mood. Finally everyone was getting along and working together. Patrol hadn't gone that well in a long time. They were able to find a few possible leads that sounded promising and even Batman seemed hopeful. Actually he had seemed to be in a better mood all night tonight. He allowed more personal chatter on the comms and even made a joke himself. Maybe Alfred gave him the good tea before patrol.

Tim hoped Marinette would be awake to chat. He had seen her three other times since they met again the previous weekend. Twice for coffee and once for a movie in an almost deserted theater so they could talk without disturbing others and she wouldn't feel trapped. He couldn't convince her to go on a real date or go back to one of their apartments. She thought all of them knowing where she worked was more than enough information.

He smiled to see that he had a message from her. He kicked his shoes off and sprawled across his couch before unlocking his phone, grinning the whole time. He bit his lip as he passed the notification and then bolted upright when he read it. His stomach knotted and his smile disappeared when he read her simple message.

I can't see you anymore. It was great while it lasted. <3 M

The time stamp was from 42 minutes ago. He called her phone. He knew she wouldn't pick up but he had to try. They had just talked this afternoon and everything was great. He knew she had been hanging out with coworkers tonight. He wondered if they had said something about him. He didn't tell her exactly who he was. He gave his name but he knew she didn't know exactly what that meant. But with her ability to see through masks knowing him would tell her the entire bat family. He tried calling one more time but texted when she refused the call.

Please talk to me.

---

Marinette wasn't entirely comfortable at the party. She had never really been to one like this. Last time she hung out with her co-workers they all sat around watching videos and drinking beer or wine. Arnold, the cook, followed her when she went for a refill. He had kissed her and she let him. But then at work things were really weird for a few days. First 2 days he avoided looking at her the rest of that week he talked loudly about his new girlfriend.

This party though was loud and crowded. She tried to not make her drinks strong but she found herself drinking nervously a lot. There were too many people she didn't know and a lot of them seemed to be using heliotrope. It reminded her of her experience and of Batman telling her he would tell them how to find her. She sent a message to Tim knowing it would leave him in the dark but perhaps would get Batman to leave her alone.

She was filling her drink when he called back. She watched the screen until it stopped buzzing. She used the nearest bottle and took a shot before ending the next incoming call. She knew there were people watching her probably curious why she was staring at her phone while it rang. She took another shot before she picked the phone back up and read the message. She looked over as one from the group watching her spoke.

"He isn't worth it. You should have some of this. It will help you feel better."

She shook her head at the offer of the heliotrope. She definitely didn't want that again. She held up the drink she had filled just before her phone rang.

"I still have to work in the morning. This will probably make that hard enough."

She walked over to join their group anyway. She didn't know anyone except her co-workers and they were all spread out. The girl who spoke to her made introductions to the rest of the group and Marinette introduced herself as Meg. The conversation was pretty basic. They talked about work and activities they liked but the girl, Ashley gestured back to them phone that Marinette had looked back at again.

"Is your boyfriend giving you trouble?"

"I don't think he's my boyfriend anymore."

There was a commotion from the other room followed by cheering. Ashley dragged her along as they headed over to see what was happening. Marinette wished she hadn't once she got there. One of the people at the party knew a supplier for heliotrope and they had called them over to bring some for the party goers. The first one who there were 3 who came in to travel around seeing who wanted to buy.

That would have been fine but one of Ashley's friends pushed her forward and announced she had never had any and was afraid to try it. There was lots of encouragement from the others to give it a shot. Even one of the other waitresses told her she would be fine for her shift tomorrow. Ashley suggested it might make her feel better after breaking up with her boyfriend. Her friend though had a different plan.

"Maybe you have an extra or two she could try. I bet she would really feel better then."

Marinette suspected he either wanted her to feel loopy or wanted to benefit from the free doses that she didn't want. She tried to decline but the dealer called over his boss. It all happened at once. She looked down at her phone to see a second message from Tim. Then she looked up and made eye contact with the man she knew was swat or former swat as her cup clattered to the floor with a splatter of liquid and half melted ice cubes.

Next

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[crystalessenceswrites]

Burden of the Survivors-- Chapter One

*not my gif*

Burden of the Survivors

Pairs: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: a little bit of cursing but otherwise fairly tame *no spoilers- takes place in Season 1 timeline* Summary: Mando works alone- except for when he absolutely can’t. There are few people Din trusts – trusts as in he doesn’t expect a viroblade in the back the second he’s turned around. She’s one of them. Just as cautious and nearly as tight lipped about her past as he is, Din doesn’t mind her around too much.

[Masterlist] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] or Available on AO3

A/N: It’s been ages since I wrote a reader series, I do my best to write them with as non-descriptive reader as possible but if there’s something I miss let me know. Reader does have a backstory and obviously has certain skills sets as a bounty hunter but I don’t believe that will cause any issues going forward. Also thanks to @fishingwithstring​ & @flyingmarshmallow64​ for kinda beta-ing for me

Chapter One--

When you had given the Mandalorian your commlink info you had not thought the stoic man would actually use it. He had a reputation to uphold after all- he couldn’t be seen willingly working with another bounty hunter. You could respect that; the Guild was cutthroat and there never seemed to be enough credits or jobs to go around these days. The New Republic was a blessing and a curse to those trying to make a living in the Outer Rim. Your regular contacts were coming up short on good jobs and everything Karga was offering wasn’t worth the cost of fuel. It all had you wondering if you should take up running with Tillis’s crew again, the cuts were always fair and at least you weren’t burning credits on your own fuel.

Yet despite your initial beliefs, Mando had called, and he’d called with an offer for a job. They were high rollers from the underworld, apparently. Nothing you had not worked before. The first job you had worked with Mando on had been an under the table job from Karga as well. You allowed yourself the slightest bit of pride that after how well you two had worked together, Mando felt you would be a useful addition on this job.

You jumped on the offer. Whatever job Mando had taken had to be worth a decent stack of credits if he was willing to go with an even split. Hopefully, this would be enough to hold you over for a while, maybe pay for a few fixes to your ship while you were at it. The navicomputer could use an update, and there was the leak in the cooling lines that could probably use a proper fix instead of your last patch job… but you were getting ahead of yourself. Mando had asked you to meet him at his ship just outside of town on Navarro, which was convenient considering you had been laying over on the backwater volcanic planet after your last round of bounties. Karga may be cagey but at least he paid you what you were owed in the end.

Mando was waiting for you, leaning against the side of the Razor Crest, looking as much the stoic and hardened warrior as ever when you arrived. Though he had upgraded a bit since you last saw him.

“Looking spiffy Mando! Is that a new pauldron I see?”

He shrugs, pushing off the Razor Crest, “maybe.”

Man of few words, some things never change.

“You mentioned before that we didn’t have much to go off of. What do you know?” Hitching your bag of gear up your shoulder you follow Mando up into the Crest.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been on Mando’s ship, but it amazed you every time you boarded how he managed to keep such a relic up and running. You would not be surprised if it cost him a fortune in repair costs over the years. Sure, your ship wasn’t a spring chicken either, but it had been built within your lifetime.

“Tracking fob.” He quickly fishes the device out of his belt, flashing it at you briefly. “Last known position and age.”

“Wait, not even a chain code?” That was just common courtesy in this line of work, and it kept mix-ups to a minimum. “Just the last four digits?”

Mando nods before clambering up the ladder to the cockpit leaving you stunned. Who exactly were you working for and who were they after?

After ditching your bag in the hull you follow Mando up to the cockpit. “How trustworthy is this client of yours?”

You lean against the doorway, watching him program the ancient navicomputer. “It’s underworld, what do you expect?”

“At least some minimal assurances,” you throw back, “I don’t want to end up a prisoner of the New Republic for the rest of my days if I can’t help it.”

“The chit came through Karga.”

Well, that was the definition of minimally reassuring.

“But no puck?”

Mando shakes his head, or rather, his bucket.

“Well, this will be interesting.”

.

“Arvala-7, can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.” You’re sitting in the co-pilots chair with your boots propped up against the dash, fiddling with one your rifle sights as Mando attempts to pull planetary info up on his navicomputer.

Your partners huff of displeasure filters through his modulator, you can imagine he’s rolling his eyes behind the visor. Over the course of working together you had managed to pick up on a handful of the man’s cues, his body language was fairly expressive, and irritation with you was one you were aptly familiar with. It had been obvious from your first meeting that the Mandalorian was all work and no play. So, your occasional flippant remarks were not always received well. You were by no means trying to agitate the bounty hunter- you had better self-preservation skills than that- but you were trying to lighten the mood a bit. Two sticks in the mud didn’t make for an entertaining partnership.

Even after a few smacks to the computer Mando cannot seem to pull up the data he wants. His fists clench and unclench rhythmically, the creak of his leather gloves filling the silent cockpit. This one was wound way too tight. You wondered what mandalorians did to relax and unwind, and how exactly could you get him to do that before you landed?

“You’ve got the tracking fob, we aren’t completely screwed, if that’s what you’re all upset about, Mando.”

The helmet snaps around, his black t-visor staring unblinking into your soul.

Maybe that was not the best button to push.

“I’ll- ah, go get my stuff together.” You wince at the crack in your voice but gather up your blaster parts before preparing to shimmy back down into the cargo hold. You were a bounty hunter, same as him. His attitude should not unnerve you like it did. He was human like you after all- or at least you assumed he was- one faceless man should not affect you so strongly. You were better than this.

Master trained you better than this.

“Coming into atmo,” Mando shouts down from the cockpit, “may want to hold onto something.”

The ship lurches forward, throwing you into the back wall. “Thanks for the warning,” you grumble, latching onto the refresher door to stay upright.

Mando comes in quick, the Razor Crest touching down shortly after entering the atmosphere. Moments later the helmeted man is down the ladder, amban sniper rifle in hand and already heading down the ramp. Always in such a rush. The Mandalorian really had no clue as to how to stop and assess a situation or take a moment to breathe.

You scramble over to your bag of gear, assembling one of your own blaster rifles without having to look. It was all second nature now; you know every weapon in your stash like the back of your hand. As you slide the newly fixed sight into place a roar echoes through the ship followed by a loud curse. Down the ramp in seconds your blaster is trained on the approaching creature, ignoring Mando with his arm trapped in the jaw of another felled creature.

The tadpole-shaped beast falls before you pull the trigger, sliding in next to Mando with a bright red electro stun dart sticking out of its side. You let out a sigh as Mando groans, freeing his arm. At least your partner in crime was not out for the count yet.

A third creature approaches, this one saddled and ridden by an aging ugnaught wielding what you can assume was responsible for the stun darts. You lower your blaster, hoping that there would be no quarrel after he seemingly saved Mando.

“Thank you.” Mando’s panting as he stands, his arm clutched tight to his chest.

The ugnaught nods before looking back between you two. “You are bounty hunters.”

“Yes.”

“I will help you.”

You shrug at Mando, if he wanted to assist you with this odd bounty you had qualms.

“I have spoken.”

.

Kuiil had been more than accommodating to you both at his moisture farm. Offering up his bed to you for the night and sharing his dinner and a warm cup of tea with you both after the sunlight finally fell below the horizon. You jumped at the offer for any food that was not freeze-dried rations or protein bars. Mando on the other hand stiffened when the ugnaught passed him the meal.

“You can use the bedroom to eat, Mando.”

This was not the first time you had run into this problem while working with the Mandalorian. He never took the helmet off around you, not even in the safety of his ship, not to stop and eat while you were drifting along in hyperspace, or to fix up wounds after a particularly nasty fight with a quarry. You wondered if he even took it off to sleep when you were on board with him.

It was not as if you did not understand the draw of a helmet. The lifestyle of the faceless. You own tactical mask offers a small sense of anonymity, bringing some comfort after years of running from your past, but you were not unnaturally attached to it. Whatever tentative relationship you had with Mando; you were comfortable enough to take it off around him. You could eat in his presence. The mask did not inhibit your job or your lifestyle. While it had been ages since you had been in contact with mandalorians-other than the faceless and nameless Mando- you did have shadowy memories of those you had met taking off their helmets in the presence of others. Not that you had dared to ask about it. Your first few meetings had been tense enough and you liked to think you were smart enough to not insult the beskar clad warrior who walked around armed to the teeth.

Kuiil did not ask until Mando had settled into the other room. “He does not remove his helmet in the presence of others?”

“For as long as I’ve known him,” you nod.

“And how long have you known him?”

That was a good question. How many years had it been since you worked that job with Tillis’s crew that introduced you two?

“Four standard years now, maybe?” You ponder, “but we’ve only been working together for about two.”

He nods, looking thoughtful, “like a Mandalorian warrior of old.”

“I suppose,” you shrug.

“You do not agree with his choice?”

“Oh no, my opinions have nothing to do with it. Can’t say it appeals to me, but I respect the restraint it would take to wear a helmet all of your life.”

Kuiil nods before pottering off, cleaning up his small cooking station. You cannot help but smile, the ugnaught reminds you of someone but you cannot recall exactly who. They are just echoes of memories now, a childhood long gone, but something about Kuiil’s wise demeanor picks at them.

Mando returns moments later, shaking you from your melancholy as he takes a seat next to you.

“Many have passed through. They seek the same one as you.”

What kind of job exactly had Mando gotten for you two?

“Did you help them?”

“Yes. They died.”

You gape at the ugnaught, unsure if his honesty was all that helpful now.

“Well then I don’t know if I want your help,” Mando scoffs.

Kuiil shakes his head, “you do. I can show you to the encampment.”

“Encampment?” Who in the galaxy would have an encampment all the way out here and how to Kuiil know about it?

He nods but divulges no further details.

“What’s your cut?”

“Half.”

Your head whips around, Mando had promised you half the cut already, that is why you had agreed to come in the first place.

“Half the bounty to guide? Seems steep.”

“No. Half the blurrg you helped capture.”

You left out the breath you did not realize you had been holding, gaze softening. The blurrg would not be an issue. “I can assure you Mando has no use for a blurrg.”

The helmet nods, “you can keep them both.”

“No. You need them. To ride. The way is impossible to pass without a blurrg mount.”

Mando sounds unconvinced, “I don’t know how to ride blurrg.”

“I have spoken.”

You did not happen to know how to ride a blurrg either, but you decided it would be best for everyone’s health to not mention it as the Mandalorian struggled the next morning to even stay on the creature. Mando had insisted on letting you attempt to ride first. Kuiil had kindly walked you through how to greet the beast and the best way to mount. You had struggled a bit, the tallest point on the blurrg’s back was nearly a head taller than you and required some interesting moves to get to but after some coaching you finally managed to get the hang of it. It was smooth sailing from there. They reacted to the reins about the same as most other animals and their walking rhythm was not too difficult to adjust to. After Kuiil seems satisfied with your progress and let Mando into the ring you thought maybe this job would not be all that bad.

Yet as you watched Mando fly off the blurrg’s back for the umpteenth you decided you had called that much too soon. For a man who always walked with such swagger you did allow yourself to enjoy the scene. Just a little.

Even the patient Kuiil was becoming frustrated with Mando’s slow learning curve.

“Perhaps if you removed your helmet.”

That would never happen.

Mando’s shoulders stiffen, “perhaps he remembers I tried to roast him.”

Kuiil shakes his head, “this is a female. The males are all eaten during mating.”

You try, you really do, but all your willpower combined at the moment is not enough to contain the laugh that bubbles up in your chest. “Ha! They’ve got the right idea.”

Mando’s helmet tilts back just a fraction. He’s rolling his eyes at you.

Kuiil chuckles softly at your side while you stick your tongue out at the bounty hunter. He blatantly ignores you, going in for another attempt at the blurrg. It ends the same of the others, Mando flat on his back in the dust.

You understand he’s frustrated, Mando’s never been the patient type, and just wants to complete the job and get back to working alone. A wound up, frustrated Mandalorian was never a good combo. Your hand hovers over the blaster in your thigh holster as he stalks towards Kuiil, just in case.

“I don’t have time for this,” he snaps at the ugnaught. “Do you have a landspeeder or speeder bike that I could hire?”

“You are a Mandalorian! Your ancestors rode the great Mythosaur. Surely you can ride this young foal.”

Kuiil’s jab at his ancestry is enough to get Mando to try again. You look on as he approaches the blurrg, arms outstretched, murmuring calming words as he goes to pat the creature between its eyes. You would almost describe the scene as gentle. Not a word you’d have ever used to describe the helmeted man in the past. Where had this Mando been hiding all this time?

.

When you spot the compound in the distance the worries begin to creep up again. You wonder who exactly you were after and what Karga’s underground client wanted with them. People don’t just build fortified compounds on backwater, nearly uninhabited outer rim planets for no reason.

Kuiil points to the structure as the three of you come to a stop, “that is where you’ll find your quarry.”

Mando attempts to give Kuiil a pouch of credits. It was the least he deserved for all the help he’d given you. The ugnaught turns it down.

“Please. You deserve this.”

“Since these ones arrived, this territory has been an endless stream of mercenaries seeking reward and bringing destruction.”

“Then why did you guide us here?” you ask.

“They do not belong here. Those that live here come to seek peace. There will be no peace until they are gone.”

Mando turns to Kuiil, “then why do you help?”

“I have never met a Mandalorian. I’ve only read the stories. If they are true, you two will make quick work of it. Then there will be peace again.” The ugnaught guides his blurrg around, ready to make the return trip, “I have spoken.”

You and Mando sat for a moment, watching him ride away in silence.

For peace then.

[theaspiringwanderess]

The West Coast Trail; A Vancouver Island Adventure Of A Lifetime

Packing: Food/Clothes/Essentials | Booking: Reservations/Transport | Research | Facts | My Story | Start | Days 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 | Chez Moniques | Nitinaht Crab Shack

The West Coast Trail is one of the most, if not the most, iconic Canadian west coast adventure a hiker could ask for. It is a 75km test of both physical and mental endurance in one of the most stunning environmental settings you have ever seen. Not everyone that sets out for this great journey completes it, but those that do have a tale to tell for a lifetime and a forever bond with those they meet along the way.

Having completed this epic trail twice now, my approach is to blend a little bit of old and new into a (hopefully) wondrous tail that offers context, wisdom and insight to the journey, while describing the magical things you will experience and the challenges you will face. I’ve also prepared additional posts for your reading pleasure on Packing: Food/Clothes/Essentials and Booking: Reservations/Transport. So please, grab a hot cup of tea, throw on those comfy pjs and sit back and enjoy the read. 

Handy References and Information Material

Every great hike starts with research, especially this one! If you haven't heard of it yet, look up the famed book Blisters and Bliss: A Trekker's Guide to the West Coast Trail by David Foster and Wayne Aitken. This awesomely 80′s comic styled guide adds a little light-hearted humour to a highly detailed account of the WCT which is revised roughly every couple years. It offers both trekking options (north to south AND south to north!) and gives you all the step by step nitty gritty deets in between including history, objects of interest, geological features and safety tips! I suggest taking it with you and read about the section ahead each night. Also, opt to keep it in a safe pack pocket, don’t put it in a plastic bag (I did this my first time and sadly lost my copy to the inescapable moisture and mold).

Check out the West Coast Trail Facebook Page! This page is not manned by Parks Canada. However, it is a great place to meet other hikers, find someone looking to ride share, ask questions and for advice, learn about recent developments and important information (washed out bridges, danger sections, wildlife sightings or concerns... even hear about annoyed hikers picking up others garbage...not kidding lol).

Oh! And there is also a Women’s West Coast Trail Page!

Parks Canada Website. Duh, right?! But you may not realize that Parks Canada has some handy info regarding what to pack (and what not to!), emergency items, wildlife warnings, necessary fees, maps, tide tables, tips and more to make your hike a happy one. Check out the Planning For WCT page here.

You'll also find online a plethora of websites, blogs and articles dedicated to WCT info, tips, advice, and more. I encourage you to read a few personal accounts to get a real life feel of what others experience. Here are some of my favourites (don’t let the names scare you!), plus a very cool and scholarly article from UofBC on the effects of colonial-style tourism in the area and on the local indigenous tribes written in 2020. Fascinating read.

Hike The WCT (website)

Walking the wild coast : territory, belonging, and tourism on the West Coast Trail (UofBC Open Collection)

Lost On The West Coast Trail

How Not To Die On The West Coast Trail

The Facts

The West Coast Trail is 75 km long. That's on the map and, best as I can figure, relatively "as the crow flies". It does not account for the extra steps, the ladders, the climbing, the crawling, the descending, etc, you get the picture. Both times I've gone my fitbit has read almost double or more the distance in 'real ground covered'. For example, when they say its 5km from the Gordon River Trail Head to Thrasher Cove, my fitbit in both cases recorded over 12 km when all was said and done. When they tell you it takes on average 5-6 hours to do that stretch, and you're only covering 1km or less an hour, this is why. You will chuckle in the orientation, as many have, and think, "ya, if you're a SNAIL!", but you will soon realize it’s about the terrain and that you're essentially doing double or more the physical effort to cross it. The same is true for nearly all the trail, even the "easy parts".

Safety First - the majority of accidents and injuries occur in the first 13 kms on the south side of the trail, from Gordon River at km 75, to Camper Bay at km 62. The trail accommodates just over 7500 people a year. Of that, Parks Canada evacuates roughly 80-100 injured persons annually and Nitinaht villagers have claimed to ferry out 100-200 additional hikers off the trail as well, due to injury, misery, etc. It won’t be a bear or cougar that takes you out, it’ll be the wilderness itself. A fall from a wet log or slimy stone is the most common culprit, and it may not even be the fall itself, but what you land on. Sharp rocks, jabbing sticks, etc all cause serious injury. And it always happens when you're TIRED. Don't push yourself. Take a break, have a snack, don't go farther in a day than your body can handle. Better to be a day late than waiting 24 hrs in the bush with no morphine and a broken leg for a boat ride that surely will be agonizing. Just sayin' here...

The WCT historically was maintained for shipwrecked mariners. Many have lost their lives along this trail. I don’t understand how it doesn’t have its own ghost story yet! It has an amazing history with lots of ship wreckage to see along the way if you time the tides right.

Lastly, the temperate rainforest that engulfs the WCT is not only stunning but globally very rare, encompassing less than 1% of ecosystems across the earth. Here you will see plants, trees and animals that may not exist anywhere else on our planet. The Sitka Spruce for example is among not only the tallest trees in the world, but also the oldest, some 700-1000 years old. This means they have seen North America as it was before European Settlers touched it. They are revered by many and highly sought after by loggers, which often leads to conflicts. Many extremely unique animals also reside in the WCT, like the islands' black bears which are actually larger than mainland black bears with massive skulls and only one unique colour phase. The island is also home to cougars, Victoria's famous mini-deer and sea-wolves, the only wolves in the world that have adapted to life on a coastline, they call the Pacific Coast home. With a completely unique diet of seafood they are genetically different from mainland wolves and have also been known to swim in the ocean for many kilometers.

My West Coast Trail Story

Now, before we begin, I'll preface this by saying, don't mistake me for a pro; I am simply someone who has made it off the WCT twice [relatively] safely and lived to share my tale. If you are looking for expert advice I'd say check out the Parks Canada website or the Blisters and Bliss book. But if you are looking for a heartwarming and informative, real life account of the experience, you've come to a great place.

I am now amongst a lucky few that have had the enormous privilege to have hiked the West Coast Trail not only once, but twice in my lifetime thus far. I say thus far because this trail has such a special place in my heart I expect at some point I will likely attempt it again. It changed my life and has had an everlasting impact on the lives of those around me. I learned a lot about myself and even more about those closest to me. What I am capable of, the importance of preparation and planning, the bonds you create with people you meet along the way and the love of those that support you going and take care of things while you're gone. I simply couldn’t have done this without the support of my amazing husband, friends, parents and sister and my wonderful sister in law whom we stayed with this time. But most importantly I missed the encouragement and support of my mother-in-law who lived on the island and sadly has passed since my first trip. She and her friends played such an instrumental role in my first journey with my sister, buying us foods, housing us, driving us, and just overall being so excited to see us off, I truly missed her this time but I know she was there with me in spirit.

In this way the West Coast Trail is a life-shaping experience like no other. You will learn much about yourself, be in awe and hopefully inspired by the incredible natural world around you and you will meet fellow Canadians and global trotters and, in turn, become a part of their WCT story. Let me be amongst the first to congratulate you on this epic endeavor and wish you the happiest, and safest, of journeys and hopefully I can send you off a bit more well prepared for the adventure.

First Timers VS Second Timers

My experience as a first time WCT hiker was extremely different from my second expedition in every way possible.

The first time I hiked the WCT I went with my youngest sister Jenna. We had both hiked and camped before but this was a new experience and everything was raw, a bit scary, amazing and beautiful all at once. I think it just hit us both like a ton of bricks when we landed at the base of that first ladder across the Gordon River. Although Sharon had talked to me for months, mentally preparing me for the hike, when Jenna and I both looked up at the rest of our start group scaling that first beast, looming up from the small beach landing, I know we both had the exact same thought, like, "oh shit, this is for real...".

Why the WCT? Sharon, my good friend and co-worker, had previously attempted it before turning me onto it. Due to an unfortunate incident with her hiking companion, they had to turn in the towel. She has since rocked it twice more and was an absolute wealth of information, support and the wisdom that only an experienced female hiker, mom and athlete can be. Much of what I am sharing with you today began with her. She continues to inspire me every day with her ferocity and determination and boundless want for adventure.

At the time of my first hike in 2016, my mother-in-law lived on Vancouver Island and she and her best friend Jill had kindly arranged for us to stay at another friend's cottage just outside Port Alberni. The friend and her husband fed us well and the beauty of the setting was unimaginable. But the anticipation of what lay ahead weighed heavily on both Jenna and I and neither of us barely slept a wink. The next morning we had our last hot shower and flush toilet experience for the next 7 days and the 4 of us set out for the Gordon River Trail Head.

We piled into Jill’s car the following morning. The ride was long, on gravel switch back logging roads, but the supportive company made the nervous anticipation bearable. I feel like I did not appreciate the ride as much as I should have at the time, but a few 5 am bus rides (and much experience) later, I certainly cherish the thought my mother-in-law and Jill had put into making the beginning special for us both.

Since then, I've booked my island hike transports with the West Coast Trail Express bus. The folks there are super helpful and the experience has always been a good one. In 2018, a WCT facebook group was created which has made connecting with others looking for ride shares and doing the trail much easier AND more informative! You can read about this page and other research options at the top of this post if you missed them ;)

When 2016 saw Jenna and I land at Gordon River's Information Station, I was greeted with an amazing surprise... Sharon and Jackie (another friend) had pre-purchased for me a WCT t-shirt. I cried, there were no words. When 2021 saw Krista and I land at Gordon River's Information Station, I was greeted with a sense of the familiarity of the adventure and vicariously enjoyed the wonder of someone else now experiencing the trail for the first time... READY?!.. and INHALE... can you smell it..? the Adventure?! It's like greeting an old friend again, for the first time.

It's Like Those Choose Your Own Adventure Books, Where You Pick Your Ending...

Remember those..? Maybe..? When Starting the WCT, you can plan to start at either entry point, Gordon River to the south or Pacheena Bay to the north, or now even halfway at Nitinaht. There are advantages to all, so it just depends what is most appealing to you. Most people do the trail within a 6-8 day time frame. This gives a good balance of time vs pack weight. I always try to plan for an extra emergency day, just in case. Things happen here... Long stays requires more provisions and a heavier pack. Shorter stays (in my personal opinion) are extremely challenging, unless you have done the trail before, are very skilled in lightweight packing and are an expert hiker. I still wouldn't recommend it. Plus, if you're going that fast, you're rushing by so much, what's the point? If you've paid and taken the time to be here, enjoy it! That being said, when Jenna and I did the trail we were treated to watching marathoner and athlete Jen Segger run it in one day. ONE DAY. She currently holds the women's record for WCT completion at 13 hrs 44mins (as posted here on her page under 2016). Of course she had no pack and support runners with her and a camera crew. But as she ran by us I think both our jaws dropped. It was like watching Super Woman run by you and you were just lucky if her sweat spayed you as she passed by. 

When you start out, keep in mind your pack is at it's heaviest. Starting at Pacheena Bay entry point means you'll be hiking the easiest parts of the trail first. You'll make excellent time here and cover the most distance over the shortest number of days. Although all areas of the trail offer exquisite and unique beauty, in my opinion the north end is the most magical. Maybe because by the time I reach it Im half delirious and most certainly exhausted so the easier hike is a much welcome break. Both times I've hiked the WCT I have opted to start at the southern trail head point known as Gordon River.

Starting at Gordon River means that you get through the most difficult terrain right at the beginning, when you're freshest, well rested and eager to set out. You also have the added benefit of anticipating the terrain getting easier (rather than harder). To me, this is the most logical approach and why I prefer this route and honestly, there is just something that seems slightly disillusioning about expecting something to get harder along the way. When Jenna and I first made it up that initial ladder we came across several groups finishing their hike. One in particular stuck out, a group of three female friends. We passed the first two who were happy and chatting and weirdly gave us a (mild) warning to disregard their companion, who was somewhere behind them. Ok... sure, we thought. Then along came the third girl... muttering, swearing under her breath, we contemplated what she might do to her companions if she caught up to them and we joked about how that likely was the end of that friendship. 2016 was a much busier year, pre-covid and all, and we met so many more people, Canadians, Germans, Chinese and Auzzies! 

2021 though is the year of the Canadians! If you happen to head out on the WCT this year, although you will still experience a wide range of people (Canada is an extraordinarily diverse nation!), rest assured most currently reside within Canada. Hello Homies! It was, however, a much more muted WCT experience than my past one. Although the Parks staff assured me they have had lots of people come through (I asked!), and the online bookings are sold out, it seemed so much quieter day to day. At the time Krista and I arrived, Parks staff were still only doing outdoor basic debriefing, prior to which we were expected to watch an online information video covering the basics. This was in stark contrast to the very in depth orientation Jenna and I had to attend back in 2016. 

Fellow Canadians, Tsk Tsk...

The biggest difference I noticed that could be as a result of the minimized debrief is the amount of garbage. There is NO garbage removal on the trail. Parks staff DO NOT haul garbage out (its a remote wilderness, do you really expect garbage men??). The WCT is accessible by foot (as in, you hike in... for 75 km) OR by boat, the latter being weather and safety dependant in extreme occasions (ie emergency evacuation). At each campsite we stayed, hikers THIS year (the trail was closed 2020) have left copious amounts of garbage. It’s in the bear bins, on the trail, the beach, in the outhouses... it’s EVERYWHERE. The worst by far was Camper Bay with stinking tuna cans and bags in every bear bin and Cribbs Creek, where the garbage pile extended to a massive bottle collection BEHIND the bear bin.

Why do sites have bear bins in the first place? Because human food and waste smells amazing to BEARS! So we lock it away to keep it, and us, safe. This does not mean a bear can’t smell it, it just means they can’t access it. Now, what happens when food rots and gets stinkier...? Of course it's more enticing. This draws bears, and other animals, to the campsite, which puts your safety, and the safety of each camper, at risk. I have to give Krista major kuudos here because that girl dug in deep, cleaned someone else's mess at each site we stopped at and even hauled out other people's stinky gross trash. Please give her a round of applause for thinking about you because she deserves it. And as Canadians, seriously, we can do better right??

Da' Debrief

Apologies, now that’s out, let's get on. During our debrief we learned some important key points.

2021 has seen unprecedented amounts of animal sightings and encounters. Primarily bear and cougar. There has also been more daytime sightings of wolves, which is considered extremely rare. With the trail closed in 2020, lack of human presence has caused a larger wildlife presence. Be aware, practice safety, travel in groups. Groups are also being asked to accommodate single hikers to reduce risk.

There is a lot of maintenance to be done that wasn't able to be accomplished in 2020 due to the pandemic. Be prepared for washed out boardwalks, bridges and rotten boards. There is also fewer Parks staff to help with this upkeep. Luckily, local members of indigenous tribes, called the Trail Guardians, historically help in a huge way with this and you may even run into them on the trail! We saw their team arrive in their new boat leaving Walbran and at Pacheena we spoke to a Parks staff who's uncle is on the team. It's a small world here.

Following the debrief, the Parks staff escort you to the Gordon River ferry. The fellow here takes you across and plops you down on the small sandy beach, gathers up any hikers waiting for a ride back and heads off on his way. And there you are, left to stare at a huge ladder, really, the first of many.

up, Up, UP You Go!

In 2016 Jenna and I patiently waited at the end of the line to be the last two up the ladder and I tackled the climb with my 50lb pack in tow (phew!). In 2021 Krista and I were the only two standing on the beach, me revelling in my 'barely there' 38lb pack. The trail was our oyster!

The trek from Gordon River to Thrasher Cove is the most challenging and physically demanding on the trail. We left on the 11:30 ferry and finally walked into Thrashers Cove at 5pm - Yes, it DOES take that long. You actually don't see many ladders, a few here and there, but best believe you are still climbing! You scramble up rock faces, you squeeze past trees, you choose your footing extremely carefully and all the while up, up, UP you GO! Even over rocks and hard ground the trail is fairly well worn and easy to follow... most of the time. A short while in you come to the first bridge over the first creek. I have stopped here both times to fill up water bottles, but beware, the scramble back up is more difficult than it looks this year due to the fallen trees. Mountain Goat level scuttling expertise is advised! Much further along, not far from Thrashers, you'll eventually comes across the famed Donkey Engine! This year you will find it to be directly in your path, where as in 2016 I’m quite sure we looked down on it somehow from a higher elevation. Either way, it’s epic and makes for an amazing photo op! To think that thing was hauled by beast and hand up that hill still blows my mind.

Along the way we met a very nice gentleman named Wilson who had intended to hike the WCT with his son. Unfortunately, due to a graduation re-scheduling mishap his son was unable to come, but Wilson decided to soldier on. He was incredibly happy, thoughtful and polite and asked if we minded if he tagged along as we hiked. He regaled us with tails of his trails, immigration to Canada, his wife and family and much more; he was a fascinating fellow! With the wildlife warnings this year, Parks staff request that no one hike alone, if you can, allow a solo hiker to tag along so everyone can stay safe. We graciously obliged and enjoyed his company and great conversation for a couple more days until we parted ways at Nitinaht comfort camping.

Thrasher's Cove is an amazing, but small, campsite. I recall vividly in 2016 the trail down to the beach being extremely treacherous, with steep and slippery embankments and so many ladders! By comparison our 2021 descent seemed like a cake-walk. Here I was, boasting to Krista the challenge that lay before her, but when we got there it was literally a quick hop and skip down. She found anything I said after that to be hard to believe and was convinced I was totally embellishing. It really made me realize how MUCH the trail changes and what dynamic metamorphosis must have occurred in 6 years! I also realized how hard Trail Guardians and Parks staff must work to maintain all this constantly worn out infrastructure. It must a BEAST. Be warned, if you arrive to Thrashers too late in the day it will be tough finding a spot. If this happens to you, check out the south side of the beach, sometimes there's a bit more space there. Ironically, I have set up my tent in the exact same spot both times, right in front of the tiny triangle cave around the rock wall on the south side of the beach. I have claimed this spot now.

Knock, Knock, It's The Ocean!

This is also where knowing how to read your tide tables is extremely important. While camping on the beach you must pitch your tent above the high tide line. The high tide line is where you can see the sand was last wet on the beach. It's not where the water is when you arrive. Look for the wet point on the sand and keep your tent a few good feet above that. When Jenna and I first arrived at Thrashers, I was confident in my tide table reading skills; being from Alberta, I took the time to learn how to read them in advance. But, during the orientation the Park staff had warned our group that our first night was due to be the highest high tide of the year - intimidating to a couple prairie girls! And, which is also a thing if you read up on the moon cycle! (Actually there is a lot of news this year on the effects of the moon's impending orbital wobble on tides, its a fascinating read if you're interested!). So, naturally a bit cautious and overly leery of the horror stories of campers waking up to soaked tents in the middle of the night, my poor sister was worried sick. Exhausted but too afraid to sleep, I promised her I'd stay up till high tide to make sure we were safe. She soon passed out and I settled in reading my book. But the surf was loud and near, a thundering, crashing rukus with each wave and about 2 hours in my sister jolted straight up in her sleeping bag, scaring the ba-geezus outta me crying out 'IS IT HERE?! IS THE OCEAN HERE YET?! ", big-eyed I just stared, then broke out laughing; I settled her back down, reassured her we were safe, now passed the time of concern, and wiggled down into my own sack to drift off. It's still an inside joke to this day and once in a while we chuckle to each other about the time the ocean came knocking.

2021 brought me its own surprise when at 4am I awoke to an unusual scratching noise against our tent next to my head. We had wrapped our rain covers around our [empty] backpacks and snugged them up against the tent to stay dry and save space. Apparently the local otter family found them fascinating and decided to check them out on their morning stroll. An alarm clock certainly fit for the WCT. 

It's A Beach Walk, Not A Cake Walk

Leaving Thrasher's Cove you have two options! You can take the beach route if you time the tides carefully OR you can take the inland route. In 2016 Jenna and I sojourned the inland route. Although the inland hike was pretty, if I'd found the trek down to Thrashers tough, the trek back up would've been classed insane. Sharon’s favourite saying is, what goes down must go up. In 2021 Krista and I timed the tide, leaving at 7:30am, to take the beach route. Although we'd planned to avoid what turned out to not be a bad climb, I'd really wanted to see the famous sea caves! The sea caves themselves were nothing short of AMAZING. There is just no other word. I was so in awe that in my mind they seem to take up almost 3 days of our trip, not just half an hour on the second day.

Although we'd planned to aim for Cullite Creek Campground day 2, we hit a major snag. As we traipsed along, well after the sea caves, we came to a rocky sea shelf that rose high out of the water. As you look up, you might catch a glimpse of some buoys, which commonly mark the beach access to the trail and campgrounds. Thinking this was our access back onto the trail, as you must go inland from here to Campers, we headed up along the higher shelf. We passed an unusual 'Danger' sign. We looked around, but could not identify anything that seemed out of the ordinary for where we were. We kept on. We came to a similar sign on the rock, but again, failed to see what was obviously dangerous. Wasps? Bear den? Surge Channel? There was no fallen bridge, no down ladder. Everything seemed ok. We reached the buoys, and Krista lifted her leg to step over a small trickle of a water... That's when it happened.

Danger on the Trail...

Before she could even complete her step, both feet flew out from beneath her and her whole body, pack and all, smashed onto the rock shelf. She began rocketing like a she was on a pro waterslide down the embankment towards a 9 foot drop into the water pool below. I had the wherewithal to shout out 'grab a rock!', and in the 3 seconds that seemed like 3 hours, I had the presence of mind to ponder how I might explain this to her mother back at home and 4 year old son if things went sideways... but with a 38lb pack on myself and being a few feet behind, there was no way I could move fast enough to do anything but yell.

Luckily, mid-slide, she managed to grab a handhold just long enough to stop and get some footing. Crisis averted, but the damage was done. Wearing shorts, she was sporting some nasty road rash on her cheek and arm, but most of the damage was buffered by the hoodie she'd had tied around her waist. She was bruised, but she was lucky.

Feeling pretty roughed up, we opted to stay at Camper Bay instead and rolled in about 1pm where we washed and treated her ailing buttocks and gave her some much needed pain meds. Along came a few more groups and we felt a bit less sheepish learning 2 of them had also had the exact same experience. Pride slightly less wounded, we made some new friends for the chatter and laid back and chilled for the afternoon. On your parks provided trail map, you will see a small note in red pointing to BA 'B' (beach access B) that warns about a dangerous slope just past the surge channels after Owen Point. It's not kidding.

If you stay at Camper Bay, it's a lovely and large campsite with lots of room for everyone. However, it has a habit of getting very windy, like all the time, and the only time it's not is when the sun goes down. If you're early enough, grab one of the sheltered tent spots in the woods/taller grass along the creek side. It also has a rep for early morning rain and fog. Something about the geography here seems to create its own micro-environment. If you walk out along the beach at low tide and cross the creek to the north, you'll see some neat tidal pools and caves in the rock wall. In the one with the small pool of water you might see a single lonely fish with the pool all to himself. I hope one day the tide washes him in friend.

Reminiscing...

Ironically, day 2 in 2016 was also the day I had a mishap of my own. Tired and worn down, toddling  after Jenna across a log bridge the width of my car, I misstepped. My feet were somehow gone and in a second I found myself sitting on my ass, straddling the log instead of walking on it. I peered down into the 6 foot drop below. Completely in disbelief I suddenly realized Jenna was yelling at me "Are you OK?!" ... Yes! I was! I was ok. Nothing was broken, hurt or otherwise. But it was a wake up call. If you are tired, take a break, don't push on or try to keep up with someone faster. Only hike as fast as your slowest hiker and be patient. Take a breath and remember, the goal is no one dies out here... hopefully.

Gone Are The Days Of Legendary Mud And Tilting Ladders That Make You Poop ... Just A Little

The few days that followed are a bit of a blur. There's so much to see and so little blog space to include it all! We left Campers Bay on a foggy, rain mist morning at about 10am. Since we had to take the inland trail there was no worry about racing the tide on this stretch. We chatted with the couple we met the night before (Mat and Lauren from Calgary!). Everyone was a bit tired that morning.

Although we saw some mud, with a historic heat wave just prior to our trip in 2021, the legendary mud pits that the WCT has typically been known for were non-existent. In 2016 Jenna and I spent most of our inland trail time figuring out how to cross mud-holes, watching where each other stepped and trying not to fall in up to our armpits (I kid you not). This time, there was no mud and if you disagree with me, go again after it rains. I dare you.

This is also the section where we saw the most ladders, most notably through Cullite Creek, which was sadly such a trickle there was no need for the cable car, we just rock hopped across (with ease). We saw some really cool art done along the trail by the Guardians in the new bridge and log cuttings, some even signed their names! Have you tried making a curve with a chainsaw? I was impressed.

This section also has a neat and unique stretch of boardwalk that goes through a fragile wetland. Sections of the boardwalk were out, it looks easy, don't let it fool you!

A brand-spank'in new suspension bridge calls Logan Creek home! In 2016 Jenna and I had to climb a harrowing series of crazy, half-tilted ladders to get to the bridge. I recall my favourite as being the third ladder in a tower, that was so amazingly on a 10 degree angle sideways, and scaling it with my 50lb backpack. It was all I could do not to roll off and meet a perilous end at the bottom of the gully. Today the beautiful new bridge almost disappointed with the ease it took to cross it. NO more ladder climbing, you just walk up the stairs and off you go!

We arrived in Walbran Campsite at 5:30, the creek is perfect for swimming if it’s warm enough. Several groups had a run-in here with a couple breaking the fire ban policy. People on the WCT take this seriously, keep in mind if you start a forest fire here, there’s no where to go and it puts the homes of indigenous peoples at severe risk too. We all simmered, had a tasty meal, chatted with our travel companions, explored the beach a bit and turned in for the night, thoroughly exhausted.

We spent the next two days going from Walbran Campsite to Cribbs and then to Tsuisiat Falls. Due to a problematic and confrontational cougar in 2021 there is no camping permitted along the trail between kilometer 34 to 38. So, naturally, your last stop prior to Nitinaht Narrows is Cribbs Creek.

The Stretch from Walbran to Cribbs is basically all beach walk. The beach is lovely, but don’t let 'beach walk' fool you. It’s just as challenging to walk in sand as it is through forest... and you thought it was going to be easier, didn’t you?! It's like walking through snow without snowshoes and being 30lbs heavier...what a Canadian thought. But! Fear Not! along this stretch is also the famed Chez Moniques burger stop and the Carmanah Lighthouse! The lighthouses are closed to the public this year due to covid, but it’s still a sight to behold as it beams brightly through the fog.

The Legend That Is Chez Moniques

In 2016 Jenna and I made a critical, but common, food planning error. We packed meals based on what we felt was healthy and would give us energy, without accounting for taste. In other words, we packed a lot of dry lentil-based meals that tasted awful and took forever to cook and I couldn't have forced down my throat if you had paid me. I love beans, but dried lentils on the trail... yech! You can read more about our cautionary tale in my food section, and if you're uncertain about foods to pack, it’s worth the read!

So, sufficed to say, that year we had the absolute pleasure of experiencing Chez Moniques in it's prime. It was incredible. Here we were, in the middle of nowhere, exhausted, starving (I was anyway lol), and run off our feet. And out of nowhere arose this mirage of a tent with burgers, fancy meals, peach ciders and more! My god it was intense. We kicked off our boots, stuffed our faces, chatted with Monique, the legend herself, and I protectively cradled the best Okanagan Cider that had ever touched my lips while we waited for the tide to recede. It was magical.

Sadly, between 2017-2018 both Monique and her husband tragically passed away. It was a blow felt around the world by all those who had passed through their doors and experienced their generosity. There is a lovely documentary attributed to their memory here. Today, in 2021, following a devastating 2020 with no business, Monique & Peter's grand-daughter, Katrina Knighton is trying to carry on the dream though the restaurant will be renamed as Nytom. We heard lots of chatter and some hikers did actually see her in person, but unfortunately there are some struggles, including keeping up supply levels, which they are walking in for 1.5 hours (!). We missed them this year, as did many hikers, and I was so sad Krista would not experience it. But! They are rumoured to have services most often morning and around 5pm. Katrina is also very active on the WCT Facebook page, so feel free to drop her a line there for more info!

We arrived in Cribbs Creek at about 2:30pm. It was the end of our Day 4 and what a campsite it was. Lovely soft sand under your toes and beautiful beach. There is nothing here for swimming but we had the most amazing sunset view on the rock shelf that night. Although it didn't rain while we were on the trail, this was the first time we'd seen the sun since we left Victoria.

The Magical Beauty Of Nitinaht And  The Crab Shack Of Your Dreams

We left Cribbs Creek about 9am and stuck to mostly inland trail. Other hikers going the opposite way had warned it was very overgrown but we honestly had no problems with it; it was a little underused, but keep in mind they hadn't seen the south side yet. We made excellent time and arrived in Nitinaht Narrows at 1:09pm. The journey is absolutely stunning. There is a new bridge over the creek at Dare Beach and the forest walk is lovely. The bridge over the Cheewhat River offers great views also. You cannot take water from the river itself but after the bridge there is a freshwater stream marked by a wooden sign if you need it and soon you will come across an old Cabin. When you arrive here, turn around and see the new and amazing Ditidaht home across the river. It has changed a bit, likely with the drought, but in 2016 Jenna and I referred to this stretch as "the place that Disney films are based on". Ivy clung all the way up the trees and just as you wrapped your head around that, the trail winds it's way through a silent coniferous forest where you could almost hear a pin drop, followed by a magical wetland lake with flowering lilly pads the size of your head. But none of this compares to Nitinaht Narrows.

As you walk along the trail, just a few short minutes past the lake, the path will turn from boardwalk to dirt and as you round the bend you will suddenly walk, with no warning, right into Nitinaht! It has caught me by surprise each time. We strolled down the walkways to the dock, left our packs safely on the bench and made our way to the Crab Shack. The blue-green waters of Nitinaht Narrows is something to behold. When you peer over the side of the wharf you see schools of small fish so thick you could almost surely touch them. When I dream of paradise, I dream of here.

Nitinaht Narrows was only recently made an 'official' entry and exit point by Parks Canada in 2014, you can read more about it here. But prior to this, older community members witnessed the inception and rise of the WCT as we know it today and watched it grow. Ferrying hikers across the narrows has become a task handed down from generation to generation. Connected to the ocean, it has tides about 10 minutes apart and historically, many years ago, hikers did drown trying to swim across before getting swept out to sea, naively misjudging the calm-looking waters. About 3 kms past the narrows, the Ditidaht band offers comfort camping options to those looking to settle and day hike the trail or in need of a break from the grind. This is marked with a sign and you will see it on the trail. The crab shack itself has also recently built new cabins as well which start from roughly $100/night (houses 4 bodies and you use your own sleeping bag) and goes up to ($200 and $300) where bedding is provided. They also offer tent platforms for a modest $30/night fee.

The Nitinaht Crab Shack is owned and operated by the Edgar family. They are kind, light-hearted, hospitable and will make you the best meal you have ever had. They work extremely hard and have a great sense of humour. A family member told me the previous day they had served a group of 20 lunch all at the same time! Hippie-Doug was their ring leader that day and he manned the ferry, that took us across the narrows to complete our journey, along with a sweet old chocolate lab you will see in many a hikers' photos. If you catch him at a slow moment he might share a joke and and story with you. But don't leave until you have warmed yourself thoroughly by the wood stove, had the best meal this side of Canada and picked up some treats for the road. The ferry finishes for the day at 4:30pm and then Hippie-Doug settles in for a much deserved break, a meal, and maybe a drink, so don't be late!

Tsu-Tsu-Tsusiat!

We left the warming comfort of the Nitinaht stove at about 3pm and headed on our way. We saw our new friend and traveling tag-along Wilson off at the Ditidaht Comfort Camping site and continued on, arriving at Tsusiat Falls by 6:30pm. You can't see the falls from the beach, but if you reach the hole in the wall at Tsusiat Point, you're just minutes away.

In 2016, the first 5 days of our hike Jenna and I had the most amazing weather. On our 5th day, after the crab shack, while the sun beamed a balmy 25+ C, we ditched our packs on a slope of sand with gentler waters between Nitinaht and Tsusiat Point and ran into the ocean up to our knees, jumping the waves and being astonished at their strength. We laid on the beach afterwards and soaked in the sun. When I think of my little sister, I often think of this carefree day and smile. Enjoy the journey as you go, or you’ll miss the best parts.

Tsusiat Falls is a popular campground. When we arrived the beach was packed. According to 2021 Parks regs, you can only stay one night here to minimize environmental impact. The beach was very different from what I remembered, but the falls were ever glorious. We threw on bathing suites and while Krista enjoyed the brief sun, I took a dip in the beckoning water.

The next morning, with Krista not feeling hot, I'd aimed to get up early and walk back to the Hole In The Wall with my Nikon DSLR camera. When we passed by the day before it was high tide and the Hole was under sea water. However, after a delay, Krista decided to come with me. We packed up, left our bags at Tsusiat and strolled back to the hole together, and a better decision it was. I’d watched a group ahead of us pass through an hour ago, but beneath their tracks you could make out a fresh set of cougar prints. Since low tide was at 10am that morning, that means the tracks were very recent and could only have been made since the water receded. Food for thought.

Darling Bears You Might Be Cute, But I Don't Want To Snuggle

The last 2 days on the WCT (or your first two, depending where you start) are the easiest to hike and where you make up the most ground. We'd intended to land at Darling River Campsite (approx km 14), which from Tsusiat (approx km 25) would make it about an 11 km day. Most of our fellow travellers whom we had become familiar with were aiming for Michigan Creek though, which would add 2 km to our 6th day, but save us that on our 7th and final day out. We decided to see what the day held and if we arrived at Darling early we might continue on. WELL.... what the day held was not entirely what we expected.

In 2016 Jenna and I walked the beach hike between Tsocowis Creek and Michigan Creek. It had started to rain the night before and by morning was a light, but steady, downpour. We donned our rain gear but by noon, and halfway through our distance, it was clear that Jenna's rain jacket was not waterproof. Though she had tested it prior to leaving, it turned out not to be up to WCT-level rain. As we continued on poor Jenna got wetter and wetter and by the time we reached Michigan, she was soaked through to the bone. Water pooled in her boots, and she shivered so hard she couldn't help me with the tent. Realizing this could get worse quickly, I popped the tent, got her changed and snugged into her sleeping bag ASAP. Then I worked on adding a tarp. When the shivering stopped we got a warm meal into her and passed our time taking turns winding up our emergency radio and trying to maintain the faint signal from a long forgotten US talk station till darkness fell. It poured the entire next day as well for a total of over 24 hours straight and our photos at the Pacheena lighthouse are in plastic emergency ponchos.

In 2021 Krista and I opted for the inland trail as we'd previously made better time this way. There is lots to see here, another Donkey Engine and a rusty old grader, and I absolutely love the Billy Goat Bridge. The trail threw us for a bit at Tsocowis Creek, there, phantom branch-offs seemed to lead off and abruptly stop. You have to go down the ladders to continue the inland trail portion (OR access the beach). However, just passed Orange Juice Creek, it was quite clear this section of trail was not well used recently... by people anyway. It was eerily dark, overgrown and passed by what looked like long lost abandoned campsites in caves along the rock wall. As we passed by we heard something stir in the dim light, knocking over an old cup, and we nervously quickened our pace. We began to see pile after pile of fresh bear scat, some so fresh that by the time we reached Darling we figured we must be just behind it. Making a lot of noise we made our way to the beach and relief washed over us as we recognized people half a km ahead... our fellow Albertans, Mat and Lauren! But when they stopped suddenly and started to back up we knew something wasn't right.

Just ahead of them on the beach was our bear. And big guy he was! They figured a lone male. They managed to scare him off and once we caught up the 4 of us made our way as a group to Michigan Creek just down the beach where we figured there was relative safety in numbers.

Bitter Sweet Goodbyes

Our last day from Michigan to the Information Station at Pacheena was a super short one. We were the last hikers to leave Michigan at 8am and among the first ones (ironically) to reach the Parks office at 11:01am. The path is very well maintained and an easy hike. You'll also see a lot of day hikers here, many with dogs. Along the way are some cool sights you won't want to miss, so don't be too quick to rush out. The abandoned dirt bike isn't going anywhere fast anymore, but be sure to check out the sea lion rock just passed km 10. You may even hear them from the trail! Just before the sea lions you'll also pass by the Pacheena Lighthouse. Again, due to covid, you cant access the grounds but you can totally snap a quick pic! The area has so much bear activity Parks Staff joke about running 'bear daycare' here so be vigilant. Two wonderfully enthusiastic young ladies we met along the way carried an amazing tune; Im sure they must've charmed away any "would be" encounters.

In 2016 there was no km 1 sign on the trail and in 2021 there was still no km 1 sign lol. Both times I raced past km 2 and then later wished I'd taken a pic with it. You'll want it as proof! We walked the very last km along the beach, where firm sand makes for easy going. There were bear sightings of a mother and cubs here just before we arrived. We missed them, but were lucky enough to get some great foot-print photos. The very last bench you'll see on the trail is emblazoned with the word 'PARKS'. We sat here for an eternal minute and took some photos. As we strolled towards the Information station I couldn't believe it was over again so quickly.

Looking back, even after time number two, it feels more like a dream. The first time I walked off the trail in 2016 I eagerly anticipated a hot shower, was thoroughly disappointed at finding I had no quarters for to pay for one and I spent the 5 hour bus ride home starving and trying to sleep on a roller coaster. Perhaps not such a glorious end, but I realized I had achieved something few people would in their life time and of that I was SO proud of Jenna and myself. We did it.

When I arrived back at work Sharon had the most glorious little bouquet of flowers for me and she glued tiny cut out flags of all the major trail milestones to skewer sticks throughout. It brought tears to my eyes.... she told me this, "for a while, you will think to yourself, I am NEVER going back to that EVER again. And then, slowly, you will forget all the bad parts and the thought will creep in... maybe, perhaps, I might try it again... and you will find yourself looking it up once more". And she was right, I did. And I am so glad I did... I might even do it again.

[inscribed-in-asteroids]

AN: Here’s chapter two!

Title: The Ripple Effect

Characters: Hordak, Entrapta, Odessa, features original characters

Pairing: Entrapdak, features other canon couples (and some fanon)

Rating: M

Read on AO3. It’s always posted there first.

                                                     Evaluation

“You want us to help you… find your dad’s… home planet?” Hydrangea questions.

“Not necessarily that,” Odessa replies. “I’ve been mulling over this the last couple of years. Wandering through space, it’s apparent that my father’s species has predominantly settled into Etherian life. But when I ask my father where we are from, he has no answer.”

“Not in the withholding information way,” Tristan clarifies.

“Exactly. In the sense he has no answer to give. Period. I’ve discussed it with my mother, and she believes it could be an exciting chance to find out where he’s from!” Odessa claps her hands together. “We know about the biology, physiology, mental health, behavior of one person. My father has been studied thoroughly for years, but his makeup can only tell us so much.”

They nod in understanding. It does make sense. He has been genetically manufactured over and over, thousands of versions of him co-existing among species that still have yet to see anything like him before. Hordak has lived among Etherians, has explored world upon world, but they know he is an anomaly. They all do.

Odessa looks down at her hands, an anomaly herself. Her parents have always been supportive of her intellectual pursuits, and this could very well be one of the greatest. She has filled a medical textbook composed of both Entrapta’s research, Hordak’s explanations, and her own observations, theories and notes about how his species operates. But what good is it if it simply applies to a single individual; that’s not applicable to how science or medical practice works.

Hydrangea pours them tea. She knows how determined Odessa can be once she sets her mind to something. There’s no stopping her once her brain gains traction on an idea. Tristan’s set face comprehends this as well.

Tristan speaks first, “When would you like us to begin?”

Odessa smirks, “Soon as you’re done with your drink.”

“Hm, of course you’d say that.”

“Damn right,” Odessa answers.

Hydrangea places her hands on her hips, “Alright, Des. We’ll get going soon as we’re done!”

“Or you could chug your chamomile in one go.”

“No.”

                                                              -

Dryl is etched further into rocky cliffs, its labyrinth excavated deep inside the mountain. Its residents welcome their princess, happy to see her return. Entrapta’s kingdom had been left to its own devices for years, even prior to Entrapta’s departure; yet they view Odessa as the rightful heir, and treat her as such. She supposes it's something to be grateful for, as it does leave them with a place to rest and organize without much interference.

Though she could do without the large paintings of herself lining the walls.

“I never get over how cute you were as a baby,” Hydrangea says, giggling. “Look how chubby you were!”

“You were so adorable,” Tristan gushes. “So innocent.”

“The sweetest little baby,” she continues. “I still want to pinch your itty bitty face!”

“Shut up,” Odessa pouts, blushing. Curse these portraits… and curse their laughter...

“Odessa! Hello, hello!”

Relieved, she turns, smiling at the friendly face, “Hi, Uncle Wrong-Man.”

Crushing her to his chest, he presses their cheeks together, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen my most favorite niece in the world!”

“You’re going to make all the other nieces jealous,” she says. Then smiles, “But it’s true.”

“I can’t help it, you were the first niece I had!”

Back on her feet, Odessa glances at the vicinity. Normally, there’s more of her uncles wandering through the halls. “Where is everyone?”

“Oh, they’re working outside or in the kitchens. We heard you were back and we felt a welcoming party would be fun!”

“You don’t have to throw one every time we come back.”

His eyes turn watery, a sad, morose frown on his features, “Oh… I see… You don’t… like my parties anymore…”

“No, no, that’s not it!” Odessa says, trying to cheer him back up. “I just meant you don’t need to go through all the trouble each visit.”

He looks up at her, ears drooping lower, “Do you like them?”

“Yes, Uncle Wrong-Man, I love your parties,” she insists. “You’re the best at it!”

In seconds, his bubbly personality returns, “Excellent! I look forward to giving you another party suited to your tastes!”

Tristan leans toward Odessa, hand held up to his mouth, “Wow, for a minute I thought I heard violins.”

“He has that dramatic flair to him,” she agrees.

“How have your parents been? I haven’t seen them yet!” W.H. asks.

“Mom and Dad are fine,” Odessa tells him, following him through the halls. The maze has been modified to be easier to map out. The first time she had come here, they had gotten lost since Entrapta couldn’t quite recall where all the secret entrances were. Odessa took it upon herself to make her own layout, and added to it whenever a change had been made. “They went to Beast Island to see how it is there.”

His ears fall for a moment, “Aw, I hope they’ll visit soon!”

“I’m sure they will,” she assures him. “They had some business to conduct over there.”

“In the meantime, what brings you to Dryl?”

“I wanted to talk to you and some of the others regarding your past,” she explains.

W.H. enters the closest kitchen, walking toward the oven. Tucking on mitts, a perplexed expression crosses his features, “Our past? My dearest niece… have you been afflicted by amnesia?”

“No, my memories serve me right,” Odessa says, patient. “I am asking for information regarding where we had come from, as a whole species. What world we originated from, what our culture was like. I had spoken with father about the matter, but he said he didn’t know due to being younger than the rest of you.”

W.H. crosses over to the countertop, removing the cookies onto a cooling rack. He is silent for a few moments, and it is clear he is choosing his words carefully, trying to understand what she’s asking. He turns, a serious mien about him, unusual on his face. “I… I’m not sure, either.”

Odessa walks over to him, “Is it because you were separated from the hivemind?”

“I don’t believe so,” he replies. Folding his arms over his chest, the fact they’re all one person reveals itself in his posture and tone. “We had been created to serve Horde Prime. Nothing more or less. And I do think that I myself had been cloned after your father. He had been Horde Prime’s general as well, and if he didn’t know, one of our elder brothers might have the knowledge you seek.”

Odessa glances at Hydrangea and Tristan, then back to her uncle. “Do you know who would?”

W.H. ponders for a minute. “Hm, no one here, I am certain. The residents of Dryl are like myself—of the younger group, since we have more people skills to associate with the Etherians.”

Hydrangea says, “I always wondered how that worked. Where you were designated and why.”

W.H. nods, “Oh, yes, we put thought into what our new purposes would be. After I helped my brother and sister with Beast Island, I came here to demonstrate how to function with Etherians!”

Tristan walks over to the counter, “Where do you recommend we go, then? Also, can I have one?”

W.H. beams, nodding enthusiastically, “Please do! I am going to make much more. But in regards to your first question, I would suggest visiting family in Mystacore or Beast Island.”

Odessa takes a cookie off the rack as well, munching. Mystacore is closer, so it would be prudent to try there before traveling to Beast Island. There are portals stationed throughout Etheria, but it’ll be worth stopping by Mystacore. She hasn’t seen anyone there at all yet. Although, it’s not as if there are many who live in the clouds, visiting her family there is always exciting.

“Thank you, Uncle Wrong-Man,” Odessa says, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “We’ll head there now!”

“Take some food with you to go,” he insists. In a flash, he’s bagging the cookies into a cellophane sack, tying it with a pink ribbon that shapes into a butterfly. “Healthy meals are important, but so are treats! Otherwise, you get moody.”

Hydrangea and Tristan are handed their own bags, much to their surprised delight. Before Odessa can accompany them out the door, W.H. stops her, giving her another, “Would you mind taking this with you for your cousin?”

Odessa smiles, “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

                                                             -

Hordak and his brothers were categorized not by their clothes, or hair dye choices, but by their eyes. Odessa and her mother had noted the various shades of eye color, their teeth matching them the most; however, inside of their mouths, it adjusts to mimic the change as well, affecting the tongue and beneath it, gums, hard and soft palates, uvula, even extending down to the oropharynx. All her uncles are in good health, and with none of them dead, she can only assume that the change continues down the esophagus. She got it in writing several years ago that, should any be willing to be dissected for scientific purposes, she has a few choices for her study.

Their eye colors are fascinating: while they all reflect light to glow, which is meant to intimidate opponents, she has observed the change serves as behavioral distinction. The lighter the color, the more mellow and passive the personality; the darker or more intense, the more independent and aggressive. A chameleon-like feature, reflecting mood. And, in turn, signifying mental and physical health, as peppier individuals tend to be less plagued by feelings of inadequacy, anger, and low self-esteem. W.H. had his eye color eventually become the joyful chartreuse yellow she’s known since birth, and her father’s returned to their fiery red sometime after the war. This is the one true variation that doesn’t need attire or fanciful hair styles and dyes to show that no matter how alike they are by DNA, they are their own separate people.

So when she teleports to Mystacore, and she finds dark blue eyes staring at her from above, she remembers, quite immediately, that sometimes, darker eye colors don’t indicate low self-esteem but rather, an egregious amount of confidence.

Her uncle jumps down from his perch, landing daintily on his feet. He narrows his eyes, leering, “Odessa… it has been ages since you’ve arrived on Mystacore.”

“Hi, Talon,” Odessa says.

He looks at her friends, “You two are faring well, I hope.”

Hydrangea smiles, “Yes, thank you for asking!”

Tristan nods, “You look good, too, Talon.”

“Indeed,” Talon answers. “It would be a shame if I lost my abilities.”

With that, he throws knives out from his sleeve. Tristan dodges the attack by barreling to the side, somersaulting along the ground. Hydrangea calls up plants from underground, knives embedding into the sides. Odessa leaps into the air, reaching behind her to draw out a handheld bar. With a click, it extends to a staff, and another morphs it quickly into a pilum.

Reeling back her arm, she launches it with full ferocity at Talon. He avoids it, jumping to the left and pulling out more knives, but he aims them at Tristan, who runs toward the nearest fountain to pull water out from its containment. Tristan moves his arms upward, pushing out enough water to create a vertical depth, the knives slowing down as they pierce its surface and float inside.

Odessa tugs her spear out from the dirt, cornering her uncle at the right. Hydrangea pulls plants forward, fingers splayed in the air. From her fingertips, electricity strings across her exoskeleton. Tristan rushes to their side, water sloshing around them, encasing Talon in its center, creating a barrier.

Talon sneers, then bursts out laughing. His stance loosens, standing upright, “Your senses haven’t weakened. Good. I’d be vexed if you squandered my generosity to teach you combat.”

Odessa smirks, minimizing her staff and settling it behind her back, “We wouldn’t do that.”

Hydrangea grins, “Tristan and I do practice on our own.”

Tristan shifts the water back toward its source, then rubs the back of his neck, “Which is great, since there was no holding back from that attack.”

“Enemies don’t show mercy,” Talon says. Adjusting his collar, he nods his head, “But tell me, what brings my niece and her companions to Mystacore?”

Odessa speaks, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Me?” he replies, curious.

“Yes. It’s about your origins. Uncle Wrong-Man said it might be beneficial to come to Mystacore and question my relatives here.”

Talon raises a brow. He looks up at his home, then addresses the trio, “Are you intending to stay for longer than an hour?”

“Most likely.”

“I will invite you to my home, then. Come. Dinner will be prepared soon, and we may discuss the topic during.”

Accepting this, they head in the direction of his home. An impressive, ornate building that’s three stories high; they tread up wide steps, where one can overlook the weigela bushes lined around the vicinity’s front entrance, a fountain spouting water in the garden’s center, surrounded by lilacs and roses. Cool air wafts over their bodies, welcome from the heat outside. Odessa remarks that the decor has only slightly changed, the furniture taking on silver, blue, and white qualities, polished until they gleam.

Going to the stairs, Talon nods at them, “Make yourselves at home. As usual, do not break anything. I will see you at dinner promptly.”

Once he’s gone, Hydrangea chuckles, “He’s still intense.”

“He’s gonna kill us one day,” Tristan sighs.

Odessa pats his shoulder, “Only if we let him.”

He lips thin out, “Not reassuring, Des.”

Climbing the steps, they decide to wait until they are called, and opt to entertain themselves by bothering someone else.

                                                             -

Magic radiates within the room, energy felt even behind the door. Odessa carefully pushes it open, seeing a slim figure move around. Putting a finger to her lips, she leads her friends into her cousin’s quarters. His face is stern, staring at the spell hovering over the ground at shoulder height.

Hydrangea sits quietly on a cushion on the floor, and Tristan does the same. Odessa leans against the wall, and they all watch. Eon is her cousin, and their similarities begin and end with their fathers having chosen Etherian women as their partners. He differs from her, and any other potential cousin, by having the capability to do magic. Real, Etherian magic.

Eon takes measured breathing, focusing on the spell. It elongates toward the ceiling and floor, then narrows to a thin line. Reaching for it, he plucks it with his forefinger. It snaps, and a discordant sound follows, uncomfortable and shrill. Hydrangea and Tristan cover their ears, as Odessa winces.

Eon looks at them, brow raised. He grins, “Did you all enjoy the show?”

“We did, until that,” Hydrangea complains, glaring at him. She frowns, lightly slapping her ears, “Aw no, there’s some ringing!”

“It’ll pass in a few moments,” Eon explains. “Besides, you three coming into my room unannounced and unwelcome deserves a bit of retribution.”

“By popping our eardrums?” Tristan asks, deadpan.

“Exactly,” Eon says, one hand on his hip. He turns to Odessa, and smiles. “You’re here sooner than expected.”

“I believe we arrived on time,” she answers, grinning back. She hasn’t seen him for a while, but he has gotten taller since then. He takes after their species' propensity for large heights, but she knows he’s grown a few inches and might continue to grow for the next couple of years as well.

Eon begins putting away his spellbook and notes, arranging them neatly, “What are the three of you doing here? With you on Etheria, you normally visit me later on your returns.”

“I came to ask your father some questions, but then he invited us to dinner.”

“He can be standoffish, but oddly enough, never when it comes to hosting meals.”

Hydrangea sits up, “We got into a sparring session with him right away too.”

Eon joins them on the floor, one knee bent to prop up an arm, “I had mine early this morning. You know him, he’s never done with training.”

Crossing outstretched legs, Tristan reclines against the wall, “Your parents don’t let up, huh?”

“No, but I head to my place at Bright Moon later in the month. I check in biweekly to continue my sparring and magic training, then head back and repeat.”

“That’s a lot of back and forth,” Hydrangea adds, holding a pillow to her chest.

Shrugging, Eon says, “I don’t mind. Keeps me busy.”

Odessa chuckles lightly, taking a seat beside Tristan, “For being super busy, Uncle Wrong-Man said to give you this.” Pulling out the bag, she tosses it to him.

Eon catches it deftly, a quiet ‘yes’ of triumph leaving his lips. His diet is strict when he’s with his parents, for optimal nutrition and betterment. But he has a sweet tooth that rivals Odessa and Entrapta, thus any opportunity to consume sugar is taken. Using a levitation spell, he has it placed atop his desk, and an invisibility spell follows after, keeping it from view.

“Won’t your parents find it? It’s not like you can’t smell cookies,” Odessa states.

“I’ll say it was one of you.”

Hydrangea laughs, “I don’t think they’ll be entirely fooled by that.”

“If not, that’s fine by me too,” Eon says. “I let them think they’re savvier than myself.”

Tristan smirks, “How often has that worked?”

“More than for you,” Eon says, smirking back.

Odessa and Hydrangea whoop at Tristan, who laughs in good humor.

Stretching his arms up and to the side, Eon turns to his cousin, “How did the last journey go?”

“It went as planned. We went to Pilan, and my parents found what they needed for research.”

“And you two?” he asks, addressing the others.

Hydrangea lays on her stomach, drawing circles on the pillow, “Hm… my moms have started taking me to council meetings, which is interesting. We had a gathering with some of the leaders in Plumeria that are helping to manage its growing space. And New Chelicerata has been thriving for years now, since we removed all the machinery in the Fright Zone and expanded it into the Flower Field.”

“Not all the toxins have been removed, I’m assuming.”

“Some of the groundwater had been too polluted, and it leaked into larger bodies of water, but, as a whole, we started seeing real progress six years ago.”

“I’ve been helping the residents there by removing water too far gone,” Tristan adds. “We’ve been separating them into larger containers as instructed, and we’re hoping that newer technology from Entrapta and Hordak will yield positive results in another decade or so.”

“Even if it’s slow, progression is always good.”

Odessa glances to her left, letting her mind drift. Time doesn’t pass by the same when traveling through space. She watches her mother age, while her father stays the same, and that’s the extent of how often she pays attention to the changes happening around her. It’s not from ignorance, but from not giving too much thought to it, even with the years she has spent returning to Etheria to evaluate and aid her people here.

Settling against Tristan, Odessa yawns. He keeps his body still as she falls asleep, finding their chatter relaxing. Dinner will arrive sooner if she’s napping. Even closing her eyes is enough for her body to rest, breathing quietly as she listens to them discuss any topic they happen upon.

Her friends are interrupted mid-conversation, a knock at the door grabbing their attention. Odessa opens an eye. The housekeeper bows her head, addressing Eon, “Your parents are waiting for you in the dining room. Please, follow me.”

                                                              -

Odessa knows her uncle, Talon, is a force to be reckoned with in combat, but her aunt, Nyxia, is a woman with severe features and a severer personality. If there was ever given a choice between fighting him or her, they may have to weigh their options a little more carefully.

She is seated next to Eon, with Hydrangea and Tristan placed across from them. Odessa leans toward her cousin, “Did Nyxia poison the food this time?”

Eon shakes his head, “Maybe Tristan’s.”

Tristan bawks, “Hey!”

Waving his hand, Eon smiles, “I’m teasing. It’s more than likely Hydrangea.”

“What?!” she demands, worried.

“You two are making this easy,” Eon grins, shaking his head. “Really, after all this time, you continue to doubt my parents’ hospitality.”

“I haven’t seen your mom in a while, okay? I wouldn’t know if I offended her last time,” Hydrangea breathes out, leaning back in her chair.

Ear twitching, Odessa catches the sound of footfalls, her aunt coming into view from the corridor, chin-length, violet hair framing lithe, dark features, gown flowing behind her. Definitely not a person to be out of line around.

But that only applies to non-relatives.

Nyxia smiles warmly at her niece, “Odessa! My charming girl, how have you been?”

“Wonderful, Aunt Nyxia, thank you,” Odessa replies, nodding her head in respect.

“Excellent. I heard all of you did well in your impromptu session with my husband earlier,” she says, making her way to the other end of the table. Standing beside her chair, she looks at her son’s other friends, “Talon remarked that you’ve improved considerably.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hydrangea and Tristan reply at once.

Talon comes from the opposite corridor, walking toward Nyxia. Pulling out the chair for her and sliding it beneath, he moves to the other end and takes his place at the head. The staff bring out their meal: roasted pheasants and potatoes, slathered in its drippings, with baked seasoned vegetables on the side. Wine is served to all of them, as Nyxia and Talon are lax in this department of child-rearing, though the option to have different beverages is always available. Odessa requests her usual fizzy drink, as Hydrangea asks for lemon water. Tristan and Eon have no qualms with the choice displayed in front of them.

“Smells delicious, Miss Nyxia,” Hydrangea compliments.

“Thank you, my dear,” she answers, laying a cloth on her lap. “When I heard you three were in Mystacore, I chose to make this instead.”

Odessa and Eon twiddle each other’s fingers under the table, a silent ‘fuck yeah’ to the change in menu. Nyxia is a phenomenal chef, but she abhors cooking. The usual staff do lovely work, except they are meant to keep things simple, clean, and balanced. Nyxia, despite agreeing with her husband on meal preparation, manages to create rich, satisfying food each time. Normally, when Odessa and her family are visiting.

Relishing this opportunity, Eon cuts into his pheasant, stabbing a portion of potato with it, melting on his tongue. Trying not to pretend-weep. Or actually weep.

“What was your question, Odessa?” Talon asks, swirling the wine in its glass. “It’s not like you to come without your parents.”

Dabbing her mouth, Odessa looks at him, “I wanted to ask you questions about your time serving as a soldier for Prime.”

He doesn’t break the smooth motion of his wrist, not minding that part of his life, “Yes?”

“I was told that older clones might have information regarding our origins. A life before Prime sought out to conquer the universe. My father and W.H. are too young to remember, or were never privy to it. You’re one of the eldest, so I figured to come here before heading to Beast Island.”

Talon sets down his glass, lifting his fork and knife. He takes a bite of his food, chewing quietly. Swallowing, he says, “I will be blunt: it is not possible to know such a thing. Our purpose, our life, was to do Prime’s bidding.”

“There isn’t anything you can think of?”

Talon mulls the question, glancing up at his wife, then back to the plate. He narrows his eyes, and they flicker to an even darker shade of blue for a fraction of a moment. He gives a minute shake of his head, imperceptible to all but his wife.

Odessa waits for him to speak, slipping out her recorder with a strand of hair.

“I… cannot remember a time before Horde Prime. There was only war. Ravaged lands, and screaming,” he leans forward. He meets his niece’s gaze, “You might have to go to Beast Island for your answers, though I do not trust they will know more. Many of us have been alive for decades, but not millennia.”

“Is there a reason for that?” Tristan wonders. “The hivemind was the source of connection. Did you lose memories once it left?”

“No, it doesn’t seem to be that way,” Talon answers, sipping his drink. “It’s more… you have recollections, starting from the present. And it continues backwards until it stops. A wall in your head, which is the moment of when we, for lack of a better word, are ‘born.’ From what I’ve gathered, raising Eon, and observing all of you growing up, an infant that develops naturally can have memories that are faint—both in sensation and imagery, and the mind’s eye develops scenarios of what could’ve happened. Piecing puzzles in your memory banks. Attempting to make sense of your childhood and surroundings, and it even causes you to feel certain emotions into adulthood on a subconscious level. For us, and my brothers, there is no guesswork. There is the instant of emerging from the vitrine, and from there it goes on. Our memories are crystal clear, and gaps do not occur. If we feel emotion, it’s from direct experiences, not preconceived ideas of maybe how we experienced living. The hivemind being removed made us how we are now, but its absence didn’t seem to affect anything else.”

“Fascinating,” Odessa says, forgetting her meal. “So, you remember everything?”

“Yes. It would seem my brothers and I recall memories at greater capacities than most.”

“Would you say you have photographic memory?” Hydrangea asks, leaning forward.

“Our superior intellect allows us to retain knowledge quicker, and we remember things for longer, but a true photographic memory isn’t an aspect we have considered.”

Nyxia cuts into her pheasant, “It’s not unlikely. Your brothers and you have shown an uncanny ability to remember things more greatly than Etherians. It might be prudent to research it further, wouldn’t you say?”

Nodding in agreement, Odessa would not rule it out. She’ll discuss it with her mother for an unbiased opinion later.

Dinner finishes with chiffon cake and fruit, leaving guests and hosts satisfied. Talon and Nyxia wave at the door, as Eon walks them to the portal.

“It was good to see you all,” Hydrangea says, turning to Eon. She clasps his hands, “You should visit more!”

Eon blushes slightly, still not used to open demeanors, “I’ll try to make an effort.”

Tristan pats his shoulder, “You have to get out more. Between you and Odessa, I don’t know who’s more of the hermit.”

“It’s definitely me,” Eon replies. “Odessa’s too needy.”

Punching him in the arm, Odessa gives a side-hug right after. She and her friends step onto the portal, “I’ll drop by again soon! And visit my parents sometime, dumbass.”

He flips her off, smirking.

Hopping through the portal, they arrive in Plumeria, where she bids goodbye to her friends. Then, she heads to Beast Island.

                                                               -

“Odessa! My little cupcake, how was your trip to Mystacore?” Entrapta asks. Imp, crawling around on the walls, chirps his greetings with Emily beeping at her return.

“It was very interesting,” Odessa says, pulling out her recorder. “Would you like to listen with me?”

“You bet!” Entrapta shouts, sidling over to sit on her hair. Odessa takes a proffered seat before playing back the conversation at dinner. She listens with rapt attention, the two of them quiet. Afterward, Entrapta grins, “That was fascinating! I had noticed that your relatives tend to be more affluent with recollection than most, but this requires more study.”

“Do you think there is a possibility that they have photographic memory?”

“We won’t know unless we test the hypothesis,” Entrapta turns to her daughter, grinning wide. “You know what that means!”

Odessa grins wide too, saying it with her.

“Time to experiment!”

                                                               -

Odessa and Entrapta had to decide what and how to measure. The test is simple on paper, but part of the reason memory tests can be difficult is due to fallibility of nature. Recalling a memory does not equate accuracy. They also had to take into account that Etherian children were more susceptible to false memories, which could affect them as adults, hence, why Talon said that there’s no guesswork for his brothers and himself. And when it came to the ethics, Entrapta reminded Odessa that it’s part of experimentation, much to the latter’s chagrin. Odessa would’ve followed, regardless, but she’s more determined to see things through without obstacles.

A lack of true full-blooded children for Hordak’s species, and Eon and Odessa were not little anymore, that wasn’t necessary to entertain. However, Odessa and Entrapta believed it would be prudent to test the memory of Eon and any other hybrid cousins simultaneously to the Etherian and Horde groups, sans Odessa.

After deliberating, they chose to experiment by gathering Etherians between the ages of 15-50, to cover the age bases of both Etherian teens and adults, hybrid offspring, and Horde descendants. After age 14, correct absolute judgments and relative judgments have better succession rates and are not as affected by false positives. With this in mind, Odessa sends out a mass message asking if anyone would like to be part of a study.

She receives her answers quickly from her uncles, who would be more than delighted to aid her in any quest. She splits them into four groups, Group A, B, C and D. To accommodate for the choice in subjects, they will be separated into three sections, Etherians being the first, hybrids the second, and her uncles will be the third subsect. Over the course of the week, she receives the rest of her subjects at Beast Island.

Tristan and Hydrangea are the first to arrive, looking forward to spending time with her and her family in the meantime. Hydrangea gives Emily and Imp hugs and kisses, cooing over them incessantly. Imp clings to Hydrangea’s neck, completely at ease.

Tristan pats Emily’s surface, smiling at her beeps, “It’s good to see you too.”

She beeps even louder and harder, spinning around in place.

Entrapta grins, “Aw, you made her day!”

“No one else is my favorite robot, are they, Ems?” Tristan asks. She spins again, and the whirring becomes softer, almost shy.

Odessa nudges his ribs, “Great, my sister has a crush on you.”

Tristan rolls his eyes, smiling.

Odessa peers at his face, “Hey, you shaved!”

“Yeah, you were right. It was horrible,” Tristan remarks.

“You look better this way,” Odessa affirms, pinching his cheek, and he lightly whacks her fingers away.

Scorpia comes a moment later, and immediately bolts over to them all. Once the hugs are done, Scorpia and Entrapta discuss things on their own. Entrapta settles into the crook of Hordak’s arm, resting easily over her shoulders. Scorpia gushes over how cute they are. Hordak humphs in disdain, despite the blush on his cheeks.

Another five minutes pass and the portal hums. Catra, Adora, and two of their children come through.

Odessa sighs. Not looking forward to having some of them here. But she smiles, walking to Adora, “Hi! Thanks for coming.”

Adora smiles, giving Odessa a warm hug. She pulls back, holding her at arm’s length, “It’s no problem. We’re glad to help! You’ve gotten taller.”

“You’ve definitely sprouted more than we thought. I remember when you were knee-high,” Catra says. “You were the worst ankle-biter in Etheria.”

Odessa teases, “Still am.”

Laughing, Catra pats her back, walking hand in hand with Adora to their friends.

Her smile falters after that, though she manages to keep it in place. If Catra and Adora weren’t there, she wouldn’t hide her contempt or indifference.

They have four children in total. Quadruplets in fact. All a year younger than her at 15. Two of them, Clawdeen and Marlena, tend to spend their time in Bright Moon, and she has no opinion of them other than they’re not her sort of people. Well, that’s not true. They’re surprisingly elitist and refuse to associate with anyone they find unworthy of their time. They mind their business enough, however, so Odessa doesn’t pay them attention.

Barely coming to five feet tall, Molly is one of the children here today, a skittish, timid thing; the runt of her litter. She inherited Catra’s heterochromia, one eye blue, the other green, and that’s the one interesting thing about her. She stands, unsure, by the portal. Her appearance here is odd, since she tends to be alone. Odessa doesn’t hate her, or even dislike her, but the girl’s meekness doesn’t make her striking enough to have an opinion on either.

Adam, their one son, is another story. His eyes are bright blue, and slightly jarring in the feline face. The opposite of Molly, he is loud, prone to temper tantrums, and his temerity leaves much to be desired. She prefers the company of confident, open people, but he’s, without a doubt, the most obnoxious fucker she’s ever had the misfortune of knowing.

His eyes, the only one to resemble Adora’s, land on hers, and he leaps over, grinning. Placing an arm on her shoulder, leaning, he says, “Yooooo, what’s up, girl?”

Odessa turns to him, narrowing her eyes, “Please don’t take my smile for welcome, you complete ass.”

“Ooh, baby, you need to chill,” Adam says, poking her nose.

“Try that one more time and I’ll bite it off.”

He winks, “That a promise, thottie from space?”

Odessa smiles wider, eyes flashing, “It’s a threat, you parasitic fool.”

Sensing her growing irritation, her friends bound over. Hydrangea waves at Adam, “Hey! We haven’t seen you in a long time. How’ve you been?”

Adam turns to her, “Hey, Dragon Fruit! You know how I be—taking care of all this,” Adam gestures to his thin body, puffing out his chest. “What you been up to lately? Those flower braids are doing everything for your look.”

Hydrangea urges him to walk far, far, far, far away from Odessa’s area.

Rubbing her temples, Odessa takes a breath.

Tristan rubs her back, “Remember, Des: think of the experiment.”

Odessa nods at him. Science. Her one true refuge. “I know. It’s a little… irritating that he’s here. But I’m sure that empty-headed dolt will yield some results for me.”

Tristan smiles at her, ensuring she doesn’t lose her cool. Once he’s sure she won’t murder, he looks at Molly, “Hi! I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Molly brushes hair away, looking briefly at the ground before addressing him. “Yeah… Um, my moms thought it would be cool to take one or two of us. To help Odessa out.”

Odessa shakes her head, “So glad about that.”

“Um… I’m sorry about Adam...” Molly starts.

“It’s fine,” Odessa replies, focusing back on her clipboard, walking away.

Sighing, Molly bites her lower lip, feeling uneasy.

Noticing that, Tristan smiles at Molly, “Come on. We can wait over here.”

“Sorry you’re stuck with me,” she mumbles.

“I’m not stuck with you,” Tristan answers. He leads her to an unoccupied stone ledge, the occasional pooka darting across it. “Though, I didn’t think this was your sort of thing.”

“It isn’t. I don’t really want to be here,” Molly answers, pulling her legs to her chest.

“It might be fun, right?” Tristan asks.

Shrugging, Molly places her chin onto her hands.

They both watch the portal light up, a plethora of clones marching through. It has to pause for a brief moment, then it continues to spew individuals out of it. Tristan glances down at Molly, knowing there’s no point in attempting to converse. The silence doesn’t bother him, and she seems to take more comfort out of not having to make dreadful small talk. He hates it too, so this works.

Eon and his parents eventually pass through. Waving at him, Tristan reclines in his seat, “You and your folks actually came. I didn’t think any of you left the house.”

Standing with his arms behind his back, at ease, Eon smirks, “You’re all lucky we don’t come out more often.”

Tristan sticks his tongue out at him. He gestures to his left, “You remember Molly?”

Eon looks down at her, “Yes, we have met before. Nice to see you again.”

Molly flushes, turning away, “Nice to see you too…”

He glances at Tristan, who gives a one-shoulder shrug.

She keeps quiet, looking at the people around her. Hordak and his brothers all stand out as one unit, and other cousins similar to Eon slowly arrive. Not as large in number, with more variation than Hordak’s species but less than natives. She watches Etherians coming forth as well, and doesn’t wave or acknowledge them. Hoping to blend with the background, she scoots further away, sinking behind Tristan.

Tristan notes her discomfort and doesn’t move.

Eon, however, waves at some relatives, who rush over to greet him.

Molly frowns, accepting her fate. She takes to watching Eon speak with his family, his tall, sleek body impressive even among those similar to him in build. His hair, cropped shorter at the sides, falls in front of his forehead, a darker hue than his cousin Odessa. His eyes are a lovely shade, bordering on magenta with a stronger red tint, the sclera an equally pretty color, lighter than his irises. His usual confident smirk remains on his face throughout, bright, sharp teeth against the usual backdrop of pale face with the sides of his cheekbones and neck becoming a shock of dark blue or purple. It seems to be a common male trait, since Odessa’s face is white all around, but she isn’t sure. She doesn’t see the other cousins close enough to tell.

She spies Odessa wandering with her device, either barking orders or quietly checking off things. Long, lilac hair floats behind her when not in use, her frame just as slim and tight as the others, and inheriting a tall height seems to be the norm for them. Despite her gorgeous features, Molly finds it interesting, also intimidating, how much redder Odessa’s eyes and sclera are compared to Eon’s.

Hydrangea is speaking with Odessa now, platinum blonde hair brushing against her body, falling in the softest of waves to the small of her back. Her lithe frame befits the gentler, kinder nature she has, which isn’t surprising considering who her parents are. But there’s that powerful change in limb, her arms spiking at the shoulder in dark red, the skin of her arms mottled with it, until it reaches her elbows, where it spikes again, hardens, forming another patch of chitinous skin that reaches her fingertips, claws neatly filed down. And then there’s the tail, shorter, but as potent as Scorpia’s. Deadly and graceful.

She looks up at Tristan, beautiful, brown eyes staring off to the distance. Long lashes frame them, delicate yet full. His hands rest lightly over his knees, fingernails painted black. Hair reaching the end of his neck, lightly touching muscular shoulders, it enriches brown skin with its color, more than a mere dark purple. It’s the color of wine in the dark, of a gorgeous night as the last remnants of light dash away. The blue of his clothes highlight everything further, lavish gold trim clashing against the bright colors, revealing every taut muscle without meaning to, and she traces the curve of his spine with her eyes.

She feels a gaze on her, and finds her brother staring at her from a distance. Molly, snapping from her reverie, darts her sight to the ground. Unaware of Tristan looking in her direction.

Once enough participants have arrived, Odessa claps her hands, “Alright, people! Listen up: I have divided you all into the following groups. Step up this way, where I will assign you all with a place to go to.”

Adam bounds up out of nowhere, whispering, “Can whatever group I’m in be called Team Sexy?”

Odessa ignores him, “Let’s begin, shall we?”

                                                               -

                                                    HYDRANGEA

                                                        Age: 15

                                                Species: Etherian

“Alright,” Odessa says. “I’m going to show you 10 pictures. You will have seven seconds to absorb all the details for them, and afterward, I will ask you one simple question about what you can remember.”

“You got it!” Hydrangea sits in her chair, comfortable. “Sounds easy enough.”

Odessa smiles, “Here’s your first one.”

She holds up a simple image of table mats atop a wooden surface, decorated with plates of breakfast foods, drinks, and fresh fruits.

“Okay, ready for the question?”

“Yep!”

“What fruits topped the waffles?”

“Oh, um… berries and apples?”

Writing it down, Odessa proceeds with the next image.

                                                      TRISTAN

                                                       Age: 17

                                               Species: Etherian

“Hello!” Entrapta says, bringing him in. “I’m going to show you 10 pictures for less than 10 seconds each, and you’ll let me know what you remember.”

“Sure thing,” Tristan replies, sitting upright.

She pulls out an image of miscellaneous items and personal effects on a desk, three photographs in the middle, a drawing in one of the corners, a grey notebook, and a folder with intricate patterns.

“Okay, ready for the question?”

“Yes.”

“Were there tickets on the table?”

Tristan mulls his answers for a moment, “No.”

                                                        MOLLY

                                                        Age: 15

                                                Species: Etherian

Odessa approaches the girl, relieved that she doesn’t have to deal with the handful that was her brother. She looks at Molly, “I’m going to hold up 10 pictures for you, and you will have seven seconds to absorb the image. Afterward, I will ask you questions.”

“Alright,” Molly nods, nails clicking against each other.

The image is of a mountain peak, glinting from the light; the moon shines above it, and a trip of hoofed animals moving along its surface.

“What was the total number of baby goats in the image?”

Molly thinks over the total, and says, “Five.”

ADAM

Age: 15

Species: Etherian

Entrapta comes into the room, “Hello! I’m going to be showing you some pictures—”

Adam interrupts her, “Is this going to take long?”

“Nope! It takes less than five minutes for this segment to be complet—”

“Do we get paid to do this?”

“...No.”

Scratching his nose, Adam leans back in his chair, “Got it, got it. Lay it on me, girl!”

Entrapta smiles, “Great! So, I have 10 pictures and I will show them to you for about seven seconds. I will ask you questions after each one about what you saw.”

“Question real quick: is this one of those tests that explain anything about your psychosis?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it gonna tell me anything, like, am I gonna learn about who is the most likely to be a murderer or nymphomaniac?”

Raising a brow at him, Entrapta says, “I can’t divulge too much about the study to participants. But this is not that kind of test.”

“Aw… okay,” Adam shifts back further in his seat, lifting the front legs from the ground. “Well, that’s less fun.”

Entrapta proceeds to bring out a picture: a series of potted plants are lined on shelves, different heights and colors smashed closely together in the frame, their pots not resembling the others save for a few.

“What was the centre motif for the pots?”

Adam scratches his chin, “Frog, I think.”

                                                         EON

                                                       Age: 18

                                          Species: Etherian and ?

Odessa approaches her cousin, sitting relaxed in the seat. She had gone through the first ten pictures with him already. She glances at him, “Are you ready to continue with the process?”

“Whatever this study is, I’m assuming that you need me to come back again for another trial run.”

“Yes, you will be returning a few times after today to aid in the study, as per your agreement on the written form.”

“Of course.”

“You went through the first half, and you’re going to begin the second half now. This is slightly different,” Odessa explains. Instead of photographs, she holds up a pad, similar in size and weight to her telecommunicator. “I am going to hold up one image: a grid of white and black squares. Then, I will show you a second image, of the same number of squares on the grid; however, you will choose the one square you believe was white in both image one and image two. Image three will have the grids with numbers in the squares instead for you to pick. The amount of time will be the same, seven seconds. There are four levels of difficulty, and you will proceed until we reach the last level.”

Nodding, Eon watches her lift the screen to his eyes. A grid of white and black appears, and he keeps in mind which are white only. The second image appears. Then the third. He makes his decision. He will not know if he is right, as the data is processed within for the researchers alone.

Odessa keeps her face neutral the entire time, intrigued at what this part of the test will yield from everyone else.

                                                          TALON

        Age: approx. 90 (total) | approx. 52 (mental) | approx. 52 (physiological)

                                                        Species: ?

Entrapta smiles, “We do appreciate you helping with the test.”

“It is no trouble,” Talon states. “You and my niece are a select few that do not leave me…”

“Irritated?”

“We’ll use that word.”

Entrapta approaches her brother-in-law, setting herself down on swathes of hair, “Are you ready for the second half of the test?”

“Yes. By all means, little sister, proceed.”

“Excellent! I’m going to show you a grid with black and white squares. Another image will appear after on the device. The number of squares will not change, however, you have to decide what is the one square that remained white. You will pick that in the third image, where the squares will all be numbered.”

“Understood. You may show me the first image.”

                                                            W.H.

        Age: approx. 40 (total) | approx. 23 (mental) | approx. 27 (physiological)

                                                       Species: ?

“This must be exciting for you, isn’t it?” W.H. asks. “You haven’t done a study like this in a while.”

Readying the pad, she nods, “It has been a few years since I’ve conducted anything in this manner.”

“I still remember when you were little, and you insisted on having your first experiment be a methane explosion. You were so cute!”

Odessa smiles, “Speaking of memory, we’re going to begin the second half of the test. You will have the same amount of time to memorize the image on screen. Another will follow right after, and your task is to choose which square on the grid remained white. The image will be your selection on a numbered grid.”

“Sounds fun!”

Holding it up for him, Odessa watches his eyes stay in place, focused. A flicker to indicate change on the screen, then another before he makes his decision.

                                                        HORDAK

        Age: approx. 56 (total) | approx. 57 (mental) | approx. 35 (physiological)

                                                        Species: ?

Entrapta can’t help but smile at him, “Thanks for helping, Lab Partner!”

Hordak smiles back, rising from the chair, “Of course. The experiment seems to be going well.”

“It’s been so fascinating!” Entrapta lifts herself up in the air, at his height. “Everyone has been super helpful, even when they’re rambling about their own assumptions!”

“Who was rambling?”

“One of Catra’s kids—the boy. He was very interesting when he talked, but I had to stay focused! We’re collecting so much data… Odessa is going to be ecstatic!”

Happy to see her in good spirits, Hordak leans forward, kissing her cheek, “When you’re done, I will be waiting for you in our room.”

Entrapta waggles her eyebrows at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Ooh! Is this about that new maneuver you wanted to show me?”

“We’ll see if your memory serves you just as well tonight,” Hordak smirks.

Squealing, Entrapta kicks her legs behind her, pecking his mouth with her own. “Can’t wait!”

                                                               -

The results, overall, took two months to compile through the data machine and to check back in with the participants. None of the groups had different numbers, pictures, objects, or words. Odessa and Entrapta tested everyone on their eidetic and photographic memory ability. Group A had no distractions, Group B had Etherians with distractions only, Group C was where her cousins had the disturbances, and Group D it was her uncles with diversions.

When it came to eidetic memory, the numbers didn’t vary too much. But the photographic memory yielded noteworthy results. Each group was brought back a month after being tested to see if they could recall things better. A few Etherians showed some promising ability for it, but overall it wasn’t strong. Her cousins showed stronger signs for photographic memory, Eon being one of the best candidates.

But her uncles were nearly at a 97% rate of accuracy. Talon and W.H. showed an adeptness for remembering things weeks later. Hordak was somewhere in the middle. She wonders why.

“Mom,” she says, holding the charts in her hair. “I know that photographic memory is rare, but these numbers are unreal.”

“I know! The majority of your relatives have a knack for it! That’s so fascinating.”

“I have a theory that it might be due to the hivemind, and perhaps the military training they underwent. It would make sense why they have such capability, even two decades later,” Odessa says. She pulls another chart toward them, tapping her forefinger in quick successions behind it. “It may or may not be that, since we’re not certain of Dad’s origins, but it would explain aspects of it.”

Entrapta’s hair moves her behind her daughter, peering over her shoulder, “It may. I saw that Wrong Hordak was remarkable with photographic memory, and Talon as well.”

“I believe it’s possible that it might be due to neither having depressive episodes. It may have been a group study, but I saw that clones similar to Dad in terms of mental health had a tendency toward memory loss or confusion. It’s not as often or strong as Etherians, or a couple of my cousins, but it’s there. Brains are brains after all.”

“It is exceptional to write this in our records. I wish we had more examples to go by,” Entrapta says. She smiles, “I think it says quite a lot when you compare it to Etherians and your cousins, though.”

“I do find this riveting. Even if it’s Dad cloned thousands of times, there’s something in their brains, their minds, that can provide clues to them as a whole. It’d be prudent to conduct more research, but I’d like to begin as soon as possible, and I can add notes as I go along.”

Entrapta pats her daughter’s head, “And now that you have this information, what do you intend to do with it?”

Odessa looks up at her mother, then back at the data. “I’m going to have Tris and Gea come with me on a little field trip.”

[willow-salix]

This fic came about after a hilarious conversation with my fellow co-conspiritors @hodgehegposts @hedwigstalons @eirabach and @olliepig. I blame you all for the fact that I wrote this at stupid o'clock in the morning. Bitches!

“Hi, Ebony, how’s the coffin this morning?”

Selene scowled over her coffee cup at the annoying beast that was Gordon. “Choose your words wisely, fish boy, I’ve barely had a sip yet.”

“Sorry, don’t get your fangs in a twist.”

Her eyes narrowed warningly and he wisely retreated. She nodded in satisfaction and took a long sip. Boys are weird, she had always known this. But couldn't he have picked a better time than seven thirty in the morning? Apparently not.

She had forgotten about his strange morning greeting by the time she’d had her second coffee and was so deeply engrossed in a dice reading that she didn’t notice Alan sneaking in until it was too late.

“So, when you and John get married, are you going to be a Tracy?”

“Huh?” she glanced up, having caught around ten percent of what he had said. “What was that, bub?”

“I asked if you were going to become a Tracy when you marry John…” he had moved closer to catch her attention but now he had taken a step back, “or are you going to stay as a Raven-Way?” He ran before she could fully take in what he had said, or throw something at him.

“Raven-what? What is going on with these idiots today?”

“Not a clue,” Virgil shrugged.

“Well you’re no help,” she huffed, taking a picture of her dice spread and tucking them back in their bag, there was no way she’d be able to concentrate now that they had weirded her out.

She found them both in the lounge reading something on a tablet and laughing. They looked innocent enough but she was wise to their ways and wasn't fooled for a second.

“Right, I want to know what the hell is going on, right now,” she had crossed her arms, her foot was tapping in annoyance and a wise man would recognise the signs and tread delicately. The boys were not wise, Gordon does not possess the ability to be delicate. Neither, it seems, did Alan.

“Nothing is going on,” Gordon promised, all wide eyed innocence.

“Don’t bullshit me boy.”

“All we asked was if you were keeping your own name. What’s wrong, was your morning blood not warm enough?”

“I’m a witch, not a vampire, dumb ass, surely you know that”?

“Are you in love with Draco?” Alan asked slyly.

“Draco?” she was instantly distracted, having a love of all things classic Harry Potter. “You know I’m a Draco fan, it was all his parent’s fault, he was a good boy under all that sass and bad parenting.”

“Maybe John will change his name to Draco as a wedding present,” Gordon grinned. "That would be perfect."

Selene’s narrowed eyes darted in his direction. It was a look that should have shrivelled him on the spot, but Gordon was immune, he was puffed up with some secret knowledge, some joke that she was not part of and it was pissing her off.

“She got up on the wrong side of the coffin this morning, didn’t she?” Gordon side whispered to Alan who sniggered.

“There is no coffin!” Selene screamed, getting thoroughly fed up. She turned on her heel and stomped out of the room before she gave in to the urge to kick one of them. Sure, she’d regret it later, because no matter how doofy and annoying they were, she did love them, but oh, it would be so satisfying.

There was only one person that could help her at that moment, the all knowing, all seeing one that she happened to call the love of her life.

“Johhhhn,” she whined the second his hologram popped up. “Your shitty little brothers are picking on me again.”

Ahh there was that eye roll that they all knew and secretly dreaded seeing.

“What have they done now?” he sounded slightly distracted but that wasn't unusual and she didn't hold it against him.

“They keep being weird and saying strange things to me that sound like insults but are really just stupid and I don’t understand it and they are pissing me off,” she ranted without taking a breath.

It took John a second to mentally rewind the conversation enough for him to pick through her words in order to properly respond.

“They’re saying weird things? That’s not that unusual.”

“I know that! And if it was their usual kind of weird I wouldn’t be bothered.”

“What are they saying?”

“You have the same tone a mum does when one child is telling tales on another,” she accused.

“No, I don’t, this is my normal tone.”

“So your normal tone is downtrodden soccer mum?”

“What did they say?” he asked again, ignoring her comment as he did almost all of the things she said.

Selene flopped back against the pillows on his side of the bed, having hidden in the bedroom to bitch about his brothers. She placed her comm down on the bedside table and reached for...yep, she had one of his planets again. She had bought him a small model of the solar system, which he loved, but each planet was made from a different crystal, which she loved. Jupiter was a tigers eye, Venus was an amethyst, Earth a pretty jade and so on. This time she had snagged the small red topaz that was Mercury and was rolling it between her fingers.

“First it was Gordon-”

“Naturally.”

“He said something about my coffin and fangs and he called me Ebony.”

John frowned. "That is weird. And not just Gordon weird. What else did they say?”

“Alan asked if I was going to take the Tracy name when we get married-”

“Well we haven’t discussed it but it would but up to you obviously, you have built a reputation off your name after all.”

Selene smiled. There were no outdated marriage ideas for her man. That was one of the reasons she'd changed her mind about getting married, the fact that he wanted it as a commitment for them, not as a sign of ownership where she changed her name to his and gave up part of her identity.

“You’re amazing, I love you.”

“I love you too," he answered. He had no idea why she suddenly felt the need to say it but he wasn't going to complain. "But getting back to the original conversation, surely that kind of question wasn’t too strange?”

“No, the strange part was when he asked if I was keeping my maiden name of Raven-Way.”

John blinked. “Your what now?”

“Exactly. So I tracked them down and asked them what the fuck was going on-”

“Naturally.”

“There’s that tone again, babe.”

“There is no tone, you are imagining the tone, continue.”

“They asked if I loved Draco and suggested that you change your name as a wedding present. They also asked if my blood was too cold this morning.”

“They're up to something.”

“I know! Now find out what it is, that’s your job after all.”

“It’s actually not, I have a rather more important job than finding out everything they are doing.”

“They are your brothers, therefore it’s your job.”

John sighed the put upon sigh of the big brother that really wanted some peace and quiet.

“I’ll get back to you.”

“Thank you.”

“And make sure you put Mercury back before Armstrong runs off with it again because you’ve left it on the bed.”

“That only happened three times…” his eyebrow raised. “Alright, five at the most. I’ll put it back, OK?” She plopped it gently back into its little holder close to the center and the large citrine that was the sun. “There, it’s back.”

“Thank you. I won’t be long.”

Selene had only managed to read two pages of her book before he was back.

“I think I’ve found the origins of their comments.”

“You have? Where? What is it? Did they tell you? Did they confess?”

“My tablet’s in my drawer, I sent the link there.”

"The link? Was it on the Internet? Are you telling me I could have just googled it?"

"You could, yes."

Confused but also very curious she retrieved the tablet and easily bypassed his passwords and security, they had no secrets, and located the link.

“What the heck is this? You know I’m not really a fan of fan fiction.”

“Just read it, I’ll wait.”

***

“Are you alright?”

Selene stared dumbly at the screen, her mouth opening and shutting in horror.

“Sel?”

Her goldfish out of water impression continued.

“Selene? Are you broken?” She'd been staring into space for more than five minutes, having read the abomination, the utter abuse of the English language and anything that was considered good literature.

“I’ll kill them,” Selene growled, breaking her silence. John breathed a sigh of relief, his woman was a little on the dramatic side but he hadn’t meant to fry her brain.

“Please don’t, can you be content to just hurt them a little.”

“Fine, but first I have to do something very important, I’ll see you later at dinner.”

“Okay, but are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yep, I’m fine,” she insisted as she swiped her comm off the side, slung it around her neck and left the room.

John’s hologram bounced along with her as she stalked down the halls to the lounge.

“Hey, Eb, what’s up?” Alan greeted her, earning himself a very rude hand gesture as she passed by without a word. John’s hologram raised the pointy finger of doom at him in warning, his expression clearly saying ‘look what you two have done, look what I’m dealing with now, sleep with one eye open’.

Selene went straight to the hangars and into her car.

“Where are you going?” John asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“You’ll see when I get back.”

***

“Ow!” Gordon yelped as he suddenly found himself the recipient of a smack around the back of his head from John as he passed behind the couch.

John's hand lifted to give Alan the same treatment but the youngest Tracy was quicker and used a pillow as a shield.

“What were you two thinking? Do you have any idea how insulted she is? I’m going to be talking her down for a week.”

“Lighten up,” Gordon huffed, still rubbing the back of his head.

“Yeah, it was just a joke,” Alan added in their defense. “We didn’t know she’d get insulted by it, we thought she’d laugh.”

“Did you, did you really?” John was not convinced.

“She’s going to kill us, isn’t she?” Alan asked, suddenly looking terrified.

“Probably, not that I’d blame her.”

“Where is she anyway?”

“I’ve no idea, she turned her comm off when she reached the mainland.”

“What would she be doing there?” Gordon pondered.

“Stocking up on knives?” Alan shuddered.

“Eh, I’m not too worried, you know she loves us, we’ll just say sorry and it’ll be fine.”

“What was that?” Alan jumped, hearing voices in the hall. “I think she's back.”

All three of them fell silent, leaning closer, straining their ears to hear the conversation.

“Honestly, I love it, it’s great,” Scott assured her.

“You promise? I don’t look weird? I’m still not sure about it, I don’t really feel like me yet.”

“I promise, you look great.”

“Is he home?”

“Got back about ten minutes ago, want me to get him?”

“Yes please.”

John was already on his feet before Scott entered the lounge, pausing to exchange a rather bemusing high five with Scott as his eldest brother tagged himself out of the situation.

John had no idea what to expect, in fact his mind had been conjuring up all sort of weird and not so wonderful scenarios of things that could greet him when she got home. Thankfully, out of all the things he had imagined, this was nowhere near as bad.

He stopped dead, his eyes taking in the sight before him.

“Wow, that’s different.”

“Good different or bad different?” she asked, tucking her hair behind one ear in the most self conscious gesture John had ever seen from her.

“Good different, not that you looked bad before,” he hurried to add, worried that she might still be pissed off.

“You sure?”

“I’m very sure,” he promised her. “Come here, let me see properly.”

She stepped closer allowing him to study her from all angles. Her hair had had a trim, losing about an inch and tidying up the slightly feathery layers that had been growing out, giving it a sleeker and more grown up look. It flowed down over her shoulders in a silken wave, as straight as a ruler. But most surprising of all was the colour. Her hair was now a deep, dark plum colour all over, the black with lilac streaks a thing of the past.

“I figured I needed a change, you know.”

“You didn’t have to do this, not because of those idiots.” His fingers tunneled into the soft strands, feeling the same heavy weight that he was used to as well as the smooth softness. He twirled a small section around his finger, caressing it with his thumb. He liked it, it suited her.

She shrugged. “I know I was annoyed at first but now I kinda like it. I’ve had that hair for a long time, I guess it was a bit of a statement at first, it made me feel more like me, like I was being true to myself and I just never had the guts to change it after that.”

“You didn’t have the guts? I find that hard to believe.”

“I just worried that if the hair went, I’d lose a little part of myself too, the part that I’ve been fighting for for a long time. I felt like I finally loved myself, the hair was part of that.”

“So why change it? Not that I don't like it, it's lovely, it's very you. It suits you.”

“Because I realised something today and that knowledge let me know that it was time to leave the comfort blanket behind, because I have something more important than hair colour.”

“You do?”

“Yep,” she caught his free hand and tugged him closer, lifting her head for a kiss. “I’ve got you and I know you’ll love me enough for the both of us if I ever have a wobble.”

“I can definitely do that," he smiled, unable to resist stealing another quick kiss. It was going to take some getting used to, he'd never known her with any other colour hair, but it wouldn't be a hardship, she looked as lovely as ever to him, in fact, if pushed he'd say even more beautiful than she had before, something he wouldn't have believed was even possible.

“Good.”

“So, in a roundabout way, Gordon and Alan actually did something good?”

“Yes, I’ll admit that a little good did come out of it.”

“So you’ll go and put them out of their misery?”

“Hell no, I’m gonna make the little shits suffer for at least a week. How dare they compare me to Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way.”

[rora-s]

The Derivative  Chapter 9: Wormholes

Chapter 1 <- Chapter 8 

“Apparently there’s large performance differentials between same caliber bullets from different manufacturers” Amita told Charlie walking over to him with a piece of paper with the information. 

“Based on what?” Uncle C questioned looking the paper over. 

“Lead composition, gunpowder packing” Amita shrugged, sitting back down in her seat. 

“Just what I need more variables” Charlie muttered. 

“I could help you run through the equations if you want” I offered leaning forward on the couch. 

“No you’re not helping” Charlie objected turning back to his chalkboard “if Don even found out you were in here we’d both be in trouble” 

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my book. Just then there was a knock at the door to the solarium and Larry meandered in. “oh, some assistance in my brazen attack on the Lorenz invariance?” 

“No, drag coefficient models” Charlie informed. 

“Drag co- drag on what?” Larry questioned. Walking from Charlie to Amita.

“Bullets” the woman answered. 

“Bullets as in ballistic trajectories defined by the Einstein Equivalence Principle, related to the Lorenz frame?” Larry questioned over her shoulder pointedly. 

“As in, bullets that kill people” Amita replied. 

“Oh” Larry muttered with slight disgust in his voice as he turned to join me sitting on the couch. 

“There seems to be some disagreements over the sniper’s expertise” Amita explained looking to Charlie. 

“Well, I’d say the public’s decided on the question.” Larry explained “I have an aunt who lives two blocks from the first shooting. She’s afraid to go out on her front lawn now.” he gestured out the window. 

“Why don’t you tell your aunt that statistically she has a better chance of being mauled by a bear” Charlie explained exasperatedly. 

“Actually, statistics would favor the bear being mauled by my aunt but…” Larry joked and we all shared a small laugh. “This fear, this extends beyond the reach of statistics Charles.” Larry explained sinking into the couch. “No this is about arbitrary inescapable death. No, times like these, you just wind up speculating on paths not taken, jobs left undone.” 

“Larry I- I’m trying to get those equations done for you as soon as I can,” Charlie defended. 

“No, no, no.” Larry objected sitting up “at that moment, I was actually thinking of a far more prosaic legacy. Someone to carry on the Fleinhardt standard” 

We all looked at the physicist in surprise. “I didn’t know you wanted kids, Larry” Charlie voiced. 

“Well children are wormholes” Larry declared. 

“Wormholes?” Amita questioned. 

“As the only minor in the room can I protest that classification?” I asked the man who sat next to me fiddling with a small bowl “or at least get an explanation?” 

“Yeah. They’re portals into the unreachable future and unattainable past.” he somewhat clarified “No, as things stand now they exist only in the theoretical realm so..” 

“Well, I can see where you might have some trouble selling a woman on the idea of carrying you wormhole” Amita stated and we all chuckled again. 

____________

There’s isn’t anything quite as annoying as sitting at the kitchen table trying to get a look at the work your Uncle is doing for the FBI that you know you can help with but aren’t allowed to. This is where I was as I sat at the dining table Charlie working and Larry getting himself another cup of coffee. 

“You know,” the physicist spoke up from the kitchen, “I have had almost no attendance at my morning classes. It’s like everyone’s afraid to set foot outside” 

“Not everybody” Charlie objected as Larry came in and sat a cup of water down for the mathematician. 

“Just the general populous” I commented. 

“Yeah. In times like these, an empty house is not a home” Larry said taking a seat at the table. “Evaluating my immediate prospects for a conventional nuclear family, I’ve just now begun to consider adoption.” 

“How long have you been considering it?” Charlie inquired. 

“Three days,” Larry offered. 

“Give it a few more days.” Charlie advised. 

“Yeah” Larry agreed “but consider Don. He had no prior notion or plan for raising a young adult and yet here he is doing just fine.” 

“That would convey the notion that my father is doing more than just monitoring me and providing me sustenance” I muttered. 

“I suppose there is something to be said about a mentoring learning curve” Larry murmured. Then looked at Charlie’s work “so what? You found a pattern yet?” 

“More like a pattern of patternlessness.” Charlie informed. 

“Is patternlessness even a word?” I asked. 

“Well it is now” Charlie stated. 

“Hey, there’s an interesting metaphysical notion.” Larry voiced. 

“What, whether patternlessness is a word?” I asked. 

“No the interesting part it plays in this case.” Larry explained “perhaps a human element remains to be inserted” 

Charlie groaned in annoyance. “You sound like this, uh, Agent Edgerton guy. He’s a sniper instructor that Don brought in from Quantico he thinks I should be out shooting rifles.” 

“Well, why aren’t you?” Larry inquired. 

“That would be cool” I agreed. 

“It’s a poor allocation of my time” Charlie objected “in the time it takes to shoot X number of rifles, I can access ten or twenty or a hundred times that amount of data” 

“No, no, no, no. there’s data and there’s hands-on experience” Larry pointed out. “These are two different beasts. That’s why you’ve got blackboards and laboratories.” 

“Well you study the universe, and you’ve never been to outer space.” Charlie countered. 

“Yeah, but if I had the opportunity, do you think for a moment I’d hesitate?” Larry said. 

Charlie sighed. “I think it’d be cool to shoot a rifle,” I voiced. 

Charlie gave me a look “you know It’s those kinds of statements that make Don worried about you” 

___________

“Why’d I have to come along?” I muttered. 

“Because if you hung around Larry and Charlie any longer you’d end up helping them on this crazy case and we both know it” Alan stated as we got on the elevator in the FBI office. 

“So your solution is to bring me to the heart of where the case is being handled.” I pointed out. 

“Point made but this is the side of it you definitely can’t help on” Alan commented. I nodded in agreement getting the point. 

The elevator opened and Don greeted us. “Hey guys” he smiled. 

“Hey Donnie” Alan smiled as we headed out of the elevator and into the FBI office. I’d never been here before and it was a cool place. People were all over the place in cubicles. There were meeting rooms with glass walls and doors and on one side a tall stack of file boxes. 

“Thanks for bringing lunch all the way down here.” Don told us as he led us through the office “Come on, this way.” 

“Oh well, you know, the drive was a pleasure.” Gramps explained. “Traffic on the 10 has never been thinner since, uh, well, since it’s been the 10” 

“Yeah, it’s like all LA’s in lockdown, huh? Little eerie” Don commented. “Right in here” we were ushered into a little break room. Alan sat the bag of food on the table and started setting things out. “You guys want a water?” Don asked, leaning by a mini fridge. 

“Yes please” Alan said politely. 

“Sure” I shrugged watching the people through the glass. 

Don set out three waters before taking his seat at the table. Alan got up to grab some napkins. “Hey kid, why don’t you sit down?” Don suggested. 

“Yeah” I agreed, coming over and sitting across from him where Alan had put my sandwich. “Everyone���s really busy out there huh?” 

“Yeah sniper’s a big case and it’s not the only one we have open right now so a lot going on” Don explained as Alan came back over. 

“So, how, uh, how are you and Charlie managing this case?” the elderly man asked. 

“Well, I mean, he’s frustrated; I’m frustrated.” Don shook his head raising his sandwich up to his face “I mean, we’re having a rough time on this” 

“Is that why he’s been running out of the house late at night?” Alan inquired as we ate. 

Don nodded “we got an agent on him all the time” he assured. 

“I mean, I know he’s been helping you out and that he comes down to your office a lot, and I- I think that’s great. But, but now you got him going out on crime scenes.” Alan explained “I mean, there's this guy shooting people out there.”

Don made a face and I could see the argument coming. I quickly spoke up to leave the room “uh where’s the bathroom here?” 

Don look to me “uh out down the hall to the left and then take a right” he gestured. 

“Thanks” I replied, getting up and shuffling out of the room. Glancing back I could see the conversation continuing in my absence. Don and Alan had a strong relationship this I could tell from the beginning. However, Alan was always worried about his sons especially on the FBI side of things. It was a worry I never fully understood but then again this was my first time with male role models so maybe it was just a guy thing to constantly worry about what you can’t control. 

___________________

3rd POV. 

Once Abby had left the room Don turned back to his father “Dad. you really think I would put Charlie in danger?” 

“No,” Alan objected “you know what I really think?” 

“What?” 

“I think you have to understand that Charlie can never say no to you,” Alan explained. Don let out an exasperated breath putting down his sandwich “I mean, I mean. All you have to do is to ask him something and he’s there for you.” 

“Yeah, and I’m there for him.” Don insisted. 

Alan sighed “look, he’s not a cop. Now, come on, I mean, he’s better off with chalk in his hand than a gun.” 

“You know, you got to stop this; he is a grown man, and he’s capable of-” 

“Who still seeks the approval of his older brother” Alan cut Don off. “Whether his older brother likes it or not. And- and more than that Abby, Abby is just like him I had to bring her out here with me just to keep her from trying to help anymore on this sniper math of his.” 

“Abby’s fine alright” Don objected “she just needs to learn to leave that stuff alone” 

“Yeah, and who’s job is it to teach her?” Alan pointed out. 

Don sighed and was about to reply when his phone went off he pulled it out to answer, muttering an excuse me. Meanwhile Abby returned hesitantly but determined the argument was over as she saw her father on the phone. 

“Gotta go” the agent declared gathering his food and getting to his feet “another shooting” 

“Oh my god” Alan muttered. 

“Yeah, I promise I won’t call Charlie till we roll the tanks out.” Don stated stopping in the doorway. “And I want you two to stay here until I call you, okay?” Alan nodded in understanding “all right, thanks for the sandwich” 

With that Don was heading off into the bullpen. “I barely got to say two words to him” Abby muttered, sitting down with her food. 

“Well, I suppose when duty calls” Alan sighed, turning and watching his granddaughter eat. 

__________________

Abby POV.

I left off a loud sigh as Larry and my grandfather began their chess game. “Come on Abby, you like chess,” Alan said. 

“I like playing chess, not watching it,” I replied, turning the page of my book. 

“Well how about you play winner” Gramps suggested and I shrugged in reply. “And would you mind sitting like a normal person we are in public” I raised my hands in an annoyed gesture as I sat sideways in my chair, my legs dangling over the arms rest of one side. Alan gave me a stern look and I sighed shifting in my seat. “Thank you”

“Yeah, yeah” I sighed slouching in my chair and turning another page of my book. 

“Oh. The Ruy Lopez opening” Alan commented on Larry’s move. “I see I’m dealing with a classicist here.” 

“Look, I warned you I was a little rusty” Larry pointed out with a slight laugh to his voice. “My game is also a little undeveloped.” 

“You know I had to stop playing with Charlie when he was eight years old.” Alan explained. 

“Yeah, more precociousness in the biography of professor Charles Eppes.” Larry sighed “yeah you know, among mathematicians, isn’t that just such a cliche, the playing chess?” 

“I didn’t mind losing” Alan explained leaning forward in his seat “it was that bored expression on his face, like he was playing out of courtesy. That’s what got to me” 

“That’s why I keep my poker face up when I challenge you” I muttered, not looking up from my book. “It’s just common courtesy” 

“Oh is that so?” Alan asked and I could hear the amusement in his tone as I smirked. “Perhaps you should remember who your ride home is then” we both chuckled lightly amused. 

“Oh yeah? Well, try Scrabble” Larry suggested ignoring my and my grandfather’s banter. “He’s a horrible speller” 

“Really?” Alan inquired. 

“Oh, he’s horrible,” Larry insisted. 

“I didn’t know that” Gramps sighed leaning back in his chair again. “You know quite a bit about my son.” 

“I don’t know” Larry murmured “I know he’s been a delight. You know, observing him all these years. You know, a star pupil’s ascension to such extraordinary heights I mean, yeah, that’s perhaps the most rewarding aspect of being a teacher.” 

“Come one, we both know you’ve been a lot more than just a teacher to Charlie” Alan pointed out. 

I glanced up to see a small smile grace Larry’s features “well, thank you for saying that.” 

I caught sight of the board and scoffed turning back to my book as Alan spoke again moving one of his bishop “oh, by the way, uh you’re now in check” 

“Oh you distracted me” Larry exclaimed, sitting up as Alan chuckled to himself. 

“Smooth Larry” I murmured. 

___________

“Here I found a tarp” I called tossing the bundled fabric at my uncle. 

“I just didn’t think that I was in immediate danger until I was” Uncle Charlie continued to explain the story I had coaxed out of him when he came back minorly distressed from the scene where the serial sniper was stopped. 

“Well yeah no one expects to die when their life has never been threatened before. Unless they’re paranoid” I muttered. 

“You seem far more calm with this then I would think” Charlie muttered as I climbed down the step ladder and we went to go outside. 

“Well I have experience around guns” I mumbled as we stepped back into the yard and was grateful to see my father there to draw away Charlie’s attention. 

“You told him?” Charlie asked. 

“Yeah about the gun range” Don muttered with a pointed look “that you shot a rifle. He shot a rifle, did a great job” Don rambled slightly. 

“I fired the rifle,” Charlie parroted. 

“Yeah, see i’m perfectly fine” Alan pointed out, wiping his hands with a rag “I didn’t fall off the ladder, I didn’t collapse. I certainly hope you got that out of your system now.” he muttered the last line at his youngest. 

“Definitely” Charlie agreed. 

I scoffed slightly and struggled to suppress my laughter at knowing the full knowledge of what happened as Gramps went to talk to Don about the stain they were putting on the house. Uncle C gave me a slight shove at my poorly suppressed amusement and I bent to help him spread the tarps. 

Chapter 10 ->

[cydonianotmalus]

Twelve-Inches-C***-Billy.

So I've been doing little writing exercises using “prompts” and I started this at 2 am because I wanted something about this pairing desperately. It doesn’t have any sense, it’s based on that interview were Charlie Hunnam chooses his “Guy Ritchie name”. 

So... that’s it.  Raymond Smith x Coach  --- From The Gentlemen. 

The door bell rings every time someone comes in the small restaurant, and its unusual to hear it when the place is about to close. Marianne has already given him the last call, enough time to finish his chips and go home for the night.

It's almost instinctive, to get in high alert as he listens three sets of steps going to the counter where Henry's doing the day's accounting.

Marianne told him they were robbed just two weeks ago. Marianne was so scared, they broke a window, stole the money of the day and battered Henry. A bunch of  disgusting drunkards, idiots without any hope of redemption. Dogs too old to learn new ways, lives wasted away. Not like his boys.

The voices reach the hidden spot where he sits, behind a potted plant with huge leaves.

"At that point we were so high we were just asking stupid questions to each other, and it was so funny, man. We didn't make any sense. I asked 'Would you rather be a mermaid or a fairy?' And he tells me 'Fuckin'fairy mate, I don't know how to swim.' And then its his turn and says, 'Now if you have to choose something you like a lot'bout yourself and add the name of your ex to make your stripper name, what it would be?' And I think I said something like 'Sweet Ass Jojo'"  

They all laugh, but it doesn't sound like they are drunk, so Coach stays still, relaxing just a bit. 

"We are about to close, guys..." Henry starts, but one of them cuts him off.

"Yes, excuse us, sir. We want something to eat on the way, if there's anything left," and the second guy's voice is somehow familiar. Imposing yet suave, indubitable toffy.

"... We might have some chips left and bagels we can heat up in the grill in a couple of minutes," Henry muses, looking to the kitchen over his shoulder.

"That's just perfect, sir. Bunny?"

"Chicken bagel and chips to me," answers another the grave voice, and then the mate of the weird story adds two more bagels to the order. "Are you going to have something, Ray?"

"No thanks, enjoy your food," Raymond answers, while Henry excuses himself to the kitchen.

Coach stops eating for a moment and cranes his neck, warily, to catch a glimpse of Michael Pearson's golden boy. Ray is the only one he recognizes, perfect looks, undefiled clothes, always self-possessed, sitting in a stool by the bar. He's calm and smiling softly. There are two other huge men with him, looking more... thuggish. Its kinda weird, watching those two big beasts and still feeling the biggest predator vibe coming from the guy wearing thick frame glasses and fluffy grey cardigan.  

Coach returns to his food, preferring not to draw attention to himself . He can greet Ray on his way out, maybe. No need to importune.

"Okey, Bunny, what would be your stripper name?" One of the thugs says, the white one.  

"I think I can keep Bunny as my stripper name," the black mate answers, and whiteguy... Sweet Ass Jojo? snorts.

"Not that one, I'm talking about the game, wanker. Its something you like about you, physically, and you last ex name."

"Oh, well... Damn, I guess it would be, 'Sexy tits Andrea'? No, wait. I think it doesn't work when you ex is a girl, you bugger, unless I turn in to a dragqueen" Sweet Ass Jojo burst in laughing and Coach can hear even Ray snorts. “I would be a beauty.” 

"Don’t do that, please, Bunny, you have a good career already," Sweet Ass pleads, trying to compose himself. "Your turn, Ray."

"I'm not playing," Ray groans, yet he sounds amused.

"Common. Don't let Bunny be the only one humiliated."

"Fuck you."

"Okey, but that's not persuasive at all. And I'm not giving you the pleasure, since mine would be... 'Twelve-Inch-Cock-Billy', it's quite fitting," Raymond offers so quickly it's obvious that he had been meditating on his answer and Coach barely avoids his last chip from going the wrong way in his throat.

He still coughs a couple of times, managing to return the chip to his mouth, spit it in a tissue and recovering with water later.

Sweet Ass and Sexy tits are laughing, but not Raymond, who stands up and searches for the guy coughing, sweeping the whole place with his eyes.

"Dear lord," Coach manages a bit short-winded, red-faced, standing and taking his plate and glass with him to the counter. It's time to go home, he muses.

"Coach?" Ray recognizes him and greets immediately, his ears turning a fetching pink, while his expression remains calm. His companions barely look him and then they're laughing harder, for some reason.

Coach has to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from smiling too wide, but he knows there's no way to wash the mirth from his eyes.

"Raymond, good night," he greets, putting his dishes on the counter to save Marianne the trouble. He already paid the bill, so only extracts his wallet to leave a good tip. "I told you, you can call me by my name-"

"Here's you food, guys," Henry returns with two bags  and the thugs finally stop laughing loudly, only small chuckles remain. They receive their orders and both pay for individually.

"It's been a while," Raymond continues, trying to hide his embarrassment, almost succeeding. His tone is composed and his face just pleasant, but he's touching and fixing his glasses, ears still red. "I haven't heard of you or your boys. I guess that's good. Means they're keeping themselves out of trouble."

"They're fine. Still working for their pardon," Coach answers, thanking Henry quietly and then going with Raymond, patting him on the shoulder once, gently, before slipping his hands and wallet inside his jacket pockets. Ray grins sweetly, or so it seems. The guy is always polite, but Coach feels he tries to be more organic, natural or affable with him. Maybe its gratitude?  "I've been very busy with the gym and the fights. Happy to see you are fine too."

And that's it. He doesn't know how to continue the conversation. It's even harder with Ray's co-workers present. Coach doesn't want to be too inappropriate, accidentally. So he smiles, turns and starts walking backwards to the door.

"Take care, Twelve-Inch-Cock-Billy," Coach chuckles slightly and Raymond does too, but this time his whole face turns a charming and furious red. He looks so young like that, Coach muses. Very cute, in a criminal way for such a big man. And then the word big makes Coach actually wonder... 

The other two men are ready to go, and then, before Coach turns over again, Ray speaks.

"Wait! There where no cars outside, I saw,  so, can we give you a ride home?" Raymond offers, and his companions are watching him weirdly, definitely surprised.

Coach stops, and looks baffled himself. He didn't bring his car. Home is 15 minutes away, walking. A ride its unnecessary but...

"... Ok."

[aelia-likes-monsters]

Dullahan’s Forest

Commissioned by someone who wishes to remain anonymous with a prompt that made me laugh my ass off. (See the working title and summary.)  

Working Title: Wholeass Snacc Characters: Male Dullahan/Female Reader Content: SFW, Implied Violence (offscreen), Dumb Bets Wordcount: ~2200 Summary: Our headless horseman is a lonely, thirsty boi and the reader is a wholeass snacc.

There were rumors, of course, about the woods. About creatures that shouldn’t exist, and events that nobody could explain. But you didn’t put much stock in those stories, so when your friends had dared you to spend the night, you’d asked them to put money where their mouths were. You’d collect that sweet, sweet cash soon. 

Your friends had found you a spot to camp, and helped you setup your tent and campfire. They’d asked you a few more times if you were sure you wanted to do this, and you’d told them to go get your money. You’d collect in the morning. 

That was hours ago now. Once dark had set in, and you’d only had the company of the nighttime creatures, your bravado was harder to find. Every noise was something coming to get you. Every time the chorus of forest animals got quiet, it was a serial killer stalking you. The rational part of your brain knew you were being crazy. The rest of you knew that you were going to die for a stupid bet. 

Just as you were trying to convince yourself to go to bed--after all, the rule was that monsters can’t get you under the blankets, and a sleeping bag surely counted--you heard something large shift in the woods. The sound of a branch snapping in half had your head swiveling on your shoulders as your eyes searched the darkness for signs of movement. Your body was on high alert. 

Something huge lumbered forward with a roar. With a shriek, you were up and away, racing down the gravel road. You weren’t that far from the city, and though your stamina wasn’t great, you weren’t going to wait here to get eaten by whatever that had been. (Nor were you willing to wait and see what was attacking you.) 

It didn’t take long for your sprint of terror to slow into a jog, but despite your ragged breathing and the stitch in your side, you kept going. You didn’t think the creature was chasing you, but you were afraid that slowing down too much could mean death. It was dark, and despite the full moon, you couldn’t see very well. 

Which is how you stumbled upon a huge figure filling the road without noticing until you were upon it. You skidded to a halt, the gravel of the ground sliding under your shoes, sending you tumbling. You stared up, and up, and up, at a cloaked figure on horseback. 

Nothing about it was human.

“Fuck.” You managed to say. “I’m really dead now.” 

“What are you running from?” The horseman asked, as calmly as if it were discussing the weather. You weren’t sure where its voice was coming from, since it didn’t have a head. 

“A creature attacked me at my campsite.” You said. You hesitated to call it monster, since you were staring at a different monster. You didn’t want to insult this one, since it wasn’t killing you (yet) and you were scared to provoke it. 

“I’ve been seeking that beast for months.” The horseman said. He shifted, and you saw his face peering out from under his arm. 

“I’ve gone insane,” you said. He was carrying his head under his arm? This had to be a horrible nightmare. You began to laugh, because there were no other alternatives. 

“No.” He said, looking you over and offering you a smile that would be comforting if his head were on his shoulders. “But on the night of the full moon, the veil is thin, so tonight you can see us.” 

“It’s a veil. Of course it’s thin.” You said, thinking of a post you’d seen on the internet once. “They don’t call it the down comforter between worlds.” 

The horseman snorted. 

“I’ll kill the monster that threatened you, and when it is gone, I’ll escort you back to your camp.” He reached into his cloak, and withdrew a candle. With a wave of his hand, it lit. “If the candle goes out, the creature has defeated me, and you should run far, far away.” 

You eyed the candle suspiciously. This whole situation was crazy. Monsters weren’t real, the headless horseman wasn’t real. These woods weren’t really haunted. And yet… everything you’d seen tonight said otherwise. 

You took the candle, and took a step back, away from him. 

“I will return.” He said, and then he galloped away. 

You’d never admit it later, but you clutched the candle like a lifeline. You watched it, afraid to see it gutter out, but almost equally afraid of the horseman coming back. Was he real? Was he a figment of your imagination? Most importantly, was he dangerous? You had more questions than answers.

It felt like an eternity before you heard the sound of the horseman returning. The clop of the hooves against the gravel was slower, more subdued. But when you saw him, he appeared whole, or… as whole as he had been when he’d left.  

“You’re back.” 

“I told you I would return.” He offered a smile, and this time, though his head was still tucked under one arm, you felt somewhat comforted. 

“Is it dead?” you asked. 

“It is.” He nodded. “Are you grateful enough for my heroism to give me a kiss?” 

Your brows shot up, and you know you gave him an incredulous look, but he didn’t seem insulted. Instead he laughed, and raised a hand as if to fend you off. 

“Apologies. You’re just lovely, and I couldn’t resist teasing you a bit.” He looked around the forest. “We’re far enough from your camp that it will take a while to walk back. Do you trust me enough to accept a ride on the horse?” 

“If I accept, you’re not going to steal me away?” You thought of the stories from fairy tales you’d heard as a kid. Things like Rip van Winkle, or horses that grabbed their riders and took them on wild rides until they were dead. 

“No. I promise you I will return you to your campsite, in the condition you are in now, in just a few minutes.” 

You eyed him suspiciously, but decided that it was worth the risk. All you really had at home was a mountain of student debt, a shitty job, a shitty apartment, and friends who’d left you in the woods overnight. What did you have to lose?

He pulled you onto the horse behind him, and though part of you was surprised by it, you found they were solid where you touched them. You wrapped your arms around the horseman and held on as he urged the horse forward. He was warm, and he smelled good. It wasn’t anything you could describe. Woodsy like the forest but not, but it was nice, and you found yourself resting your cheek against his back and breathing deep as you traveled. 

You were at your campsite too soon for your taste. You wanted to enjoy being close to him a bit longer. As soon as you recognized that thought, you felt pathetic.  Awkwardly you released the horseman and slid down. He seemed to contemplate you for a long time before his free hand reached into his cloak once more. He handed you another candle. 

“If you need me… light this and say my name.” 

“I don’t know your name. I don’t have to guess it, do I? Are you Rumplestiltskin?” 

He laughed. You liked his laugh. 

“No. My name is Owen.” 

In a night full of supernatural events, that was the last straw for you. 

“You’re a headless horseman-”

“Dullahan, actually.” 

You took a deep breath, and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. Now was not the time to bite his head off--pun intended--for mansplaining this to you. Besides, was it really mansplaining if he was telling you his proper species? And if he wasn’t really a man? This was complicated. You were getting a headache. 

“You’re a Dullahan, which is some kind of magical creature, and you’re named Owen?” He was supposed to have some kind of old timey name, or something magical sounding and hard to pronounce. He wasn’t supposed to be an Owen. 

“Yeah, that’s about the shape of it.” He said.

“This is just too much.” you said. 

“I know, it’s a lot.” He smiled at you. And you realized you were getting used to looking at his face from where it was tucked under his arm. He was handsome, and aside from being some sort of supernatural creature, he seemed a decent sort. “I’ve had a lot of time to get used to it.” 

There was something sad in his voice that made your heart twist. He wasn’t looking at you now, and instead seemed to be staring into space. Perhaps reliving something in his past. You didn’t like the way his sadness already impacted you. You wanted to hug him, to make him feel better, and you’d only known him for a few hours. 

“Thank you for saving me,” you said. “I’m glad I met you, Owen.” 

“I’m glad I met you, too.” he said, and he offered you a sweet smile that still seemed sad. “I’ll let you get some rest. Stay safe, and call me if you ever need me.” 

With that, he turned and galloped away. Your heart ached, though you couldn’t say exactly why. 

A week later, you gave into the urge to summon Owen again. You drove out to the edge of the woods and parked. The sun set behind you, and the shadows in the trees deepened as you watched. You shivered, remembering the creature that had attacked you, but you knew you’d be safe. 

It was the work of a few minutes to setup a thick wool blanket on the grass near the parking lot. You set out a picnic basket with snacks, and a few camping lanterns, setting a mood. You hoped you’d read things right as you overthought everything for the last week. 

You lit the candle. 

“Owen,” you said. 

Within moments you heard hoofbeats approaching. He galloped up, a sword in his hand, obviously looking for signs you were in danger. Seeing none, he seemed confused. You watched closely as his eyes took in everything. He didn’t seem to know how to react as he looked at you. 

“You’re safe?” He finally asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Now that I’m here, you should blow out the candle. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.” He warned. 

You extinguished it and tucked it back into your purse. 

“Can you come sit?” You asked. 

Stiffly, Owen dismounted from his black horse, and moved the few steps over to your blanket. He settled onto the corner of it, sitting cross-legged, with his head in his lap, facing you. It was clear that he didn’t know what to make of any of this. 

“What brings you back?” He asked cautiously. 

“I wanted to see you again.” You kept it simple. You didn’t need to tell him that you’d had dreams about him. 

“I’m glad. I had hoped, of course, that you’d come back.” He smiled, then looked away. “You’re lovely, and you didn’t run screaming from me at first sight.” 

“I almost did.” You reached out and touched his hand. “I’m glad I didn’t.” 

Your touch helped him find his nerve. His fingers wrapped around yours, the calluses on his hands surprising you. He brought his head up to your face level, and looked into your eyes. 

“I’ve thought about you a lot. Is it too much to hope that you’ve thought about me as well?” He asked. 

“I thought about you,” you admitted. You’d looked up what a Dullahan was (honestly, you had some doubts that he really was one; very little of what was going on with him meshed up with the Irish folktales) and you’d dreamed about him a lot in the past week. 

“When I rescued you, I asked for a kiss. You said no then. Would you say no now?” He asked. 

Your response was to lean forward and gently press your lips to his. It wasn’t a deep kiss, just a soft brush of the lips, but it seemed to trigger something. There was a flash of light, and then you found yourself staring at the no-longer-headless Owen. He grinned at you, his head firmly attached to his shoulders.

“Yes!” He pulled you into his arms, and pressed another kiss to your lips. “I knew it! I knew you were the one from the moment I saw you.” 

“What?” You blinked at him. 

“I was cursed.” He said. “Your kiss released me from this forest. I’m still not fully alive; some things can’t be undone. But I’m not cursed, trapped, or headless, so I consider this progress, don’t you?” 

“Were you just using me?” You asked, surprised at how much that idea stung. 

“Absolutely not.” He said, meeting your eyes. “It had to be a true love’s kiss. I love you, and you must love me, too. I’d like to explore that, if you’ll have me?” 

You thought about it. It wouldn’t be easy having an undead boyfriend, but… you glanced at Owen. It’d be worth it, you thought. 

“Okay.” He grinned, and kissed you again. 

Yeah, this would definitely be worth it.

This story was a commission, if you’d like your own, please check out my commissions page.

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[bookandcranny]

Stone Heart Gambit

Part 1 - Chapter 1

Soso likes her town, but she’s starting to think she’s never going to find a single interesting thing about it. There’s a supermarket, a park, a few family-owned shops and eateries that haven’t yet succumbed to the pressure put on them by the encroaching chain franchises. Pretty standard small-town fair, not unlike the one she grew up in.

Therein lies the problem. She’d been so excited to leave home for the first time all those semesters ago that she hadn’t considered that change doesn’t always equal improvement, and putting a hundred miles of distance between her and her old problems didn’t guarantee her a perfect new life. She doesn’t particularly miss living with her parents, rather she finds herself feeling homesick for a place she doesn’t think she’s found yet. There’s a restlessness in her-- her mom claims she gets it from her dad, and vice versa. It’s plagued her in small ways all her life, in the way she finds new friendships but struggles to make them last, in the way she throws herself into new passions only to grow bored of them within weeks, in the way college had seemed so thrilling and full of promise when she was a bright-eyed freshman and now here she is, on indefinite academic leave, struggling to remember what it was she saw in the place that was worth a lifetime of student loans.

She only has so long to figure it out too. She wants to finish her degree, she does, but art requires inspiration and there’s only so much to photograph in a town whose main export is cow shit and stale gossip. If she changes her major again at this point her advisor is for real going to mount her head on a pike outside the bursar’s office, so she has to at least try.

It doesn’t help that she’s pretty much limited to the immediate vicinity surrounding her housing co-op until she either manages to get herself a car or the bus drivers union wins their latest standoff with city hall. Cars cost money though, which means getting a real fulltime job, which she expects will spell the end for any lingering chance of her going back to school anyway. The snake devours its tail, and Soso commutes by bike.

Soso’s handy; she’s confident she can fix anything given enough time, the right tools, and a couple reliable video tutorials. That, among other odd jobs, is her main preoccupation right now. It’s something, but she can’t picture herself changing tires and cleaning out gutters for elderly neighbors to support her Chinese takeout dependency forever. At the rate she’s going, her best customers are going to start dying off before she graduates.

On that morbid note, Soso decides she needs to get out of the house. She slings her bag over her back just in case she manages to run into something photo-worthy and grabs her bike. It’s a brisk autumn afternoon and the fresh air is just what she needs.

On the way out she runs into one of her housemates, Carmen the highly caffeinated, returning from campus looking frazzled. Soso isn’t particularly close with any of her housemates, frequently as they tend to come and go, but that doesn’t stop her from offering her sympathies.

“Any luck with the research?”

Carmen groans. “My paper is doomed. Remind me why I thought ‘modern impact of classical mythology’ was a good choice for my level 300 history course?”

“Uh, beats me.” In reality she thinks it sounds like a fun subject, but it doesn’t feel her place to say so given that while Carmen’s been slaving away at the school library, she’s spent the better of her day half-watching questionable documentaries on alien conspiracies.

“Ensfield is full of weird old superstitions and legends,” she goes on frustratedly. “The old bridge makes it on one of those ‘top 10 spooky locations’ lists like once a month. Complain about a cough to the wrong person and suddenly you get people telling you you’re hexed and you need to walk in a circle counter-clockwise under the new moon to get rid of it.”

She’s pretty sure that’s not a thing, but nods anyway, waiting for the point she hopes is coming.

“You’d think the library in a town like this would have better sources on mythology. But no, all I get is a shrug and the same three books everyone else in the class is using. If I want to bump up my GPA, I need something you can’t just find on Wikipedia.”

Another one of their housemates crawls out from the shrubbery by the porch. “Maybe you should try that other library.”

“Jesus!” Carmen jumps. “What are you doing down there?”

Phoebe brushes dirt off her knees. “I saw a black cat go into the gap.” She points at a thin crack in the woodwork. “Halloween is coming. Any cats, especially black ones, you see wandering around need to be brought to the shelter pronto. People do terrible things to them if they see them wandering around this time of year.”

Soso squints. “Looks too small to fit a cat.”

“I saw what I saw. Anyway, there’s supposed to be an old town library way past the woods, thataway.” She points. “Guy who works there is really weird I heard but almost no one goes there anymore so you’d have first pick.”

Carmen looks thoughtful. “I think I’ve heard of it. I kind of thought it was just something people made up.”

“Nah, it’s real. My brother’s fraternity brings freshman there to haze them. They tell them to go up and throw eggs at the place and then ditch ‘em in the woods.”

Soso blinks. “Why?”

She shrugs. “It’s just a thing they do. It sucks and it’s totally immature but no one ever accused those guys of being creative.”

“Whatever,” Carmen says. “I’m done with books for today. I’m gonna go inside and enjoy some nice brain-rotting TV.”

“Good call, honestly. If you get caught hanging around that place too much they’ll probably start egging us next.”

Carmen heads inside and Phoebe goes back to making little coaxing noises at the gap in the porch. Soso frowns to herself. Sometimes she feels like people in this town purposely go out of their way to ruin anything that could be the slightest bit different. It’s probably just a normal library that happened to be in a weird spot, run by a typical cranky old librarian. Even if it is nothing it probably has more to offer than spending the rest of her day throwing french-fries to birds and squirrels in the Burger Beast parking lot.

“Hey Phoebe,” she says. “Where did you say that library was?”

 --

 The trip is longer than she had anticipated. Her legs are strong but the sun’s getting low enough that she worries she’ll be riding home in the dark. A generous part of it she blames on Phoebe’s vague directions, scribbled into a patchwork paper map of hear-say more than anything else. Despite this she continues. She’s snapped a few pictures of the foliage in its brilliant reds and golds, so if all else is a bust at least she won’t have completely wasted her time. Worst case scenario, she returns home with a little extra muscle on her calves from all the pedaling.

Well, the real worst case scenario is probably more along the lines of her getting caught by an axe murderer and left to rot in the spooky woods, another ghost for the local repertoire. Even then, at least she won’t have to worry about the next family phone call if she’s dead.

Grim musings aside, she loops back and manages to find the correct path, a trampled dirt road half-hidden under the leaf litter, and at last make her way to the fabled “other library”. It’s one of those old brick buildings, surrounded by a low fence that struggles to hold its own against the climbing vines and insects nibbling at its posts. It’s early enough in the season that their collective buzz-chirp-hum still fills the air, though otherwise it is almost eerily quiet. It’s strangely peaceful, Soso thinks as she wades through wild patches of tall grass, as if she were returning to somewhere familiar.

The place is clearly abandoned, she decides, sunlight refracting off the firmly shuttered windows. It’s a cool discovery to be sure, but she ought to have known a mysterious library in the woods with an equally mysterious shut-in tending it was too much to expect from a town like Ensfield. That doesn’t stop her from exploring though. She likes it here, and she especially likes the gorgeous, ancient-looking gargoyle that sits in front of the steps leading up to the entrance, like one of those stone lions that stand guard outside of libraries of greater fame than this one.

The thing is magnificent, as well as truly hideous, its face twisted in a snarl so visceral and strikingly lifelike that it sends a genuine chill down her spine. The attention to detail, to carving out each individual wrinkle of flesh, is astounding. The stance the stone creature is frozen in comes off much more threatening than the regal intensity she might have expected, and it seems to her a counterintuitive choice of décor, but one the artist in her wholeheartedly approves of.

Propping her bike up against the stairs she crouches in the shadow of the gargoyle to get a better look. Organic shapes like vines encircle the beast, so lifelike that feels compelled to touch, as if they might fall away under her fingertips. Just as she reaches out however, the front doors of the library swing open and a stout, middle-aged man rushes out.

“Don’t- who- don’t touch that! It’s- it’s not-“ he stammers. “It’s an antique. Very breakable.”

The man is well-dressed, but his head of yellow hair is mussed to one side, like he’s just woken from a nap, enforced by the wrinkles he anxiously tries to smooth out of his vest. His eyes are a shocking shade of spring green.

“Sorry?” Soso offers, still recovering from the fright. She pulls her hand back guiltily and he seems to relax. How fragile could something made of stone be, she wonders, that he would work himself up into such a state over it. “Uh, is this the library?”

The man finishes straightening himself out before he responds. “That’s what you’re here for? Books?”

“What else?” she asks. His eyes remain narrow with scrutiny, so she adds, “Books on mythology. It’s for a school project. I heard… I am in the right place, right?”

There’s a copper plaque by the door that reads “North Ensfield Public Library”, but at this point she’d be as willing to accept that she wandered into a random person’s front yard, for how he looks at her. After another awkward pause, the man turns back towards the entrance and gestures for her to follow.

“Sorry about that. I don’t see many regular patrons anymore, not for a while now. Pardon the mess.” He speaks quickly, not leaving any room for interruption.

There isn’t much mess to pardon, not really. In fact, the shelves look well organized, if a bit dusty, and the space isn’t as cramped or cluttered as she had expected from the outside. A certain saying about books and covers comes to mind, but she doesn’t think her host would appreciate the joke. It’s no wonder he doesn’t see many people if he acts this way with everyone. Soso bumps into a table and nearly upsets what seems to be a pyramid assembled from various glasses, topped with an upside-down teapot.

“Do you live here?” she asks before she can curtail her curiosity.

“I’m a librarian,” he answers. “This is a library.”

“Right, but that doesn’t…” she fumbles.

“Do Canadians not live in Canada? Do Norwegians not live in Norway?”

“Vegetarians don’t live in vegetables,” she counters.

He considers that. “Well-played.”

Soso laughs despite herself and, to her surprise, things seem to go more smoothly after that. She continues speaking with the librarian and learns that his name is Surehouser, though if there’s a first name attached to that one, she doesn’t catch it. He’s certainly as eccentric as the rumors had led her to believe, but he seems harmless, and quite frankly more than a little lonesome. She doesn’t know how a person could be anything else, living like this.

He’s not friendly or unfriendly; his words have a measured quality to them, as if he’s afraid of saying too much. Soso gets the impression, as the sole carer for this seemingly ancient place, his occupation is more out of a sense of obligation than a passion for literature. He looks the part of the academic for sure, down to the silver that threads through his hair and the half-moon reading glasses folded in the front of his shirt, but his eyes track her as she browses like he doesn’t know what to do with someone who actually wants to check out a book.

“Do you have an idea of what you’re looking for?” he asks after she’s been at it for a while.

She doesn’t want to admit that not only is she not sure, since it’s not really her class she needs it for, but that whatever organizational system is in place here is totally incomprehensible to her. “Anything you have should be good.”

Which is how she ends up checking out way more than she meant to, sending up a tiny prayer that her comparatively tiny backpack can rise to the occasion. Surehouser gives her a look like he knows what’s going through her head as he leads her to the front desk. There’s no computer in sight, just a leatherbound book of names and dates and a thick rubber stamp.

“On my way out, would you mind if I took some pictures of that statue you have out front? For my project.” She adds that last part as an afterthought, then regrets it right away. She’s a notoriously terrible liar and the more she enforces the threads of this pointless story she’s weaving, the more awkward she feels.

He frowns and says, more to himself than to her, “I always thought that old thing was a bit gaudy myself. I’d have gotten rid of it ages ago if I could.”

Something about the way he says it strikes her as strange. Not knowing how to respond, she simply says, “I don’t know, I think it’s cool.”

He laughs. Or, she thinks that’s what it is. The sound is gentle but rusty at the edges. “I suppose you would. Feel free to do whatever you want, only do not touch it, and be careful.”

She walks down the stone steps, her haul unexpectedly light on her back, and pauses to look at the gargoyle once more. The light isn’t any good right now, but she’ll be back.

“See you later,” she tells it.

Sure enough, the next day she’s back. She hadn’t actually planned to be such a regular, but she’d been unable to keep the place from her mind, and it wasn’t as if she had anything better to do. Carmen had looked about to cry when Soso showed her the books she’d picked out. The ones she didn’t need for her paper, Soso decided to flip through herself and had found herself more invested than she’d counted on. The book on obscure pagan deities she’d selected, though dense and confusing in places, was particularly interesting. Before she knew it, she was finished, and thus had the perfect excuse to go back.

“This guy kinda looks like you, don’t you think?” She holds the page open so that the gargoyle could “see” it. Despite arriving at noon on a Wednesday, the library seems to be truly closed today and no amount of knocking had managed to change its mind. Since she’d already come all this way, she figured she might as well find some other way to entertain herself before heading home.

“The horns are all wrong, but the general look is there. He could be, like, your second cousin,” she tells the statue.

The statue doesn’t respond, obviously, but Soso likes talking to it regardless. She adjusts her position so she can keep reading while keeping the book within its line of sight. When it’s time to leave, she turns to it and says,

“Keep an eye on that guy who runs the place for me. He’s weird, and should really keep more regular hours, but he’s nice, and I think being alone out here is making him a little…” She makes a spiraling motion with her finger. “Guess I’m not one to talk though. I’m chatting with a hunk of rock.”

She doesn’t stop though. Maybe it’s the boredom, maybe it’s something just fundamentally Soso, but whatever the reason, she keeps coming back. Partially for the library, yes, and for the company of the strange librarian that dwells within, but primarily to have a quiet place to vent her frustrations and speak her mind, where often the only one around to judge is one who’s incapable of talking back.

Surehouser is an acquired taste, and they don’t have much in common, but he never turns Soso away on the days when her visits magically coincide with the hours of operation. He always seems to have snacks on hand and is content to let the young woman ramble on about whatever latest subject has caught her interest, which as much as she could ask of anyone really. He still speaks frustratingly little of himself, but she believes she’ll get it out of him eventually.

She’s moved from taking pictures around the library to breaking out her old sketchbook, sitting on the steps and muttering to the empty air as she tries to map the contours of the stone body before her. She’s always been visually minded, for whatever good it does her.

“My mom keeps calling and asking if I want to come home for the holidays,” she complains, holding her knees to her chest. “And I know that’s months away but if I say yes that means having to see my family in person while they interrogate me about my future. I’m not even sure I have a future.”

She paces around for a minute to work out some pins and needles and brushes back her hair where it’s been falling in her face. Feeling playful, she imagines she can feel the gargoyle’s gaze watching her.

“Oh this? Yeah, I did get a haircut, thank you for noticing. Just a couple inches off the bottom but I think it’s nice.”

She tosses her head. Nestled among her dark hair, a tip of pointed ear pokes out and she worries idly at the cartilage like she used to do when she was younger.

“You noticed that too, huh. I was born with this itty bity point to my ears. They used to stick out when I was a kid. I was kinda self-conscious about it, actually. I dreaded whenever we had a course in school about fairytales because the kids in my class would call me an elf. I started making my mom do my hair so that they were hidden and just, never grew out of the habit I guess.”

The gargoyle is without comment. She smiles.

“I knew you’d understand, dude. Us freaks have to stick together.”

The following week is a flurry of last-minute Halloween preparations. Soso herself hadn’t been planning to dress up, not having anywhere to be other than planted firmly on the couch in front of a horror B-movie marathon, but the other girls insist they decorate, as there’d been whispers in their neighborhood of pranks planned on those deemed not festive enough. According to Carmen, who had become the resident expert on local tradition since she aced her last history test, the custom of shunning those who didn’t partake was almost as firmly rooted as the decorating itself. It stemmed from a belief from ye olden days that the festivities helped to fend off ghosts and goblins and the meddling of the fae on the day when the border between their worlds was the thinnest.

“Wait, do ghosts come from the same place as fae, or do they just, like, carpool here?”

She snorts. “It depends who you ask, but a lot of people around here believe that anything that’s magical or ‘otherworldly’ in origin is technically ‘fae’. Ensfield has a whole history of convoluted fae-based superstitions. Did you know some people still leave out bowls of fresh milk for house spirits?”

“House spirits?”

“Like, brownies.”

Soso nods. “I love having milk with brownies.���

Phoebe pipes up from the kitchen. “I had a girlfriend in high school who left out offerings when she was doing her SATs.”

“Did it help?” Carmen asks. “I’ll try anything.”

Soso is no skeptic, but she’s more inclined to believe that leaving food out overnight will attract more mice than faerie blessings. The sentiment is nice, but it’s hard for her to take comfort in fairytales without remembering her childhood teasing. How much worse could it have been if it had been more than just a joke, if her ears and her daydreaming demeanor were enough to get her labeled as an outsider for life, rather than just for the span of third grade.

“Are you doing anything special for Halloween, Soso?” Carmen asks.

“You mean like leaving out bowls of milk?”

She laughs. “No, like going to a party. You can come with me to Katy’s if you want. It’ll be lowkey.”

Carmen has been making more of an effort to get to know her since she got her those books for her paper, but while Soso appreciates the thought, being a plus-one at a stranger’s party where everyone knows each other from the classes she’s still not attending doesn’t sound like her idea of a good time.

“No thanks. Someone’s gotta stay and hand out candy to the trick or treaters, right?”

“Good point. Did you pick up candy?”

“Not yet, but I’ll do it.”

“Just don’t put it off until the night of.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

That is exactly what happened. October 31st finds Soso standing in line with a back of candy under each arm. Their neighborhood isn’t exactly kid-heavy, but better safe than TP’d she figures. She’s nearing the register when a pair of college-age boys stumble in, looking conspicuously red around the whites of their eyes. She sighs inwardly as they wander around, talking just a bit too loud for comfort, and does her best to ignore them even as they get in line behind her. Looking out of the corner of her eye, she notices that there is nothing in their baskets except a two-liter bottle of off-brand soda, a box of marshmallow snackcakes, and about four cartons of eggs, each.

It almost doesn’t click for her until she remembers what Phoebe said about the frat bros and their hazing. That paired with it being a night notorious for pranks by idiot teens is enough to get her nervous. After making her purchase she lingers outside the store for a moment and watches as the boys climb into a car and drive away in the direction of the woods.

It might still be a coincidence, they might be heading to some other destination that just so happens to be in that direction as well, but the image of some stupid stoners invading her sanctuary makes her hackles raise all the same. She starts pedaling after them, following just far enough behind so as not to be spotted in the swiftly fading light.

[mycatshuman]

The Emo Who Stole Christmas

Chapter 1 : Story time!

Word Count: 3,068

Pairings: Pre-established Prinxiety, pre-established Logicality, pre-established Demus

Warnings: Commercialization of Christmas, falling down the mountain, Grinch used as an insult? Small car crash with no harm, brief mention of playing with matches, mentions of messing with mail? Almost getting crushed by a stamp, child being wrapped in wrapping paper, that might be it I'm not sure and I know these sound weird but I'm just being careful.

Remus and Deceit don't come in until the next chapter.

Thank you so so much to @icequeenoriginal !!! You are basically the co-creator to this fic and it really would not be as good as it is without you. And I also have to thank you for coming up with such and ingenious title!!💜💜

Masterlist | Next | More Chapters

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Snowflakes fall through the dark sky. A sparkling flake flies close and then we zoom inside the snowflake, watching sparkling crystals fly by as we start on our journey. 

Storytime! Inside a snowflake, like the one on your sleeve, there happened a story you must see to believe. The clouds break away and we see snow-covered mountains and evergreen trees dotted across the landscape. 

And in that snowflake, way up in the mountains, in the high range of Pontoos, lay the small town of Whoville: the home of the Who's. Ask any Who, And they'll say: "There is no place like Whoville around Christmas Day!" 

Every window was flocked, and every lamppost was dressed and the Whoville band marched in their Christmasy best! Or holiday best if they celebrated a different holiday. Who's run through the town as the snow falls around them, their arms full with bags and gifts and decorations. 

Arbor Day was fine, and Easter was pleasant and every Saint Fizzin's day, they ate a Fizz pheasant. But every Who knew, from their twelve toes to their snout, they loved Christmas (or other winter holidays like Kwanzaa and Hanukkah) the most, without a single Who doubt.

------

A man with dark skin hurriedly says "Farfingle's welcomes you! Thank you! Happy Holidays! Thank you for shopping at Farfingle's!" The man is looking a little pale as he tries to keep up with the sales as people shove money at him to pay for gifts. No one stopping to take their receipts, causing the man to become exhausted and fighting to keep his smile on his face. 

Patton walked around as he stared at his long gift list. "We got a snoozlephone for your brothers Stu and Drew, a muncle for your uncle, fant for your aunt, and a fandpa for your cousin Critic. That means we just need….." Patton paused and looked around, realizing he couldn't find his child. "Emile?" He called out.  "Emile? Honey?" He turned to find a set of legs sticking out from under a square of presents. He crouched and pulled a wrapped gift from the middle and his child's face peered out at him. Their face was pinched slightly and they seemed uncertain about something. "Doesn't this seem like a bit much?" They asked as they glanced at the presents. 

Patton chuckled heartily. "Oh no! This is what Christmas is all about!" Emile scrunched their nose as they looked at their father. "Can't you feel it?"

Emile shook their head and sighed as they left the store getting ready to head to the post office, where Patton worked. In the background, the sound of the store clerk’s increasingly exhausted voice sounded. "Wait! Don't forget your change!!!!!" 

Outside, the loud bell tolled and everyone froze. The Counter shouted, "Another Minute Closer to the Holidays!"

"And now, for the next ten minutes only, 99% off!!" A store owner shouts out into the busy streets and everyone rushed forward to try and get as much as they could from the store. 

-------

Yes, every Who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot. But the Grinch, who lived just north of Whoville, did not.

-----

Four Who teenagers climbed up the mountain quickly laughing and giggling, on their way to cause mischief. Or so they thought. "Come on! All the good mistletoes at the top! Missy! I'll race you!" Emile's brother Pranks shouted. 

"The last one to the top is a stinky old Grinch!!" Missy shouted as he raced past his brother. 

"Where are we?" One of the teens said as she climbed up alongside her sister. "I think we should go back before something bad happens."

"What? Are you scared of the Grinch?" 

The other sister huffed and grabbed her sister's arm and marched up to the door and hesitated. "Go on! Touch the door!" Pranks cried out. The sister gulped and reached forward only for the door to swing open and a huge ugly purple face with piercing fangs stared at them with malevolent eyes. A thundering growl sounded from the pit of the beasts' throat. The teens screamed and turned around only to tumble down the mountain head over heels. 

"Remy!! Look at them run!! Scared them so bad they fell right off our mountain!!" A deep voice laughed as he picked up an apple. "It serves them right. Those Yuletide-loving sickly-sweet, not-sucking cheer mongers! I don't like them. I really don't." The voice paused as they stopped and a flush spread across their pale face. "Well, most of them."  The voice moved out the door and stood looking down at the town of Whoville. "Remy! Sass master! Get my cloak!" The figure grimaced as he looked down at the town. "I've been too tolerant of these delinquents and their "innocent, victimless pranks." The figure's frown deepened as he glared at the town. If looks could kill. "So, they want to get to know me? Do they really? Want to spend a little quality time with the-" the future's nose scrunched in disgust. "Grinch!" He spat out the name as if it had hurt him. And maybe it had. He huffed and then turned to his cat Remy who sat next to his midnight colored cloak. A wicked grin spread across his face. "I guess I could use a little...social interaction." 

---------

A dark clothed figure walked through the town, A small dark grey cat trotting along beside them. Well, maybe walking wasn't so accurate. The figure seemed to glide and float across the ground as if it was an otherworldly spector. However, none of the Who's seemed to notice this different looking figure. "Happy Holidays!" A person called cheerfully as they walked past the figure. Virgil grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, you bet. Ho, ho, ho, and all that stuff or whatever." If any Who had stopped to peer closer at the hooded figure they might find a weird creepy mask and a lanky body covered in dark purple fur. It was a suit Virgil used to frighten the Whos more. It also to stay warm in the biting cold weather. 

A horn blared as a car crashed into a pole and Virgil gasped overdramatically. "Oh no!" He exclaimed and looked down at Remy. "Someone must have vandalized that vehicle. Don't you see, Remy? This city is a dangerous place!" He snickered after he confirmed his little trick hadn't hurt anyone.

The Grinch hated the holidays. The whole Holiday season. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe it just hurt to remember what the Who's had done to him. But please do not ask why. No one quite knows the reason. Aside from one other.

Virgil stopped two children and handed then a play saw, perfectly harmless but looked very real. "Here's a present for you two! Now be sure to run real fast with it! Double time!" 

Some believe it's because his head wasn't screwed on just right. Or that his shoes were too tight. But they think the most likely reason of all is, maybe his heart is two sizes too small.

As Virgil was walking a man stopped him from moving any further. "Hey, there stranger! Won't let you go until you buy a chapeau!" Virgil lifted his mask and hissed. The salesperson who had stopped him fainted out of sheer terror. Virgil held back a snort and he and Remy were on their way. 

-------

Patton carried presents alongside his child, Emile as they made their way to the post office. "Oh boy! Nothing beats Christmas! Right kiddo?" 

Emile frowned. "I don't-I guess." 

Patton frowned and turned to look at his child. "You guessed?" He asked, concern lacing through his words. 

Emile shrugged as they looked down. "I mean, I look around and see you and Pa getting all kabbabled and doesn't it seem...superfluous?" 

Patton opened his mouth to say something when a loud screaming reached his ears and he froze, turning towards the source of the noise as everyone around them did the same. 

"DAD!!!!" Missy and Pranks raced into the town square as the Mayor came out of his office along with his assistant to see what the commotion was about. 

"What happened to you?!?!" Patton asked panicked. The two boys were covered in frost and snow as they tried to stutter out a response. "It was the Grinch!" 

Virgil looked up. "What do you want?" He froze, "I mean.." He pitched his voice higher. "'Grinch? Oh, no!'"

"Did you say Grinch?" The mayor, Anton Who said as he stalked over to the family. 

Patton froze.“H-Hello Anton, M-Mayor Sir.” Patton said as he moved his children behind him. 

Anton sighed "Patton, I don't think I need to remind all of you that this Christmas marks the one-thousandth Whobilation."

"Whoville's most important celebration!!"

"As you know," the Mayor began as he pulled out a very large and thick book. "The Book of Who says very clearly, 'Every size of Who we can measure knows that Whobilation is a time we must treasure!'" He closed the book, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Now, Patton. Please tell me that your children have not been up on Mount Crumpit provoking one and only creature within a billion bilometers of here who hates the holidays!"

Missy and Pranks began speaking quickly, "But it was the Grinch-" 

Patton stopped them by covering their mouths, terrified of what the consequences may be for them and their family if they kept talking. "No, Mayor. They didn't see no Grinch. They were probably just up on the mountain playing with matches or defacing public property or something…" 

The Mayor let out a sigh of relief as he placed his gloved hand on his chest. "Oh! That is such a relief." He turned his extravagant cape dragging behind him. "All right! You heard the man! There is no Grinch Problem here! Happy Holidays!" The mayor called cheerfully. 

Virgil frowned and raised his mask and stuck a straw between his lips and spit a ball of paper at the Mayor. The mayor frowned and whipped the ball off his face, disgusted. Virgil chuckled as he pulled his mask down and went off again. 

-----

Roman May let out a sigh as he realized he still had four hours until it was dark enough to leave town. So he just rolled his new purchase home, slowly, hoping to kill more time. He paused at the post office however and let out a faint chuckle as he noticed the end of a cape and a cat's tail slipping through the crack in the door as it fell close. He sighed dreamily. "That's my love," he muttered fondly to himself and walked away with a lot more pep in his step than before. 

-----

Emile frowned as they watched their dad walk down a long hallway with envelopes and presents as he stuffed them in small cubes lining one wall that leads into the room on the other side. "Dad, I just- I don't understand something."

"Hhm?" Patton asked as he continued working but made sure to give his child the attention they deserved. 

"Why so everyone so against talking about the Grinch?" 

Patton huffed quietly, a little admirable of his child's fascination. "You kids and the Grinch…” he said softly. "You see, Emile, the Grinch is a Who, who always…." He paused. "Well...he's actually not a Who. He's more a..." 

"A what?" 

Patton nodded. "Yeah, he's more a what who doesn't like Christmas or any other holiday." Emile's face pulled down into a frown as they listened to their dad. "Just take a look at his mailbox. Not a single card, in or out. Not ever!" 

Emile looked at the empty mailbox that had seemingly been empty for so long that cobwebs filled the dead space. "But why?" They asked as they turned to look at their dad, unsure why someone wouldn't have at least been kind enough to try and include him. 

Patton opened his mouth to answer his child only to be cut off by people crowding around the front counter. "Patton! I got the wrong mail!!!" Someone cried out frantically and Patton gave Emile an apologetic smile and walked to the counter. "I'm coming!" He called out. "We can sort this all out!" 

-----

Virgil grinned wickedly as he stood in the mailroom and looking at the mailboxes from the other side. "Oh, this will take them years to sort out!" He began to grab envelopes and switch them around. "This is his and now it’s yours. This is hers and now it’s his!" He giggled gleefully and turned around. Picking up a stack of bright yellow envelopes he spun around. "And for the rest of you!" He flung envelopes into random mailboxes with great force as he chuckled madly to himself. "Jury duty! Jury duty! Jury duty! Blackmail! Pink slip! Chain letter! Eviction notice! Jury duty!" Remy watched unamused as Virgil tried to wreak havoc. He rolled his eyes, as well as a cat could. Virgil may seem threatening but in all actuality, he was just a hurt soul trying to hurt those who hurt him but was too nice to do so. At least he had Remy to keep him in check. 

-----

Patton walked over to Emile and held out a small stack of envelopes. "Hey, Emile, would you mind helping me take this to the mailroom?" Emile nodded and took the envelopes from their father. Patton smiled and ruffled their hair. "Thank you. Now be careful of the sorting machine, alright?" 

Emile nodded with a small smile and turned around and opened the door to the mailroom and glanced over as they watched the conveyor belt drop presents down a hole to have Fragile stamped on the side. They set the mail down and turned to leave only to hear a loud splat. They turned around and frowned as they noticed an ugly, overly happy mask sitting on the floor. They bent over and picked up the mask and inspected it. 

Virgil and Remy stared down below at the small Who child that had entered the mailroom. They were squished into the corner of the ceiling, trying to stay perched where they were until the child left. Then Remy sneezed. "Gesundheit," Virgil muttered. Emile gasped and whirled around, their gaze going to the ceiling. "Whoops."

Emile stuttered as they stared at the purple fur of the Grinch and the dark grey cat and screamed. The Grinch screamed back. Emile screamed again, and as the Grinch let out another scream they slowly composed themselves.  "You're the...the...You're the..."

Virgil jumped down and leaned forward into Emile's face. "The Grinch!" He snarled. Emile screamed and fell back into a pile slowly falling through the hole in the floor leading to the conveyor belt for the sorting machine. Virgil blinked as he tried to calm his racing heart. "Well...I guess that worked out..." He quickly turned towards the door, terrified of getting caught. "Remy, let's go. Our work here is done." 

"Help!! Help me! Please! Somebody!" Emile screamed as their head fell closer to the conveyor belt. Remy stopped just short of the door and gave Virgil a look that said, 'I know you're gonna feel guilty about this. Go help them, gurl.' 

Virgil huffed at being called out despite not actually hearing what Remy said, he was pretty good at telling what his cat was thinking. "All the bleeding hearts of the world unite! Ugh!" Virgil turned around and grabbed a hold of Emile's ankle before pulling the child out and quickly turning them upright. "There!" Virgil exclaimed. Although he turned his voice down at noticing the slightly shocked face of the child. He huffed and yanked the mask from them. "Give me that! Don't you know you're not supposed to take things that don't belong to you?! What are you, some kind of wild animal?!?!?" 

Emile blinked, desperately trying to process what exactly had just happened. They quickly found their voice as they vaguely heard the Grinch say something about leaving to their cat. "Thank you for saving me!" 

Virgil froze and slowly turned around to face the child again. "Saving you?" He asked slowly, carefully. "Is that what you think I was doing?" Emile nodded. Virgil huffed. He couldn't have this getting out, who knows how many teens would come up to bother him then! He grimaced. "Wrong-o!" He glanced to the side and noticed a roll of wrapping paper on a wrapping paper holder. He glanced back at the child. They can't know where I'm going. I have to make sure to stall them. "I simply noticed you weren't properly packaged, dear child." 

Emile stepped back only for the Grinch to began rapidly wrapping them up in the shiny red wrapping paper. "Hold still!" The Grinch exclaimed. Then he turned to his cat. "Remy! Pick out a bow!" Then the Grinch paused. "May I use your finger for a moment?" After a few more moments, Emile felt the Grinch's presence move away. They heard a snap and an "ow" at what, Emile assumed, was the Grinch putting his mask back on. 

Emile stood silent for a few moments after the Grinch left before they began shouting. "Hello! Hello!"  

Patton frowned as he looked for his child. A small "hello" drew him towards the mailroom and he opened the door. "Emile?" 

"Dad! Daddy!" Emile called out as they sensed their father moving closer. 

"What ...?" Patton was speechless as he noticed a figure wrapped in wrapping paper around the size of his child. "Emile? Is that really you?" He asked again and began removing the wrapping paper.

Once Emile's head and torso were uncovered, they grinned excitedly at Patton. "Dad! It was astounding! Th-"

"You have been practicing your Christmas wrapping!" Patton exclaimed, eyes twinkling. "Oh, Emile! I am so so proud of you!! That's the holiday spirit!!" 

"O-oh…" Emile train of thought halted as they took in their father. His black-framed glasses and the grey cardigan pulled tight over his postal uniform. The smile that was wide on his face, beaming with pride. Emile subconsciously rubbed at the grey material of their school uniform. 

Kind little Emile didn't know what to do. In their head, a conflict or two humbled around their brain. 'If The Grinch was so bad, then why did he save me?" They thought. "Maybe he wasn't as bad as they say." Maybe. Just maybe. 

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