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headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne · 1 year

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Dark Souls 2 Chain 2

Prompt: A tale during the war against the giants that Vendrick waged @irnbruforthetrue

Ghosts of the Swamp

“Y’know, if I don’t see another swamp before I die it’ll still be too soon.”

Calinda did her best to wring the soak and rot from her cloak as their company halted by the roadside. The heavy, black, wool only served to weigh her down on the long, nigh unending, march to the hidden treasures at the heart of this humid, grey, hell. Her boots, once polished enough to shine in the darkness, were now ratty and eaten away in place by this voracious marshland.

To her right, perched on a rare outcropping of stable earth, sat perhaps the only person that could make light of even this misery. Hallin was a young man by the standards of their lord’s expeditionary force; of the thousand men present, he may be burdened with the least winters on his back. Even then, garbed in the same abyss black and royal blue vestments as the rest of them, he looked like he’d aged with every hard-fought step.

She was not much older than him, a handful of years, yet where he still sported a swagger and self-confident smirk; Calinda felt a single creak in her lips would prompt her knees to buckle and for the mire to swallow her. The swords-woman slumped against the same outcrop gingerly; enough to rest her weariness yet not so carelessly that it might cost her a dip in the grimy waters currently lapping at her thighs.

“Shut up, Hal,” she groaned, rubbing her veridian eyes with her gloved fingers.

“Oh, and are you enjoying mile after mile of swamp?” she glanced up at him with all the patience she could muster. He smiled down at her softly for a moment before fishing a well gnawed piece of hardtack out of a breast pocket and biting down.

“How far do you think we’ve actually gone?” Calinda’s grip went to the handle of blade. The last thing she needed was a rusty sword and the accompanying whipping the captain would dish out for it. She angled the scabbard till it dug into the edge of the outcropping just above the waterline.

“From the ships, or from yesterday?” she grunted apathetically, “to the first, at least a handful of leagues… and the second… well I’m worried if I crane my neck; I’ll be able to see the smoke from our campfires still.”

“If the king wishes to beat a hasty retreat we may have difficulties,” glancing around, Calinda could make out the outlines of a few more of her fellow soldiers. Even a couple metres apart the haze that lay over the swamp obscured everything.

“Well he’ll be fine,” she glanced back at the younger man, “y’know, being so tall n’all.”

“Lord Vendrick would not abandon his men,” she said confidently. Even then, that little voice in the back of her mind didn’t deign to hold its tongue.

But if we’re all dead then what’s he got to abandon?

“Last night… did you hear…” the normally jovial demeanour in his voice slipped for a moment.

“The whispers?” he nodded quietly.

“I asked the captain but… he threatened a whipping if I spoke to anyone about them,” not an unusual form of punishment from the honourable Lucan de Soterre but over noises...

“Then why are you still speaking?” Calinda drew slightly straighter at the thought of their captain reedy, little, voice whining out in an otherwise still reprieve.

“Because we’ve been alone for near on a fortnight in these lands and those were the first voices I’ve heard that didn’t belong to our people,” his smile wavered.

“The king will have heard it too,” she did her best to reassure him, “if there’s something out there it will fall upon a thousand shining blades before it even draws close to taking one of our own.”

A cry rang out through the fog quickly followed by a chorus of weary sighs. A shadow passed over the pair of warriors to the steady, sonorous, rhythm of falling feet. Particularly massive feet. The duo glanced up at the looming form of one of the king’s greatest defenders. His golden armour dulled in the obscured mid-afternoon light.

“Velstadt,” Hallin muttered under his breath, a generous coat of wonder lacquering his words.

The nigh godly warrior dwarfed near on every other member of the company yet just as quickly as he came, he melted back into the fog. The gentle rumble of his footsteps the only sign he’d ever been there.

“Guess, he’ll be okay too,” Hallin grumbled before dropping into the marshy waters below, “Gwyn’s Wrath!” he growled as his feet descended through the layers of tepid silt and mud.

** ** **

The first of the sentries went missing that night.

Just the one. Gone amidst the whispers.

A search of their vigil area was quickly undertaken with the first light. Fifty men scouring the filth and grime, up to their necks, for a body that was never found. It was just like he wandered into the darkness and never returned. For ease, and to keep the men in line, his belongings were either divided up or drowned in the swamp.

The next night… even more.

The ground had begun to grow far more solid over the course of those two days. There were even moments that the expedition could effectively march over solid ground. But even then, there was not a man in the company who didn’t stare discerningly at every passing shadow. At camp that night, and the one after that, every sentry never strayed from the light, be that torch or campfire.

Even then, three more vanished.

That final day, the halt was called early, the men spreading out around a copse of willow trees. No one was talking, everyone stared at the ring of dancing lights surrounding the tents as the last of the daylight fell into the foggy mire to the west. If they weren’t eating, or sleeping, everyone sat with one hand on their weapon. Their ears trying to block out the whispers that rose all around them with the moon.

** ** **

“We’re close,” Calinda pressed her knuckles till they cracked. The nights were chillier than the days but the muggy warmth of the air refused to dissipate. She was stripped down to her linen shirt and breeches, the heavy, wool-padded, armour sat drying against the side of her tent.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Hallin muttered, his eyes were bloodshot and humourless. Staring intently at the bobbing dot of flame that was their bunkmate in the far distance.

“You think they’re watching us?” it felt like a morbid question. Like mice wondering how close the cat drew to their burrow. The fact of the matter was that Calinda had felt eyes burrowing into the back of her head since that first unfortunate soul had disappeared into the fog. With every lost soul it felt like the chorus of soft voices in the night grew a little louder.

“If I were… if it were me, and taking their watchmen wasn’t stopping them…” he trailed off and tossed his unwanted tack into the flames. Calinda didn’t ask for more. She knew what he would say. What he meant. And she would bet her salt that, to a man, the entire expedition was feeling it too.

Calinda joined the host of eyes staring outwards. Her hand wrapped around the tough leather of her sword’s grip. The feeling of the hardened, brown, wrap rolling between her fingertips was a small comfort; that little bit of strength to tide her through the darkening world.

The captain did his rounds. It was a strange sight to see him exchanging small talk with the other men. Haughty bastard usually didn’t leave his tent for anything other than his essential duties or to yell at someone for an infraction. But now… he was cracking jokes, and making sure people were not just maintaining decorum but getting comfortable. He’d glanced at her armour for a moment before kneeling and tossing another log on their fire. The warmth of the flame eventually sending her off to sleep.

She awoke, sometime later, the moon held over their heads like a pale beacon in the sky. The camp was still quiet, the fire’s burning lower all around. Hallin was on watch no doubt, his roll empty beside her, his weapon and armour gone too… but something felt off. It was quiet.

Calinda strapped on her armour, heavy as it was with the layer of muck coating it, and strode into the night air. She noticed others who otherwise would be asleep or relaxed sat like they were moments from the frontline. Heading towards the lights; the edge of the camp gradually sank back into the mire. The line of bobbling lights sat a few feet from what could be considered dry land.

The warrior stepped out into the open spaces between the last line of tents.

Then the first light vanished.

And another.

Before she could draw the breath to call everyone to arms a whole swath of lights were doused in the swamp. In the glimmer of the transient flames were reflected massive grey hulks. Like mountains looming out of darkness. Her blood went cold.

“THEY’RE COMING!” she yelled out as the ground quaked beneath her feet. She backed up to her closest brothers in arms and drew her blade in both hands. The camp swarmed with light and the flash of metal blades as the ground began to quiver.

There was a cry to her left as the first of the behemoths tore into the loosely formed line, bringing down a club of rough-hewn granite on the heads of some hapless footmen. Their cries almost instantly muffled by the thunderous crash of the impact. Calinda swallowed bile as her own personal demon reared out of the gloom.

It was as tall as the trees surrounding them and built like the walls of a fortress. Broad and imposing ranks of muscle under craggy skin built across its chest to the head upon its titanic shoulders. There was no face, just a cavernous maw. No eyes, no ears, no nose, just a mouth… just a cavernous gape where it all should be. This one was unarmed, not that it mattered, it looked like it could push through a reinforced gate like you would walk through tall grass.

It let out a deafening bellow from the depths of that empty hole and advanced on the dozen or so men around her. Whether out of bravery or idiocy, they returned the cry and charged into the ankle-deep sludge to greet the monster.

Calinda saw the first strike coming and she reacted; throwing herself into the mud at its feet the moment before its open palm scythed through the air and into the press of men. She drove the sound of men dying from her mind and rose. With gritted teeth and a feral roar she rose and drove the point of her blade directly into the pit of its knee. Despite the rocky appearance, it cut like any other flesh, the blade disappearing up to the hilt before she dragged it in a bloody slash across the beast’s calf.

The once proud monster let out a keening groan, like glass breaking a thousand times over, and caved forward. One of the survivors, hungry for blood and revenge, brought the edge of his blade down on the head of the felled giant again and again till nothing but a stump remained.

She locked eyes with the man moments before he was engulfed in a terrible blaze. His screams drowned out as a fresh wave of these things charged into the camp. Calinda didn’t have the chance to choose her next opponent. Instead, she felt a grip like iron around her stomach as one of the beasts hefted her like a javelin and threw her into the depths of the camp.

She blacked out as she crashed through tent and man alike.

The warrior came to and reared back, grasping for her sword but found it missing. A deep ache rang in her head like the bells of a grand cathedral in full peel. Looking around she found what could have been her sword shattered in the foot print of one of those massive devils. The ground thundered as more faceless titans ripped into the clearing; killing anything that moved with wild abandon.

Staggering back towards the copse of willows and hopes of a weapon. The green-eyed woman found a two-handed axe discarded beside the body of another, less fortunate, impromptu projectile. She snatched up the weapon, it’s blade razor sharp and unused as of yet. With a growl, she spun on her heel and began to trot as fast as she could on bruised legs.

“To me, men!” roared Lucan from somewhere nearby. In the heat of battle his usual whine sounded like a lion’s roar. She saw him as one of the armed ones made a break for the line; before it got half way there it was peppered with two score of arrows. Its torso bristled like a hedgehog yet still it powered on. Lucan and four other men halted it; driving his halberd deep into its chest while the men sliced it to pieces.

Another fell right in her path, before it could recover, Calinda split its maw with a screaming strike. Her blood wasn’t cold anymore, it was hot, she burned hotter than chaos as she drove head first towards their lines. There was at least a score of them left but hundreds of her like, and they. Were. Angry!

Off to her right came the royal coterie; knight’s Velstadt and Raime cleaving through their ranks with ruthless efficiency. The tallest of their number came apart like straw before the scythe in the face of that pair. The warrior was lucky to reach the lines of men as the last of them fell, a ruined heap of lacerated flesh under a swarm of angry drangsmen.

As the battle-fury cleared, the dead were collected and burned. The bodies of the aggressors were simply left to sink into the swamp. Abandoned to choke in the mire like they deserved. The king himself strode out to meet the assembled force, his blade black with their acrid blood, a scowl plastered over his ever-stoic face.

“Men of Drangleic,” he called out in that soft yet totally powerful voice, “we march on the capital tonight.”

** ** **

That had been it. The wounded were left with a small guard, most of them could still hold a weapon so if more came the fight would at least be in them for a while. The rest of the 800 men left marched through the inky swamp waters, weapons drawn, fury in their hearts.

The capital was little more than a collection of ancient, decrepit, stone pillars in the heart of the swamp. There were no signs of dwellings, the giants slipping down into the muck and out again at will. There could’ve been hundreds of them in this small clearing, or barely more than a dozen.

Either way the soldiers fell on the village, whenever one rose from the dirt they were torn apart by fury and steel. Calinda made short work of one almost entirely alone, driving down into the expressionless void of one’s face the moment it reared.

King Vendrick paid them no heed. Forging through the slaughter to the very centre of the clearing. His knights flanked him, clearing away any of their ilk that dared rise to meet the king. He stopped at the very centre, the remains of an altar just peaking from the muck. The men fought on as he stood there, muttering under his breath.

As one, the monsters retreated back into the dark below and the stone pillars quaked with power. A shining light rose from the altar and nestled into the chest of their king. The titan of a man let out a shuddering breath, paused for but a moment, then turned on his heel and began to march back out of the clearing. Calinda had to wade quickly to not get trampled underfoot by the great king as he passed.

** ** **

The bellow of rage came just before dawn. An echoing roar that tore the relative peace of the morning to shreds. A hush went over the camp but for a moment as all eyes turned to the king and his retinue. He marched out from the circle of willow trees and regarded the gathered men with a grim countenance.

“Brave soldiers, we have met with success in our quest but now we must hasten from these lands. Leave all but you arms, armour, and enough water to see you through this day.”

There were murmurs of worry. How did he expect the men to do in a day what had taken over two weeks to achieve? As if to answer their question the king strode to the edge of the water and held up his hand.

The waters foamed and roiled under his will before a hardened causeway of rock and mud rose. Unflinching, the king stepped forth onto his new path; a proud smile splitting his bearded face as he stamped on the rock.

The men wasted no time, filling their flasks from the dwindling barrels of water they had throughout the camp. Under the roars and insults of their commanders, the men formed up and began to march at full pace. Calinda took a last glance at her tent, Hallin’s things untouched… flame’s damn it.

There was no speaking, only the rhythmic crash of two thousand feet on stone, even then every single one of them strained their ears for the sound of their pursuers. Whether it be whispers or the ground itself shaking in fear, every ear was strained as far as it could be. There were a scant few miles from camp to shore yet even then the path had to wind and wend between craggy edifices and fully open bodies of water.

The first regiment called a halt barely a half mile from the end. The captain strode to the back of the column and drew his blade while talking quietly with his men. Calinda almost stopped with them, as some did, yet kept in formation. Soon enough the sound of battle issued out once more behind them. It was loud, valiant, and brief.

The second regiment turned within sight of the beach. They spread out over the thankfully solid ground between the crooked trees and prepared to defend their lord. By the time their valiant last stand had come to its grave conclusion nearly half the army were out to sea in rowboats, the safety of the royal fleet a bare couple hundred feet away.

Calinda let out a sigh of finality as her hand alighted on the side of one of the last lifeboats. There was hardly three score men left on the beach. The king and his knights were already aboard and watching their progress from afar. Her captain stood opposite, a similar look of relief on his face as he hurried the last of his fractious men into safety.

Then came the rumble.

All eyes shot to the treeline.

And there they stood.

Hundreds of them.

Thousands even.

If they had eyes then they would surely burn with the hatred of a people violated in their very homes. Some clutched stone tools, others were draped in rotted cloths, others even had primitive golden bracers. Not their leader though. He stood nearly half again as tall as the greatest of his subjects. On his head was a crudely adorned crown of thorny golden spines and in his hands was clutched a blade that looked like it could cleave mountains in twain.

An understanding passed through the men in that quiet moment. Calinda caught Lucan’s eye as he retrieved his halberd from where he had tossed it in the boat and strode back towards the enemy. The fear in her heart whined and wailed for her to clamber into the boat and hide from all the woes of the world. No… Hallin wouldn’t have done that.

She wrapped a fist around the haft of her new axe and, with one longing hand on the rim of the boat, gestured for the next in line to take her place. She strode to her captain’s side; brandishing her weapon at the legion before them. Nearly half the men abandoned all hope and joined the line in defence of their comrades.

“By the sun,” Lucan spoke out, hoarsely, “no one dies before taking one of these fuckers down.”

A bestial roar went up in the gathered warriors; not a half heart among them. It was a cry of pride, rage, grief… every emotion was drawn on as the first of the endless horde took to the beach. The men scattered around it and brought it down with vicious intent.

Calinda dodged to the side and swung wildly, taking one of the beasts off at the knee. She didn’t wait to relish its scream of pain before heaving the still sharp blade down into its maw. The next second she was knocked flying, her chest screamed as the breath was driven from her.

She recovered, narrowly avoiding being crushed under the bulk of another fallen titan. She drove herself further still, up the beach, thirty men were down to ten. Lucan fell before her eyes, swallowed by the flames of a pyromantic surge from the mirk of the trees. Her next opponent drove its fist down at her, with a flick of her shoulder it missed and she punished its failure with a rancorous strike. Black blood sprouted from the gash she drove into the beast’s neck. Its arms went slack, its head lolled, and the monster toppled.

Her axe was buried too deep, the falling corpse dragging it from her hands.

It was only then she was aware of the silence.

That was it… she was it.

She was hemmed in in a loose ring. The sight of the rapidly fleeing boats over the shoulders of her myriad enemies. She glanced down at her axe, fully buried under the body save for the pommel, a dragon’s head. She cursed loudly, to no one in particular, just for the release of frustration.

She still had a dagger.

It slid from its scabbard with a dull groan.

Looking up she faced their king. His expressionless hole staring down at her with what could only have been curiosity. Or disdain… rage, maybe.

She didn’t care. She’d heard those children’s tales of a lone warrior felling the great beast with nothing but a broken sword and the favour of the gods. She passed the blade from one hand to the other and back again. The behemoths slowly backed away as the great one stepped forward, planting his greatsword in the sand.

“Alright…” she said, addressing the king of monsters, “show me the strength of a lord.” @anorlondoarcheryclub

@fateoftheundead

“The past does not exist. Only our memory of it remains. Our memory is true, of this we are certain. Our memory can be false, with just as great a certainty. Some aver that our memory is neither true nor false, and only the most radical of sages insist that our memory is both true and false simultaneously. If all these possibilities can coexist, then perhaps the past can coexist with our continually churning present. Is this something one can stake their life on? We only know the answers in our memories.” -Alveus Colatorius Maximus

Ding. Ding. Ding.

The damned pealing manifested itself every time the ship rolled on the waves, which was a lot. The swordsman had been pacing the railings at the bow, as the King had decided to take the air and peer through the crashing salty spray into the misty distance.

Or, the swordsman thought, the Queen had decided for her husband to take the air. Normally she would not have spent this much time out of their cabin- she was as fair as any lady he’d ever seen, and tow-headed as well, and the swordsman assumed that that pale skin would burn as red as a steamed koura.

At the moment a thin veil of high gray clouds had attenuated the sunlight, and they were nearing their destination so the royal presence was probably as much about decorum as it was about readiness for the coming trial.

The swordsman- he had been dubbed a knight, truly, but never felt comfortable in that role- ceased his pacing and returned to his “proper” position at the bow. The King of course was at the front, with the Queen at his left. The swordsman was himself positioned at her left- a sinister imposition and he wouldn’t have put it past her to have him so close when she knew exactly how little he liked her.

To the King’s right hand, of course, a hulking presence in golden armor, the source of the ringing, and a humorless ball-buster of a martial monk, the man known as the Royal Aegis. Velstadt.

It wasn’t long ago that the swordsman had considered this brute a brother in arms, and bosom friends, but as time marched on with the pair of them being considered the “Left and Right Hands of the King” all goodwill had been nearly ablated. As serious as he was in his office as a warrior and royal champion, the swordsman was a bit of a bon vivant. He was equally as comfortable in a field kitchen filled with the like of the marines that swarmed both above and below decks behind him, or in a tavern where the alcoves were filled with cutthroats and the floor littered with ground nut shells, or even trading innuendo with effete dukes at court feasts.

It was this that made his deep distaste- hatred was too strong a word yet- for Velstadt and the Queen such a serious issue.

Velstadt. The Queen. Velstadt and the Queen. It wasn’t the first time he’d tossed that particular thought around in his head, and for it to be back at this moment told the swordsman that something was wrong. Wrong with the entire endeavor.

It was possible for the nose to become blind to a perpetual smell, like having a tannery for a neighbor. It could also be the case for the ear, such as the rippling of water against the hull of a ship. But the dinging… the swordsman could not keep it from plaguing his mind. It jarred him when he could hear the Aegis prowling the halls of Drangleic Castle, and it jarred him now. How could the King stand the jangling of the brass rings and clapper within Velstadt’s great bell-like mace? What sane person could, and not become mad from the din?

Velstadt, for one, though the longer the swordsman spent in his company the more he wondered about the Aegis’ sanity. On consideration, perhaps a slavish devotion to some faith or creed was the seeds of such madness. The swordsman ruminated on that for a moment. He himself was perhaps too devoted to the kingdom of his birth, and by extension the King. Not to the point of jingoism- the swordsman was conscious of such things, a remnant of the education of his youth before war and death and the sword became his specialty.

The land ahead of them continued to draw closer and the swordsman squinted towards it- he had been woolgathering. It was but a moment of renewed attention before the swordsman felt a presence behind him which was followed closely by a strangely shapeless shadow. He turned to look and there he was, in his ridiculous hat- Alveus Colatorius Maximus. The hat was a strange thing, a wicker structure that reminded the swordsman of an inverted version of those breast-shaped braziers on the ceiling of a temple. It concealed the wizard’s features save his mouth and chin, which were creased with age and good humor.

“Detect anything? Hmm… seems we have come quite a way.” How could he see with that ridiculous headgear? “The gulls are quite loud. Shore must not be far off.” Could a wizard poke around in one’s thoughts?

The swordsman nodded in acknowledgement and returned his gaze to the approaching land. He could not hear any gulls yet, and felt a strange ennui, unable to say anything to the wizard who was now standing next to him. The swordsman contented himself with vigilance- though vigilance towards what, he couldn’t say. Despite any proximity to a certain queen, His Majesty appeared as a monarch should- hale, hearty, and with determination.

Their mission to this foreign land would require more than determination and a kingly aura. The tableaux began to irk the swordsman, almost as much as any jingling from the king’s right hand. He was ready to follow his king into battle, to wade any fray, spill countless rivers of blood… for the sake of their homeland of Drangleic.

It would almost certainly come to that.

The swordsman located his shield- held by one of the marines who had been hastily conscripted as a squire of sorts. He bowed to King Vendrick, who was preoccupied, and walked over, grabbing his shield from the startled marine. The swordsman felt a momentary frisson- like a goose had walked over his grave. He looked at the raven embossed on it and felt a moment’s relief that he hadn’t realized he needed.

"We are born to the dark, made men by the dark, undone by the dark; embrace the dark. We are touched by it from the cradle, every moment as a child defined by the contrast. Words and time are naught before a spreading shadow, and there is a time in our lives when we must don the darkness like a raiment. Embrace it." -Gilleah

Crows, ravens, magpies… it was the swordsman’s father who let a rookery become his life’s work, even after serving in Drangleic’s army- as a falconer- and being discharged with pension and full honors.

The swordsman loved his father, and spent as much time within the rookery with him, poring over a schoolbook, whittling, or just listening to the old man tell stories. The stories- when they weren’t about some barghest chasing a warlock up a rope- told about the glory of Drangleic, the might of its king, and its rightful place in history. The swordsman had soaked that up as much as he soaked up his studies.

Of course, he’d always dreamed of fighting at Vendrick’s side, of maintaining the glory and might, and following in the footsteps of his father. So he joined up.

With his learning and family history of service, the swordsman- who had yet only ever used wooden swords in practice with his father and yeoman- became an officer, and due to his bravery and ingenuity quickly climbed the ranks until he found himself at the king’s left hand. It was quite a distance away from the hand, but it was to the left nonetheless.

The swordsman returned home between a sortie against a rebel faction deep within the Shaded Woods and an incursion by plant monsters from some distant sphere, the latter of which reeked of licorice. His father, who had been farther along in years than most when the swordsman was born, was now ancient and occupying his deathbed. The swordsman was struck to the very core, as he’d always had his father in his mind looking like the vigorous middle-aged man he had been in the swordsman’s childhood. He had long been away from home, apparently.

Once the usual platitudes had been uttered by the parson, and the distant relatives had gone, satisfied with the commemorative platters and enormous pewter spoons they’d claimed as theirs, the swordsman found himself at his father’s bedside. The old man was struggling to breathe but doing his best not to let it show. The swordsman sat beside him for what felt like days, but couldn’t have been. He read from their favorite book of stories and fed his father thin rice gruel, not allowing the nursemaid from a neighboring estate to tend to the dying man.

At last, when all the stories of clever rogues and malformed pachyderms were read, the swordsman’s father summoned his yeoman with a feeble wave. When the yeoman returned, he pressed a tiny leather-bound coffer into the old man’s hands, then left with a bow. The swordsman raised his eyebrow at the man, but the yeoman said nothing.

With a great deal of difficulty the swordsman’s father opened the coffer, and within there were tiny mementos- a lock of his mother’s hair, a cameo, and the like. His father produced something and pushed it weakly into the swordsman’s hand. A ring.

The swordsman found himself transfixed by the thing. It was a stylized crow, of some dark gold metal and highly burnished- perhaps by friction from the inside of a falconer’s stiff leather glove. He ran his finger over the ring, and gave out a faint sigh as if some weighty burden had been lifted. The swordsman looked up at his father, to thank him for such a gift, but the words froze in his mouth.

In the moments the swordsman had looked down at the ring, his father had closed his eyes and given out one last gentle breath.

Since then, the swordsman had redoubled his duties in service of Vendrick and Drangleic. He might have been raucous in a tavern or urbane in some salon, but inside him something burned. He let it. The intensity built with every skirmish he fought, every rebellion he put down, over a period of years that seemed to blend into each other. The swordsman did not confine himself to unit tactics and the arts of war- he began to train his agility under one of the acrobatic horse lords of Forossa, and began a period of training his body to become as strong as the chainmail that protected it.

His teacher in this was a filthy, drunken ascetic from some far distant land- the horselord was aware of that people and laughingly revealed that they did not all reek of a distillery. This training involved a frustratingly long series of meditative exercises, punctuated with his teacher battering him with a variety of whips, rocks, and staves. The training was quite successful, despite the drunken master’s overeager discipline- any complaints about the training would be met with a flick of a dirty finger, resulting in being knocked across the room or falling down in a paralysis of agony. The swordsman now found that he was functionally invulnerable to small arms, and he wondered what to do next.

More in the service of Vendrick and Drangleic, of course.

The swordsman had gotten a reputation, despite being a genial sort at home among any group. He was regarded as more than human, and among the most religious was a sentiment that such gifts can only come from some unwholesome origin. Still, even a reputation like this could be of service- now, instead of a unit of troops ready for battle, the swordsman could visit some enemy camp by himself and either rout or massacre everyone there. Eventually, even just a rumor of his presence in an area could cause a local enemy force to scatter to the wind.

Around this time the swordsman had found himself at a crossroads. He had become close to King Vendrick, close enough that his majesty would confide in him sometimes. It was thus that the swordsman learned of Vendrick taking a mysterious woman as his bride, and that a faithful crusader had come with her. This was of course Nashandra and Velstadt. The swordsman had of course never taken a shine to the future queen but kept his interactions professional and respectful.

As far as Velstadt…

“Would you labor with a master gardener whose weeds were never spaded? Would you serve a general who could not unfurl a single battle flag? Would you study under an abbot who refuses to take his seat? You might as well drive a stake into the empty sky!” - The Record of the Haunted House, written by Monk Onmitsu

The swordsman had heard rumors that the hulking foreigner had once been the protector of some sainted oracle, and had let her die through inaction or perhaps more disturbing reasons. That was something the swordsman never believed, knowing Velstadt as an immediate friend and comrade. He hoped that whatever rumors of his own speculative deviltry reached Velstadt would be disbelieved as well.

The two had become friends very quickly, brothers in battle with a similar love of the old stories. The swordsman offered up all of his father’s stories that he could remember, and the somber Velstadt surprised by telling a few pun-filled yarns bordering on ribald. At times, it seemed they did everything together.

One thing they had never done- spar. They had fought side-by-side in any number of battles, back-to-back in some cases. The swordsman felt that he knew Velstadt’s movements and techniques as well as anyone- slow but precise footwork and swings of his huge bell-hammer that required prodigious strength to execute. Perhaps Velstadt thought of him similarly? The swordsman had long used a longsword and a greatshield. The shield was beautiful and intimidating- he’d had it embossed with the raven design from his father’s ring. The swordsman had begun to eschew its use- his newfound agility was sometimes hampered by it and the mystical durability of his skin made it redundant. He did carry it with him during inspections or when a pitched battle could be expected.

These battles came much more frequently than would be expected for a nation as thriving as Drangleic. It seemed like there were always some small country wanting to reclaim its ancient lands on the other side of Drangleic’s borders, or make a show of strength to distract from their domestic woes. Easy enough to win these piddly little wars, and the swordsman certainly knew that Drangleic was destined not just for greatness, but for conquest. Honorably, sensibly. That certainly seemed like it was not only destined, but imminent, as Vendrick began to order campaigns in quick succession. The soldiers had barely taken their boots off in a brothel, so to speak, before being mustered and sent off to some other foreign land.

The smallest targets almost universally capitulated within a day or so of being invaded. For the swordsman this didn’t quite translate to anything close to glory- and a niggling voice in the back of his mind insisted that this was only the act of a bully. His loyalty to his king and country prevented these internal complaints from taking root, at least at first.

The swordsman noted in retrospect that the acorn of unease began to germinate with what later became known as “Drummond’s Folly.”

This had been a campaign suggested by a certain Captain Drummond, one of a long line of knights in his ancient family, and considered a bit of a hawk in martial temperament. He had many times beseeched the king in the swordsman’s presence, insisting that such a small nation’s disproportionate amount of resources would better serve Drangleic, and it would be easy enough to take them outright. This turned out to be a catastrophic mistake, but it did give a glimpse of insight to the swordsman.

When Vendrick agreed with no trace of annoyance, it seemed strange. The swordsman noticed that his king seemed to look to the queen for assurance- and he had been doing that for quite some time now that the swordsman thought about it. She nodded to Drummond as if she had given the order herself, and in a much greater shock he noticed that Velstadt nodded simultaneously, as if synchronized somehow.

The swordsman later confronted his friend about this incident- but he was rebuffed, Velstadt giving him the stern treatment normally reserved for people outside their friendship. There was little time to talk- there was a war on Mirrah to be had, after all. Vendrick had decided- or had been decided- to lead the expedition himself. This resulted in the swordsman and his bosom friend being split up. The right hand, stalwart, remained at the king’s side, to annihilate any would-be assassins with blows of his enormous bell hammer. Vendrick ordered the swordsman to the front- apparently his majesty had no need of two bodyguards, so the left hand was to reach out on its own business.

Again, he couldn’t help but think that the king’s speech held a trace of his bride Nashandra. It was deeply disturbing.

The swordsman had let Drummond prepare the main army to move on Mirrag, with some irregulars moving in under cover of darkness to reconnoiter. The tiny nation had some sort of resource its neighbors had coveted for centuries- whatever it was that made them such efficacious warriors. They’d managed to keep it mostly secret, though surely royal spymasters had discovered it and the secret stopped with their lieges. The swordsman hoped that Drangleic’s expertise in every aspect of war would be enough not only to find out what made Mirrah so successful, but to hopefully get in and take it before there were too many casualties.

He’d approached the capital’s outskirts himself, done up in dark blue-gray for purposes of stealth. There he met with his scouts, who were all discouraged for various reasons. They spoke of strange magic afoot, and belligerent nobles suiting up in armor and strange metal masks. Every impression was that the tiny nation was not just on a war footing, but preparing their own attack on Drangleic’s forces. All of which excluded whatever that secret resource was. It was worrying to the swordsman, who welcomed a straightforward fight, even if it started in a clandestine way. That Mirrah should display the same confidence in their counterattacks that a larger nation would… baffling.

Regardless, he’d told his irregulars to report back to Drummond and the rest of the regular army, to apprise them of the situation and advise caution. The swordsman himself and a few of his best wreckers got as close as they could to the castle at the center of Mirrah and find the best place to hack away from the inside once things could be coordinated.

There was no hope for that. A single horn sounded outside the city- then ten others in answer.

This was the blast signaling the beginning of the Folly. Drummond had sent Drangleic’s army in for the kill.

The swordsman cursed and had but a moment to devise a strategy to save this debacle, until he was interrupted by another sound- this a sort of delicate metallic whoosh. It tricked his ears, as the sound chimed from all over the city, he thought. Then he heard it close. Very close, and he spun around to face the source of the noise.

A circle of glowing sigils had appeared on the cobblestones near him. He was not particularly expert on all things magical, but he recognized these runes from demonstrations by the court wizard. Some sort of curse, perhaps? Was this circle going to explode, rendering the swordsman into inglorious fragments cast around the immediate vicinity? No… something else.

Rising from the circle was a ghost. Or at least, some sort of apparition in the shape of an armored warrior. Shocked into inaction as he was, the swordsman could not help but notice that this warrior wore the armor of some bygone age. That was all he could think about before the ghostly warrior stepped out of the glowing circle and raised an equally ancient broadsword.

The swordsman immediately launched an attack, hoping this apparition would be caught off guard, and hoped the touch of good, hard steel would land a solid blow.

Luckily, it did, piercing a vulnerable part of the warrior’s armored torso and hacking a decent chunk of phantom flesh out. The warrior doubled over, glowing ectoplasm- or whatever served for his blood- pouring onto the ground as he slumped to the ground with a clank. After a brief moment the warrior closed his eyes and vanished in a small puff of silvery light. Had the wizards of Mirrah performed some necromancy to bring forth their honored dead in defense of their land?

The swordsman heard more of the strange sounds nearby, and he spun back around again to prevent being stabbed in his distracted back. What his eyes recorded was truly horrifying.

More magical circles. More warriors, but this was no necromancy. It was a riot of a supernatural muster. Two more armored warriors- no, some sort of golems stepped together out of a large circle, one in bright red and the other in yellow. A burning, skull-faced demon swinging a chain. A four-armed ogre. A woman warrior with the teeth of a cayman. Those were just the closest, and as he glanced around the swordsman could see a dozen more in the vicinity. He kept from crying out when one of his irregulars had her skull and spine ripped out of her body in one stroke of a blue demon’s grasping hand.

Retreat. The casualties inside the capital were almost total, and Drummond brought the rest of the army scurrying back to Drangleic. They were no closer to finding Mirrah’s secret, with it guarded by all those phantasms. Or were the phantasms actually the secret? It didn’t matter. The swordsman knew nobody from Drangleic was going to set foot in Mirrah again.

“Cast aside everything you have ever known. There is nothing that exists in the world.There is only one thing that exists in the world. This one thing is everything in the world. This thing is your fist. If one day you should meet a god, then that god will be punched.” -The Ham

The failure in Mirrah caused King Vendrick to pause and reconsider his goal of conquest. Even the queen’s smiling suggestions couldn’t move him to be more aggressive- at least for the moment. The swordsman could do very little in this regard. He wasn’t much for politicking and even if he were, there was never a moment where Vendrick was alone. He was constantly attended by Nashandra or Velstadt or both.

The latter was a point of shame for the swordsman. His friend had spoken to him less and less, and any attempts to engage him to ask why were answered with either stony silence or a flatly delivered platitude.

The swordsman still trusted the king to Velstadt’s care but unfortunately he could not say the same for the queen. She had continued to push him in directions that the swordsman could not believe, small whispers urging restrictions of the people, newer expectations of levies… this was not the Drangleic he loved, and it seemed the swordsman would snap sooner than later. There was no time for that yet, as things went from bad to worse.

From across the sea, a race of monsters. Giants.

Initial reports from fortifications up the coast were grim. Well, fortification was a good joke. There’d been no corsairs or anything like it since Samuel, Vendrick’s father, was on the throne. The coastal forts were officially considered a punishment detail but informally known as a holiday- a pleasant spot if a trifle boring.

Word had come to the swordsman from his parochial equivalent, and he was the sort of man and soldier that meant it wasn’t an exaggeration. But giants… He still felt incredulous, and the few people who needed to know were even less inclined to believe. That is, until the first refugees came in from the coastal villages.

Hysterical as they were, these unfortunates all told the same story. Giants, human shaped but not human- torsos seemingly formed from the trunks of stout trees and their limbs the branches. The worst part, though, and the detail that really sold the whole mess as being true was the description of the giants’ faces. Or rather, the lack of them, as every terrified villager spoke in tears of black holes in a head otherwise devoid of features.

That detail might have convinced the swordsman, but it did little to inspire an appropriate response from Vendrick or his subordinates. The dour Velstadt even let out a chuckle. The swordsman seethed but he had learned at this point that the best thing for the kingdom and the people in it was to ignore his anger and frustration and simply go ahead and do what needed to be done. He quietly made preparations with his most trusted soldiers to travel to the coast and stop these invaders by any means necessary.

They had barely honed their swords and filled panniers before an urgent courier arrived, for the swordsman’s eyes only. The courier disappeared as soon as the swordsman had cracked the seal and began to read. He grunted as he reread the words. Two things leaped out at him from the page. The first was encouraging- there had been only six giants, in a fishing boat that would have been quite small, for them at least. Despite the terror of the idea of attacking goliaths, it turned out to be a bit of an anticlimax. Bless the boys on the punishment detail, he thought, wondering exactly what kind of ancient books they’d been reading in their boredom. As soon as the skeleton crew had seen the giants and the character of their flesh, they’d taken up torches and axes and pitch-covered arrows and obliterated the ever-living shit out of the invading force.

The second thing, however, gave a chill to the swordsman. It was a fairly innocuous detail but he’d been in such a state of anxious alert over the worrying state of the royal court that he couldn’t help but start.

The sergeant ostensibly in charge of the fort there was on his way to Drangleic Castle to present a giant’s head to Vendrick and his court.

The swordsman dropped his half-assembled kit, and turned away from the worried questions of the soldiers he’d almost mustered, striding- not running, he insisted to himself- to where he knew he’d find the person he most needed to protect from whatever had arrived on their shores.

“I put my trust in no man, save he wakes in the morning with eyes seeing as if for the first time.” -The Grande Ghoule

“King Vendrick!”

The swordsman had been drifting again, and it was both an annoyance that their journey so far had been so uneventful that it allowed such fugues, but also that he was in such a powerless place to have fixed any of the cascading moments of doom.

“Land ho!” The cry of the lookout roused everyone from their respective reveries, though it took a few minutes before everyone could see that land was indeed, ho. The sailors busied themselves everywhere, perhaps forgetting for a moment that this was no royal pleasure cruise. They hove to in short order and the smaller ships alongside them, with a much greater marine-to-royal proportion, advanced towards the land in front of them.

The swordsman felt somewhat relieved that neither he nor Velstadt were required to do anything to begin the process- King Vendrick had ordered the beach to be secured and the chain of command had busied itself making it so. All he had to do was watch and stay near his liege, and keep from drawing Alveus Maximus into conversation. The wizard cleared his throat conspicuously after the swordsman had thought that.

Boats had been launched, full of marines armed to the teeth, and by the time they had hit the surf, the inhabitants- sentries, the swordsman assumed- had made their appearance. There was much less detail at the distance of those on the flagship, but he could see that they were much like those whose corpses the swordsman had examined. More lively, of course, and armed with greatclubs and rough spears. At first they had seemed almost lackadaisical in their movements but now he could see that they had moved into their very own formation.

Then he noticed the reason for it. Moving down to the beach from behind a sandy, scrub-dotted dune was a real giant. Scale was slightly difficult at this remove but this giant was not only considerably larger than his fellows, and wielding a spectacularly huge sword, but also garbed in clothing- a mantle, kilt, and a crown.

The swordsman looked over at his liege. He was expecting that Vendrick’s face would appear resolute, or in awe of meeting his equal, or even a bit concerned, but not… amused?

King Vendrick was practically smirking. As was the queen. The swordsman could not see Velstadt’s eyes through his helm but he had a bad feeling. He turned to look at Alveus Maximus, fully expecting the notoriously coarse wizard to have joined in on the fun. While the hat concealed most of his upper face, his chin had dropped and his wizardly pallor had increased. The swordsman wondered if he looked the same. Something was very wrong.

The boats of marines drew closer and closer to the beach but did not quite get there, their rowing having ceased, and there was a relatively quiet moment where giants prowled the beach in confusion. Then it happened. A huge ballista bolt arced down from the sky and impaled the lordly giant. The swordsman could hear something over the surf that he assumed was painful roaring. Where… what was going on? Another bolt crashed down, this time piercing two giants, and yet another came in short succession, striking the giant king again.

The swordsman looked at his king, whose smirk had transformed to beaming.

“Wizard? What news have you?” His majesty stood straight and tall, as unconcerned with what was happening as if he were checking the weather before taking a pleasant walk.

Maximus held his hands up, fingertips lightly shaking, for just a moment before replying.

“Their hands are upon it now, your majesty. The troops are withdrawing.” Vendrick nodded.

“Very well. Work your thaumaturgy and get us home.”

The swordsman gritted his teeth. It had all been a ruse. He had assumed until the very last that he would have been sent into the fray to put the lordly giant down, and Alveus Maximus at his back casting his spells at the expense of any other giants the marines were unable to defeat. But if none of that was the true plan, then why? Why bring so many men and risk the lives of the king and queen, a royal sorcerer, and two of Drangleic’s greatest warriors?

He struggled to understand, and the thing that truly stung was that this entire operation had been done in secret, without his being apprised of it. When had the plans been made? Who approved the subterfuge? The brave Vendrick he knew would have been more likely to jump onto the beach and engage the giant king with his fists before he would have signed off on some skullduggery.

This was no place to challenge those he knew would have been behind such a scheme, but challenge them he would. For now, it would be time to head home, it seemed.

The basket-hatted wizard now moved his arms in a more forceful motion and the swordsman felt a breeze blow by. It was a curious sensation and clearly some sort of magical wind. It seemed to converge on the starboard side of the flagship and within moments two boats came racing towards them, as if being pulled by the strange breeze. One boat held a small ballista, which answered one question. The other had some marines and some sort of crate, contents invisible.

Apparently they had found whatever it was that Nashandra wanted them to find. It clearly wasn’t reprisal for what to all appearances suggested was an accidental invasion on the giants’ part. For now, there was nothing the swordsman could do save bow to the king and queen as they retreated to their chambers once the crate had been brought aboard and stowed. He bowed to them, deeply.

The crew of the flagship resumed their duties with a more relaxed air and Velstadt moved to the door to the royal cabin, ding-donging as he went. This almost drove the swordsman to madness, and he turned towards the royal aegis, hand on the hilt of his sword. Velstadt noticed this and gave his enormous mace a tiny thump on the deck, setting off another muted jangle.

Despite his fury, the swordsman forced himself to turn away and instead inspected what the sorcerer was doing beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

Alveus Maximus still gestured magically in the air, and the wind continued to swirl and gust. As the gestures continued and became more forceful, the air responded. The swordsman could see the waves beating themselves into foam and the spray being blown in raging vortexes, but could feel nothing beyond that slight breeze. What he could feel was the motion of the flagship turning. The sorcerer was putting forth such power that he could not only force the movement of two small boats, but do the same for a flagship and its entire convoy. The swordsman sat down, hard, next to his shield and a coil of rope, momentarily reeling. Not from the motion of the waves, of course, but something he could neither resist or describe.

“As a matter of continuing one's existence, of preserving the only life worth preserving, it has been said that one needs but a truly good friend and a determined enemy. The former shall teach a man, and the latter test what he has learned. No man is truly hurt, but by his own efforts.” -Bishop Peter of Amiento

The swordsman had thought to confront the King and Queen regarding the naval expedition but admitted internally that he could not bear to do so. What he could do was discreetly press some of the officers under him, the castellan’s assistants, and even Alveus Maximus. They had nothing to say that gave the swordsman any new information beyond what he himself could see. Maximus gave the excuse that he was beyond absorbed in a thaumaturgical task. The swordsman believed this as the wizard seemed as guileless as the swordsman could be charming. Whatever the thing was that had been retrieved- no, stolen- from the giants, the royal sorcerer was being kept at a distance.

The swordsman found himself under a great deal of stress that he insisted to himself was “vigilance.” This worsened quickly as the fruits of Vendrick’s conquest blossomed in public view.

He first noticed what came to be called Ironclad Soldiers, and “soldier” was true only in the sense that these magically awakened automatons did a soldier’s duty. Next came the golems, seemingly a parody of the distant giants and powered by some twisted and unfamiliar magic. The swordsman was not particularly knowledgeable about sorcerous things, but had learned enough to level the playing field tactically against any enemy spellcasters. He knew that the souls of men and monsters were what powered the wizard’s art, but the operation of this new power was completely foreign to him.

It had been stolen from the giants, whatever it was, and it didn’t require a sage’s library to understand the primary effect of their magic coursing through certain parts of the kingdom. The swordsman saw King Vendric grow from his already tall stature to almost a giant himself, and soon Velstadt and the queen followed suit. The inhabitants of the kingdom continued to revere the royal personages, believing this change to be some sort of divine blessing. It only hit the swordsman that he was being affected as well when he realized his father’s armor no longer fit him.

He had taken care of that by commissioning a famed smith from distant Volgen to not only refit but augment it, moving away from a standard plate-and-chain to something more unusual. It was angular and intimidating, stout yet not hampering his agility. His skin was still as tough as steel from his mystical exercises, but some presentiment of doom made him increase his protection to the maximum. To top it off, he modeled the new helm after those worn by the royal soldiers- a tribute to them, who he viewed as true protectors of their beloved Drangleic.

His suspicions of danger to his person were correct, but his estimate of how discreet his inquiries were had been greatly mistaken. The swordsman was summoned to an audience with the King, and it was made clear to him that it was not a request.

When he arrived at the castle, he was greeted with cold decorum by Wellager, the royal chancellor, who was normally quite jocular. Wellager led the swordsman to the throne room but the swordsman found himself blocked from entry by the even more imposing bulk of the royal aegis. He moved forward as if he was going to push past Velstadt, but that would have been impossible even had the brazen gauntlet not risen to block him.

“Your sword.” The swordsman had never heard his friend so grim, and it pained him thinking of all that had been lost between them, but he was not going to be ordered around by some foreign zealot. In response, he simply ducked under the outstretched arm, the shield on his back barely clearing it. The unexpected defiance stunned Velstadt and the swordsman moved into the throne room without resistance.

It was much as he had expected- the king and queen on their thrones and a contingent of royal soldiers on either side, including some of those ironclads. He squeezed his gauntleted fist to feel his father’s ring, then released. He’d fought his way through greater forces than those arrayed before him, but with Velstadt behind him it wouldn’t be so simple. He walked forward an appropriate distance, then knelt, as was proper. He removed his helmet. The king and queen regarded him- Vendrick with what seemed to be disappointment, and Nashandra with open contempt. The soldiers remained passive, but he could feel Velstadt’s heavy steps behind him, and heard the jangling of his hammer. The royal aegis was very close behind him, now.

The king raised a hand, staring deeply into the swordsman’s eyes.

“Knight Raime. Your actions of late are concerning. They are not the actions of a loyal subject. Your words are not the words of a resolute champion. They are the words of rebellion.”

“Of sedition.” The queen leaned forward as she spoke and there was a slight jangle behind him, as if Velstadt was barely containing an urge towards violence.

“Sedition,” agreed Vendrick. “I would expect such disobedience from a foreign conscript or gold-bricking sentry. You are neither. Have you anything to say in your defense?”

The swordsman nodded at receiving this heavy question, and gathered his thoughts.

“I…” He stumbled over his words. “There is no more loyal defender of your majesty, both in your person and your works. There is no more loyal defender of our great land of Drangleic. If I have become seditious, it is in opposition to the machinations of a foreign witch and the poison she spews into every ear.”

The king’s jaw quivered as he clenched it in barely concealed fury. Nashandra actually smiled.

“Impudent fool!” Vendrick shook his fist. “To slander the queen is to slander your king.”

Nashandra straightened up haughtily. “His highness recognizes wise counsel when he hears it, and all I have offered him is my own humble suggestions.”

“Counsel?” The swordsman spat on the ground. “Enchanting him. Driving him to ill-advised conflict and base theft from a people who might have been our allies. Tainting the very stones of Drangleic with abominations borne of unknown sorcery. If I am seditious for reminding my comrades-in-arms of their true loyalty, then you are guilty of treason for poisoning the king’s mind. Poisoning the king’s will- and for what? Loot? Soulless automata? Ambition?” He stood, replacing his helm on his head.

“My Vendrick summoned you here to face judgment for your crimes against the throne. This discussion is a formality. He has sentenced you to forfeit your life.” Nashandra’s words seethed with venom and the swordsman could see- or thought he saw- a creeping darkness pass over her face.

“Is this your will, your majesty? Or that of the vile interloper?” In the moment before Vendrick could reply, the swordsman pulled his shield from his back and flung it at Nashandra like a pankrator’s discus.

It would not have hit her- his blows always landed true, and he had aimed so the missile would pass over the queen’s head with an inch or so to spare. It was a distraction, and that was crucial. The guards reacted just slowly enough for him to roll to the side and recover his feet. Velstadt reacted only slightly faster than the royal soldiers, slamming his huge weapon to the floor where the swordsman had just been. Chips of the floor flew in all directions. Ding.

Time resolved itself- King Vendrick had begun to stand, the soldiers raced to his side, Velstadt raised his weapon again, and the agile swordsman was already gone.

He could have stood and fought, even without drawing his sword to show he was not there to attempt regicide, but it would have been pointless. So he ran. He shouted- as he ran through the castle he called out an alarum, letting every ear hear the treachery of the queen, of the aegis, the dark witchcraft bending the King’s will, putting Drangleic itself at risk… his words had to have been heard. As he ran he pulled every sentry and curious squire along with him, and word must have passed in other ways as more and more soldiers began popping out of the woodwork. This was fine, and all in line with his hasty plan. Surely his reputation had been tainted in a very short period and his branding as a traitor would never fade, but if he put enough doubt in the army’s minds then he could consider his duty satisfied.

The swordsman had wound his way towards the nearest barracks, and the fortifications that had been erected past the environs of the castle. Parts of it were a jumble of felled trees and he leaped from log to log, delaying his pursuers. There was a group ahead of him and he repeated his message at full volume, enough to give them pause before seeing the mob behind him. He had just about run past them before they’d drawn their swords, but one of them had gotten the drop on him.

There was a faint rippling of air behind him, and the swordsman spun around and caught something- a petard that had been just about to strike him in the head. As armored as he was and as tough as his skin had become, taking such an explosive to the face would surely have ended things in an ignominious way. He returned the bomb to its sender without even thinking.

As the petard ended its arc, the swordsman could see that there was a small neat pile of them stacked next to the soldier.

The explosion was much larger than he could have imagined, annihilating every soldier within a few paces and violently ripping apart those not far off. The thunder reached and staggered him, followed by a rain of giblets. There. The die had been cast and the swordsman had killed his comrades, those he had sworn to protect. Nothing left to do but run and continue the message as long as he could before being run down like a dog.

That plan lasted for a brief period before the swordsman got lost.

He hadn’t spent much time among the newer fortifications, and though he felt like he should have made that part of his duties, there had been more pressing matters to attend to. He drew his sword and began to move with greater care, hoping to make his way out if possible. That was surprisingly easy even with reducing his speed to a walk. The swordsman found himself walking between the outer wall of the fort and a very steep cliff that went down a long way. He continued carefully but as he rounded a corner into a small courtyard facing the cliff, things went from bad to worse.

Ding.

Somehow the royal aegis had been waiting for him despite his movements being not only fast but also random. Witchcraft.

Witchcraft that had seized his former friend in a much more complete proportion. The swordsman could see wisps of a rippling darkness issuing from the joints in Velstadt’s armor. The darkness cast itself over Velstadt’s grim face, and it was clear this would only end in a couple of ways. The swordsman drew his blade, wishing now that he hadn’t cast his raven shield away.

The two warriors locked eyes and circled each other, at a bit of an impasse as they knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses so intimately. The swordsman heard a clamoring noise in the distance and knew he had to end things quickly. He decided to take a different tack.

“My friend… what unhappy days have passed to find ourselves here? What brought us to where we ignore our vows and battle each other? We should be protecting our king.”

The royal aegis said nothing, but the swordsman took the opportunity to slash at Velstadt’s knee with his blade. The blow connected, and while Velstadt grunted in pain, the damage had been superficial. “Velstadt! Please, if ever we shared a true warrior’s bond, let us put our arms aside. I will whittle you down eventually before you land a blow.”

Velstadt scowled. This might have been true, but the swordsman wanted to plant the seed of doubt. He had no desire to kill his friend.

“Velstadt. We must end this. I hope for all our sakes you realize your enchantment by that wicked queen. Remember your duty to the king- and stand by him!”

They continued their circling, when suddenly an arrow whistled from nowhere, planting itself into the ground between them. The swordsman and the royal aegis both looked to the source of the missile- a soldier leaning from a narrow window above them. He had clearly been aiming at the swordsman.

While that may have been obvious, Velstadt raised his great hammer and twirled it in the air as a gout of vile darkness surged up his arm to cover the weapon. With a shout Velstadt let the darkness fly, rough spheres of magical destruction shooting towards the foolhardy soldier and killing them instantly. The soldier tipped out of the window and fell to the ground.

The swordsman knew it was now or never, and lunged forward to pierce Velstadt’s shoulder and hopefully incapacitate him. His risky gambit failed as the royal aegis snapped the handle of his hammer sideways enough to knock the blade aside and then follow through with a withering strike.

There was no amount of armor or esoterically hardened skin that would have done anything against that strike. The swordsman found himself batted away, rolling across the ground to crumple in a heap near the cliff. Somehow he retained his grip on the sword, despite feeling a number of broken bones and injuries perhaps far worse. Velstadt stared at him impassively, before his face twisted in a smile.

“The agile swordsman,” the royal aegis finally spoke. “Agile. Another word for weak.” He raised his hammer again to end the swordsman, but it was too late.

The swordsman had thrown himself over the cliff.

“It is a common mistranslation that one should seize the day, and every fool with pretensions of wisdom prepares themselves for battle every morning. The two words mistranslated are separated by only a single letter. To seize, in this instance, is not to seize life as a conquering army would seize a besieged city. To seize is to grasp life as one would pluck a dewy, ripe fruit from a tree, pare it with a humble yet sharp knife, and take it unto oneself with relish.” - an unknown philosopher of Olaphic antiquity

“That’s how it happened, you see. I lived, clearly.” Raime released a slow breath. “It was not easy. Not easy to drag myself away. I thought for a moment, when I was able to raise my head to the sky, that I saw my friend Velstadt looking down at me. The drop was so steep, how could that be?”

He picked up a hunk of something the size of a ground apple, flecks of ash falling from it. Raime tossed the thing back and forth between his hands. Was it some abused ore, or scoria, or… “I’m no assayer, of course. Let me see-” He continued tossing it back and forth.

“I found myself… somewhere. It was cool and damp. The opposite of this place, yes? I barely remember what happened. Someone found me, dragged me for who knows how long. Some mysterious cleric, perhaps.” He chuckled. “I was nursed back to health by three old crones and their housemaid. I drank nothing but broth for what seemed like months, until I was able to walk and remember my own name.”

Raime continued, looking about him and taking in the view. High clouds smudged the sky with gray and orange. “That was a long time ago. I have journeyed many places since, and I knew that I was weaker than ever. Strength, you see. Some have it. My father had it, and while he did not have the iron thews of some barbarian, you could feel it when you were with him. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to him instead of becoming some leaping assassin.”

“I was in a distant land, studying with a master pugilist. The Ham, they called him, if you could believe it. His pupils first practiced their strikes against a whole boar suspended from a butcher’s hook. He lived on the outside of town but rumors and news eventually made their way there… I found out that the giants had begun their reprisal. They had come back in force, an army dwarfing that of Drangleic’s, so to speak. The destruction was horrifying, and I have not heard much of the state of my kingdom, in a long time.”

Raimed punched his leg in anger. “That lord of giants- the one who shrugged off ballista bolts as if they were a mail shirt pinching one where the gambeson didn’t cover? Some poor dumb bastard engaged the giant king in single combat. I scarcely believe it.” Raime chuckled again. “That poor dumb bastard- he won. At the cost of his own life, surely. A legend, but he was never seen again and his name forgotten, if it was ever known.”

He rose. Before him was a pile of ash and slag, and from it he retrieved a coil of iron chain. The links were as thick as a normal man’s wrist, and it was longer than Raime was tall. He hefted it with his offhand, and pitched it as far as he could, which was over the edge of the tall tower where he stood. It was gone with a faint clank.

“I can’t remember exactly how many masters I studied under before I found out about this place. I was drawn to it, you see. Legends of might, of steel and fire, a place where one can write one’s name in sheer strength. I even learned to forge… I’m no master smith, but I have fortified my armor even more, and I think I could forge myself a greatsword. It might look crude, but none will withstand its blows.” Raimed reached inside a leather bag at his side and withdrew some sort of metallic scepter. It radiated heat, even through his armor. He turned to his audience, a fuming iron idol of strange countenance.

“Yes, darling. I will use this scepter, as you whispered to me. I am the only living man here still, but I will unlock this tower’s mysteries. Once my sword is forged- with whatever magic and darkness it might require- I shall return to the land of my birth and make things right. Whatever the cost. Then I shall return, give you this baneful ring, and make you my bride. Every piece of you.”

@patchesenthusiast

@dbzespio

Upon his entry into his Lord’s private chambers, Velstadt cleared his throat roughly, though the sound was quickly cut short with a sudden stagger of his feet; the bell upon his hammer consequently resounded with a sharp clang. For he had not expected to find Raime lying there, draped across King Vendrick’s favored chaise.

The clamor appeared to hardly disturb the man’s repose, the gentle tilt of his helm was slow and relaxed while he shifted his regard to peer at Velstadt, his expression entirely unreadable behind the darkness obscuring the visor of his ornate helmet. Barely a muscle moved before he abruptly lifted his chin, a mocking, throaty chuckle escaping him. The copious feathers trailing his armor pieces fluttered, trembling in time to the rhythm of his laughter.

The Royal Aegis fumed, clenching his jaw in an effort to tamper the overwhelming urge to crush Raime into the earth right then and there.

He did not wish to destroy his lord’s favorite furniture, after all.

“Where is the King?” he grunted, just barely enough of a break from a growl to be decipherable; he didn’t want to repeat himself.

Though he could not see his face, Velstadt could practically hear the smirk upon his lips while Raime relaxed yet further, settling himself even more comfortably upon the King’s royal chaise despite his full plate armor. “He shall join us shortly.”

“Were that the case,” Velstadt looked over his fellow knight without bothering to conceal his utter disgust, “surely you should make yourself more presentable?”

Raime chuckled yet again. “I happen to know quite well that Milord takes great pleasure in seeing me in such a state…”

Velstadt clutched his hammer tightly in both hands, quite literally biting on his tongue to keep himself from lashing out at once.

But at that very moment, a messenger burst into the room, his face flush with exertion, his voice breathless, “The Giants! They have escaped! The castle grounds may soon be overrun!”

The two knights briefly regarded one another before they asked as one. “And the king?”

“We are still searching.” The messenger spared them one last glance before rushing away.

Raime leaped from the chaise and followed after Velstadt, soon overtaking the heavily armored knight, only briefly pausing to retrieve his weapons from the rack where he had left them. The delay allowed Velstadt the opportunity to rush into the courtyard with Raime at his side.

The air was thick with clouds of dust, no doubt stirred up due to the destroyed stoneworks of the castle itself, obscuring the normally pristine landscape with the miserable cries of war.

The two men were all too familiar with such chaos, having fought in countless battles.

But the giant looming above them caught both of their eyes; he was dressed in a certain level of finery, quite unlike any other of their kind the pair had witnessed before.

“Could that–?”

But Raime’s astonishment was quickly cut short, for the ornate one before them was soon struck down, a cruel arrow from one of the castle’s array of ballistae ripped through his heart, staining the silken fabric adorning his chest with steady rivers of crimson blood.

“A fitting end,” Velstadt huffed, hefting his hammer to his shoulder before turning away to head into the fray.

“But–!” Raime sputtered, causing Velstadt to pause, tilting his helm just enough to keep an eye on him, but not bothering to turn back around.

“Out with it,” he finally spat, impatient.

Raime hesitated a moment more before gesturing towards the Giant’s fallen body. “He looked like their king.”

A grunt of frustration escaped Velstadt. “And?”

Raime let loose a sound of disbelief. “He was their king. Are they not so unlike us? Merely wishing to preserve the honor and dignity of their own ruler?”

“They are the ones who attacked us,” Velstadt reminded him, turning his back on the sabled knight. “If it weren’t for King Vendrick, we would be the ones slaughtered and enslaved. Never forget that!”

And with that said, the golden knight vanished, eager to throw himself into the heart of battle.

But Raime did not follow him.

The unnerved feeling in his gut spread to his heart and his mind too, for once questioning all that he and his king had stood for.

Were they… wrong?

#dark souls 2 #dark souls 2 chain #dark souls 2 fanart #dark souls 2 fanfiction #soulsborne chain game #dark souls 2 chain 2

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masterwords · 2 years

Text

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

the hope of all we might have been

Summary: Peter Lewis is dead, and Hotch is released from Witness Protection into the wilds of Chicago. What's he gonna do? Well, he's heard that Derek has moved back to Chicago...maybe there's a chance at a new beginning waiting for him.

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Um...none? I can't think of anything. It's pure fluff.

** THE CHICAGO TIMES COLLECTION MASTERLIST **

Notes: Part One of the Chicago series, a foundation for the whole thing. A new life for these sweet, soft old men. (It's on AO3 too, if you prefer to head on over there.)

“Peter Lewis is dead.”

Those four words should have felt more comforting than they were. They should have filled him with relief, knowing that he could have his life back. He could walk confidently back into his suits and into his office.

Except, now faced with those words, he found he wasn't that naive. He could have his name back, and he could have his freedom back, but that life was forever dead to him.

A month or two and maybe it would have been possible, but a lot happens in a year and that was no longer his department, no longer his team. And maybe he didn't want it anymore, maybe that was the real truth of it. Maybe the last year was hell, was torture, was nightly arguments with Jack about missing family and ruined lives, I hate yous and I'm sorry's spread thick and sour over everything they touched. Maybe it was hell, but they'd seen their way through it, and were emerging on the other side.

Not unchanged. His heart no longer beat for the BAU. If he went back, Jack would surely never forgive him.

But they had Chicago. Of all the places on the map they were offered, Chicago called to him with her endless towering gray structures, a bone kingdom to wander through and hide within. No one stood out here, no one was looking here. He liked it. The anonymity was ripe and comforting. More than that, the opportunity to knock on a familiar door after all this time, to be right near someone who could look into his face and recognize him for who he really was...that was the hope he'd held onto. Some days it was firm, others like water through his fingers.

“Did you hear me, Hotch?”

“Yes, I'm sorry,” he muttered, dragging himself back to Emily's voice on the other end of the line. He'd gone somewhere else. “I heard you. Peter Lewis is dead. How did it happen?”

“Oh, don't you dare start questioning ethics here, mister. It was justified, I've already signed off on the reports. You're missing the important point here with your pigheadedness...you're free, Hotch. No more hiding. You can do whatever you want. So...speaking of...do you want your job back?”

He blinked owlishly and watched as the room turned to taffy, the walls stretching tall and thin and long and wiggly. Quickly he sat, fell with a plop onto his too hard couch in his display room decorated apartment and tried to find words. Any words.

“Hotch?” She was getting impatient. He could be incredibly frustrating, but this was a new low even for him.

“I'm sorry. I - “

“Okay, you don't have to make a decision now. You can think about it for a few days. I know this must be a shock, you need some time.”

“No. I've given it plenty of thought. Time is not something I've lacked recently. I won't be returning to the BAU.”

“Okay that's fair. But what about the Bureau? There's a spot for a Section Chief, you'd be working with Andi Swann's unit. I know you and she are good friends.”

“My time with the Bureau...” he paused, licking his dry lips. It was a thought he'd had many times over, rehearsed, knew inside and out. But saying it outloud and thinking it were two very different things. “I'm retiring from the Bureau, effective immediately.”

Emily nodded, biting her lip. This wasn't entirely unexpected, but it did hurt to hear it. She couldn't prepare herself for this reality. Classic Emily, using her favorite tactic for self-preservation: avoidance. How many times would it take before she learned it didn't actually save her anything? “I was really hoping you wouldn't say that...but I get it.”

“There's no place for me there anymore. And things with Jack are strained, at best...I suspect he might never forgive me if I went back after this.”

She nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense. Sure.” She was hurt, offended a little if she was being honest with herself. The office felt a lot less lively now, surrounded by his books that she would have to pack up. All this time she'd refused to put down any roots, to change a thing. His nameplate was still in the top drawer, his photos of Haley and Jack neatly stashed...everything else as it was. She came in every day and sat beneath his law volumes and his binders, kept his handwriting all over the files, she lived in his shadow because this was his space. No roots for her, she was just a placeholder. And now that lie was exposed. A lie she should have accepted months ago. “So, what will you do? Who even are you without serial killers to catch and victims to save?” She tried to laugh, a forced little squeaking sound that came out more like a gag. She choked on her shame.

To his credit, he ignored it. “I'm lecturing at Northwestern Law currently. They've offered me a position, but with the stipulations of protective custody being what they are, I couldn't very well accept. I may ask them if that offer still stands.” Thinking aloud more than anything. His mind still hadn't really caught up to his mouth, to the way he'd officially told Emily he wouldn't be back. That Unit Chief was no longer his title, hadn't been for long enough that he felt entirely separate from it.

“Isn't that where Morgan went to school?”

The smile, just barely ticking up at the corners of his mouth, was involuntary. “It is. I walk by a trophy case every morning with a photo of him on the football team. Isn't that funny? The world is so big, yet so incredibly small.”

“Will you see him? Before you come back to Virginia I mean?”

He paused, quietly contemplating that assumption...would he move back? He supposed he had to make a choice about that as well. Jessica would expect it, certainly. And he did miss her. He'd walked away from Jessica and Roy, away from his mother, away from Sean.

He'd continued dumping money into Sean's account while he served his sentence, untraceable funds. Cash from his pocket to a US Marshal who handed it off a number of times until it entered Jessica's bank account, after which it was divided among she and Sean. Every month, when that deposit was made, the two of them could at least be comforted that somewhere he was alive. Still alive.

Of course if Lewis really wanted to, he could have found a way to trace them...but he didn't seem to be that motivated. Or clever. He hadn't counted on Hotch leaving the BAU behind, cutting all ties. By his calculations, Hotch should have dug in harder, turned to hunting him exclusively, the way he had Foyet. He anticipated having the full attention of Hotch and the BAU turned to him and when that hadn't happened...he was more than a little distraught. Did Hotch feel guilty that the BAU found themselves targeted on his behalf? Certainly. Many times over he would hear news through official channels, the Marshals, letting him know and each time he was more and more convinced that he had done the right thing but also that he should be there to stop innocent people being attacked.

The problem was, he understood why Foyet targeted him. It made sense. But this? Peter Lewis didn't make sense to him. Nothing he did made sense. Hotch didn't fit his profile. It didn't matter anyway...Lewis thought he could be Hotch's focus in the same way Foyet could, but he failed to consider Jack. When Foyet attacked, he had hardly seen Jack. He was nothing more than an absent father with nothing to lose. Now he was a full-time father with everything to lose. Playing the same game with a different man would yield different results.

Anyway, the cash was the best option and his only way of communicating with the people he loved. Lewis could have watched their accounts, hacked the banks, figured out who was making the deposits, track them all the way back to the Marshals and Chicago...but he didn't. He tried to lure Hotch out in other ways and now he was dead. That part didn't sit well with him.

“I'm not sure if we'll be returning to Virginia. I'll keep you posted.” There were some things, very important things, that he needed to do first. Things he promised he would do if protective custody ended while he was still in The Windy City. He was not in the habit of breaking promises.

- - - - -

“Agent Hotchner!” Fran exclaimed in her breathy smiling voice, opening the door wide to him. “It's so nice to see you!”

“Aaron,” he corrected with a smile. “It's just Aaron now.”

“Oh, right, silly me...Derek told me about your situation...but I assume that since you're here on my stoop, your situation has improved?”

She ushered him inside, nearly tugging him out of his pea coat and hanging it up in the hallway. He nodded, rubbing his sweatered arms briskly in the warmth of her home. He'd almost forgotten how inviting and warm she kept this place...he'd almost forgotten a lot of things, it seemed.

“It has. Jack and I were released this morning, the man who was threatening us has been...dispatched.” He couldn't use the uglier words with her. Silly, considering her son was an FBI Agent and former police officer, and she'd been married to a police officer. She knew all of the ugly words. But he could save her having to hear them now. “I had heard that Derek and Savannah moved to Chicago and was wondering whether you might have some way for me to contact them?”

He could have just asked Emily or called Penelope. He could have gone any number of ways, but the first thing he promised himself upon release was a friendly face. Not a phone call, a face. Fran's face. She'd always been a beacon.

“OTZ! OTZ!” A small, chirpy voice followed by the thunder of little feet slapping on hard wood floors snapped him to attention. He furrowed his brow, stared in confusion as a toddler came rushing straight at his knees. “OTZ!”

Fran laughed. “He's saying Hotch. He knows you.”

For a moment, he was so stunned he couldn't breathe. His lungs were pure fire. How Hank knew who he was by sight hadn't even registered through the immense pressure that came with simply knowing this was Hank. This walking, talking little human who he had last seen when he was brand new. “This can't be Hank...” he muttered, closing his eyes, picturing his large hand in that bassinet, Hank's tiny hand wrapped around his finger.

“He's growing so fast.”

Speechless, he stared down at the little boy who was wrapped around his knees. How could this much time have passed? Sure, he'd seen the way time had darkened Jack's hair and eyes, until the parts of him that resembled Haley were fewer...until he looked like a Hotchner. Time did that, but so slowly it felt like a crawl. “Hank?”

“ANK! ANK!” he squealed, backing up. “OTZ!” He pointed at Hotch and grinned, clapping. “OTZ HEEEE!”

“Yeah, baby, Hotch is here...” Fran cooed, lifting him into her arms. “Your daddy is gonna be so surprised. But aren't you supposed to be napping, mister?” Hank pressed his face into her shoulder and hid there for a moment. “Naughty naughty.”

“ANK SEEP.”

“Yes. Hank sleep or daddy is gonna be madddddddddd at Grandma.” She turned to Hotch with an apologetic smile. “I'll be right back. Please, have a seat. I'll get you some coffee.”

She didn't need to be gone long, but Hank never stopped babbling. At least he was planning to stay in bed for the time being, she lamented. He was a good boy, easy to put down for naps, not easy to keep there.

“Is your son excited?” she asked, handing him a mug of coffee. He breathed it in deep.

“He doesn't know yet. I didn't want to disrupt his day at school, so I'll tell him after basketball tonight.”

“Will he be excited to go home?”

Hotch, for the second time that day, contemplated his answer. “I haven't decided what we'll do. I'm on contract through the end of the year at Northwestern, and I'd like for him to finish the year where he's at.” That answer came out of nowhere. Apparently somewhere on his walk from his apartment to Fran's house he'd come to some sort of temporary decision, though he hadn't realized it until now. Some clarity was beginning to descend on him. “Jack likes his school; he likes this city.”

Fran's face lit up. “Derek will be glad to hear that. He should be here in about an hour to pick Hank up, would you stay for supper?”

“Jack has basketball practice until 6,” he started, not really sure how that factored into his answer. “I'll need to be home by then or he'll worry. We've developed a fairly rigid schedule this last year.”

To absolutely no one's surprise, Hank didn't stay in his bed. The excitement of someone new in his surroundings, someone from what Hotch could only infer were some sort of fables told about him...well that was simply too much to sleep through. “OTZ!” He came toddling out in nothing but a diaper, rubbing his sleepy eyes, holding a book to his chest. “Otz yeed?”

Hotch frowned, glancing at Fran confused. “Does he want me to read to him?”

“A dad knows...” she whispered with a soft smile. “That's his favorite book. It's called The Gruffalo, and you'd better do the voices. He's very particular.”

The book was an easy read, but there were a lot of voices and he had to dig deep, drawing on the days that Jack used to beg to be read to. One story after another, Jack sometimes wanted to drag bedtime all the way to sunrise if you'd let him. Hotch's voice went high in places, scraping and breaking as he became the mouse, and then dug low and deep when he became the Gruffalo. Hank was enthralled.

None of them noticed Derek standing in the entryway to the room behind them, his arms folded over his chest, silently taking in the view. “You do a better Gruffalo than I do,” he said when the book was closed. “But your snake could use a little work.”

Hank, with all his might, leaped off of Hotch's lap using his legs as a jumping off point. A younger man might not even flinch, but he was acutely aware in that moment how much those bony little hands and feet hurt when they dug into his thighs. Still, he turned and took a full look at Derek standing there in athletic shorts and what looked like a worn-out high school p.e. t-shirt and couldn't help smiling. “It's nice to see you too.”

“What are you doing here?” Derek, with his son now in his arms, entered the room. The closer he got, the more nervous he seemed to be.

“Peter Lewis is,” he began, but Derek nodded dismissively, not wanting him to say more in front of the kid. Hotch could appreciate that.

“Yeah, Penelope called me to let me know. So you're out of custody then? No more government babysitters?”

“We are. I haven't had an opportunity to tell Jack yet.”

“And you uh...you just...”

“Came here? Yes. I started walking to clear my head and ended up here. I hope you don't mind.”

“Mind?” Derek asked, breathless before letting Hank down. The little boy waddled off toward the toys in the corner, content now that his dad was home. Now that he'd heard his story and wasn't in trouble for not napping. Slowly, Hotch pushed up off of the couch, his knees creaking and groaning after being seated for so long. He extended his hand for a shake, quick and formal, but Derek wasn't having any of that...with both hands, he tapped Hotch's shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. A huge hug, wrapping him up tight, and Hotch couldn't help but hug back. He circled his arms around Derek's waist and tightened his grip. “I'm so damn happy to see you. I was worried sick. No one would tell me anything. I thought I saw you once...but what could I do about it?”

Standing and wiping the tears from her eyes with the tip of her shawl, Fran cleared her throat. “I'm going to go put on more coffee and start supper. Leave you boys alone...I think you have some catching up to do.”

Catching up. Hotch just wanted to look at Derek. He was ripped backward through the fabric of time to the memory of those first few weeks after Derek left the BAU, those days that seemed so long and so slow. He couldn't remember a time without him being there. Good days, bad days, always there.

Until he wasn't. “I missed you,” Hotch admitted quietly. Like it was a sacred secret, like Derek didn't know it already. “I was happy for you, when you made the decision to leave. To be with your family. And I knew that it would be difficult to adjust after working together so long, but it never occurred to me just how much I would miss you.”

Derek laughed at the admission and how inadvertently sweet it was, if not a little silly given the situation. “Of course you missed me. Why didn't you just call me ya dork?”

Hotch couldn't seem to fathom an answer to that question. Such a simple thought that had never really occurred to him. But Derek understood, even still. They'd always understood one another plainly with few words. It was more or less a miracle that Hotch is even here now, except that Derek could see something had changed in him. There was a lightness now that he hadn't seen in years, a burden that seemed to have been lifted.

“I've decided not to return to the BAU.”

“No?”

“That part of my life has reached its conclusion. I can't do that anymore. I've been lecturing at Northwestern Law, it's a good fit. I'll stick around until the end of the school year and make decisions as it gets closer.”

“Are you saying you might stay here in Chicago?”

“It's on the table.”

Derek beamed, he couldn't hide it and saw no reason to try. This was a new life they were both living. “That's great news.”

Hotch, realizing suddenly how long he'd been hogging the conversation, abruptly changed course.

“I've been so rude, enough about me, how are you? How is Savannah? And fatherhood?”

Derek didn't hesitate. He didn't feel inclined to beat around any bushes, not today. Not now. “Savannah and I split. It's all good though. Funny, we got into it over my job over and over...it took so many tries before I could meet her parents, you know? But we made it, we did it, and then her job is the nail in the coffin, man. She was given the opportunity to go into the field with Doctors Without Borders, and we were like okay, cool, we'll try it. She grew up dreaming about it, I can't say no to her dream even if it's bad timing.”

Hotch nodded, thinking briefly about Beth and New York first, then Hong Kong. He knew all too well about timing and letting something you love go.

“Anyway,” Derek continued, “to absolutely no one's surprise, she fell in love with it. After a lot of debate about what was best for Hank, we decided it was probably best if we split so there wasn't so much to discuss or figure out, not so much pressure. Don't give me that look, man, it's all good. We go visit her every couple of weeks wherever she is, Hank's a world class traveler. We talk to her every day. It's really good. I love the shit outta that woman.”

Hotch hadn't taken a breath it at least thirty seconds, trying to parse the information given with what he knew about Derek and his ability to put a positive spin on any situation. He was searching for the lie in his smile.

“Seriously, Hotch. It's good. We're goin' down to Brazil on Thursday for a few days to see her. She's finishing up a 6-month assignment there, then she'll be here for about two weeks, and it looks like she's off to Uganda for a few weeks before she gets her next long-term assignment. We're not sure if we'll be able to go visit her while she's there, her job is going to be working with patients with Ebola.”

“Does that worry you?”

“A little, not gonna lie. But she's a hell of a doctor, and it's a really solid program. They don't mess around.”

Fran poked her head into the room during a momentary lull to ask Hotch, once again, if he'd like to stay for supper.

“Yes! Of course, another time. Derek, will you be staying?”

“I would love to,” he started, smiling, “but I really should be getting home. Jack will be back soon. Another time I hope.”

“I uh...well I was gonna offer to give Hotch a ride home. If he wants. You good with that moms?”

“Go, go. I suppose I'll just invite the neighbors over. Someone has to want to have dinner with me.”

- - - - -

It went a little too easily from a short car ride through the streets, Derek shocked to find how close they'd been this whole time, to Derek and Hank setting up camp in Hotch's apartment so they could continue catching up. The place was small and tidy, not really very decorated but there were a few paintings of boats hanging around and at least that reminded him of Hotch in some small way while the rest of the place looked cold and lifeless. Boats.

Hank rushed around the place with Derek hot on his heels, pulling dangerous things out of his hands, sliding furniture to quickly cover up outlets and ultimately trying to carry on a conversation while stopping his child from constant suicide attempts. “I'm sorry,” Hotch said quietly, trying to help where he could while making dinner. “I suppose it's been a long time since my home has been baby proof. I'd forgotten.”

“No worries. Maybe we can have dinner at my place next time though...”

Next time. Hotch smiled at that and nodded. Before he had a chance to formulate an adequate response around the thunder of his heartbeat in his throat, Jack's key was in the lock. Tap tap tap, they key turned, then another click click sound. Their little secret code. It wasn't necessary, probably, but Jack had been pretty scared at first and Hotch was willing to do whatever it took to ease his mind. Besides, it had become something kind of fun, a highlight in the doldrums of their days when they could act like secret undercover spies entering their lair.

“That's cute,” Derek said, noticing right away. “Remember when we went undercover in Texas?”

“How could I forget?”

Jack was inside before they could extrapolate, before they wandered down memory lane. This was a dangerous peace here between them, without the looming BAU rules and regulations, without wives and jobs and all of the other reasons they'd used to tamp down this strange electricity between them.

“Dad?” Jack asked, confused as he dropped his backpack on the ground just inside the doorway. There was a hook on the wall for it, but that more or less remained empty. Hotch had long since given up enforcing that one, it had only caused trouble and he was very much of the mind lately that the less friction he needlessly caused, the better. There were more important things to dig in on, like keeping Jack's identity a secret while he was trying to live as normal a life as he could. “What's going on? Do we have to leave again?”

Derek, not one to shy away, walked straight up to Jack and wrapped him in a hug. Something he was sure, at one point, might never happen again. The boy seemed to have grown a full foot since he'd last seen him and god did he ever look like Hotch all of a sudden. His features were far too serious for a boy his age.

“No, buddy. We're out. Peter Lewis is dead.”

“Really? He's really dead? We can go home?”

Hotch nodded soberly. “I figure we'll finish the school year here and make some plans. Does that sound alright?”

Without answering the question, Jack kicked out of his shoes and a look of pure excitement flashed over his features. “Can I call my friends and tell them my real name?!”

“Sure buddy. Dinner will be ready in about a half hour.”

Dinner went late, all of them enjoying the company a little too much as it dragged from afternoon to evening. Dessert was punctuated with Hank's wide yawns and sleepy eyes while Jack worked on his homework in his bedroom, albeit a little distractedly while he called every one of his friends to explain to them his situation. By morning the kid would be a legend in the hallways. Hotch would have preferred a little more discretion, but at Jack's age that was a lot to ask.

“I've kept you too long,” Hotch said, staring at the incredible little toddler in Derek's lap. The reminder that time hadn't stopped. A beautiful and tragic understanding. “This is the first time I've actually talked with anyone but Jack in nearly a year, I've been greedy. You need to get Hank to bed.”

“No, man, I'm...I don't wanna go. You workin at the college tomorrow?”

“I have a full day of lectures.”

“Can I pick you up for lunch? I'm working at the high school, my schedule's not too rough these days...”

That was all it took to set regular lunch dates. Every day that passed made it harder for him to consider that leaving Chicago was an option.

The week that Derek and Hank were traveling made it abundantly clear just how badly Hotch wanted Derek in his life with something akin to permanence. He'd forced himself to live without him once out of respect for duty, but that wasn't an issue anymore. He simply wanted this.

They resumed lunch dates immediately upon Derek's arrival back home. He had stories to tell, some funny and some sad, some too incredible to be believed. "You should come with us next time," Derek said before he really considered what he meant by an offer like that. He couldn't take it back, and didn't want to, but it came with some heavy realization that he was getting in pretty deep here already.

"Yeah," Hotch replied without any fanfare. "It might be nice to get out for a while. It has been too long since I've traveled for anything other than work."

Some days Hotch packed them lunches, leftovers from dinner the night before or simple sandwiches like schoolboys. Spring had begun to take root, tiny little green buds opening to flowers and leaves, the sky turning blue, clouds spun like cotton candy and everything felt new.

Even Hotch. Derek would show up at the university in his P.E clothes, a little sweaty, ready for a walk through the campus or winding through the endless streets before heading back. Hotch hadn't bothered to clock his miles; he knew very well that the effort Derek was putting in to get there and back every day was more than him simply showing up at the door to his classroom. It was the reason he insisted on making lunch, it was the least he could do.

At the Ohio Street Beach, a favorite spot on the warmer days, Hotch felt a buzzing in his chest like a beehive overflowing with honeyed sweetness. He stopped, his feet sinking into the grainy sand, and grabbed Derek by the hand, pulling him close. Around them the city swirled, children screamed and played in the sand and splashed in the water while mothers and fathers called out to them to be careful, not to go too far. There was eye contact, charged and heavy, as they stood in the shadow of the lifeguard post and before he even realized what he was doing, Hotch was leaning forward ready to kiss Derek. Right there in public. Absolutely certain it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. His body craved that closeness, felt wrong and naked without it.

Their lips met briefly, and Hotch closed his eyes, letting instinct lead where his head couldn't fathom. When Derek broke the kiss, sucked in a small breath, he couldn't bear to open his eyes, afraid he'd done something very very wrong. The apology danced on the tip of his tongue.

“I can't do this,” Derek whispered against Hotch's lips. “I can't get attached if you're gonna pack up and move back to Virginia.” Hotch felt his chest constrict, his breathing shallow and pained. “I know I'm already in too deep, but I can still...”

He was being so vulnerable that speaking above a whisper would surely destroy it all. Hotch didn't say anything, just stood there frozen in the moment, waiting. “We're doing pretty good since Savannah left, you know? We're good, Hank and I, but we can't...I can't get attached to this and say goodbye. And I really can't do another long-distance thing, man. It's hard enough with her and the travel that comes with it...”

“Derek,” Hotch whispered, smirking, fully understanding the panic in Derek's voice. He took a deep breath and finally struck up the bravery to open his eyes, to meet Derek's frenzied stare. “Could you stop talking for a moment?”

Derek laughed nervously and nodded, his turn to hold frozen in the moment. Waiting for the answer he hadn't dared to let himself hope for. Not at his age, not at this point in his life. “Jack and I decided to stay. We like Chicago, and it isn't much of a flight to visit Virginia. We're looking for a new apartment right now.”

He found, before another word was spoken, that Derek was plunging into a kiss with all his might. No more waiting, no more timid steps or whispers. Hotch and Jack were staying, and he could have this.

“You asshole," Derek whispered, pressing their foreheads together. "You could have told me sooner."

"And miss this moment of panic?"

"Jerk." Derek grinned and kissed him again, softer this time. He found himself unable to stop. "I've got plenty of room in my house,” Derek said between kisses, gasping for breath when all he wanted was to dive back in. “Move in with me and Hank.”

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #hotchgan #hotch x morgan #criminal minds #fanfiction #jack hotchner #emily prentiss

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gillie266 · 4 months

Text

Yeein' On That 'Haw Ch. 4-- Pardners in Crime

“Waaaaiiitt…” I droned, stopping at a seemingly random point in my story. “Since we’re in such similar boats, maybe we can help each other.”

Norm, who had taken a seat opposite me and clearly just snapped out of some kind of immersed haze, straightened. “Help?” He scoffed. “I don’ need yer help. I can handle my own business.”

“But that’s the thing, Norm,” I leaned forward so I could place my elbows on my knees. The recently-lit candle’s light glinted off of my plastic phone head. “You can’t. If you could, you would have done something about your exile by now. Mingus would be dead by now.”

He tensed. I got the feeling that I was on the verge of having a shotgun aimed at my head again. I continued, “I can help you get rid of the mayor. And afterwards, you can help me get back to my original timeline. If I got here in the first place, there’s gotta be a way back, right?”

I didn’t care about the lives of anyone here. I knew they were all just characters in an arcade game. So killing the mayor wouldn’t be a problem– it would be like a mission in a Hitman game.

To be honest, I gave up on my mission to get back to my original timeline after two years of being stuck in that arcade machine universe. I thought if I just tried to forget it, I would get used to living like this and everything would turn out fine. But my thoughts constantly drifted to home– to my family, my friends, the life that I had before. Sure, I was likely a wanted criminal, but it was still home.

I was about to say exactly that to Norm when he held up a hand. “Care t’ tell me exactly how you would plan on helpin’ me take out the mayor of Dialtown ‘erself?”

“...I dunno. I didn’t think I’d get this far,” I mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed. “I concocted a plan to rob a museum, but not only was that with a friend, but it all went terribly wrong just because there was a caulked window that wasn’t accounted for.” I sighed audibly. “Surely we can just improvise.”

“Improvise?” The cowboy stood from his seat, appalled. “We can’t jus’ improvise while killin’ a political figure! She has bodyguards, traps, hell, she probably has an entire army at ‘er disposal.”

I chuckled. “I think an army is a little much–”

Norm cut me off once more. “We can’t improvise. It’s too risky.”

A realization emerged through my fog cloud of racing thoughts. “...So you’re saying you’d be cool with me helping you? And in exchange, you’d help me figure out a way to get back to my timeline?”

He fell into deliberative silence, bagged gaze fixed on the wooden floor. I held my breath. Having someone that used to work for NASA– not just that, but traveled through time– helping me find a way to jump timelines would make my job so much easier. A tiny speck of hope flickered on in my mind; an emotion that I hadn’t felt in two years.

“How d’ya plan on sneakin’ me back int’ town?” Norm’s voice was low and contemplative. “Last time I checked, there’s a bunch o’ posters put up ‘round th’ perimeter of the city with my mug plastered on ‘em. Any passerby would report us instantly.”

I paused for a moment to think about that. I knew almost everyone in Dialtown, but not well enough to get them to smuggle a 6’3” space cowboy into the city in a wooden crate.

“...We could dig a tunnel? Or… Or put you in a disguise?” I answered his question in an unsure, high-pitched voice.

He shook his head. “Tunnel t’ where?”

“Straight to the Mayor’s office, of course!” I was a little louder, more confident this time around. “Or I could threaten the fuckface guy to help us smuggle you into town in a crate. He’s done a lot of embarrassing shit. I’m pretty sure he pissed himself when a pigeon got a little too close–”

“No, an’ no. Fer one, like I said, the Mayor has guards.” I opened my mouth and took a breath to respond, but he continued with “an’ ‘er office is on the second floor,” making me shut my mouth. “An’ fer the sake o’ my dignity, I ain’t squeezin’ int’ a crate.”

“Dignity doesn’t matter here, Norm!” I launched up from my chair. “This is a revolution!”

He shot me a look that spoke of death, and I slowly sat back down.

“...A disguise, then?” I proposed meekly. I then looked around the room for a potential disguise before pointing at the dartboard with Mingus’ face taped to it. “You could use that. Better yet, tear your stove from the pipes and stick it on your head.”

Norm fell into another long silence, but this time it was out of annoyance rather than contemplation. I took it as a rejection.

I awkwardly cleared my throat. Okay, maybe my ideas were a little stupid. Actually, a lot stupid. Then something smart surfaced in my phone-equivalent of a brain. CPU? Is that it? Whatever.

“The sewers!” I leapt out of my seat. Norm froze. “...Sewers?” He repeated. I nodded enthusiastically. “Surely there’s a manhole somewhere outside of the city that leads into town! If we hop in there in the middle of the night, we can wander around like idiots until we find another manhole that connects to either the subway or Uptown Dialtown.”

“So, if I’m hearing ya correctly,” Norm folded his arms across his chest. “Ya wanna wade through sewer water like blind rats until we find what we’re lookin’ fer.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “That’s exactly it! I’ve spent a lot of time in those sewers, I’ve probably developed a sixth sense to navigate them. Or I could just take some wild guesses and pray that works.”

Norm lifted his hand to his face so he could exasperatedly drag it down the length of the bag. As he did so, he heaved a sigh. “What ‘ave I got t’ lose?”

When I heard his response, I practically jumped in excitement. I was finally going to do something in this accursed place. I’ve spent the last two years learning everything about the characters that lived in Dialtown, and they were becoming boring. I could never quite keep a friendship with them– it was like I wasn’t meant to know them. It was an ironic existence, considering the fact that this arcade machine was supposed to be a weird RPG dating sim. But no matter how hard I tried, I was always alone.

Okay, that created a few questions. Who the hell was the POV character for this arcade dating sim, where would I find them, and did they have a personality, or were they meant to be a blank self-insert for the player?

I shook off those questions for the moment. “Alrighty, let’s get crackin’!” I interlaced my fingers so I could crack my knuckles. “Norm, you’re the brains. I’m the braw– actually, you’re the brawn too. I’m the moral support.”

“Wonderful. Jus’ what I needed, another incessant voice yellin’ at me.” Norm muttered under his breath. I… honestly couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Even after spending two years in this universe, the lack of facial expressions made it somehow harder for me to read social situations.

Instead of trying to do that, I just flopped back into my chair. “Let’s do this. What’s the plan?”

Ꚛ

Dawn’s light filtered through the foggy windows of Norm’s shack. I was pacing back and forth across the room, running through our handy-dandy three-step plan in my head while the yeehaw man gathered a slew of items and haphazardly shoved them into a burlap sack. Neither of us had slept, either due to paranoia, not trusting the other, insomnia, or all three. So my vision was slightly blurred, and my body felt heavy.

“I can’t believe I’m teamin’ up wit’ the likes o’ you.” I heard Norm mumble under his breath. “Y’could be tryin’ t’kill me. Y’could be an assassin er somethin’.”

I halted my pacing to shoot him an incredulous look. “Norm, I promise, you’re not that important. You were exiled three years ago and haven’t been causing any problems since. Nobody wants you dead.” I flashed a cheeky grin. “...That’ll change soon.”

He froze in the middle of shoving a box of revolver ammunition into his burlap sack and gave me a confused look.

“We’re trying to kill the mayor. She’s bound to find out and send hitmen after us. It’s basic common sense.” Plus, this is a video game. It’s never that easy, I thought.

Norm nodded absentmindedly as he tied up the bag. I wasn’t entirely convinced that he was listening to me, but I didn’t particularly care at that point. I just wanted to get out of that dingy shack and get the mayor to die somehow so I could have some chance at getting home.

Before I knew it, we had left the man’s sorry excuse for a house and ventured out into the great unknown– aka the woods that I knew very well at this point. The trees were still oddly tinted pink, and morning dew saturated the grass. Now that I was looking at the surrounding area from the porch, I spotted the many beartraps that had been placed in the grass. How did I not step in one of those?

I looked at Norm like he was a lunatic. He looked at me in the same way. He must have guessed what I was thinking about because he defensively raised his arms. “Defends against intruders.” When I only continued staring at him, his voice raised in pitch. “I can’t shoot everyone that wanders up t’ my doorstep.”

“Oh, but you had no problem firing at me? Twice?” I folded my arms.

“No! I didn’t! ‘Cause I thought ya were dangerous!”

I looked down at my body, then back up at him.

“... Past tense,” he mumbled.

Satisfied with his explanation, I nodded and hopped down the rickety steps and into the grass below. I paused before turning in a confused, awkward circle. “Uhhhh… town is…” I looked over at the rising sun. “East… west… um… west!” I pointed in the direction I initially came from.

Norm slowly nodded, glancing in the direction I was pointing. “Good job. ‘S not like there’s very visible buildins’ that way.”

I ignored him, despite him being right. I lowered my arm and began marching toward the city. Norm followed a good ten paces behind, revolver in-hand. Paranoid weirdo.

Ꚛ

It had been… hours. And Norm hadn’t said a single word to me or anything else. My sound processors were buzzing from the silence. It was to the point where I was grateful for the random forest noises that filled the emptiness. I would have tried to strike up a conversation, but every time I said something, he either pointed the revolver at me or didn’t answer me. It was really awkward.

I had just about given up on having any sort of friendly relationship with this guy when he said something. “Y’said yer from some sort o’ parallel universe, right?”

I glanced back at him, folding my arms across my chest. Despite my defensive stature, I was incredibly relieved for the distraction. “Uh… yeah? Why?”

He turned his head to the side, remaining vigilant despite holding a conversation with me. “What’s it like?”

There was a moment of tense silence as I recalled what my life was like before. “Well… nobody had phones for heads, for one. That wasn’t even an idea that anyone had. We, uh… we had phone stores. Like, handheld phone stores. There were phone booths everywhere, since nobody could call people from their heads. People were relatively normal, aside from the occasional crackhead or kiddie-strangler. They didn’t go mugging people on the subway–”

“No muggins’?” Norm nudged a plant aside with the barrel of his gun.

“That’s not what I said. There were definitely muggings, robberies, murders, shootings– their guns just always had bullets in them. Seriously, who mugs somebody with no bullets in their gun? Depending on the ammo, they’re like fifty cents a pop!” I threw my hands up in disbelief when I recalled how I was mugged on the subway. I had told the knife-headed fellow to just shoot me, and then he told me that he didn’t actually have any ammo. I remembered that I then stared at him in dumbfounded awe until he scampered away.

“But yeah, that stuff sucked..” My gaze found the forest floor, watching how my boots kicked at piles of dead leaves. “But there were also good things. I remember how I used to hate seeing couples sucking face in the street, but now I honestly kind of miss it. People can’t exactly suck face when there’s no face to suck. I remember how my buddies and I would go into photo booths and make dumb faces, because we had those, then put the photos up on our bedroom walls to decorate them.” I sucked in a trembling breath and decided to change the topic to something that wouldn’t make me cry. “And God himself didn’t walk among us. It was still a religion based on faith, not fact–”

Norm held up a hand to stop me. “Hol’ on. God don’t walk among us, pardner.”

I slowly turned to meet his bag-shrouded eyes. “You sweet, summer child. God is a shoeless, mostly-shirtless, basketball shorts-wearing hobo with a tv for a head that only displays a dog with a waffle in its mouth. And he knows all. We had a beer together. Which I paid for, obviously.”

“Pardner, I am a God-fearin’ American; y’won’t trick me with this rabble. Y’did not have a beer with God.” His hand found his heart, and I could have sworn I heard an eagle screech somewhere in the distance. I blinked. Or I would have, if I had eyes.

I turned ominously, facing away from him.

“You shall see, Norman. You shall see…” I paused. “Probably. I feel like he always shows up where he’s not wanted.” Norm lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he realized once again that he couldn’t do that with a bag over his head. “This is gonna be a looooong walk.”

#Yeein' On That 'Haw #Dialtown #norm allen #norm allen x reader #guys theres a subplot #nosmut #nonbinary character #original characters #slow burn #isekai #light novel #weekly update alternative

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midwinterhunt · 5 months

Note

how did Sol and Trigger meet?

They met twice actually! (three times? they had a few tries before they became friends)

You're getting a read more because this is gonna be a hell of a post.

The first time they met was as children. Sol was like, eight years old at best and Trigger was still a calf. Sol's mother had just died and Maul took Sol to Dathomir to attempt to train him. (he was pissed about his offspring apparently not being Force sensitive and was hoping to force it somehow.

A different place, hands no longer gentle pulled him along as he squirmed in the red light of dusk. The blue feathers of gibbits fell to the ground as a flock scattered and Sol was dragged toward a pit from which he could hear roars coming. He cried and begged not to have to do this, but strong arms threw him over the edge and he began to plummet down toward the waiting creature.

Sol found himself facing a rancor calf at the bottom of the pit, and it wasn't happy to see him.

He ran away from the monster and it chased him, roaring with agitation.

Sol found a crevice in the wall to wedge himself into where the rancor couldn't reach him. He was frozen in fear as it clawed at the stone, the whites of its eyes showing and teeth bared. Sol's own eyes widened, "They hurt you." He finally recognized burn wounds on its skin. The rancor was just as scared as himself.

Sol whimpered in his crevice, but with every second the rancor got closer. He held out a hand to try to connect on an emotional level to the beast, "Stop!" he shouted with his tiny voice.

The rancor stared Sol in the eyes for a moment and he thought it had worked, but then it became even more agitated and clawed even more to get at Sol, and it had to be stunned from above.

During this time, Trigger was injured many times and if you look at his art, you'll see those scars still.

The second time they met was when Sol went to Dathomir to deal with the whole "The ghost of my grandmother is possessing and slowly killing me" thing. It was during the Nightbrother trials. Him and the other guys were dropped off (literally) in the wilderness and had to get home on their own.

Sol pushed through some underbrush to where the ground steeply sloped down. He didn't hesitate to drop down into a slide descending the hill, but he started to have regrets when the others called for him to wait. He found out why they had yelled when he stumbled to a stop at the bottom and found himself face to face with a massive creature who growled in a deep rumble.

Sol shook his head, trying to shake off the snippets of memory playing in his mind. He needed to focus on the present or he was dead. He slowly got his feet back under him, but didn't stand. He wanted to look non threatening.

Sol stood his ground and held out a hand while keeping his eyes down. "Heyy.... buddy." His voice was barely audible. He heard his companions whispering behind him not to make any sudden moves, which wasn't going to be a problem for him. Sol's legs felt frozen to the ground.

Sol flinched back when the rancor slammed the ground and squared up before it moved forward and began to charge.

Sol trembled in his tracks, but with every second the rancor got closer. He held out a hand to try to connect his mind to the beast, "Stop!" he shouted with command and authority in his voice.

The rancor slid to a stop just in time for its fangs to press against Sol's hand and they both stood frozen for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. Sol realized green mist was dispersing from his fingers, and he wasn't sure how long this would last. He carefully and slowly stepped back, breathing out a sigh when the rancor didn't move.

"We're leaving, okay? I don't want to fight you." Especially because Sol felt confident he would lose. Although, something about the rancor's eyes seemed... intelligent? It raised its head slightly, and Sol got the uncanny impression that it had some kind of understanding. But he didn't want to risk it so he really started backing up toward the trees and bushes.

He joined the others and they skirted around the clearing. The rancor watched them intently as they left, and Sol was able to get a clearer view. It had darker skin with old scars covering it like light clouds patching its skin. It was way too familiar. But he didn't have much time to think about it as he was urge to run the second they were out of view.

These first two meetings are told at the same time in the fic and it's really quite nice how they're mirrored.

The third time they meet is in the chapter "A Boy And His Dog" which I thought was hilarious. It's just after Sol almost died from the whole Possession Incident and ended up unarmed and alone in the Dathomiri wilderness. Which is the worst place to be unarmed OR alone.

He was crossing a wide slow river, using a stick to test the depth because he didn't feel like drowning *again*

It was going well. Sol was nervous, but keeping his footing. His stick knocked against something ahead, but when Sol tried to feel out what he couldn't find it again, so he just kept going. Sol was a little more than halfway across when something spiky brushed his leg and he froze. He reasoned that it was probably just some waterlogged driftwood, but then he some something glint in the moonlight at the edge of his vision.

Sol turned just in time to see two reflective eyes in the water lurched toward him and a jaw of needle like teeth open and aim at his face. He pulled his big stick up like a shield and the animal's jaw clamped down on it. A serpent-like neck absorbed the recoil from the strike, and a third surprise eye glared at Sol from under the beast's mouth. Four strong legs pushed forward beneath the water and Sol stumbled back and plunged under the surface.

Sol's mind was pretty evenly divided between his body's panic and his own annoyance at being thrown into water again. But through it all he managed to keep a shred of composure, just enough to wrap his legs around the animal's neck and shoulder and clamp on so he couldn't get bit. Then he yanked on his staff to twist its head. The animal turned into a roll and Sol managed to get a quick breath as they turn and he momentarily broke the surface. The two were drifting downstream and Sol was wrestling with his quickly waning strength just to keep from being seriously hurt. It was a losing battle and Sol knew it.

Sol was about to take his chances and kick away from the creature when the two of them crashed into something massive standing in the water. Sol lost his grip and tumbled between the firm yet malleable trunks, but he wasn't followed by his current foe. Sol didn't do much more than crawl to reach the bank, then he glanced back to roars of animals just in time to see a massive creature eating Sol's water-bound assailant. Sol recognized the creatures large frame, sharp tusks, and clouded skin. "Rancor..." he breathed out.

The rancor wasted no time in finishing its meal before turning its dark eyes onto Sol, who didn't have the strength to stand let alone run. "Eeaasy there..." Sol whispered. The rancor huffed and steadily stalked closer, staring Sol down with sharp intent. Almost... Almost like it was studying him. As if it was actually considering its next actions. Sol caught his breath when he recognized the look of conscious thought behind those dark studious eyes.

Sol held out on hand, "You don't want to hurt me. I'm.... just a guy. I haven't done anything wrong."

The rancor huffed, but stopped before getting too close to Sol. It shook its head and angled its face down in what seemed like a defensive pose. At this distance, Sol could see it was covered in scars and old injuries. It gave a low rumble at Sol.

"It's you..." Sol realized, "You. I saw you the other day. And you looked familiar then too. You've been through hell, haven't you? It looks like someone..." Memories flashed through Sol's head of him being thrown in a pit by his own father, "Like someone shocked and burned you and forced you to fight, even when you were just a baby. ...You're scared... of me."

The rancor waved its tusks around and growled. Sol shifted to his knees and bowed his head, then he just held out his hand. "Please, I'm not here to hurt you. I'm sorry that we've had some bad history. Please don't bite my hand off."

There was a tense and quiet moment before a moist nose pressed into Sol's hand. The skin was thick , but he could still feel the presence of hot flesh underneath. Sol looked to see the beast was calmly settled down in front of him and noted a distinct lack of magic energy flowing anywhere. Sol let out a half hysterical chuckle. He had managed to gain the trust of one of the most dangerous animals in the galaxy and he hadn't used a single supernatural power to do so.

Sol rubbed the rancor's face and even splashed up some water to wash away the blood. "There you go. You're a good boy. Can I stick with you for a while? I'm not in good shape to defend myself."

The rancor groaned and began to stand, and Sol wasn't sure he was being understood so he grabbed onto a tusk to help himself onto his feet. The rancor began to walk into the jungle, and Sol did try to follow, but he was stumbling and slow. Before the rancor got too far away it reached back and plucked Sol up off the ground, its hand easily wrapping all the way around Sol's body. "Ooooh no, oh gods!" Despite Sol's initial shock, traveling while being carried by the planet's apex predator was actually pretty effective and it felt safe.

Sol even started to drift around unconsciousness after a while. At some point the rancor shifted Sol to ride on it's back and he finally passed out while nestled between its back plates.

This above scene is actually what I've drawn art of that you saw!

Also as a bonus, you get also have the scene where Sol took full custody of Trigger!

Sol woke up to the sensation of falling. Good news: he wasn't actually falling. Bad news: he was dangling from a dizzyingly tall height. "Wooaaaaahhhhhh!" Sol flailed until he grabbed onto something hard a round against his shoulder, and when he craned his neck back he saw Trigger was biting down on his clothes and carrying him while climbing up a cliff. Sol hugged tighter to the tusk, "Trigger what THE FUCK?! Put me back down on the ground! Where are you taking me???!"

Sol, obviously, wasn't given an answer. But thankfully he wasn't dropped, so he counted that as a win. He just kept holding on until they reached the top of the cliff and stood on a plateau. Trigger shifted Sol from his teeth into his hands, and then just kept walking on two legs. It reminded Sol a bit of how Liithal would switch between two and four legged traveling.

They passed a few bigger boulders, and eventually came to a ring of stone spires with a crash of rancors standing in wait. Sol was finally set down on the ground, and he definitely felt like he was being stared down by a court of something else judging him. "Eeeey, buddy, this your herd? They uh, don't look like they're too fond of me."

The other rancors were all various shades of brown, and none of them had tusks or horns of any kind. It made Sol wonder if Trigger had really been born here. One particularly large female who stood in the center growled at Sol, which didn't exactly tell him what he should be doing, but he decided he didn't have space to hesitate here. These beings were strong and aggressive and would probably eat him if they sensed weakness. Sol strode forward confidently and took a knee in front of her, "You must be the herd alpha." Sol didn't know much about rancor power structures, but he could guess, and just hope they understood him.

The alpha snarled and stepped toward Sol, her eyes pitch black and reflecting Sol's own tense face back at him. Sol held her gaze until she finally stopped barely more than a foot away, and he only broke the staring contest to glance briefly to Trigger, then right back. "Hey, uh, ma'am," Sol didn't know if honorific terms would help him here, but it wouldn't hurt, "I don't have any food on me, but please don't eat me."

The alpha's eyes narrowed and a deep rumble started in her throat, and she half crouched and her jaws parted.

Alarm bells went crazy in Sol's head, ohshitoshitoshit sHIT SHIT SHIT!! He shot to his feet and threw himself forward and slammed an open palm against her nose, "I SAID PLEASE DON'T EAT ME!" The alpha stopped in her tracks and studied Sol, who was shaking with adrenaline, "I didn't go through all this shit just to get eaten by Trigger's mom or whatever you are. 'Kay?"

The alpha roared loud enough to make Sol's ears ring, but she still turned away. She walked past Trigger with a chuff, closely followed by the rest of the heard, each giving Trigger a word. Sol found himself realizing they had a kind of pseudo language to communicate with. Once the herd was gone, Trigger went up and nudged Sol.

Sol looked up and looked Trigger in the eye. He could sense the determination in those grey-blue eyes, as well as an expectation. Sol had been given a responsibility, and been tested to find out if he was up to the task. He scratched Trigger's chin, "Don't worry, bud. I'll take care of you, I promise. I might just need some help learning how this give-and-take works. So why don't we start with breakfast? Let's find something for you to eat."

It didn't take much for Sol to find out that rancors had terrible eyesight. By the time Trigger spotted what Sol was trying to get him to hunt, the prey was already aware of them and bolted off. So Sol switched strategies. He directed Trigger toward an animal with strong hind legs and large head that was grazing on lichen. Just before they got into the prey's range, Sol drew his bow and shot it in the neck, taking it down with one arrow. And with that they had breakfast for an almost two ton rancor.

#sol #trigger

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easy-goer-db · 5 months

Text

Please be kind.

All characters are fictional and adults.

A Big Change

I opened the door of my apartment.

It was going to be a great weekend.

I had plans. Naughty plans.

I was very surprised to see my girlfriend Paulina standing in my living room. My stomach dropped.

She was supposed to be out of town.

“What the hell is all this?” She asked.

Oh dear. We’d been dating for almost a year. She knew I was a bit kinky. We’d roleplayed a bit. There were some spankings and light bondage. You know, nothing overly wild. She knew I was a bit submissive.

This discovery though. How do you tell someone you have a diaper fetish?

I started sweating. My mouth went dry. Wouldn’t yours? I had to pick my words carefully, but I knew I had to tell some truth here. There was literally two cases of adult diapers right smack in the middle of the living room.

“Um, they are adult diapers.” I lurched out.

“Well yes. I know that.” She sternly said back. “Why are there 72 diapers in your living room?”

I had barely indulged in ABDL the last year. Our little kinky play pretty much scratched the itch. But she was supposed to be out of town the entire long weekend. I had pulled my storage containers filled with ABDL accessories out of the closet that morning. I had made a big order from the diaper store to make sure I could be wonderfully padded up for a whole weekend. Just a private indulgence.

Oh no. How long had she been here? Had she found the case of accessories in my bedroom? Had she gone through them? Oh no.

Okay. You have to be honest here. I gave myself an internal pep talk. Wait, how long have I been lost in my thoughts.

“Seriously. Answer me. What’s with all these diapers?” She asked again.

“I have a diaper fetish.” I meekly said. Hard to get that one out confidently.

“What? A diaper fetish? These turn you on?” She asked.

They always had. A little naughty fetish that I’d tried to keep extremely private.

“Yes. They do. I like to wear them.” I said without being able to make eye contact.

“Why?” Her voice softened a little bit in asking that question. I could tell that she was still quite upset. Okay, maybe this can de-escalate a bit. The truth. Just tell the truth.

“Because I like the humiliation.” I paused. “It’s really embarrassing to wear them. It makes me feel like a little loser. It’s an escape for me mentally.”

“A little loser? Just a little dummy?” Her tone changed. She was really good at talking down to me when we roleplayed. I knew this tone.

She took a few steps towards me. She put her hand on my chin. She raised my head, so that I was looking in her eyes.

“Is that what you are? Are you just a dumb baby?” Her tone was starting to lilt towards baby talk. Oh gosh. That immediately stirred something in me. But I can’t admit that in this moment. I just can’t.

“No, not, it’s…” I stammered. “It’s just a little private fantasy. I’m a man. You know that. I’m strong and smart. I’m not a baby. It’s just a little fetish. I’m sorry.”

She paused. Looked me dead in the eyes. She very slowly said. “I don’t believe you.”

She grabbed me the ear. Dammit, she knew I liked it when she did that.

“Come with me.” She barked out. “Here’s why I don’t believe you.”

I knew right away where we were heading the second she took a step towards the bedroom. She must have found everything.

My eyes widened when we got to the door. Oh yes, she did more than just find everything.

Both storage cases were open and they were empty. The contents were all laid out across the bedroom. I’d been adding to my ABDL collection for over a decade.

And she clearly had gone through all of it. All of it.

Scattered across the bedroom was a whole bunch of evidence that showed this wasn’t just a small fetish. It suggested that I was an enthusiast. I mean, I am.

There were about 24 assorted disposable ABDL diapers. Some of them with just utterly humiliating prints.

I had about 10 pacifiers in a variety of colours. Some of the nipples were extremely large. I’d been trying to find the most embarrassing pacis possible.

There were 4 or 5 thick cloth diapers. Most them in feminine colours and prints.

I had a few pairs of plastic pants. Oh, I hated wearing the plastic pants. But invariably they turned me on.

The locking diaper covers were a silly purchase, because I always had the keys. They are a fun accessory though.

6 adult sized baby bottles were lined up across my bureau. They had already been filled with liquids. Oh, she really had some time going through this.

My baby powder, baby oil and wipes were nestled next to the bottles.

If all of that wasn’t a dead give away of my commitment to ABDL, it was my adult baby clothing that tipped my hand.

I had so much of it.

And I’d gotten really into buying custom items.

Oh dear.

Matching booties, mittens and bonnets.

Locking booties.

Locking mittens.

3 sets of footed PJs.

Overalls and shortalls.

But it was the onesies and t-shirts.

There were some pretty basic stuff. T-shirts with cartoon characters. Standard ABDL print onesies.

But the custom shirts and onesies.

I just really liked having humiliating phrases written on my clothes.

It wasn’t anything super creative.

But it drove the point home.

“Dumb Baby”, “Super Soaker”, “Mommy’s Diaper Boy”, “I Love Diapers”, “Little Diaper Loser”, “Crinkle Butt”.

Oooof. Yes. That told on me in a big way.

Oh no. She also found the custom bibs.

Wait, I was lost in my thoughts again.

She still had me by the ear.

My face must have told on me too.

She could read me like a book.

But she wasn’t going to let it go unspoken.

She once again locked eyes with me.

“So, are you Mommy’s little diaper loser?” She asked so condescendingly.

Big breath. Ok. The truth.

“Yes.” I could barely get it out.

“Yes, what?” She shot that out so fast and so confidently.

“Yes, I’m a little diaper loser.” I didn’t know I could say those words in order.

She released my ear and swatted my butt. Hard.

“That’s not what I asked. Are you Mommy’s little diaper loser?” Gosh. She’s so good at being a domme.

Just say it. There’s no way out.

“Yes, I’m Mommy’s little diaper loser.”

Her expression changed. She had a little smirk. She even let out a little giggle.

“Hehe. Okay wittle baby boy.” She teased.

My head was spinning. It felt like a split second, but everything changed.

She grabbed my wrist and in a heartbeat, a baby blue locking mitten was fastened onto my hand. Moments later the ring of the mitten was securely locked to one of our bedframe bondage straps.

I was frozen.

She was not.

She expertly fastened the second mitten.

She pulled me onto the bed face down.

The mitten got connected to the other bedpost. I was trapped now.

I had a sense of what was coming next.

I started to squirm.

“Aww. What da matter?” She cooed. “Is the wittle baby nervous? Is him afwaid about he’s about to be tweated?”

The baby talk cut right through to my soul. I had no words.

In just a second, my pants were pulled off. My underwear was removed. She lifted my shirt to my upper back. But bare bottom was on full display.

Smack, smack, smack.

That wasn’t a barehand. It felt familiar.

One of her favourite tools. My kitchen spatula. She loved using that spatula.

“Naughty naughty boys get tweated like this.”

Smack, smack, smack.

“Naughty little boys who don’t tell the truth get tweated like this.”

Smack, smack, smack.

Usually the spatula was a tool that got used for a couple smacks. It marked up my butt pretty good in just a few shots.

Smack, smack, smack.

“What’s the twuth baby boy?”

Smack, smack, smack.

“How do you want to be tweated?”

Smack, smack, smack.

“Tell me the truth.”

Smack, smack, smack.

My butt was already sore. What did she want me to say exactly.

Smack, smack, smack.

My back arched. Now my butt was on fire.

“Aww. Does the baby not like his spanking?”

Smack, smack, smack.

“Too bad. This spanking continues until you use your words.”

Smack, smack, smack.

Tears started to well up in my eyes.

I was totally helpless.

“Well…?”

Smack, smack, pause…

“I want to be a baby.” I got the words out.

Smack, smack, pause…

“And…?”

Deep breath.

“And I need a mommy.”

Smack, smack, smack.

“Tell me more baby boy.” She said.

Smack, smack, pause…

“Why do you need a Mommy?”

“Because I’m just a dumb wittle baby.”

I thought I’d found the right words.

Smack, smack, smack.

Nope. I guess not.

“Tell me exactly what you are. What do you love?”

Smack, smack, smack.

“I’m just a dumb little diaper baby. I need a Mommy to take care of me, because I love diapers.”

Pause.

Those words hung in the air.

“Okay wittle baby boy. Mommy is here. Always tell Mommy the truth. Understand?”

Smack, smack, smack.

“Yes. I will. I promise.”

Smack, smack, smack.

“Yes, who?” She asked sweetly.

I gulped. I’d never used these words in the real world.

“Yes…Mommy.”

The spanking stopped.

But now the process started.

“I know you will do everything I say, but let’s just make sure for now.”

I heard something jingling behind me.

I knew what was coming.

Click.

We had dabbled with some pet play a few months ago. She was really excited when we got me a custom choker collar.

She was even more excited when we got a leash.

Click.

“This way I know you won’t go anywhere…well, maybe I need one more precaution.”

This part I didn’t see coming. But she clearly understood how some of this baby bondage worked.

I felt something soft being slid on my feet. Well, soft at first. As soon as they were tightened, I put it together.

She found and figured out just how effective spiked booties are.

“Now you aren’t going anywhere without Mommy.”

It was quite smart to make sure I was extra locked up, because without extra restraints, I could have had my opportunity to escape with what happened next.

My mittens were unlocked from the bed posts. But I wasn’t going anywhere with spikes on my feet and a leash around my neck.

“Roll over baby boy. On your back. It’s time for Mommy to put on your diapee.”

I turned beat red. Fantasy and reality were crashing together.

She yanked my leash. Ah, that’s so uncomfortable. I’m sure you like breathing too.

I rolled over.

She pulled my leash again.

“Sit up baby boy.” She commanded.

I did. She pulled my shirt off.

“Good baby. Lay back down for Mommy. Put those wittle wegs in the air.”

I was still processing everything.

I obeyed.

But now it was sinking in. I was looking up at my girlfriend towering over me. I was surrounded by my little kink. There was about to be a big change.

She had a big smile on her face.

“This is going to be so much fun…for me at least.”

She spun to the bureau.

She grabbed one of the bottles.

“Is the wittle baby thirsty?” She cooed.

I nodded.

“Okay, open wide.”

She nestled the bottle between my lips.

“Mommy needs her hands. Use your little mitties to hold your baba.”

The mittens don’t make it easy to grasp anything. But I managed to squeeze it and hold in it in my lips. I started to suckle right away. It looked like apple juice, but it tasted just a little different.

“I expect that baba to be done in 5 minutes. Or else…”

I didn’t want to find out what that meant and frantically started suckling. The speed and rush of liquid in my mouth resulted in some drool escaping the corner of my mouth.

“Awww. What a messy dwooly baby.”

She walked out of the room. Finally a moment to breathe. Wait, don’t stop suckling. What is happening?

It should have been pretty self evident.

She came back in with one of the new bags of disposable diapers.

They were my favourite diaper.

Ultra thick plain white diapers.

Nothing quite makes me feel like a baby than going for that Tommy Pickles look.

She opened the package and inspected a diaper.

“Oh my. These are so thick. The bag says they can hold…10000 milliliters. That’s allot of wittle baby tinkles. Keep dwinking your baba baby.”

She unfolded the diaper and pushed my legs back to slide it under me.

She turned back to the bureau.

She grabbed the bottle of baby oil.

She squeezed a generous amount on my exposed diaper area. Back and front.

I shuddered at the feeling and smell.

“Oh. This smells so nice. Just wike a baby.”

She started to massage the oil into my skin.

Firmly, but slowly.

Her hands were going all over my body.

Oh no. I’m about to tell on myself again.

I started to get hard as she focused on my groin.

No, no, no.

She noticed.

“Oh goodness. Does baby boy like it when Mommy gets him ready for his diapee?”

I moaned.

“Say it baby.”

Between suckles with the bottle in my mouth, I pathetically spit out.

“Yes Mommy. I like it when you get me ready for my diaper.”

“Good baby.”

She started to focus on stroking me.

I instinctively pushed my hips towards her.

I was getting really excited.

“Ok. That’s enough.”

She let go before I could get to my release.

But I was throbbing now.

“Maybe later, if you’re a good boy. Now keep suckling your baba.”

My eyes shifted to my bottle. It was actually almost empty. How long had it been? You just can’t keep track of time when your head is spinning from stimulation.

My attention turned back to Paulina.

She was wiping the baby oil off her hands.

But now her attention was onto the powder.

Once again a generous amount was sprinkled onto my diaper area. She was not as firm in patting it into my skin. She definitely took the time to pat my freshly spanked bottom and make sure every inch of red was covered in white powder.

“How’s your baba baby?” She cooed. “It looks like your almost done.”

She was right. A few more suckles and I was now just sucking air.

“All done? What a good baby. You must have been so thirsty. I think you need another.”

She pranced over to remove the bottle from my lips and instantly inserted another.

“5 minutes baby boy. This bottle better be finished in 5 minutes.”

I started to frantically suckle again. This liquid was different. It tasted like milk. Maybe a bit thicker. Maybe 3.25%. Something like that. I don’t really have a choice. Just keep suckling.

“Otay. Time to get the dumb baby diapered up.” She said so sweetly.

It was pretty straight forward. The diaper was already under me. All she had to do was pull it between my legs. She pulled it tightly across my crotch. In the snap of a finger the front of the diaper was tucked on my sides. The tapes were popped and fastened securely around my waist.

That was it.

My girlfriend had just put me into a diaper.

She took one step back and looked down at me.

“Oh my god. You are so pathetic in your wittle diapee sucking on your baba. Are you Mommy’s little diaper loser?”

Once again between suckles.

“Yes, I Mommy’s little diapee loser.”

Wow. That came out even more babyish than I expected.

“Such a good baby for Mommy.”

She started to pat the front of my diaper. I immediately got excited again.

“Oh, you like that? You like when Mommy rubs your diapee?”

I moaned. Still focusing on finishing my bottle.

But maybe I should have been focusing on something else.

It all happened without me realizing it.

But just like that, I was wetting my diaper.

What?

Oh no. Her hand is on my…

“Huh, what’s this? Did my baby boy already make a tinkle in his diapee for Mommy. Let me check.”

I knew, she knew, we all knew.

But she slipped her finger into my leg guard.

“Hahahahahaha. Oh my god. You wet your little pamper already! Such a wittle baby! Thank goodness I got you in one when I did.”

She took her finger out of my diaper. She gave me a little pat on my freshly wet crotch.

She turned back to the bureau and grabbed another bottle.

Wow. I’d already finished my 2nd bottle.

“Hmmm…we need to make sure the baby stays nice and hydrated.” She teased.

She swapped out the bottles again. This time bending over to give me a kiss on the cheek and whisper in my ear.

“This is only just the beginning baby boy. Drink up.”

This bottle tasted more like water, but again, there was something a bit different. Just a bit of flavour.

She strolled back to the foot of the bed.

“Well, seeing as you are already such a super soaker, Mommy is going to have to add extra diapers to make sure baby isn’t a little leaker.”

Suckle suckle suckle.

All I could do was lay there and listen to my instructions.

Lift your legs.

Put them down.

Roll on your side, so she can make sure that the diapers are on nice and tight.

Get back on your back.

Hold still while she tapes you into diaper after diaper.

Once I was in 4 layers of diapers, I thought she was done.

I was wrong.

She only took a break to switch out my bottle again. I was now onto my fourth bottle in less than 15 minutes.

She was giving me another diaper rub, when it happened again.

I flooded my diaper again.

She could tell as the diaper expanded.

“Again? I’m not even done diapering you and the potty pants wet himself again? Hahahaha. You are such a little loser. You need way more protection.”

When all was said and done.

I was wearing 8 layers of diapers.

I was also onto my 6th bottle.

She literally had me drink every bottle that was on the bureau.

She lay down next to me on the bed.

He fingers making circles on belly button.

She pinned my leg between hers.

She started whispering in my ear.

“Drink your baba for Mommy. Be Mommy’s wittle baby. Be a sweet little soggy pamper boy. Be my little super soaker.”

For the 3rd time in less than an hour, I saturated my diaper.

“Hahahaha. You just can’t control yourself, can you? You really are Mommy’s little diaper boy?”

She pulled my last empty bottle from my lips.

“Yes, Mommy. I’m your wittle diapee baby.”

“Good baby.”

She immediately stood up and yanked my leash pulling me towards the edge of the bed.

“Ok baby. Let’s go for a walk.”

She pulled my leash again as she started to walk towards the living room. I put my feet down on the floor and remembered the spike booties. I yelped and dropped right to my knees.

“Oh right, I guess it’s not much of a walk when the baby has to crawl.”

She pulled my leash to put me in front of her.

“I want to see that wittle crinkle bum the whole time little crawly baby.”

I started to crawl forward, but she pulled the leash again.

“Oh no, I didn’t say it was ok to crawl yet. You have to listen to Mommy. Plus, I forgot one thing.”

She reached over to the bureau and grabbed the biggest pacifier available. She bent over and shoved into my mouth. She didn’t stop there. She grasped a strap, lopped it through the front of the paci and tied it around my head. My biggest pacifier was now a pacifier gag.

“Ok baby. Crawl for Mommy.”

Before I could even start she gave me a playful kick in the bum.

“Hurry up baby. Mommy wants to play.”

I crawled back into the living room. 5 bags of my newly bought diapers still out on display.

There was also a stuffed animal resting on the floor. It was mine. An oversized alligator that I liked to play with when I was little.

She gave me another tug with the leash.

“Okay baby. Time to show Mommy how much you love your diaper. Get on your tummy.”

I did.

“Lift up your little crinkle crotch.”

I did.

She slid the stuffy under me.

She pulled one of the bags of diapers out of the case and put it under my face.

I love the smell of new diapers.

“Ok baby. It’s tummy time. Hump your little stuffie and rub your face on your favourite little diapees.”

I was already so horny. And I really had no choice. I clutched the bag of diapers and started to hump my stuffy.

She started singing to me in a babyish tone as if she were singing a nursery rhyme.

“Dumb wittle baby,

In a big wet diapee.

Going to make a cummy,

On his stuffy.

Dumb wittle baby,

In a big wet diapee,

Going to make a cummy,

For his Mommy.”

Even though it had only been a few seconds of humping. Those humiliating lyrics were too much. I exploded into my diaper, gasping for breathe through my paci gag, my heart rate through the roof. I immediately flattened out and relaxed my body.

Click, click, click.

What just happened?

“Oh my friends are going to love this.”

I turned around. Paci hiding my expression as I realized what just happened.

Paulina had pulled out her phone.

I knew what the sound of the clicking was.

But she turned her screen to me.

“Yes, I took some pictures. But I think the girls will really like the video of my wittle diaper boy making a humpy cummy. You are going to be my baby forever. NOW, put your face back on your naughty diaper bag.”

I heard her walk up behind me. She knelt down between my legs. I felt some pressure on my thickly padded bum.

Just a few seconds later. I heard another click of her phone camera.

“Roll over baby boy. Mommy wants to show you something.”

I rolled onto my back. She turned her phone around to me again. She had written on the back of diaper. In big thick marker it read, “Mommy’s Diaper Loser. Property of Mommy Paulina.”

“You are all mine. My wittle baby boy.”

She placed her hand on the front of my diaper.

And I instantly wet myself again.

“Hahahahaha. What a super soaker.”

To be continued.

#ab dl diaper #diaper regression

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ahedderick · 1 year

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Back in Time

I was rummaging on one of my nonfiction bookshelves, and found a chunk of unbound paper stuck between two book. When I looked at it, there were several random articles plus a printout of all my emails (to and from family and friends) from 2009. Oh my heavens. I'm sitting reading it this morning and it is so . . full of memories.

[ID: A strawberry/blueberry pie that looks like an American flag, a little girl with raspberry jam smeared on her face and the jam jar clutched in her hands, an orange tabby kitten snoozing on soft blankets, and a sunny beach scene with a man and a little boy entering the water.]

I may be experiencing emotions. I really ought to print out and bind the other years' emails, too. It's just a rather large job. Twenty-five years' worth? About that.

March 2009:

I was filling in for our church organist on the 8th. [Husband] was at a forest fire, so I had to get some last minute help from ladies in the congregation with the kids. Absolutely cannot play with K "helping". Their Sunday school is before church, which gave me some good practice time. When they were done I went down the hall to pick K up - or tried to. The hall was partially blocked with EMT and uniformed men, while pastor Mark was bending over a shaky looking older gentleman on the floor. This should have been a clue to me that church would be a little unusual today. I grabbed K, put her on someone else's lap while I rehearsed the choir, and then returned her to the nursery. Choir was fine, for a given value of "fine". I got Son lined up with someone to sit with, and zoomed to the organ bench. Got through the prelude just fine, but after that it all went to hell. See, the secretary had gotten the wrong hymn numbers. I found this on Thursday when I went to practice, and thought it would be corrected by Sunday. Stop grinning! Anyway, I was paranoid, so I double checked the hymn the organist had given me against the bulletin of one of the choir members. Eek! Not corrected. So I dug out the hymn she had in her bulletin. And played. The choir was singing, but out in the congregation I could see frantic page turning. Well, shit. SOME bulletins were correct, some were not. Stop laughing! Anyway, we got through to the readings, and the guy who was s'posed to read the Psalm responsively confidently read out the first verse. Instead of the congregation reading the second verse, there was dead silence. Oh, GOOD, it's not just me!!!!! Anyway, there was a hurried consultation on the altar, the rest of the Psalm was sorted out, and all the rest of the hymn numbers were announced before we sang. Just so, you know, we could all be singing the same one.

The organ did not catch on fire. So I guess it was a good week.

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queen-of-writing-bad-things · 7 months

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Henry Danger Reader Insert | Captain Man x Reader: SEASON 5

Episode 11: Grand Theft Otto (SMUT)

*heyyyyyyyyy, guess who's bringing sexy back? and two chapters in a row no less. this smut was born from my inability to think of how else to start the chapter, a reluctance to write eight whole minutes with no (y/n) present, a trip to victoria's secret and a lot of piano music with ambient rain sounds (my secret to writing freestyle).

word of warning, this smut does include some even more mature themes than usual that are discussed but not fully played out (not yet) and i know they're not for everyone, so just be aware of that, exploring different things for different people :)

as always my dudes: don't like the boom-boom then skip ahead until the next warning because this one uses bad words, bad ideas and a lot of the stuff grown-ups do in the real world. Have fun :) *

There was something to be said about couples who lived through the night and slept all of the day.

They were made of tough stuff. It was almost essential, anyone who went against the body's natural clock needed a certain level of resilience just to struggle through the inconsistent sleeping patterns. That's why (y/n) sometimes liked living underground; you can sleep at any time when the sun doesn't shine.

But not always.

She missed windows. She missed nice scenery. She missed having a front door and porch, a backyard most of all. How nice would it be if she could wake up in the morning and let the fresh air in instead of a mound of dirt and earthworms?

Maybe it was petty; after all, the Man Cave was great and she'd been promised compensation later down the line. Ray wanted his sweet girl to live in a palace but his bank account would never stretch that far, so a quiet little house in the country would have to do. One where their family would have space to grow unhindered. That was a far-off dream but he swore that the next place he had would have a great view. Maybe a mountain or the cityscape. Something that spoke a little more than stone walls.

And yet very occasionally, not too often thanks to their patchy sleep schedule, there came a day where the view in the Man Cave wasn't so bad after all.

The past two weeks had been hell. Emergencies left, right and centre, people begging down the phone line for help, which sometimes Captain Man, Miss Danger and Kid Danger could give and sometimes they couldn't. Like, when the old lady phoned up asking if they could help her play bingo, they had to grit their teeth and politely say no. But when there was an explosion at the paint factory, they had to go check it out... and discover that once household paint goes on, it doesn't come off.

Fast forward another thirteen days of many showers and a bottle of paint stripper, things had calmed down, leaving Henry a free afternoon at home and the loving couple to crash until midday. For fourteen hours, they slept, dead to the world to the point where when they finally did wake fully rested, they realised how they hadn't had any personal time.

A man couldn't live without his sweet girl and a woman couldn't live without her doofus, so as Ray pottered around the bathroom, having dragged himself from their pit of blankets muttering something about needing to shave the last two weeks off, (y/n) found herself feeling...generous.

Of course, she was a patient woman. Hell, she'd waited ten years for her perfect man, so she knew when the right time to strike was. But goddamn, normally, she would've called herself an animal, a degenerate, because standing in front of the mirror with a new set of lingerie on, waiting for her husband-to-be so she could give him a heart attack was just not how things usually ran.

However, (y/n) had to admit, she looked hot—and it was a great confidence booster.

White lace and silk smoothed over her boobs to push them in and upwards, creating the illusion that they were naturally sculpted to give her a perfect cleavage whilst also revealing taut, hardened nipples. Running down her waist and tummy was yet more lace, sheer and soft as it formed a corset to highlight her shape.

She hummed softly in her throat when the underwear was pulled high over her curves, her core getting slick at the mere thought of Ray mouthing over her clit just to pull it down and have his fill. She'd chosen this set with him in mind; garters and stockings weren't her thing but seeing him lose his mind was too good to resist, so they sat mid-thigh, clipped to the corset where they'd inevitably stay since he fucked with them on, no exceptions.

Once upon a time the girl who stared back at her would think she was mad and strip it back off along with the light coat of mascara and lipstick she'd put on, but now, she was loving it. And the best thing? Ray would lose his mind.

No mad scramble to the bed, no way. She'd never seen a Victoria's Secret Angel jog down the runway so she delicately placed herself on the bed, thinking about how she should sit—lie—pose—how did people do this? Laying down made her feel dumb, after all, she wanted to see Ray's face. Sitting felt too formal, like she was waiting for a board meeting or something, so she went for a mix of both, which she guessed was posing.

In the middle of the bed, she stretched out her legs, crossing them at the ankles to make them seem longer and her hips even more mouth-watering. Her chest pushed out as she leaned back with her arms behind her to stay propped up and it felt like an eternity spent waiting for the faucet to turn off and the humming to finish.

The thong was starting to dampen and her hips rolled by themselves in response, thighs rubbing together because it had been so long since she felt his breath between her legs, his hands roaming up her back, his cock between her lips. She was desperate but patience would make everything worthwhile.

In the bathroom, Ray had spent the last half an hour in limbo. He'd started shaving, just as he'd promised since Captain Man didn't look as appealing sporting a hobo beard, despite his precious girl's insistent pleas that it made him look tough and rugged.

More like it would make her thighs burn when he finally got a chance to settle himself between them and taste that sweet pussy of hers. God, her thighs, her tight cunt, her perfect tits, he'd missed them.

He'd missed her in general; even though they'd still spent every waking second in each other's presence, it was hard to be romantic when you were driving to an accident, getting a fat guy out of a drive-thru window, eating on the way back, napping for half an hour, only to go out again. They'd barely had enough energy to talk, let alone fuck, and dear god, he was desperate.

He wanted to roll her over and push into her blazing heat that morning, wake her up right and pull orgasm after orgasm out of her until he'd caught up on every one they'd missed, but he'd held back. It didn't matter if he was hard, leaking, and in need of attention; he figured that, after such an arduous few days, (y/n) needed rest, and even his gentlest pace wouldn't give her that.

Not that it would be gentle. He wanted it hard and fast and dirty, so he'd removed himself from her arms before her bleary eyes and fuzzy mind could remember that his aching cock had been pushed up against her slit all night.

One cold shower later and he was fresh-faced and smooth-cheeked, but not a satisfied man. He'd tried to take the edge off, had wrapped a hand around himself to find release but had bitten his lip to smother his frustrated groans when it just wasn't enough. He needed wide eyes, soft moans and a perfect hole to empty his balls into, so he just had to wait for his hard-on to go down under the freezing spray since he wasn't prepared to bear down on his sweet girl simply because he had the libido of a seventeen-year-old.

So, when he left the bathroom with nothing more than a towel around his waist, he certainly didn't expect the sight that awaited him.

"Hey, sweet girl, should we make some pancakes or order Sushi Dushi? 'Cause it's lunchtime but I'm feeling like—holy shit..." Food was no longer on his mind as he entered the bedroom and took in the vision that was waiting for him on the bed.

His sweet, sweet girl, sat on the bed like a goddess clad in lace and silk with her doe-like eyes trained on him as her lower lip was pulled between her teeth. Her breathing was shallow as he watched one hand trail from the comforter, snake between her thighs and into her panties to begin teasing her clit, all the while maintaining eye contact.

All the blood in his body rushed south as he watched with a dry mouth and empty brain, wondering what he did to deserve an angel like her before snapping out of his trance.

As much as he loved the sheer eroticism of it, that job was his and his alone and any of her pleasure came from his mouth, his hands or his cock, which was back to being like granite now that his eyes raked down her form. Shit, her tits looked so good, he wanted to bite, suck and squeeze them until she was writhing, begging for him to move onto her soaked pussy.

"Fuck, baby—I—fuck, is this all for me?"

"Mhmm, wanted to look pretty for you...and I'm so wet too. You took too long, Captain," she whined, intensifying the stroking of her fingers to increase the heavenly pressure on her clit, which seemed so swollen and throbbing after sitting on the bed for too long. Ray swallowed thickly at her words and stared darkly at her clothed pussy, watching until his mouth was set into a firm line. She knew his rules.

"This is pretty, little one, you look so fucking hot. But that's my pussy you're touching," he murmured, stalking towards the bed as she continued to work herself, only to drag it from her panties at a slow, teasing pace when he was within touching distance.

"'M sorry, sir, I couldn't help it. I woke up and knew I needed your cock in me...but you weren't in bed," she smirked and raised her slick fingertips to her mouth, tongue dipping out to taste them as he leaned down to loom over her, eyes never leaving hers. However, a soft gasp fell from her lips when strong fingers curled around her wrist, the sudden skin-on-skin contact feeling like fire, and he pulled it up to his mouth instead. "Where were you? Why did you leave me when I'm so needy?"

"Needed to shave, sweet girl. Although I have to admit, the idea of fucking you did cross my mind," he whispered smugly before closing his lips around her digits, moaning when his tongue caught her sweet taste as he sucked it off, much to her delight.

(y/n) smirked as his eyes fluttered closed, aching already from the small glimpse into the pleasure he'd been denied, and she saw no problem in reaching up to his hidden length that was twitching under the towel and tracing her fingers over the leaking head. The reaction was instant, a guttural groan that vibrated against her fingers and a fire in his eyes when they finally met again.

"I needed it, still do. It's been too long—and I've been saving this to try and seduce you," the woman breathed out as he pushed her shoulders gently down to the mattress so he could trap her against the soft cotton and explore the gorgeous number she'd donned. It had been shoved in her wardrobe for a special occasion rather than a boring, Saturday afternoon, but it would still be thoroughly enjoyed and that's what mattered, especially when his hands started twitching from not knowing where to start.

It was like he was a child struggling to contain his Christmas excitement; he wanted to leave her cunt until last, that way it would draw out the pleasure until it was painful for both of them to wait any longer. Her tits looked almost too perfect to grab roughly and he was torn between keeping them trapped in the white material or freeing them for his use. He wanted to run his tongue over them as her legs with those fucking hot suspenders closed around his waist, wanted to take her over and over again until she was ruined for any other cock.

"It's working, darlin'. I wanna fuck you so bad, wanna make you remember who you belong to—who belongs to you." A squeal left her throat when he pinched her nipple through the lace, a slap landing on the same tit, not a second later, which had her back arching into him.

Her hand reached for the towel still tied around his waist and with one hard yank, its knot unravelled, freeing his cock so it rested on her clothed cunt with its underside rubbing against her slit. Ray hadn't expected her to be so sudden and his hand closed around her throat loosely, allowing him to tilt her head up until she had no choice but to look him in the eye for what she'd done.

He roamed down her body, biting the top of her breasts and licking to soothe the flesh when his teeth pierced it, her fingers tugging at his hair when he kneaded her tits roughly. It wasn't enough to satisfy the burning in her core, not even when he leaned down to mouth at her nipples through the lace but when she begged him to remove the barrier, thinking that it had done its job of making her look beautiful, he refused.

"Take it off, Ray. I—I need—-it's not fair that I can't feel you!"

"Fuck, no, sweet girl. You look so damn hot in this, I ain't taking it off. I'm gonna fuck you like this and you'll take it, won't you?" He growled at her whining and trailed a hand over lace and silk, over her hips, over her tummy and her mound to the soaked, sorry excuse for underwear. "You'll take anything I give you and love it because I know this little pussy just needs filling. That's what makes you run your mouth at me."

Ray had always known that he leaned more towards lace than leather, preferred innocence over sex kitten, but damn, he couldn't help but fall in love with the way she exuded both sexuality and purity. Had he not taken that innocence over and over again since that first night, he wouldn't have known that she was as dirty as he was, as shown when she pouted innocently even when he rubbed sudden, rough circles over the satin and her clit.

The ensuing moans that fell from her lips were downright sinful, so was the wetness that aided his finger in pushing into her pussy and how she clamped down immediately, whining when he pulled it straight back out so cruelly. Her already bruised lip was tugged between her teeth again as she propped herself on her elbows to watch him slither down her body to come face-to-face with her most intimate area. His view was blocked by the thong but his eyes remained dark with his dilated pupils as he nuzzled against the soaked material, hot air blowing over her quivering thighs.

"Don't tease—don't tease...please."

"Just admiring what's mine, sweetheart," he murmured, taking his time to pull the thong tightly up her hips until the silk's stitching was snapping and popping, just so he could see how it cupped and pressed into her lips before pulling it aside to begin his assault.

His mouth found her clit instantly, groaning when the sweetest honey taste flooded his mouth and his tongue ran through her folds to collect more. It danced around her opening before plunging in, tearing a scream from her throat as she held the thong for him in one hand, his hair in the other, allowing his hands to pin her thighs to the bed.

She noticed how his fingers couldn't stop trailing and snapping the suspenders so they pricked at her skin, something she'd add to the long list of kinks he had when her mind was back in reality. A brief second of respite came when his tongue ceased exploring her walls to suck and slurp at her lips and then her clit harshly, only to return to fucking her not half a second later. She thought a punishment would be in line for her when her fingers left his head to rub her swollen nub furiously, chasing her orgasm as he got off on her wrecked gasps of pleasepleaseplease and hoarse moans of moremoremore. But it was actually quite the opposite.

"That's it, sweet girl. Rub this cunt, get it nice and wet and ready so I can drink you up when you cum," he growled from between her legs, stare pinning her down so she could do nothing but obey, "You want to cum, don't you?"

"Yes—yes, fuck, I wanna cum so bad!" "That's my good girl..." And so, Ray dived back in, wanting to see her wriggle and writhe under his grip so he could use the tidal wave of slick to push into her pussy with no resistance. She always came at least once before he did and the knowledge that she'd be left trembling but satiated gave him the strength to ignore how his cock and balls were begging for release.

Honestly, he was surprised that he hadn't creamed the sheets yet like a teenager. Seeing her clad in so little lace should've made him, but he staved it off, reasoning that it would be better to cum deep in her pussy and feel her walls tighten around him than the soft nothingness of blankets.

(y/n)'s fingers flickered harder as he increased his movements tenfold, moving his tongue in and out of her hole as he would if it were his cock, aiming for the spot that made her squirm and whine. He could feel it, her oncoming release, just from the way her walls quivered and her thighs juddered, trying to fight against the iron grip keeping them spread wide.

A gentle shudder and then it was all over, core clenching tightly and gushing for his awaiting mouth as she kept stimulating her clit through her orgasm, screaming his name until her voice was ruined. Even when the wave mellowed and started to settle, he stayed drinking what he could, licking at her sensitive lips for the last drop of honey he could find because he had been starved and he was finally ready to have his fill again.

"Too—too much, baby—" "S'been two weeks since I last tasted this pussy, darlin'. Still fucking delicious," he said against her folds, practically raking his face through them one last time, focusing on her clit to electrify the nerves there, before pulling away to kneel on the mattress. Hungry eyes raked over her dishevelled form, ravished with her cunt exposed and twitching. It was fucking beautiful, but there was one thing missing.

"As gorgeous as you look in this, sweet girl, I wanna see those tits," Ray said gruffly and no sooner than he did, she scrambled to unfasten the corset and throw it to the side, but he stopped her, "fuckin' keep it on—that's it, push it down. Can't let you take this off, you pretty little thing, might just keep you in it permanently."

"You want the whole world to see me like this? Want them to see what's yours?" (y/n) asked, her eyes innocent but her smirk teasing as she carefully freed her chest of the lingerie, pushing the straps down her shoulders so the corset bunched around her tummy.

And then, unable to stop herself as his gaze impossibly darkened further, she reached forward for his hard length, giving it a teasing tug, licking her lips when a choked moan and stuttered thrust betrayed the control he loved to have. Thin ice.

"Dirty girl—" he snapped and brushed her hand away, although she didn't have to pout for long, "hands and knees, ass in the air for me."

A smile broke out on her when he flipped her over with ease and she scrambled to do as he said. Arching her back, she wiggled her hips for him, unashamedly presenting her needy cunt for him just as he'd asked. She looked over her shoulder so she could see his every twitch when shown the hole he was going to fuck raw.

"You ready for me, sweet girl? Ready for this cock that belongs to you?" Ray snarled, rubbing his dripping head from her clit to her entrance, coating himself in her slick. It was always a squeeze trying to get his fat cock in there but when he was finally balls deep, it was always worth the effort. She fit like a fucking glove, still tight as though he hadn't fucked her nearly every day since the day she said yes but it was definite that she was ruined for anyone else, almost moulded to fit him.

"Yes, so fucking ready...always," the woman whined, holding the thong to the side for dear life as he broke into her, splitting her apart inch by inch until he was at the hilt, balls pressed tightly to her clit as he gave her a moment to adjust to being so full.

"Fuck—fuck, you're always so tight, little one. Like you've never even been fucked—" he said throatily, snapping his hips into hers in small thrusts, trying to stay deep and go slow until he couldn't resist the temptation to go harder, faster, give her what she needed, "But we both know that's not true, right? We both know that you're not innocent."

It didn't even register in her mind that one hand had stopped kneading her jiggling ass until a loud crack broke through the symphony of flesh slapping flesh, grunts and quiet yelps. His hand came down hard on her right cheek and she clenched around him unintentionally, proving him right. She loved it, loved being his dirty little girl underneath her kind smiles and helpful nature, loved relinquishing her sharp mind to be his slut for hours on end.

Her arms collapsed as he kept up the relentless pace, cock being squeezed in a vice-like grip that had his vision clouding until nothing but her and his end were in mind. A soothing hand ran down her back and pushed her head into the mattress and she knew that he wanted her to stay down and keep showing him her pussy and allow him to fuck it how he wanted.

"Show me this pussy properly, darlin'. Y'know I love this getup but fuck—gotta see it," he rambled, clawing at the thong that was so small that it made fire lick up his spine, but it was in the way. He wanted her bare and shaking after weeks of nothing, so he reluctantly pulled out of her warmth for a brief moment and teased it over her ass. Frantically, her hands came up to her sides to help him yank to about mid-thigh, just enough for him to continue freely, but damn, if the sight of her didn't do something to him.

"Fuck..." he groaned lowly as he pushed back in and began a slow, deep pace, building up to what they'd been going at before when he felt a familiar urge come over him.

It was filthy, taboo, even wrong perhaps, something they'd joked about when drunk but never discussed because it was the thing for young couples to try out or pornstars to show off. Not something he'd ever expect a girl as sweet as her to consider or allow. This was his primal urge to bury deep down and keep to himself, but fuck, when she curved her back again to push her ass up further, he couldn't restrain himself.

His hand ghosted over her asscheek as it normally would, squeezing at her supple flesh as he rocked into her, balls slapping her clit as they swayed. And as his thumb pressed into the crevice, that's when it brushed over her forbidden, puckered rim. His abs tensed as he did, imagining what it would be like to fuck her there, not that he ever would because he respected her far too much, but he still gulped. Especially when she hummed a high-pitched whine and clenched the halo of muscle. Fuck...

"S-sorry, shit—shit, god, I...sorry—" he stumbled an apology, picking up her curiosity and interrupting it as discomfort or even fear. So, naturally, he backed off, stuttering his thrusts as he jerked his hand away like it had touched fire. He hoped that in the haze of pleasure, she'd forget about the slip-up--forget about how he almost lost it when he had both holes on show in the warm light, but how could she?

(y/n) swallowed thickly, having felt the minuscule touch and found herself...interested.

Ray had a list of kinks and preferences as long as her right leg three times over; he loved being on top but he also loved being ridden. He loved taking her anywhere, anytime. He loved using the filthiest, most vulgar dirty talk, and he adored making sure his partner felt safe.

But this—this was new and hell, he didn't need to be sorry or scared. She was up for trying anything with him once.

"No..no, s'okay, s'okay—you can touch it," she whispered and angled her hips backwards, pushing her pussy further down his length and also offering herself up. She wanted this, wanted to explore and try it out.

Ray almost fainted at her words, having anticipated silence or rejection but never acceptance and it broke the frayed thread that his self-control had been hanging onto. If the spank from earlier had been hard, this one was rough, harsh, brutal, sounding like lightning the moment his hand hit her ass because fuck; he knew she was filthy but not this filthy.

"Dirty—dirty fucking girl. Never thought you were such a filthy, cock-hungry—never thought you'd let me touch it," the hero punched out, his voice wrecked and gravelly and so damn hot. His pace increased to a soul-shattering bangbangbang, forcing the air from her lungs as he abused her slobbery cunt and more.

He traced over her back entrance, teasing it lightly, never using any pressure so she could get used to the sensation and he kept an eye on her every movement, looking for any sign that she didn't like it, but judging by how she seemed wetter than before and how she was whimpering and suffocating his cock, she needed more, not less.

"I'll let you do anything—anything—shit, you can put a finger in there if you want—" she offered, not expecting him to take her up on that offer because this was a new idea after all, but Ray...Ray thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

His hips slowed down and a hand cradled one side of her pelvis as the other ran up the curve of her cheek, trembling from how turned on he was. It truly was a miracle that he hadn't cum yet given how tight his balls felt but dear god, he was gonna hold off. Maybe for only five seconds or less, but he was gonna because his thumb was circling her asshole.

"Hottest girl I've seen, sweet girl, so damn sexy..." he muttered, thrust quickening to increase the pleasure as he pressed against the tight hole, breaking through the natural resistance until he was poking in, "Fuck—so tight, just like your pussy. You ever take it back here, sweetheart?"

There was a hesitant edge to his voice like he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer because it would mean that she'd once had a similar level of trust with someone else, but he couldn't help it. He had to know.

"N-no. Dre—some have tried but I would—wouldn't let them... I'd let you, though," she whispered as he suddenly slid all the way in, right down to the last knuckle until his thickest digit was buried deep inside of her. The impropriety of it was eating her up alive and she clenched, feeling deliciously stuffed full as his cock split her open and his thumb gave her something else to squeeze.

Ray was certain that he was moments away from orgasm, reeling from how...dirty it felt, how...right, not just from the image of fucking a hole that would be tighter than her tiny pussy but knowing that he was the only man she'd ever let near her—and he knew most of the men she'd dated, some more than others.

"That right? You'd let me fuck—let me fuck your tight, virgi—" He choked at the idea and slammed his hips into her ass jaggedly, feeling his thumb rub against those forbidden walls and a wave of panic washed over him when he felt his end appear on the horizon, hurtling towards him. No one else had ever made him cum uncontrollably but a squeeze of her core muscles and a grinding undulation of her hips to feel him brush up against her every wall and his hand was dashing to her clit to madly circle it.

"—Shit, shit—not gonna last, darlin'—need to cum in your pussy...can you cum on my cock?"

"Fuck, yes—gonna cum with your thumb so fucking deep and this perfect cock filling me up," (y/n) whined and began rocking backwards to meet his thrusts, not caring if her skin was sore from the constant slapping or if his fingers were sliding around her slick lips and frustrating her clit from the poor stimulation.

"F-fuck—-I love you—" was the last thing he said, garbled and stuck in his throat until he came with a devastatingly hoarse cry. Her pussy strangled his length as he made sure the snug fit couldn't be any closer and her body sucked him in when cum was pumped onto her walls as deep as it could go. The feeling of warmth flooding her womb caused her walls to flutter as she went over the edge too, rambling the phrase back as her cheek smushed against the mattress, body turning limp.

What felt like hours passed. Seconds, really, but eventually, Ray cleared the fuzziness in his mind, swept away the cobwebs and blink one, two, three times so he could see properly again. His sweet girl was slumped into the comforter, her body ready to fall if it wasn't for his brushing grip on her waist, which he instantly relinquished when he realised just how hard it was.

His thumb was slowly and gently removed from her second entrance, him being mindful of the pain of resistance now that they were coming down from their highs. A whimper left her mouth, probably unintentionally when it finally slipped free, and next came his cock. The moment the tip was away, he was quick to pull the thong up her thighs, intent on keeping his precious load in there for as long as possible, although he doubted it would stay with that string barely covering her folds.

And then, at last, she was released to snuggle into the bed, ass slumping with a bouncing crash. Her doofus returned from his dominant, dark side, keeping his sweet girl warm by cautiously spooning her. It was so cosy; her back was against his heaving chest as they laid there for a while before anyone spoke and when they did, it was his baritone in her ear.

"You okay?" Ray asked, his voice gruff but full of its usual goofy friendliness as he nuzzled into her neck and lovingly squeezed her breast—nothing sexual, just him holding whatever flesh he found.

"Yeah...that was intense," (y/n) replied, her voice also sounding raspy from the excessive screaming but still, she sounded happy as well. A content sigh left her lips as her eyes slid shut and although he didn't show it, she knew that the noise made him relax. Every time they tried something new, her lover always freaked out a little afterwards, but she was fine-- fucking blissed out, but how was he to know that?

"Yeah. Yeah, it was. Are you sure it was okay? It was...good?" Ever the worrier and people say she had problems with nerves.

"I would've told you if it wasn't, doofus. I loved it like always...just didn't know you were into butt stuff," the woman held a light tone, trying to not sound negative or anything like that because he was trying so hard to make sure she was comfortable, a trait that made her fall deeper in love with him when they first started fucking.

"Not massively but...yeah. I've only ever wanted to do it with you, no one else was ever—y'know—curious. But if that was enough for you then, that's fine, sweet girl. We can stick to lingerie and handcuffs if that's what you wa—"

"Raymond, hush," she rolled in his arms until she was on her back and he was on his side looking down over her. Her poor lip was back between her teeth as their faces stayed close, noses brushing as her hand came up to lace their fingers together because they were in this together, after all, comfort came for both parties. "The lingerie is definitely staying since nothing gets you harder—"

"Seeing you naked gets me just as hard, sweetheart." Cocky bastard. Where was the fun in that? It was true that if she came out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower without a towel, he'd be all over her like a rash with any excuse to grope her but she enjoyed dressing up and waiting for him more than a surprise pouncing. She was a patient lady and the real fun happened when the roles were reversed and he was her prey.

"Whatever, you dork. My point is that I meant what I said. I'll let you do anything and that includes fucking me there too. As long as you don't forget my pussy when you do." An irresistible offer by all accounts and Ray's smirk grew in tandem with hers as her words sunk in. His perfect girl; sweet angel and little devil rolled into one.

"Don't think I'll ever forget this pussy, sweet girl. Not ever," he whispered his reply before placing his lips delicately on hers, his hand sliding down to rest over the lace bunched across her stomach to remind her that he never lost sight of what he adored.

The moment was peaceful. Tongues explored their mouths and tastes, remapping known territory lazily as they basked in their mid-afternoon, post-sex glow...right up until a rumble across his palm reminded them that it had been a good fifteen hours since they last ate. And the protector couldn't have his future wife hungry.

"What was that you said about pancakes earlier?" (y/n) asked as he pulled back with an amused smile, her wide-eyed, innocent look returning that had his cock twitching at the thought of them staring up from between his legs as she sucked—no, they were not doing this again. Down, boy.

"Stay here, darling. I'll go make some," he promised her, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he untangled their lips and reluctantly rolled off the bed to find wherever he tossed his jeans last night when they fell into bed exhausted. Ray only bothered to tighten the belt after yanking them up, even forgoing underwear since he'd strip out of them and into fresh laundry when he returned with a tray of enough food to feed an army.

First, he just had to make sure she was fed first because it was his instinct to. After all, this was merely practice for when they finally owned that quiet house with nice views, windows, a front door, a porch and a backyard, although he hoped that by then, they'd only be exhausted from running around after a few children.

*welp. that was a thing. i hope the more adventurous types enjoyed that, i did tbh. it's nice to do something different but from this moment forth, WE ARE SAFE AGAIN. fear not, the light will return and maybe even Ray's interest in "stuff "👀*

"Mmmm, god, these are good," (y/n) moaned as she shovelled mouthful after mouthful of fluffy pancakes and toppings into her face. Technically speaking, they were Ray's famous mancakes, fresh from the pan and made tall with all manners of syrups, fruits and chocolate chips.

She was certain that there was way too much for one person on her plate but saw it as a personal challenge to finish the lot since it had been her doofus who'd made them just for her and it's not like she could feed him. He'd eat the odd mouthful she offered him, but how could he take food out of his starving girl's mouth? That was unthinkable.

"Keep making sounds like that and I'll make sure they taste even better, sweet girl," the hero smirked as he placed his plate on the couch table and came to slide in next to her. In the time it had taken the pancakes to cook, he'd gotten properly dressed and she'd replaced her slightly wrecked, definitely crumpled ensemble with simple cotton shorts and one of his huge t-shirts, stating that crime was low that day and it was not like they had places to be other than the Man Cave, so comfy-casual it was.

Plus, Ray was a sucker for his sweet girl in his clothes, so he was happy to let her wander around taking in the beauty that was his fiancée, happy in their home with the food he'd made her, ready for a chill day.

And she hadn't followed his command of staying in bed, far from it; after ten minutes of scrolling through her phone, answering texts, emails and checking trashy news sites, she'd grown bored of the bedroom and wandered through to the kitchen to find her doofus cooking up a storm. He pouted when she hugged him from behind, saying that he wanted to make his beautiful future wife brunch in bed, but one comment about how she felt lonely apart from him and he was sold.

They'd danced in the refrigerator light and said good afternoon to a smug Schwoz, who looked like the cat who got the cream for some reason until he made some reference to the entire hideout shaking from the way Ray fu—he was lucky he didn't get a punch to the teeth for that. So, now, they were in the main room, set to wait until they were needed, which meant an afternoon for movies. Or so (y/n) thought.

"Come between me and my pancakes and we will be at war, doofus," she giggled and pointed her fork in his direction with the best serious face she could muster. No one could ruin this for her, but it was impossible to glare at him for so long when he was such a dork with his floppy hair, so a smile soon cracked the seriousness.

"I surrender, baby. You can keep the pancakes if it means I get a kiss," Ray fluttered his eyelashes like the lovable idiot he was and grinned when she quickly kissed him without hesitation, leaving the taste of honey and syrup to linger on his lips. The sweetness was enough to satisfy him for a while and as Schwoz pottered around the room, calibrating and tinkering, they fell into easy conversation, talking about anything and everything just as they had always been able to.

It wasn't until they were on their last pancake each that (y/n) said something that broke the peace and caused the universe to shift in a way that she could never have predicted. After all, who cared that much about moustaches?

"Hey, you know Jasper?"

"Yes, unfortunately, I know Jasper," Ray replied through a mouthful of pancake, his tone turning dark at the mention of the boy he loved to dislike. It wasn't even dislike at this point, it was just how their relationship functioned, but nevertheless, it made her roll her eyes.

"Whatever, doofus. Anyway, apparently, according to Charlotte, he grew a moustache when he was in Idaho," the heroine told him, not thinking anything of it since it was Jasper they were talking about and males grew facial hair every day, it's not like it was a new phenomenon. So, it wasn't until the clattering of Ray's fork on his plate that she looked up and saw her lover's wide-eyed, dare she say awed expression, complete with a trembling bottom lip. Was it something she said?

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Jasper, as in the Jasper, our Jasper, grew a moustache?" Ray blinked a few times and his hand came to circle his wrist in a firm grip. It wasn't enough to hurt but it captured her attention completely and (y/n) frowned at his strangely over-the-top reaction.

"Uh, yeah... I mean, I know it's weird because he was gone less than a week and one minute, they're our babies, collecting buckets and doing stupid stuff to impress girls, and the next, they're pubescent teenagers on the verge of adulthood and they have facial hair, but—"

In all honesty, (y/n) could feel herself tearing up a bit at the thought of the teens growing up so suddenly because it had only felt like yesterday since they were still proper children. Now, they were grown, ready for their own lives and it's not like she was stupid—it had always been on the cards that they'd move on and become independent at some point but since when did she care like a mother losing her children? Someone needed to pass her a tissue but by the time she looked up, Ray was scrambling off the couch.

The last scraps of his breakfast were left to go cold when he rushed to the holo-caller as if his life depended on it. His very confused fiancée watched with knitted eyebrows as he punched in the code for Henry's watch and impatiently waited for the kid to pick up. No, no, it was fine, she wasn't sniffling over the idea of losing three family members because of life's natural flow, everything was good. At least she could distract herself when the boy finally picked up, looking all tall, and handsome and grown up.

"Hey, what's up, man? We've got a little bit of a situation here—" Henry answered rather quickly, not at all phased by how excitable his boss seemed. After the disastrous afternoon he'd had, he wasn't in the mood for quick chitchat but there was something about the art of growing hair on their faces that made men go nuts.

"(y/n) told me Jasper has a moustache now. Lemme see it!" The hero exclaimed excitedly, not even picking up on the boy's hurried tone. (y/n) perked at the mention of the situation, wondering what the hell it could mean and found herself wandering from the couch and over to the machine, dipping in and out of frame as Ray shuffled from one foot to the other.

"Yeah. Jasper, come here," the kid looked at his friend and upon hearing his name, Jasper stepped across Henry's bedroom and smiled at Ray's grainy little body.

Immediately, the hero laughed and clapped his hands in amazement, thinking that for once in his life, the weirdo was actually the coolest of his employees. He was a man who needed to be clean-shaven nearly all of the time and it was always thrilling to witness the power of testosterone pumping through a boy's veins to give him body hair. Definitely thrilling.

"Aw, Captain Man, that's a sweet 'stache! Sweet girl, have you seen Jasper's moustache?! Isn't it great?"

"Are you kidding me?!" Charlotte facepalmed at her boss' reaction, sounding like she had something in her mouth but (y/n) ignored it as she analysed his facial hair and came to the conclusion that yep, that thing right there, that was a moustache. Hair. On his lip. Good stuff. The professor was in the house tonight.

"Yeah, awesome... Sorry, doofus, I can't lie to you, it's just a moustache. What's so great about it?"

"Thank you, (y/n/n)! At last, someone has sense!" The woman's confused face put Charlotte at ease for the first time that night. Ever since Jasper had walked through the door and interrupted her and Henry's study session, it had seemed like the entire universe loved it. Henry, Piper, the police, everyone gave it high praise for reasons unknown to her, so it was nice to find a common ally. Ray, however, was unfazed by their unity and still sat happily on the opposite side of the fence.

"Schwoz, I just saw Jasper's 'stache! It's sweet!"

"Raymond, I have ears!" (y/n) winced as her doofus bellowed unnecessarily to the genius across the room, who quickly downed tools to scurry over and see this mythical creature for himself. Henry rolled his eyes at how his boss reacted and at how he didn't hesitate in bringing his sweet girl into a side hug as a subconscious apology, but it was the suddenly very crowded holo-call that took the biscuit.

"You like?" Jasper asked, stroking his upper lip with a smarmy expression.

"Yeah! That is a very manly lip schweater!" Schwoz nodded enthusiastically, the same wonderstruck look on his face as Ray, who was near the point of drooling as if he had his lover stood in front of him wearing his favourite dress on her. Their eyes were fixated, unable to look away as the girls' eyes met through the digital divide and it was like they shared the same thought at the same time.

"Has the whole world gone crazy?"

"Apparently so, yes..." (y/n) wrinkled her nose and shrugged, not at all impressed that her romantic breakfast—lunch—dinner—had been left for something as trivial as a moustache. She was also kicking herself for not getting dressed properly earlier as now that she wasn't being chased around the kitchen by Ray and a handful of pancake batter, the chilly AC of the Man Cave was giving her the shivers. The cotton t-shirt and shorts combo had been a mistake, so had forgoing socks and the mention of sweaters was a cruel tease.

"Crazy for Jasper's 'stache! You're getting a raise, buddy."

"Yes!" For Jasper, winning his boss' approval was a dream come true and it was certain that Ray was deadly serious. But, it wasn't just impressive that he'd forgotten about their love-hate relationship so easily, the way he seemed to sense his fiancé's discomfort was straight-up uncanny.

Without looking down, it was like he could sense her goosebumps and unashamedly wrapped himself around her in a bear hug; long arms brought warmth to her body as they crossed her chest and the heroine sighed contently at the heat from having him pressed against her. That was better but not for long.

"Look, later on, we can all give some love to Jasper's lip sweater," Henry butted in, sounding a little too serious for (y/n)'s nerves. He was one of the lads, shouldn't he have been acting like a child too? And yet, as ever, Ray didn't pick up on any tenseness, he merely made plans to worship the little patch of fuzz as he'd worshipped his sweet girl that morning because both were a thing of beauty to be revered.

"Can and will!"

"Right now, we got a problem, okay? 'Cause Piper's talking bird found out that I'm Kid Danger, so now, we're hiding it in my closet so it doesn't tell the secret to everybody in Swellview!" The boy blurted out, spilling every last bean to his boss because he'd learned on every past occasion that lying about things like this made everything worse.

Look, it wasn't his fault, technically, it was Charlotte's. When Piper brought her class parrot home, she'd warned them that it was capable of mimicking sounds, so the girl just had to open her mouth and say the dumbest phrase in the history of dumb phrases, leaving them with a massive problem on their hands. And to think, Ray and (y/n)'s afternoon had been so pleasant.

"You got yourself into quite a pickle, my friend!" Ray chuckled, although he was more nervous than amused. Releasing a sigh, (y/n) massaged her temples and tried to take in as much comfort as she could from the idiot behind her to try and fight the migraine she knew was coming. Accidents would happen but for once, she wanted one day off without some form of disaster falling into her lap, be it professional or personal. Would that be too much to ask?

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, here's what I'm thinking," Henry said, having had time to think long and hard about their plan of action, "all right, I'm going to go to a pet store. I'm gonna find a bird that looks exactly like the one that—"

"Ehhhh, that's stupid," the large man floating above his wrist replied dryly, not even letting him finish because it was that bad. Messing about trying to find an identical bird was dumb and a waste of time, which they didn't have since Piper was already in a tizz over losing her parrot and understandably, it was only a matter of hours until her search party took it into their heads to start sniffing around Henry's room.

"Okay..."

"What you need is a bird clone," Ray suggested instead. He was a strong believer in the idea that science could solve every problem on Earth and even though he didn't understand how it worked, he employed two people who did. Well, he was in love with one of them, but she'd do it as a freebie since she couldn't resist his cute face. For the teens, though, that sounded like madness.

"What?" "Can you two clone a bird?" Ray ignored Henry, looking at Schwoz for a second before nuzzling his nose into (y/n)'s hair and ear, planting a kiss on her cheek just for the hell of it.

"Yah."

"Well, identical cellular reduplication isn't my strong point but in theory—"

"They can clone a bird," Ray confirmed to Henry, not wanting to hear one word of his sweet girl being unsure. It would be fine, he trusted her when it came to smart things and it's not like she'd be doing this alone. If anything, she'd be more like an assistant to Schwoz since biology wasn't her specialist science and whatever the outcome, he'd proud of her anyway, whether they made a monster or a bird.

"What do you need? A feather?"

"Yah."

"Anything containing genetic material, really. But a feather's good," (y/n) nodded, feeling a little uneasy at the idea of her first cloning experiment. There was the unethical side of it, the danger, the possibility of something going wrong, the pressure and the need for perfection to worry about but apart from that, this was a learning opportunity and from the very best, no less. After all, Schwoz had cloned many things over the years, including some things that were better left unspoken about.

"They need a feather," the hero instructed his sidekick, who couldn't that the team was about to do this, but what choice did he have? Face his sister's wrath and risk his identity being revealed? That was off the table, so it had to be a cloning job. He just hoped Schwoz and (y/n) knew what they were doing.

"We can get a feather."

"Great. You bring us a feather, Schwoz and (y/n) clone a new bird, that don't know nothin' from nothin', we kill the old one, swap in the new one, badda-boom, badda-bing, me, my sweet girl, Schwoz and Jasper go to the batting cages," Ray made it sound so easy...and horrible. Everything apart from the killing part was perfect; it wasn't the parrot's fault that it had heard something that shouldn't have been said in the first place, so murdering it was just cruel.

"Yes!"

"No! Raymond, we are not killing the poor bird!" The girl in his arms scolded him, trying to be firm even though she had no idea where the old parrot would go. It was kinda difficult, though, what with her flaming cheeks and everything.

In her experience, a trip to the batting cages often meant leaving Schwoz, and now the lucky Jasper, to hit baseballs into the night whilst he dragged her off to one of the secluded, shady corners so they could make out like teenagers. It was never about the sport, it was about getting her alone in such a risqué place and pressing her into a wire until she saw stars, so the sooner they cleared this mess, the better.

Hey, no one ever said she wasn't a teenager too.

"But sweet girl..."

"Yeah, let's not kill the old one," Henry joined her argument, not wanting to hurt Otto the class pet, but it was a big mistake cutting into the longing gaze of a man and his fiancé.

"Potahto, potato, just bring us a feather."

"It's potato, potahto," the boy corrected him, earning himself yet another glare for being pedantic. Ray was a master with words, often getting them muddled in his head, so he didn't appreciate it when he was mocked for getting one tiny detail wrong, especially from a kid who he was trying to help.

"Potahto, potato, potato, patahto, just bring us a feather, you spicy tomato!" He snapped and left it to Schwoz and (y/n) to wave goodbye to the kid as he stomped off to go and pick at his pancake leftovers. They were slightly soggy by now and chilled from the cool air, but still sweet enough to soothe his anger, or maybe it was the way he could stab his fork into them that was therapeutic, who knows?

Either way, the real stress relief came from the angel who floated over with her learned calmness, being the only thing that could ever truly make him feel better.

"Y'know, one of these days, we're gonna have a day where nothing goes wrong..." (y/n) sighed and sat on the edge of the couch's back, hands resting on his shoulders. They began to massage away the knots that lay beneath his skin, thumbs drawing tight circles in thick muscle and Ray groaned at the pressure. His head lolled back as the pancakes were forgotten again, no doubt those remnants were destined for the incinerator now that she had his full attention and loving gaze.

"One of these days, I might just marry you and we can go live someplace where no one will bother us," he replied softly and her heart squeezed at the sudden turn from her lighthearted joke. He'd never leave Swellview behind, not until he was certain that there was someone to take his place but the notion made her smile all the same. Peace would be a change, but maybe not an unwelcome one.

"Careful, doofus. Offer to elope again and I might just take you up on it."

"We could. Doesn't have to be much, just enough to let me call you my wife," Ray whispered, hand coming up to lay on top of hers on his shoulder so he could feel her engagement ring, present on her finger like always. He knew she wanted a wedding, but god, the thought of finally having someone make it official sounded so damn good. If she was his wife in his heart, what difference did it make? He'd take her either way.

"Sounds nice, but it'll be worth the wait, Ray," (y/n) whispered, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat as she denied him what he sorely wanted. She'd marry him even if it killed her and maybe some part of her wanted to be married so badly that eloping had crossed her mind, only to be shot down.

They'd regret it in the end, that she was sure of, and whilst she didn't have many fears for the future, regretting marrying the love of her life was one of them. She never wanted him to be sick of the sight of her, so a wedding day it was, even if they still had nothing ten months down the line. "I promise."

Ray said nothing and they went back to an easy silence as they waited for the feather delivery. He'd hold her to that promise but he knew he wouldn't have to. His girl was worth waiting for.

~An hour later~

"Come on, come on, come on, come on, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up," Henry said under his breath as the annoying drill of his PearPhone's dialling tone rang in his ear. It was safe to say that his situation had gone from bad to worse after Charlotte collected one of Otto's feathers and now, he wasn't just facing his sister's weather but the entire neighbourhood's.

He didn't understand why there was such a big fuss over one bird. Otto was just like any other parrot but there was a police presence in his house, a prayer vigil outside his door, and a man wanting to hunt down the bird with a snake, which would end badly he just knew it, and he started to panic about the mob growing on his porch. Just because they were peaceful now didn't mean they wouldn't lynch him when they found out about how he was the birdnapper, the one they'd been praying for.

So, the kid was desperate for any news from the Man Cave, where Charlotte had scurried off to with the feather once she'd been grilled by the cops and their pathetic sketch artist. Of course, in the hideout, things were progressing quite well, Schwoz and (y/n) were on the ball, cloning away, Ray was sitting on the couch staring dreamily at his sweet girl as she floated around the place and Charlotte was waiting for the moment the cake was out of the oven. So to speak.

"Hey, Henry. What's up?" She answered in a semi-chirpy tone that grated against her friend's sour mood.

"Hey, did Schwoz and (y/n) clone a new Otto yet?" Henry asked, praying that they already had a new bird ready to be substituted in. He couldn't hide in his bedroom forever; eventually, the birdman and his snake would come sniffing (do snakes sniff?), and then, they'd find their prize stashed in his closet. And that would be game over.

"Uh, hang on," Charlotte told him and looked over at her fellow smarties as they poked around with science that was beyond her education, "Are we close?"

"I think so..." "He just needs a couple more minutes," they answered. Honestly, (y/n) wasn't that good at cloning...or anything to do with biology but she saw it this way. Otto's DNA, the stuff they'd pulled from the feather, was like cake batter and all they were doing was shoving it in a very special oven, turning up the heat and waiting for the cake to rise. Any deviation from that plan would ruin the cake...or something to that metaphor.

"They say we're close." "All right, well, tell Schwoz and (y/n) to hurry up because there's a bird-sniffing snake on its way and they're gonna find Otto in my closet and they're gonna hear—" Henry panicked and opened his closet door to reveal the little red bird still sat on its perch, only this time, it didn't say it's favourite phrase, much to everyone's surprise.

"The moon landing was fake!" It said in its helium-like chirp and for a glorious moment, Henry thought their problems were over because hallelujah, it didn't say his biggest secret.

"Hey, wait a second, Otto's stopped saying that—" "Henry is Kid Danger!" Charlotte cringed as she heard the shrill squawk of the parrot, that hadn't learnt to say something new.

"Dang it!" For a moment there, the boy had thought that Otto could be returned to Piper with no worries because if he didn't say the K-D word, then everything was fine. Or not. He just had to go and spoil it.

"Well, why can't you sneak Otto outta the house before the bird-sniffing snake even gets there?" Charlotte questioned, wondering what was stopping her friend from leaving before he got caught. In the background, she was trying to ignore how her boss was giving her friend goo-goo eyes, turning her back on him so she didn't have to see him blow a kiss only for her to sweetly catch it. If Henry thought he had it bad, she had it worse.

"Because my house is surrounded by people holding up picks of candles on their phones and donating to Piper's GoFundYourself account. I need a new bird!" He snapped in reply and angrily ended the call. His voice was so harsh that it even broke Ray out from his (y/n)-induced haze to make him frown at the racket. What could the kid possibly be worried about that it meant he had to stop staring at his fiancée's pretty face, hips....butt?

"Henry says you gotta hurry up and clone a new Otto!" Charlotte told the genius and his assistant as she shoved her phone in her back pocket and gave them a firm stare. Ray stood up from the couch and wandered over, seeing that things were starting to get exciting but for all the glares in the world, perfection couldn't be rushed. Did she want the cake to sink if they opened the oven door too quickly? Did she want Otto to be a mutant freak?

"Okay..." Schwoz shared a chuckle with (y/n) before looking at the girl kindly...and rolling his eyes a bit at how Ray leaned over to cup the woman's cheeks for a quick smooch, "Anytime you say hurry up and clone, that's when the mistakes happen."

"But it's safe, right? Like you two've cloned stuff before?" "Well, personally, no, but Schwoz has a lot of experience...and by the way, you need to get some antiseptic on those scratches," (y/n) replied truthfully before commenting on the frankly awful injuries that Charlotte had sustained after fighting Otto for a feather. They looked particularly sore but nothing that wouldn't heal fine without a little care and attention, but it was the clone that Charlotte was bothered about, not the state of her face. It was a good thing that Schwoz had been practising for years, more than anyone was aware of.

"Schwoz?" "Yeah, I've cloned myself—" he said when the girl looked at him, spilling the secret that he promised he would never let loose because he knew that it would piss Ray off. After all, it would piss (y/n) off. Cloning people was unethical and irresponsible in her eyes and once she told her lover that, it would be bye-bye cloning machine for him, so he resolved to keep it quiet so he could have lots of little helpers about the place. "I mean...I, myself, have cloned many things that are not me!"

Looking at him suspiciously, the little man's friend's lined up to stare at him judgementally, (y/n) stepping next to Ray so she could analyse his facial features. She knew a liar when she saw one but how was she supposed to prove that with no proof? Schwoz was very careful with his clones and so, they were never caught. Not yet anyway.

"Schwoz, did you clone yourself?" Ray asked, his arm sliding around his girl's waist as he stared down at his handyman. He was the boss, so he had a right to know what was going on in his Man Cave, right? It was bad enough dealing with one Schwoz, let alone, two or three or five or ten yet he didn't know that those other Schwozs were the reason that so much stuff got done around the place.

"Ummmm, noooo...." "Yeah, see, the way you're saying ummmm, noooo, makes me think you really have cloned yourself," Charlotte told him, seeing straight through that fake innocence and folding her arms. She knew something was going on, she wasn't stupid, but perhaps all three of them were deaf and blind because as they stared down the original, low and behold, a clone Schwoz snuck through the secret door.

He happily waddled into the main room as he snacked on an apple. Clone Schwoz had no idea what was going on with his boss and friends but Real Schwoz wasn't about to let their secret be revealed.

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking too. The long no makes it seem like he's lying, right?" (y/n) looked up at her doofus and then at Charlotte, both of whom agreed that Schwoz was talking out of his ass. However, they were so busy debating whether he was or not, that they didn't see the second genius slope off when urged to by his counterpart, who thanked his lucky stars that they didn't look at him or behind them.

"Oh, totally, sweet girl. The short no is always true. The long no, that means he's lying," Ray pointed out, too wrapped up in the loving gaze of his fiancée and how it made his insides feel warm and fuzzy to notice the sound of the door opening and closing again. Rather, the only thing that was capable of breaking their trance-like staring was the ding of Schwoz's Clone-u-Lator, which he assumed meant something had happened.

"Oh, good! The clone is done! Everyone can move on!" Schwoz exclaimed and rushed to open the door of the machine. Talk about saved by the bell or the ding or the machine, whatever, he was saved. For now...

"Yeah, sure..." (y/n) gave him a pointed look and tucked away a small thought about investigating his lab in her mind. He might have thought he'd gotten away with it, but she'd get him one day and everything would become clear. Y'know, the day they didn't have a mouthy parrot to deal with.

Slowly, Schwoz opened the door on his cloning device and there, sitting on the small perch, was a parrot. And not just any parrot. It had a red and brown plumage, a glossy black beak, beady eyes and every claw on its foot; the perfect clone of the bird Charlotte had left in Henry's closet after wrestling for one of its feathers. She had to give it to the genius, the likeness was uncanny and it was a weight off her shoulders as Otto Two hopped out of the chamber.

"Oh, wow!" "Ooooohhh!" "He looks exactly like Otto!" Ray exclaimed as (y/n) grinned at their handiwork, happy to admit that most of it had been Schwoz just so she could admire him more. As he sat there on Schwoz's wrist, Otto squeaked happily and she would swear that it was the same bird if she didn't know better, so switching them would be fine and Piper would never know the difference.

"Yah, that's the point, schweetheart," Schwoz replied to Ray sarcastically and the man's face fell into a grumpy frown. There was only one person who was allowed to call him that and she never used such a bitter tone. Stupid clever people and their smugness.

"Hey, it's exactly the same in every way?" Charlotte asked, wanting to make sure that there was no stray feather or distinction that would make Piper smell a rat. She loved that bird and so did the rest of her class, so there couldn't be anything wrong.

"Mmm, pretty much. It just hasn't learned to say Henry is Kid Danger," Schwoz said, pointing out the key difference that was sure to save them. But, as per the universe's unfair way, the moment he said that forbidden phrase, Otto Two learned what they'd been trying to avoid. He should've kept his mouth shut, what did he think would happen?

"Henry is Kid Danger! Henry is Kid Danger!" Otto Two squawked and the four felt their stomachs drop. As Ray, Charlotte and (y/n) glared at him, Schwoz's gaze dropped to the floor as his cheeks flamed red, embarrassed that he'd said something so stupid when they didn't have much time and now, their saviour was their new executor. Not such a genius, after all.

"Nice going, schweetheart...." Ray quipped dryly and gave his handyman and cold look as he sheepishly handed the bird over to (y/n) for her to hold. He'd have to start again, that bird was now tainted with that phrase and wouldn't unlearn it, so they'd just have to keep baking until they got it right, which would be fun and easy and stress-free.

"Well, what are we supposed to do with this one?—All right, we get it, feathers," (y/n) asked as Schwoz quickly thumbed a few buttons and slammed the door shut on the cloning device, smiling at her nervously as the parrot bobbed its head and said Henry is Kid Danger, Henry is Kid Danger a million more times. She wasn't one for birds, rabbits, yes, dogs, definitely, but not parrots, they flapped and squawked and were so damn annoying, especially the talking ones, so what were they supposed to do with the spare?

Releasing it was one idea, but that would mean Otto Two would blab his beak all over town and every Henry in the land would be hunted down. One of these days, she'd swing for Schwoz.

"Pluck it, roast it, stick it in a pot pie!" Ray smiled at her and began sizing the creature up for his dinner, which earned him a few mortified looks from his sweet girl and friends. Parrot pot pie? They weren't even sure if that was legal and more to the point, why would he want to eat the poor thing? The wasn't even enough meat on him for a full meal and everyone knows that Ray always ordered enough for two, just in case he could share with his dearest fiancée.

"Raymond! We are not eating Otto!...Or his little Ottolets!" "But baby—" "No buts! Someone call Henry, see what's happening with him and that snake man," (y/n) put her finger on Ray's lips to silence him before looking at Charlotte, who nodded wordlessly and began scrolling through her phone. The boy was probably getting worried since they'd said they'd be over any minute, fifteen minutes ago. It wasn't their fault that Otto Two had gone wrong, it was Schwoz's, so due to that technical hitch, they had to start again and in the hurry, they'd forgotten to broadcast that update. Oops.

Charlotte paced impatiently as her phone tried to connect to Henry's and in the meantime, Ray pecked at the finer on his lips, moving down to her engagement ring, her palm and then, on the pulse point of her wrist. (y/n) was giving him a faux-annoyed look as she tried to juggle the bird and his advances, but that morphed into a smile when he leaned down for a proper kiss. Looking at them through his eyelashes, Schwoz scoffed and watched his invention impatiently, wishing it could go faster without ruining the process.

"Henry! Hey, we—" the girl exclaimed when she finally got through to her friend and in her haste, she didn't give him a chance to say hello. But Henry was quick to speak first because, in the brief time since their last con-flab, shit had hit the fan at his house.

"Hey, what the holdup?! The bird-sniffing snake is here!" He asked impatiently, worry coating his every word. The man who'd brought the snake was thankfully a massive gunch and as such, was too busy showing off and hyping the crowd to get straight down to business, so nothing had happened. Yet. That snake was practically begging to be let out and Piper was getting antsy and shouty and dear god, his nerve was beginning to slip from the stress it was under.

"Yeah, we had a little problem with the first clone—" Charlotte told him nervously and tried to mask that to no success. She wasn't inspiring much confidence in the boy, but just as she started speaking, the oven went ding, indicating that Otto Three was ready to go. Maybe this time, they'd have more success. "But the new-new clone is done and we're leaving right now."

"Right, no one say the word and we'll just back away to the elevator slowly..." (y/n) said quietly, pretending to put her hand over Otto Two's ears so he couldn't hear the plan and possibly spoil it. They all nodded solemnly and Schwoz carefully opened the machine to reveal yet another perfect Otto, one that hadn't been corrupted yet.

"Wait, wait...what was the problem with the first clone?" Henry asked as the party carried on outside his front door. He couldn't help it if he was curious and neither could Charlotte help it if she wanted to be honest. A little too honest, which led to being forgetful and loose-lipped.

"Schwoz said, Henry is Kid Danger, in front of it and—" "Henry is Kid Danger! Henry is Kid Danger! Henry is Kid Danger!" she explained, thinking nothing of her mistake until it was too late. Otto Three hadn't even made it out of the box when he started chirping her exact words, which were very attractive for a copycat parrot. As with Schwoz, she suddenly felt very stupid and knew that her ears and cheeks were growing warm as her friends' eyes twitched and their faces fell.

"Oh, come on! I literally said don't say it!" (y/n) cried in frustration and her hands raised to pull her hair as Otto Two flapped off to join his twin in their annoying symphony. Now that one was saying it, the other couldn't resist and it was certain that what should've been simple was gonna take a while.

"We'll call you back," Charlotte said to Henry with a sigh and much to the boy's reluctance and maybe fear, the call was ended. Come on, he was on the verge of being hung, drawn and quartered, what were they playing at? It's not like cloning a parrot is difficult.

~Half an hour later~

So he thought. Henry was beside himself at the house as he waited for his dumb boss and dumb friends to get to his dumb self but as the seconds ticked by, he was starting to lose hope. He had no idea what was keeping them and it was starting to look like he'd just have to be murdered by the prayer vigil because help wasn't coming from the Man Cave.

By Otto Number Five, even Ray, (y/n), Charlotte and Schwoz were losing patience. Every time a bird had come out, that which must not be said was spoken and they had to start all over again. It was annoying but manageable when it was their fault, like when the heroine said it when she thought Otto Four was still cooking but when the birds themselves started squawking it like everything was one big game, things were starting to become unbearable.

As they waited for Otto Six, they were praying that they all stayed silent. It was quite a collection now, all five were lined up on the computer monitors, looking down on the scene as if they were waiting to say something to piss the humans off, and of course, they chose their moment when their new friend—brother—self dinged to be done.

Absolute silence. With their fingers on their lips, the group held their breath as Schwoz opened the door, wanting Otto Six to not hear anything to do with Captain Man or Kid Danger or Miss Danger, so it was easier to just say nothing, apart from the odd parrot squeak. The door inched open and there he was, as perfect as the other five, totally pristine and innocent as he was lifted out, onto Ray's hand and into a new world where nothing could go wrong and no one could teach him anything because no one was saying wor—

"Henry is Kid Danger!" Otto Two or maybe it was Four chirped as they snuck towards the elevator and with panic flashing on their faces, the four ran to the elevator, (y/n) almost pushing Ray over in their mad dash. Perhaps if they got him in there quick enough, he wouldn't hear what his predecessors were saying and it would all be okay...

"Henry is Kid Danger!" Too late. The elevator door didn't open quick enough and as Ray rapidly tapped the button, Six opened his beak and let loose the four most annoying words in the human-bird language. Above the repeated Henry this, Henry that, some several shouts and groans bordered agony as they turned on their heels to reset the cloning device for the seventh time and for the man-child of the Man Cave, it was difficult to stay calm.

"Shut up! Shut up all of you! Why?! Whhhhyyyy?!" Ray glared at the parrots and squashed the urge to launch the one that sat on his fingers at them. His sweet girl would never forgive him if he did that and besides, he had her shoulder to sob into angrily as she came to hug away the pain, mumbling something about calming down, being better than a temper tantrum and plucking, roasting and Potpie-ing them later.

"Hurry up, Schwoz! Henry is freaking out!!" Charlotte exclaimed as Schwoz muddled through their seventh attempt at cloning Otto. She didn't want to rush the genius or his experiment since (y/n) had told her that shit goes wrong when you try to botch science, but for once, she was rushing.

Halfway through the baking process, she'd received an incoming flurry of texts from her friend ranging from asking where they were to ones of a more dramatic nature. Namely, that Henry thought he was gonna die or something to that effect, which meant that it was imperative that this time, they got it right and quick, but Schwoz wasn't a man to be hurried, not when said hurrying could have disastrous results.

I told you! When you hurry the cloning process, that's when you get a lot of problems!" He tried to tell her but for Ray, excuses were pathetic because Captain Man and Miss Danger had a date with returning a lost bird to a little girl and they couldn't do that if they had no bird.

"We are out of time! Just give me something, anything that looks like a bird!" "Yeah, Schwoz, I know it's a bad idea, but just give us a bird!" The couple hissed, feeling itchy to get moving as they were already so late and on the verge of Henry having a heart attack or never forgiving them or both. She was the semi-scientist, she knew the risks but even so, she was willing to cut a few corners if it meant they could leave sooner. After all, it couldn't be that bad, right?

"Fine!" Not wanting to be badgered anymore, the genius shrugged his shoulders and stopped the timer early, bringing forth the ding a good five minutes early. "He's not ready yet but here's your bird!" Schwoz glared and opened the door, knowing exactly what they were gonna face but he wanted to prove to them that he didn't make this science stuff up. Bad things genuinely did happen when you ignored Schwozie.

"Oh!" "Argh!" "Sweet cheese!" As the door opened, the unsuspecting trio were expecting to see a slightly ruffled Otto Seven, maybe with a funny eye or something like that, but oh no. Dear, sweet lord, no. (y/n) jumped back into Ray's arms and they clung to each other for dear life, much like the thing in the machine was as it trembled on the little perch.

In the box, was a mutant freak; the parrot had very few feathers left, kinda like he'd been shaved, and he was hunched over with scabby skin and a funny, crazed look to him that made them feel so sorry for whatever chromosomes and genes he was missing. Otto Seven was half the Otto the other six were and (y/n) and Charlotte felt like monsters for opening the door too early, but Ray...he didn't see that big a problem.

"Eh, I can sell it," he shrugged, angling the parrot between his hands and deciding that yeah, he looked horrible but at the end of the day, that was still a bird and the beloved Captain Man could tell the people anything and they'd believe him. After all, he had done them a favour by saving what was left of him, surely a scabby Otto was better than no Otto at all. "Come on, sweet girl..."

"But—but—the—doofus—we—huh?" (y/n) stammered as he took the bird and her hand, guiding her towards the elevator as she failed to articulate what she wanted to say. What did she want to say? The bird? Him? Her? Piper? She honestly didn't know what was happening as Charlotte scurried behind them without hesitation. She wasn't going to miss this for the world, the big moment when Captain Man handed Miss Piper Hart half the bird she originally took home, would be a tragedy to behold.

But not half the tragedy of Henry getting his head ripped off if they handed over nothing more than Miss Danger's wobbly apologies.

~Henry's house~

It was all going at the kid's place.

Piper was sitting on an upside-down bucket as she watched the snake guy wow the crowd by swinging his bag about, enjoying how their voices went low and high whenever the big and its dangerous contents did. He'd been doing that for ages, goaded by Henry and Jasper since they were trying to drag it out for all of its worth since Charlotte had said that they were coming at some point. He was a massive show-off, though, so it wasn't hard to make him lose track of time with a few praises and Piper's well-wishers were actually just sheep with too much time on their hands so they'd do anything as per the pack mentality.

But Piper, well, she was starting to get pissed off as the rock music played on and as she looked around at her supporters, she couldn't believe that they'd been hanging about for so long. Anything could've happened to Otto in the time they'd been doing nothing, which meant change was in order.

"Okay, okay, stop, stop!" She shouted above the noise and the cheering and music ceased, much to everyone's disappointment and Henry's slight terror. "

"What's the problem?" "The problem is that you've been showboating for ten minutes. Are you gonna let the snake out so it can find Otto or not?" Piper asked the man sternly, who looked a little ashamed at her observations. He felt a bit bad that he'd gotten so carried away and Henry shuffled on his feet as he realised that his sister's insisting meant that his time for stalling was up.

"Yes, I will let it out..." the boy held his breath as the man looked solemnly at his shoes, but all hope was lost, "...after the conga line!!!!"

"YEAH!" To his massive relief, a stroke of luck fell thanks to the man's childishness and lack of professionalism, so Henry thanked his lucky stars and got in the queue for the conga. If it meant that the snake stayed in the bag, then he'd do some dancing, no matter how red-faced and annoyed Piper was getting because he'd been on the verge of a heart attack all day. The least he could do was try to relax as he steered the madman around the porch to keep his mind off of his snake.

"No! No conga lines! Use your stupid snake to find Otto! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" The girl screamed into nothingness, her voice drowned out by the cheers from the crowd and the upbeat music to the point where her vocal cords were sore. It was tough seeing her so frustrated and on the verge of tears but Henry had to stay strong for his own sake...but not for long because here came an even bigger showboat.

"All right, people, heroes comin' through! Make a hole, make it wide! That's right, let the lady through!" Ray announced, suddenly appearing from the darkness like a vision in blue and red with (y/n) shyly leading the way since he was a firm believer in sweet ladies first.

Now, Henry had never felt this before in his life and he doubted that he ever would again—but dear god, he'd never been happier to hear that bigheaded voice. Just like he'd never been happier to see the lovey-dovey couple still holding hands even as he was preoccupied with what he assumed was Otto in that shrouded cage. He could deal with the cockiness, he could deal with the mushiness, he was just so glad that they'd made it at long last and just before the snake guy ran out of things to show off about.

"Oh, look! It's Captain Man and Miss Danger!" "And they've got the real Otto!" Henry and Jasper exclaimed in stale tones, sounding rehearsed and stupid to boot but no one paid attention as the hero set the bird cage down on the bucket that Piper had been sitting on. No one even noticed how Charlotte snuck into the group at suspiciously the same time as the heroes, almost as if she'd been with them, had anyone bothered to think about it like that.

"Did you find Otto?" Piper asked the heroes with wide, bright eyes that were filled with hope and wonder. Oh, how it would break their superhero hearts when they showed her what had befallen the seventh copy of her beloved class pet. Still, Ray could sell it just as he'd promised because he was a very smooth, charming talker and who could resist Miss Danger's winning smile? Not him, that's for certain.

"Uh-huh, sure did, little girl... He-Here ya go!" (y/n) tried to keep her face pleasant and her voice steady but it was kinda hard what with Piper staring straight at her. Ray's hand squeezed hers tighter as his other whipped away the white sheet that had been covering Otto's grotesque new features and honestly, the reaction of the crowd could've killed her right there. Henry and Jasper were looking at the couple and Charlotte with horrified expressions as they gave the tiniest shrugs and subtlest apologetic looks, but no one was more distraught than Piper as she took him in.

He looked like a half-dead chicken.

"W-what happened to him? It looks like he's been microwaved or something," She asked, not knowing where to look, whether that be his wings that seemed to grow from his backbone or his hoarse, jingling croak.

"Oh, well, y'know...the sickos that bird-napped him did not treat him very well," Ray lied, swapping a knowing look with his sweet girl and Charlotte as the crowd cooed in sympathy. They thought that the poor thing had been hounded and mauled by some cruel psycho but the reality was that they were the ones who were sick, they'd half-baked the cake so it was crusty on the outside but gooey and gross in the middle. Oh well, a sob story always worked in the animal's favour, maybe he'd make Swellview's Got Talent if they milked it.

"But when Miss Danger and I found those people, we beat 'em up!" The hero lied further, earning himself an eye roll from his fiancée that was mimicked by Charlotte because she knew exactly what was going through the man's mind. Oooh, Miss Danger fighting, oooh, she's so hot, ooooh, the people love him. He was loving it, punching and kicking the air as if he really had taken down some bad guys, but at least the crowd bought it.

"I mean, yeah...we really did a number on 'em! Real bad..." "Otto's back, people!" (y/n)'s lack of convincing enthusiasm was supported by Ray's talent for working a crowd and he happily gave her a side hug as Piper led the crowd in chanting the name of the brave parrot who'd been to hell and back, only to fight beak and claw to return to his mistress. Well, if they were happy then so were they, even if it was a shallow victory.

"Otto! Otto! Otto! Otto! Otto! Otto!" "Captain Man! Captain Man! Captain Man!" And being the bigheaded that he was, Ray couldn't help but slip his own name in there until the kids and various adults were shouting it instead. Piper was a bit confused and the teens thought it was massively cocky of their boss but as always, the Swellviewian crowd just followed the leader and Captain Man was good at that.

"Captain Man! Captain Man! Captain Man! Captain Man!" "There you go..." Well, at least he was happy about it.

"You're a massive ego, you know that?" (y/n) said as she looked up at him with a bemused smile, admiring how he was able to make them do whatever he said so easily. It was conceited of him but she could never do what he did, the leading, the being confident enough to step in and command the crowd to do what you wanted them to do. She was rubbish at that and would never dream of willingly stepping into the centre of attention like that, so it was awe-inspiring that he not only could but enjoyed doing it. Not that she'd ever play to his ego like that.

"You love it." "Oh, yeah, keep telling yourself that," she giggled and squeezed her eyes shut when he pressed a firm kiss to her cheek as she was pulled into his embrace even tighter. Charlotte dared to look to her right a little and pulled a face when she saw her friend squeal and laugh at how many butterfly kisses were being left on her cheeks by the man who was revelling in his two loves; the adoration of the crowd and his greatest love of all. Her.

"Told you I'd sell it," he muttered against the softness of her cheek and for once in her life, (y/n) had to pander to his ego. That was true, he'd done a good job, which even Charlotte had to hand to him, even if she was gagging at the same time. A look over his shoulder to Henry and Jasper and Ray was smirking even more because they gave him a nod and thumbs up. He was smug, right up until the point when their admiration turned into smirks of their own as they made smoochy faces and swirled their tongues in the cool night air.

It was Captain Man's turn to be embarrassed.

~The Man Cave~

After Ray was done throttling them and rubbing his knuckles against their heads, (y/n) had dragged the boys and Charlotte back to the Man Cave, saying something about wanting to get out of her uniform since today had been meant to be a day off of sorts.

So, back in their home and with the family crowded in one place, the man of The Cave had proclaimed that for the rest of the night, up until the inevitable first emergency call of the evening, they were gonna sit around the TV, watch bad shows or movies and not move an inch.

So, as the computer's monitors kept an eye on the shadiest parts of town, the TV played whatever was on air and they sat around it. Jasper was relaxing at the computer whilst Schwoz, Henry, Charlotte and of course, Ray and (y/n) were sat/snuggled on the couch in what should have been an idyllic scene. And for once in their lives, the happy couple were joined at the hip but not in paradise, not even when she raked her lips from his cheek to his jaw because there were several guests currently outstaying their welcome.

Those fucking parrots. All seven of them. The original Otto had been brought back to the Man Cave, lest he b left at Henry's house to be discovered, bringing that total of irritating little chatterboxes to seven and they would not shut up. It was impossible to relax fully or enjoy what was happening on the screen because nothing could be heard except for—

"Henry is Kid Danger!" "Henry is Kid Danger!" "Henry is Kid Danger!" "Henry is Kid Danger!" "Henry is Kid Danger!" It was infuriating. They were sat on top of the monitors still and Ray could swear that they were gloating at everyone's suffering, especially his, as he tried to get cosy with his sweet girl, possibly snake a hand where it shouldn't have been but it was hard to be cheeky when every little thing annoyed her to the point of pushing him away. He wasn't hurt, not like you'd expect because he got it. The headache was very real and even he found himself not in the mood as the chirps and squawks continued until it wasn't funny anymore.

Some might say it was comical that they were in that situation but by the half-hour mark of listening to nothing but "Henry is Kid Danger!", it was getting difficult to hold it together.

"The birds are too loud, I can't hear the judges!" Henry whined as he leaned in closer to the set, hoping to catch what the people on the cooking show were saying. This was one of his favourite shows, on the count that they all had cute and hilarious British voices, it would've been nice to hear one line when the judges critiqued something bad.

"Or their funny accents!" Schwoz complained too, which was a touch of the pot calling the kettle black but he had a point. The birds were so annoying, so much that Charlotte was starting to sense the tension between the miserable couple next to her.

"Jasper, will you turn up the volume?" She asked politely, getting the feeling that if her boss got any more frustrated, he'd punch the wall...or Schwoz's head. And it wasn't like (y/n) was gonna do anything; she was currently slumped against the couch table, her face smushed into her arms as she tried to block out the infernal noise and all Ray could do was sling an arm over her back and pathetically paw at her for attention that she wasn't going to give him whilst her head hurt so much.

"Good idea—" "I got a better idea. Let's turn the volume down on the birds!... Permanently," The hero growled, his patience wearing so thin that it was now nothing more than a smear and he had the self-control of a toddler anyway. He wanted to hold his sweet girl and kiss her and hear her whisper naughty things and stupid jokes in his ear but most of all, he wanted her to feel better again. To see her look and smile at him again.

So, in his head, it made sense to sneak his laser control from his pocket and raise his arm to fire at those damned parrots. One hit and they'd be nothing more than ash on the floor and his lover would be content to snuggle with him again. After all, what kind of protector was he if he couldn't commit a little bird genocide for her comfort?

"What are you talking about, doo—oh my god, Raymond! No!" (y/n) raised her eye with bleary eyes and peered at her lover in confusion as his arm left her back and took its warmth with it. It was only when she looked along to the connecting hand and what was in that hand that her brain suddenly stopped hurting and flipped into action, quick enough to lift his arm and skewer his aim, but not quick enough to stop the firing full stop. Rather, Ray's thumb hit the button and an orange zap left the controller but it didn't hit an Otto, oh no.

"Ah!" Jasper yelped as he felt a burning sting on his lip like a bullet had grazed his mouth, and he looked up at his friends to see their shocked faces but most importantly, Ray's guilty mug as they started pointing fingers.

"Are you okay?!" "You zapped Jasper's face!"

"That was (y/n)'s fault!" "I was saving that damn parrot's life!" "Y-yeah, she's too sweet to be blamed! It was Charlotte's fault, she wanted the TV to be turned up!" When Charlotte looked at (y/n) with an accusing glare, the woman recoiled and frowned because she had merely been trying to do the right thing, not join a game of tattletales. But of course, as always, Ray valiantly jumped to her defence and practically hunched over his lover to bare his teeth at Charlotte for her outrageous suggestion.

"You shot off my moustache!" Jasper yelled at the horrified trio and whilst they weren't big fans of it in the first place, Charlotte and (y/n) felt just as bad as Ray as they saw his bald, slightly sore but definitely red upper lip. Despite having it for less than a week, the teen had grown quite attached to his lip sweater and was fuming to know that it had been lost for something so trivial, like losing a soldier because of a general's poor order.

"Noooooooo!" Henry screamed, his face contorting in pain and anguish as if he was the one in mourning. His best friend had looked so cool, cooler than anything to anyone he'd ever seen, so to see it shaved off was devastating.

"It was an accident! (y/n) hit my zapper!" Ray squeaked and fluttered his eyes innocently, which caused his sweet girl to look at him with mutiny in her eyes. Oh, why didn't he stab her in the heart whilst he was at it? One mean look from Jasper and his shaved whiskers and he was whimpering, leaving her to the dogs to be torn apart and she would be offended if she didn't know that in serious circumstances, he'd never betray her like that.

"What were you thinking?!" "I was trying to save the birds! Which, by the way, are now quiet, thanks to me!" The woman snapped at Henry and then glared at her future husband, both of whom seemed more upset than Jasper at the loss of the moustache. But she was right; since the laser had fired, the birds hadn't made a peep, probably because they were scared shitless by the hulking hero and the silence was bliss.

"Yeah! At least the birds shut up!" Charlotte told her friend, nudging his arm to get him to back off so they could enjoy the quiet and hopefully, the couple next to her would mellow out. (y/n) huffed and flopped back into the couch, ignoring her heart's desire to latch onto the bicep brushing against her arm and hug it for the rest of her life. The fuchsia shirt he was wearing made them bulge and seem extra huge, perfect for snuggling or holding onto when he dragged her off to f—or not. She was sulking, feeling moody after being sold out so his buddy wouldn't get mad over a moustache.

"At least the birds shut up." Spoke too soon. It must've been something about her voice because the Ottos picked up on the phrase the minute she said it and this time, it was even more annoying. Not because they'd been quiet, although that did grate, but because now it felt like they were being deliberately annoying, mocking even, because they had the power to toy with the pathetic humans who were too soft to do anything against them.

"At least the birds shut up." "At least the birds shut up." "At least the birds shut up." "At least the birds shut up."

"Ray?" (y/n) murmured darkly to her fiancé, swallowing thickly as her head began pounding again, souring her mood even further. Those little bastards with wings, she wanted to step on every one of them because they were ruining the last scrap of her day off and that just wasn't on.

"Yeah, sweet girl?" Ray acknowledged her in a tight voice, feeling a similar dull pain set in between his temples, meaning any hopes he had of laughing away the tension for his "betrayal" were dashed because neither of them was in the mood for fun.

"Let's make some parrot pot pie." She growled, not even caring about how morbid her idea was and of course, Ray was at the end of her rope just as she was. And obviously, he would do anything for her, so when he began shooting again, it was up to Charlotte to try and keep those damn birds alive again.

In the chaos, as a small girl tried to fend off a man twice her size, as an odd boy stroked his stubbled lip, as a lanky kid walked off, as a genius ducked for cover and as seven birds chirped to their heart's content, (y/n) let her forehead touch the cool table and plugged her ears with her fingers as her eyes slid shut. The world was blocked out like there was an ocean in her head, and at last, there was peace in the Man Cave.

Sort of.

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