#the shoulder and asshole cramps were very. unpleasant.

[ikeberry]

your regular reminder that pain killers just turn your pain receptors off but it doesn't stop your body from undergoing that pain even if you can't feel it. pain killers kill the feeling, not the pain itself. it does not build resistance of any kind. take your meds before it gets bad, cause it's only getting worse from here

[imdoingwhateverisnext]

My Ears and My Head

I forgot my earplugs today. I will never do that again. Loud startling noises that aren't musical or choreographed are painful to me. The sudden ear blasting buzzers, sneakers squeaking, whistles blowing, loud seemingly angry people (at times), who sat next to me yelling at the referees, all while sitting on the bleachers at my daughter's basketball game, was all very overstimulating. To say the least.

Describing the feelings and sensations from my perspective would be very rudimentary at best. I am new to sharing this sort of information. I hope that by the end, it will at least have been a therapeutic writing exercise for me.

I use my earplugs in Wal-Mart sometimes, or when I am waiting in a doctors office, or when I am waiting in line at the DMV. I can hear 5 conversations at once, and there isn't yet a word I can come up with that describes the sensation in my head and ears when I am hearing all of these things at once. It is unpleasant and it causes me to feel like I am being squeezed. It starts at my temples, it moves to my throat, and then to my chest. I begin to sweat and then it feels like I am smothering. Breathing becomes more difficult, and I begin to lose focus on my surroundings. I then hyper-focus on whatever task I am performing. If I am only a spectator, it becomes more difficult.

If I am shopping, often, I will say "fuck it", and hurry to check out, leave the line or just "bail" knowing I will have to come back at another time. That is a crushing defeat, but a short term save of my sanity. More often than I would like to admit, I have finally made it to a check out line without the main reason I was at the store. I will make it to my car in mental exhaustion only to realize I still need several items that were on my list.

Today I was in a crowded gymnasium, I sat in an unoccupied area of the gym on purpose. I chose my spot based on absence of people. Within 5 minutes, several people sat almost right next to me. I noticed immediately that there was still a lot of room in so many other places. Why did they sit right here? Of course they were going to be the loud ones screaming at the referee for the next hour. Their kid and my kid were on the same team. I should have been happy to have "advocates" for our girls out there. If the referee were to get some calls wrong, God knows I wouldn't notice, and apparently a few were missed or bad. I get it, sort of.

Every time someone next to me screamed at the referee or for whatever reason, it was like a gun blast next to my ear. I was trying to focus on my daughter as she was playing while also watching the buzzer to make sure I could cover my ears before it went off; because my dumb ass forgot my ear plugs.

The only way I can describe the sensation that I feel when a loud startle noise hits me when I am unprepared, is an entire body jump, involuntary muscle flex stress reaction. It isn't pleasant. It is like a muscle cramp that lets off after 20 seconds or so. It starts at the ears, but immediately the shoulders jump, the neck tenses, my legs jump and sometimes, even my asshole clenches.

Imagine if someone walked up behind you and blew an air horn next to your head while you were trying to solve a math problem. Even if you knew ahead of time they were going to do it, but you didn't know when. It would be very distracting and hard to focus on the task at hand. My task was watching my daughter's high school basketball game. It sounds incredibly simple, doesn't it? If I were a normal human, yes. This would be incredibly simple. Therein lies the inner personal frustration.

I left the gym twice to go outside and get cool air on my face because it became so crowded and hot. Once I entered the ladies room and tried to put my sweaty hair up in a hair tie. It looked terrible, which added to my stress. When I got back to the bleachers, I could feel the people around me. The closer each person got to me, it felt like I was being gradually smothered. My breathing felt more constricted as more people poured in.

The gym felt hotter and the air felt stagnant. As the temperature rose, so did the noise and the tempers in the room. It was a close game, which didn't detract from the noise and heat at all. This is the most crowded the gym had been since I had been watching these games.

The girls on the team played their hearts out. I watched several wipe outs that actually made me flinch and wonder if the girl needed help. They played great and my daughter was amazing (unbiased of course). Our girls team won a close game. The parts I was able to witness and focus on, were really good. The rest of it seemed like being in a noisy fishbowl with 20 frogs, 50 cicadas, and 200 crickets. I left immediately after I held my ears for the final buzzer.

I didn't even tell my daughter goodbye when I left, but she knew I was there. I had to get out of there. It felt almost as if my life depended on it. I got to my car and navigated through way too many cars and people walking for a high school basketball game. I turned on my loud music, it may sound paradoxical, but it helps me. I turned on my air conditioning, and I finally began to decompress. Within about 5-10 minutes I felt almost normal again.

This kind of thing is frustrating to me and even more difficult to explain to regular people. Whatever that even means. This is a window into my mind for future people who might need to dissect it.

I gleaned a joking entrepreneurial suggestion from this experience. If I ever owned a stadium or gymnasium, I would keep it as cold as I would need to so that a person might see their own breath on a regular basis. It would be like an ice skating arena without the actual solid floor ice. I would put a disclaimer on the door regarding the temperature. I would keep the temperature as low as I could without deaths or lawsuits. I would tell people to come as they are, but also in extra layers, if they were easily chilled.

People who get cold easily don't typically act out, in my experience. It was usually the hot-heads who ruin hings for everyone.

Stay chilled

[firstofficerwiggles]

Chapter 9: Not Without My Cyar’ika

Link to Chpt. 8, Link to Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: M/E, 18+ only

Warnings: Canonical violence, death, SMUT, explicit description of unprotected sex (be safe in the real world please), mentions of the possibility of sexual assault (but NO sexual assault takes place in this fic)

Word count: ~10K

Author’s Note: I’m sorry this took such a long time to write, but I was at the end of my academic year and it was a tough one. You’ll see in this chapter there is a mention of cloaking technology, which I completely stole from Star Trek. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

“And so he has her now… I- I feel like I failed her, but I’m going to get her back,” Din has been conveying the unfortunate events of the last few hours to the Armorer over a holocall.

“You should return home to the tribe,” she replies, her voice even and calm, “You need the assistance of your aliit.” The soft blue glow of her image in the holo is somehow comforting to him. He knows she is correct; he needs the support.

“You’re right, I do,” Din acquiesces. He says goodbye to the Armorer with a promise to see her in a few hours. Even if it puts the Covert in danger again, he can’t rescue you alone, not against the forces that Kerrick has at his disposal. A soft coo sounds from the co-pilot’s seat and he looks over at his foundling. The little guy is looking at him with an almost hopeful smile, and Din reaches over to let the child sit in his lap cuddling him close. He tells himself that it’s for the child’s benefit, but deep down he knows he needs the comfort too.

As he makes his way back to the Covert, Din is greeted at the mouth of the cave by Paz and another warrior. Both nod to him gravely, clearly having been briefed by the Armorer of the situation.

“We will stand with you, vod,” Paz states, and the other Mandalorian punctuates this with more nodding, “We should have insisted on mounting an attack on this Commander Hoven from the start.” Paz says Kerrick’s name as though the taste of it is foul in his mouth.

“I appreciate your willingness, and I’m ready to accept your help,” Din admits. His reluctance to take advantage of his tribe’s assistance and his feelings of guilt over Nevarro have evaporated in the face of his need to save you.

“The Armorer said your woman willingly sacrificed her freedom to save you and the child; that shows real bravery,” the other Mandalorian speaks about you with respect. He has black armor and Din recalls that he is called Throm. He continues on to say, “My riduur, Mirmim, became close to her while she was here and it would be my honor to help you with the rescue. Also, Mirmim has offered to care for your foundling while we carry out the mission.”

“Thank you,” Din says appreciatively, “That means a lot.”

Din follows Paz and Throm into the main area of the cavern where almost all of the other tribe members are gathered. Everyone grows quiet as they enter.

“Din Djarin, we are sorry to see you again under these circumstances. We have discussed the need to rescue your woman, and we have decided to send our best warriors with you,” the Armorer greets him in her calming yet authoritative voice, “I will also be accompanying you.”

“Thank you all, I am honored and humbled by your support,” Din replies sincerely.

“The warriors will meet now to formulate our best plan of attack,” the Armorer states.

A woman in pink armor comes up to Din first, before he can join the others. He recognizes her as your friend and as she greets Throm too, it’s clear that she is his riduur. “I can take care of your foundling while you attend the meeting,” she says with her arms outstretched for the little guy.

“You must be Mirmim; Throm said you were willing to care for him while we’re away… while we get her back,” Din says, his voice catching a little. His emotions are so close to the surface right now as he tries not to think about what could be happening to you. He hands Mirmim the child and gives the little one a small pat on the head as he settles into her arms.

“You must have faith. You will rescue her and your tribe, our tribe, will help you succeed. This is the way,” Mirmim reassures him.

“This is the way,” Din tries to sound confident but still he knows that Kerrick has a powerful and well-protected ship and many troopers. They’re going to need a very solid plan.

This is the first point he raises in the warriors’ discussion, “Hoven has a light cruiser with turret-mounted twin light turbolasers, port and starboard quad laser cannons, missile launchers and likely concussion missiles. Not to mention he has at least a squadron of 30 storm troopers aboard, possibly more, not to mention other officers who are likely under his command.”

“We have 16 warriors, and we all know that storm troopers can’t aim for shit, so I’m sure we can take ‘em,” a man in orange armor says confidently. He’s a younger man from the other tribe and Din knows he means well, but he needs more than cocky bravado right now.

“Din Djarin, has an excellent point though that we do not know the total number of fighters,” the Armorer says, quieting the boastfulness of the warrior, “We would be better to find additional warriors.”

“I have an idea about that,” Din says, “I want to ask the Mistresses from Angel One. I’ve seen their warriors in action and I believe they would be willing to help, although their old leader was in league with Hoven, the others were not. Plus I know we made quite the impression there… she made quite the impression there.”

“You should contact them at once,” the Armorer nods her approval.

“I also have another person I need to contact; someone who I think can get us into Hoven’s ship undetected.”

“You don’t think we can take them on in a true battle?” Someone asks.

“No, I don’t. We don’t have enough ships to take on that kind of firepower in a ship-to-ship fight,” Din explains, “I believe our best option is a sneak attack. If we can be aboard another ship that docks with Hoven’s cruiser, we can do maximum damage from inside the ship.”

“Yes, but how do we convince Hoven to let this other ship dock with him?” Paz raises an important question.

“We need to offer him something he wants, something that could make him more powerful,” Din answers, “Hence, why I need to reach out to my other contact.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking out into space from the comfort of your bed on Kerrick’s cruiser, you sigh and wipe at your teary eyes. It’s only been a day since you were forced to part from Din and the child, but you feel like you’ve spent an eternity crying wretchedly into your blankets. Fortunately so far you’ve managed to put Kerrick off from wanting to be with you and mostly you’ve been left to your own miserable devices. You think back to yesterday and give yourself a small pat on the back for accomplishing this small victory.

As Kerrick dragged you onto his ship, you felt yourself becoming increasingly worried for Din and the child, as you knew they wouldn’t have been able to get away without a fight. You repeated to yourself that Din was more than capable of getting out of a jam, but it didn’t stop you from worrying. You were feeling positively nauseated at the negative ideas running through your head. Not to mention, every time Kerrick leered at you over his shoulder, you felt your stomach flip in an unpleasant manner. It worked out to your favor, however, because once you were at the entrance to Kerrick’s personal quarters, you managed to vomit spectacularly all over his floor and boots. He was instantly repulsed and it put a stop to any romantic notions he had cooked up for your reunion. With a look of disgust, he had a storm trooper haul you away to your own quarters for the night. Since then you’ve been left almost completely alone, except when another trooper came by to bring you some soup. You’re grateful to have had the time to think, as well as cry, because at least now you’ve come up with a plan to keep Kerrick at arm’s length at least for a little while.

A crisp knock sounds at your door, but apparently it was only perfunctory as the door swishes open to reveal Kerrick, who clearly doesn’t think he needs to be invited in to your space.

“So, my doll, I hope you’re feeling better today,” Kerrick looks you over as you sit up on the bed. He takes in your disheveled appearance and tear-stained face. You’ve done absolutely nothing to make yourself look pulled together in any way and you can see by his expression that you must look rather awful. He grimaces at you before saying condescendingly, “I see that you must still be sick, or else living with that Mandalorian has caused you to forget all about personal grooming?”

“I’m still not feeling well,” you sigh and clutch your stomach dramatically, “I’ve started my period and the cramps hurt so bad. It’s making me feel so bloated and nauseous.” This is a lie, but you remember that Kerrick is one of those asshole men who thinks everything about menstrual cycles is disgusting. He never wanted to touch you at that time of the month back when you were dating and you’re praying the same is true now.

“Ick, did you have to tell me that?” He recoils from you in horror and you almost laugh out loud at his reaction. “You know I don’t need to hear details about any of that. Ever.” He backs up towards your door looking as though he can’t wait to be gone from your presence.

“I’ll have someone send in some new clothes for you at least,” he says with a frown, “I guess I’ll see you in a few days.”

“It might be as long as a week,” you say trying to sound as pathetic as possible, but any extra time you can gain will be helpful so you can figure out an escape plan. Or maybe it will give Din time to rescue me? Your thoughts are hopeful that Din will come after you but at the same time you try not to get too excited about the possibility because how in the galaxy is he supposed to find you? And how will he fight his way on to this heavily protected ship? No, it’s best that he doesn’t put himself in danger like that; you will just need to keep working on a plan to get yourself out of this mess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din waits as the holocall works to connect to Eira on Angel One. He’s hoping the friendship you were able to build with her will be strong enough to garner her assistance in his mission to rescue you. When Eira’s blueish image appears, he’s bolstered by the smile and warm greeting she gives him.

“Mistress Eira, I wish I were contacting you under better circumstances,” Din explains, “Your warning was helpful, but ultimately we were unlucky. Hoven has her, he caught us in a trap.” He has to pause here to collect his thoughts because his anger and shame at begin tricked by Kerrick is still so raw. Before he can continue though, Eira is speaking.

“We will help you rescue the princess,” Eira pledges solemnly. “That man would never have known how to find her if it weren’t for the treachery of Mistress Sigrid. You must allow us to send warriors to assist you so that we can repay our debt to her and to you.”

“I’m so grateful to hear you say that, Mistress,” Din responds, “It’s why I was contacting you, I was hopeful you’d be willing to help me… to help us.”

“I know you were only here for a few days, but the princess left a lasting impression on many of us,” Eira tells him, “Both of you have helped us see that perhaps our society could be more open to outsiders.”

“Mistress Eira, I do need to tell you one thing, she… she isn’t really a princess, we only said that to make us seem more important so we would be welcome on Angel One,” Din feels sheepish admitting the lie and hopes she won’t rescind her offer. He continues to explain, “It’s just… we were trying to protect our foundling; he’s very special and we needed a safe place to stay for a few days.”

“You lied to protect the child?” Eira clarifies.

“Yes, and I’m sorry we had to deceive you like that,” Din apologizes.

“It was for a noble cause, I understand your reasons,” Eira sounds satisfied, “Now let’s discuss how we’re going to help you get your princess back.”

“She isn’t a princess,” Din repeats.

“She always will be to me,” Eira says with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re quietly making your way through the corridors of Kerrick’s cruiser trying to find your way to Engineering. Your plan has been working wonderfully and Kerrick has stayed far away from you. The first few times you ventured out of your room, no one said anything to you and they seemed to pretty much think it was normal to see you walking around. As you seemed to be granted free access to the ship, it occurred to you that perhaps you could find small ways to weaken the ship as a way to assist you in a possible escape. The first thing you did was check to see if your old access codes would still work at one of the workstations. Fortunately, they did. Same old lazy Empire, they never thought to delete anyone from their system because it would be too much work to keep those types of records. You knew you couldn’t make your sabotage too obvious or you’d be caught right away, but if you could do small things that could be brushed off as typical problems you would be able to create a whole host of annoyances.

You started with changing the lighting cycles in the barracks. The lights were designed to automatically turn off and on at certain hours for sleeping, but you managed to get in and change it up so that lights would randomly turn off and on at all hours of the day and night ensuring that none of the storm troopers could get more than a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep. Of course you locked your new lighting program with an extremely secure password so you knew it would be hard to fix.

Next you made your way to the officers’ mess hall, and while no one was around, you dismantled the caf machine and dumped several of the parts into the trash compactor. You remembered how strong the caffeine additions always were amongst the officers and now they’d need to go to the troopers’ mess if they wanted caf. In many cases this would mean they’d have to be far from their posts and stations would be left unmanned, opening up more opportunities for your little acts of defiance.

The destruction of the caf machine was why you were headed to Engineering right now. You had overheard the head Engineer and his assistant talking about working on the caf machine today because they were sick of having to go to the troopers’ mess. So you figured there was a chance you could do a little bit of damage in Engineering while they were away from their posts. You’ve just poked your head into the Engineering bay to have a look around when a lieutenant commander spots you. Damn!

“Hello, what are you doing down here? I thought you’d be in your room resting,” He speaks to you pleasantly and you realize you know him; he’s a former student of yours from the Sy Bisti class.

“Lieutenant Commander Roth, I didn’t know you were here. It’s so nice to see you again,” you force a polite smile onto your face.

He chuckles warmly, “Please, call me Sergio, and I’m sure it isn’t all that great to see me, but I’m enjoying seeing your pretty face again.”

“No, it really is good to see you, Sergio,” you tell him, sounding a bit more truthful this time. Honestly, he was one student you didn’t mind so much. You remembered him as a cheerful and handsome scoundrel, who was always kind to you. He never seemed too overly indoctrinated like the rest of the officers and although he had morally ambiguous air about him, he didn’t seem as truly evil as the rest of the officers you had known. Although he’s a little older now, he still has that attractive rascal look about him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sergio smirks at you, “What are you doing down here?”

“I’m lost,” you say trying to think of where you could say you intended to go.

“No, you’re not,” Sergio smiles as he sees right through your lie, “I think you’re right where you want to be.”

“Why would you think that?” You give him your best wide-eyed innocent look and blink up at him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he laughs, “I know you’re much too smart to be anywhere but where you planned to be. That idiot Kerrick doesn’t give you enough credit.” There’s no malice in his laughter and he seems genuinely amused by your lie.

“Maybe I was looking for you?” You venture.

“Ha, that’s rich, you didn’t know I was here,” Sergio is very amused, “It’s ok, I think what you’re doing is brilliant and maybe I’d like to help you.”

“What do you mean?” You don’t know what to think, so playing dumb seems like the best option.

“There’s only one person I know who could have locked that lighting pattern with such a great password that no one else can figure it out.” Sergio looks at you pointedly, “After all, isn’t a password just a mini code?”

“Oh” You look down at your shoes, not sure what to say to that.

“Don’t look so disappointed! I’m not going to say anything,” he tells you sincerely, “I’d rather help you.”

“Are you serious, Sergio?” Could it be that you have a friend here somehow?

“Look, I know I’ve made shitty decisions with my life. I should have left the Empire years ago, it was a mistake to get involved in the first place,” Sergio sighs, “But I just sort of fell into this and the next thing I knew I had a little bit of power and I liked it. It’s a terrible excuse and I should have turned myself in to the New Republic years ago. But I’ve never been good at handling the consequences. I’m way too pretty for jail.” He says this last part with a small wink and a self-depreciating chuckle.

“You really won’t say anything to Kerrick?” You ask him.

“No, that weirdo doesn’t deserve you,” he says, “And I don’t know, maybe if I help you, I can redeem a part of myself in some small way.”

“Do you think you could help me escape? Could you fly one of the Tie Fighters?” You know it’s a lot to ask but you have to try.

“I’m sorry, but I think we’d just get caught right away, it’s too risky,” he responds, but there’s a sincerity to his voice so you feel that he’s being honest with you.

“Ok, so maybe we could mess up something here? I was thinking maybe the tractor beam?” If Din does manage to mount a rescue you’ll still be able to get away if the tractor beam is out of service.

“Sounds like fun.” He gives you a cocky little smirk and leads you over to the right workstation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din leads a group of his fellow Mandalorians into an office building on Canto Bight with a shining plaque that reads “DeWitt Systems”. A receptionist stands up immediately when she sees the intimidating group enter the foyer and with a shaky smile she greets them.

“Welcome, Mr. Mando and um, guests,” she tries to be as polite as possible but doesn’t seem to know how to address anyone. Paz snickers a little at Mr. Mando but Din quickly shushes him. He thinks to himself that it’s a good thing half the group decided to stay behind on the Crest. She attempts to smile at everyone, as she gestures down a hallway, “Mr. DeWitt is waiting for you in the conference room; let me show you the way.”

“Mando, I’d say it’s good to see you again, but that isn’t the case under these circumstances,” Eugene is there looking sharp in a new suit. He moves forward to shake Din’s hand.

“Eugene,” Din returns the handshake and gives him a nod in greeting, “Thank you again for agreeing to be part of this rescue.”

“I’m happy to help in any way that I can, Mando,” Eugene says earnestly, “After my evening with your charming companion and you my business has skyrocketed, so I’ll do anything I can do to help her.”

Din nods again. When he spoke to Eugene earlier, he was worried that the man might not want to get involved in this type of risky undertaking, but blessedly you had made quite a lasting impression on him and he agreed to lend a hand almost at once.

“Have you finalized the idea to entice Hoven and get us aboard his ship?” Din asks.

“I think I’ve got something brilliant, not to brag, but I think it will definitely get us a meeting with Hoven,” Eugene is confident and he brings up a holoscreen. “I’ve come up with a mock-up of a cloaking device for a starship. The idea is that it can make a ship become virtually undetectable to scanners of all types.” Eugene shows a brief demonstration on the holoscreen of this technology. It shows a complicated series of mathematical symbols and equations and a diagram of a ship that vanishes when Eugene clicks a few buttons.

“That’s incredible, does it really work?” Paz wants to know.

“Not really, I can make it look like it works for about 5 minutes, but that’s all,” Eugene says, “However, it sounds really realistic and my tech mock-up is convincing enough that I think Hoven’ll be interested. If we get an invitation to meet his ship, I’ll be able to make us look ‘cloaked’ for just long enough for him to think the tech is real, but it’ll just be a ruse.”

“We’re getting that invite; Hoven won’t be able to resist tech like this,” Din states, “This is really great work, Eugene.”

“I have even more great news for you,” Eugene smiles looking rather proud of himself, “Do you remember the casino owner, Mr. Belvers? He’s going to lend us a ship. He was so impressed with the two of you from the party, you especially, Mando, and I happened to see him right after our call. When I told him about the trouble you were in, he was eager to be able to help out too.”

“Eugene, you’re more resourceful than I realized, thank you again,” Din is humbled and very grateful for the assistance. He remembers how jealous he felt over Eugene back when you all first met and he thinks about how much it bugged him that Eugene was so enthralled by you. Now that jealousy seems rather ridiculous and petty, and Din’s thankful that Eugene isn’t holding any of that against him.

After some additional discussion, they decide to leave the Razor Crest on Canto Bight and take Belvers’ ship which turns out to be a luxury cruiser. It’s smaller than Kerrick’s but large enough that it can easily transport the Mandalorians and the Angel One warriors. It’s flashy enough to be impressive but it’s not going to be seen as a threat in any fashion by Kerrick. Plus, without the Razor Crest, there’s no way for Kerrick to have any inkling that Din is coming for you.

“Alright, we’re ready for you to make the call to Hoven,” Din instructs Eugene.

“Let’s try and sell a cloaking device,” Eugene says enthusiastically.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve managed to keep Kerrick away from you for three days, but when a new dress showed up at your door with your breakfast this morning, you figured your reprieve from him was about to end. Reluctantly you pull on the dress, and try to prepare yourself for a difficult day. Sure enough, shortly after you’ve given yourself a little pep talk to psych yourself up for having to deal with Kerrick, you hear your door swish open. Not even bothering to knock anymore.

“Baby doll? Did you get the new dress?” Kerrick’s head pops into the fresher where you are fixing your hair.

“I did, thank you, Kerrick,” you give him a bland smile.

“Excellent! I know you’re still, ahem, untouchable, for a few days,” Kerrick says with a slight look of disgust, “But you can keep me company on the bridge for at least a few hours, surely?” He gives you a creepy smile that turns your stomach, but you know you need to do this to keep him calm.

“Of course, Kerrick, that sounds nice. I’d like to see you while you work.” You do your best to bat your lashes at him and then say, “I always thought you were a natural leader.” To make it through this, you figure your best option is to just compliment him as much as possible.

“Oh, yes, I think you’ll see I was born to be in charge,” Kerrick replies smugly and holds out his arm pointedly for you. You gently loop your own arm through his and let him lead you out into the corridor. When he reaches over to pat your hand you try not to flinch away, but he notices your discomfort.

“Don’t worry, my doll, you don’t need to be nervous, everyone will like you,” he lets out a small laugh as he says, “And if they don’t, well, they’re all expendable.”

You let out a nervous laugh at that comment, and hope to Maker that he is making a joke, but something tells you that he might actually mean it and you pray that you can stay as inconspicuous as possible. Even though these people have given their allegiance to a terrible organization, you don’t want anyone to get hurt, or worse, because of you.

Kerrick leads you to the bridge and then proceeds to give you an extended tour of the area, being sure to tell you how crucial and important he is at every opportunity. He’s such a braggart, you don’t know how his crew put up with it, frankly, and you’re surprised no one has attempted a mutiny yet. Then Kerrick begins telling you of some of his greatest accomplishments with the Empire. Each story is horrific and you feel sickened again by what he has become. He’s finishing up a tale of how he used his superior language skills to successfully trick a village chieftain on the planet Morak into giving up a major portion of his tribe’s land to the Empire so they could mine rhydonium and you can’t hold your tongue any longer.

“Kerrick, weren’t you ever worried that your actions could have serious consequences? I mean, look at what you just told me. Rhydonium is incredibly unstable and I’m sure that mining it must have put all of those people at serious risk.” You want to say so much more, but you try to reign yourself in so that you don’t anger him.

“Why do you care about a bunch of smelly villagers on Morak? They’re so beneath us, baby doll.” Kerrick sneers and then laughs, “You have such a soft heart, but that’s ok, you can use it to worry about me. I’m the only one you should care about. Why don’t you give me a little kiss? Show me how much you care.”

He grips your chin and you know you can’t avoid it, so you lean in and kiss him, but thankfully you’re spared from too much because the sound of a holocall is dinging loudly. Kerrick lets out an exasperated sigh, before answering with a slightly disgruntled greeting.

“Good morning, Commander Hoven, I am Eugene DeWitt of DeWitt Systems. Please excuse my directness in calling you without an introduction, but I believe I have an excellent opportunity for you. One of my other clients, a Commander Pershing, recommended I speak with you.” You hold in a gasp when you see the blue glow of Eugene’s face displayed and you know that this can’t be a coincidence. You carefully move closer to Kerrick so that the holo will be able to pick up your image too.

“Oh? What is this opportunity, Mr. DeWitt?” Kerrick seems rather bored but the mention of Commander Pershing is enough to have him a little curious.

“Oh, I’m certain you will be interested in ship cloaking technology,” Eugene says with a small flourish, “You see I run a technology firm that specializes in cutting-edge innovations. With my program, your ship can become undetectable to scanners of all kinds, especially those used by the New Republic.” Eugene gives a small nod and then seems to make eye contact with you for just a moment. Your heart fills with hope that Din must be involved in this call. Your attention snaps back to Kerrick though as he answers Eugene.

“Well, now I am intrigued, Mr. DeWitt,” Kerrick’s eyes grow wide at the prospect of this new technology and you can almost see the evil gears grinding in his head thinking of how useful a tool it would be. “But how do I know if it really works? Are you willing to offer a display of some type?”

“Yes, absolutely, Commander Hoven, I am prepared to come to you as soon as possible to demonstrate the immense capability of this unique technology.” Eugene gives Kerrick his best salesman smile as he launches into a description of the tech and displays several fancy charts and equations. Before you know it, Kerrick is sharing his ship’s coordinates with Kerrick and setting a time for a meeting tomorrow. You keep a placid look on your face but inside you are bursting with excitement. This has to be Din, he must be coming for you. If Din has gone back to enlist Eugene’s help, he must have formulated a rescue plan. Now it’s up to you to figure out what you can do here to make the rescue successful.

Kerrick finishes making plans to meet with Eugene and then he turns to you and grabs your hand pulling you in closer to him as he says, “You see my doll, I’m an important man now, one that other men respect. While all those fools think the Empire is dead, I’m here in the heart of it all making us stronger than ever. Just think, we’ll be able to traverse this galaxy virtually invisible to the New Republic scum!” Kerrick’s eyes light up as he gives you this speech and you can see that no shred of the man you once knew remains. The young man who shared your love of languages and the world of academia, the man who was once funny and charming, the man to whom you once gave your heart freely is completely gone as surely as if he died or rather was killed by this new Commander Hoven. You can’t help but let this sad realization show on your face.

“Oh, don’t be sad, I won’t forget about you, my beautiful doll. You’ll be right there with me, supporting me,” Kerrick says with an indulgent grin, “A strong, powerful man needs to have a pretty woman behind him, or rather, underneath him.” He laughs at his own bawdy joke and you manage a weak giggle that seems to placate him. It’s about all you can manage as his misogyny is making you want to punch him, but that won’t help your situation.

“I’m afraid all this excitement of being with you has me feeling a bit lightheaded,” you tell Kerrick, “I think perhaps I should return to my room to rest for a bit.” You’re not sure if he’ll buy this, but he sees you as weak anyway and you clutch your brow dramatically for effect.

“So soon? But we’re having such a nice time, and I prefer to have you here with me,” Kerrick says pouting.

“Commander, we need your approval over here,” another officer is requesting Kerrick’s presence.

“You have so much important work to do,” you simper at him, “I wouldn’t want to get in your way.”

“Hmm, I suppose that’s true,” Kerrick says considering you, “I’ll see you in a few hours and we can have lunch together.” You nod to him and move to pull your hand out of his grasp, but instead he yanks you back to him hard and forces you into a kiss. You remind yourself not to struggle and just hope it will be over soon. “There you go, have a nice nap, baby doll.”

You hurry out of the bridge area as soon as he releases you and when you’re certain you’re alone you wipe your mouth in disgust. Oh, Din, please be with Eugene when he comes tomorrow. You’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to hold off Kerrick and his amorous advances. In hopes that tomorrow really will bring a rescue, you wonder if you can rearrange the storm trooper work shifts somehow. Since you heard all the details of the meeting, you know precisely when Eugene’s ship is scheduled to arrive and wouldn’t it be convenient if somehow there were a lot fewer troopers on duty then?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din looks out at hyperspace from the pilot’s seat of the luxury cruiser. After a quick stop on Angel One, the rescue party is now complete and the atmosphere aboard the ship is rather jovial despite the danger of the upcoming mission. The Mandalorians and Angel One warriors have bonded quickly as they speak about the chance at a good fight with each group eager to show off their skills. Eugene is also in high spirits having perfected the way to temporarily mask their ship from Kerrick’s scanners when they arrive at the designated coordinates. It will only last for a few minutes, but it will give off the impression that the cloaking technology really works. If all goes well, Din plans to see if Eugene can rig up something similar in the Crest since it could come in handy at times. Who knows, maybe Eugene really will invent starship cloaking someday.

Din tries not to look at the time and count the minutes until he reaches you. Once the first phase of the plan was complete, he’s been impatient to get to this next step. When Eugene told him that he saw you in the holocall, and that you looked safe, he was filled with relief but also worry knowing that it meant that Kerrick was keeping you close to him. Din knows that you are smart and will do whatever you can to keep yourself safe, but at the same time he knows what Kerrick wants from you. He can’t let himself think about that right now though or the anger will consume him.  

As if sensing that Din needs someone to speak to, the Armorer joins Din in the cockpit. “You have amassed a good team; I believe we will be formidable against the enemy,” she tells him sagely.

“Thank you for agreeing to be part of it,” Din replies; he’s still honored that she has chosen to accompany him on this rescue.

“You are right to be worried for her, she is surrounded by dangerous men,” the Armorer says, “But, remember, she was amongst such dangerous men before and she survived.”

“I know she did, but this time she may have to… he might force her…” Din can’t bring himself to say it aloud, and just the thoughts that swirl in his head are enough to fill his stomach with a deep, burning ire.

“You must not let your thoughts dwell on what might happen,” the Armorer advises him, “Your woman is intelligent and resourceful, and we do not know what she will or will not need to do.”

“I know you are right, but in my head I keep replaying the moment I saw him force her into a kiss and then I think the worst,” Din’s voice is dark and angry now.

“I understand, but you must channel your anger into your strength, focus it as a weapon to use against this man,” the Armorer instructs him, “Do not let it overwhelm you and cause you to be foolhardy in your attack.”

Din nods in agreement, “You are correct, as always.”

The Armorer pats his pauldron in response. It’s a small gesture but one that is full of meaning. He thinks again about how grateful he is to have her support and the support of everyone on board. He also knows that she is right, he must maintain his focus.

An alarm dings from the ship’s console alerting Din and the Armorer that they are closing in on Kerrick’s ship. Eugene hurries in to activate his tech virtually hiding them for the few minutes before they reach the meeting spot.

“Tell everyone this is it,” Din tells the Armorer, “We’re getting her back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re certain the shift changes worked?” you whisper your question to Sergio as you’re standing on the docking platform. Kerrick has arranged a welcome party to greet his guest and you’ve been able to have a few minutes to speak to Sergio while there. There are still several storm troopers here and you’re concerned that Din won’t be able to handle so many.

“Yes, I went by the barracks just before arriving here and there are way more troopers off duty than there should be,” he tells you in a low voice.

“Good.” Yesterday while you were supposed to be napping, Sergio helped you mess up the storm troopers’ shifts so that only a skeleton crew would be at work now.

“I also decided that neither the main guns nor any of the missiles needed to be online today,” Sergio shrugs like this is no big deal while you look at him with surprise.

“Thank you,” you say, grateful for his help.

“Just remember this if I ever need you to testify at my trial,” he chuckles.

“What are you laughing about, Roth?” Kerrick has taken notice of you both and he looks annoyed.

“Lieutenant Commander Roth was reminding me about my language lessons and some of the funny pronunciation exercises I made the class do,” you lie smoothly.

“Yes, she had us doing these silly sound drills that made us all sound like a bunch of hissing serpents,” Sergio laughs again.

“Well, if you’re done with your trip down memory lane, perhaps you could tell me if you see Mr. DeWitt’s ship on our scanners?” Kerrick gives the command with a frown.

“There is nothing reading on our scanners,” Sergio responds promptly.

“Well, either his tech really does work, or he’s late,” Kerrick states.

“Commander Hoven, sir, there is a holocall for you,” an ensign brings over a holopad with Eugene’s image.

“Mr. DeWitt,” Kerrick says in greeting.

“Do your sensors detect us, Commander Hoven?” Eugene asks with a smile.

“No, are you sure you are in range?” Kerrick asks.

“How about now?” Eugene smirks.

“Sir, there is a ship just off our port side, it appeared out of nowhere,” Sergio sounds surprised and bit impressed.

“Well done, Mr. DeWitt,” Kerrick seems pleased, “Let’s proceed with docking and then you can come aboard to show me more about this incredible new tech you’ve created.”

You’re watching the docking mechanism intently, looking for any sign that this is more than just a strange coincidence. Suddenly a plasma bolt fires down the docking tunnel taking out a storm trooper. For a moment there is merely stunned silence around you until more bolts come hurtling in the direction of the troopers.

“What the fuck!” Kerrick exclaims as a total melee ensues.

You dive for cover while silently cheering inside. You take a peek and see the gleam of beskar helmets. Din is here and he’s brought plenty of help with him! Another quick glance shows you Mandalorian and Angel One warriors working together, fighting against the Imps. Although your first instinct is to run straight for Din, you don’t want to get caught in the crossfire, so you force yourself to stay where you are. Your hiding place isn’t very secure though and abruptly Kerrick is there grabbing at you and forcing you to your feet.

“Get up, you bitch,” he snaps at you, “This is all your fault.”

“Let go of me!” you yell back, but he’s too strong for you and he yanks you after him. You scream as loud as you can and try to kick and break free of his hold.

Din hears you scream and it immediately draws his attention across the fighting in time to see Kerrick drag you out of the area and down a corridor. He quickly moves to pursue you, kicking a trooper in the stomach and shooting another in the neck as he follows after you. Both Eira and the Armorer hear your scream too and quickly trail after Din, shooting a path to do so.

Neither you nor Kerrick are anywhere to be seen in the corridor, but this is no problem for Din as he brings up a tracking program on his vambrace.

“What’s that?” Eira asks

“I put tracking devices in her shoes,” Din responds, leading the three of them forward as he follows the signal.

“A smart idea,” the Armorer replies as Eira looks mildly shocked.

They continue down the corridor, weapons at the ready. As they encounter a few troopers, the trio easily dispatches them. They pass a sign indicating the location of escape pods and Din breaks out into a sprint; there’s no way he’s letting Kerrick get you off this ship.

Kerrick is pulling on your arm so hard you’re afraid he’s going to dislocate your shoulder. He’s got you at the escape pods now in a desperate attempt to get away with you. As soon as he starts to force you into one, you start fighting harder. You remember the fighting techniques from Din’s training and you manage to land a sharp kick to Kerrick’s shin.

“What the kriffing hell is the matter with you?” He yells at you in pain. You try to kick him again, but he slaps you hard across the face. The shock and the sting of the blow makes you stumble. But then you’re struggling against him again, hitting him in the side with your free fist and then whacking him hard in the face.

“Oof! Fuck! Stop it!” He slaps you again, harder this time and you feel your face throbbing.

“That is enough! Don’t you ever do something stupid like that again or you’ll regret it,” Kerrick threatens you and then brandishes a blaster in your face. The fact that he might actually shoot you makes you stop struggling.

“Please, Kerrick, please, you don’t have to do that,” you say your voice trembling.

“I won’t have to hurt you unless you keep acting so fucking stupid,” he snaps back. He still has the blaster pointed at your face and you’re afraid to even move now.

“I’ll do what you want, you can lower the blaster,” you try to make your voice soft and sweet in an attempt to calm him. His eyes are wild and he looks unhinged.

“That’s right you’re going to do what I want,” Kerrick says menacingly, “Because you’re mine, he doesn’t get to have you, and you’re going to keep doing what I want for the rest--”

But Kerrick never gets to finish that threat. Instead you watch as a bolt hits him square in the temple and he collapses dead at your feet. You jump back in horror and shock as it happens, but then you turn and see Din with his blaster still aimed from where he shot Kerrick. You feel nothing but utter relief and before you can think, you are running at him and launching yourself into his arms.

Din catches you and embraces you tightly, never wanting to let you go again. He feels like his heart is going to burst from the joy of holding you again.

“You came for me, I knew you would, I knew when Eugene called it had to be you, I just knew it,” You’re babbling you’re so happy that he’s here, that he’s really here holding you. “Oh, but I’m so sorry for the awful things I had to say, I didn’t mean any of them, you have to know that, I didn’t mean it at all, I love you, only you, Din.”

“I love you too and I’m so sorry, cyar’ika, so sorry that I couldn’t protect you better, I can’t believe I fell for his trap, I won’t ever let that happen again,” Din is babbling too in his elation at rescuing you. He pulls back a little to look at you and raises a hand to cup your injured face. “I’m so sorry he hurt you, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to stop it.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Din,” you tell him, “You protected me now, and you rescued me.”

“Well, technically we’re still in the middle of rescuing you, so maybe you two lovebirds can save the happy reunion until we’re out of here,” Eira pipes up.

“Oh, right,” you reply sheepishly.

“Come, we should return to the ship before more Imperials arrive,” the Armorer motions to you both.

Your group hurries back in the direction of the docking platform and you meet up with more of Din’s group. It’s a mix of Mandalorians that you met from the Covert and warrior women from Angel One. You’re so humbled that they came to fight for you.

“I can’t believe we haven’t seen more troopers than this,” Paz speaks up.

“I made sure a lot of them would be off duty now,” you say with a grin.

“You did?” Din sounds impressed.

“Yeah, I tried to do a little sabotage here and there where I could,” you tell him, “By the way, the tractor beam, main guns, and missiles are disengaged right now too.”

“You’re so smart.” You can hear the admiration in his voice as he praises you.

“I was lucky to have some help,” you demure wondering what has happened to Sergio.

When you are back at the docking platform you can see the resounding defeat of Kerrick’s troops. You glance around looking for Sergio; despite his allegiance to the Empire, you hope he isn’t hurt or worse. You don’t see him and so you hope he got away. You don’t have time to dwell on his fate however and you quickly head for the docking tunnel with Din and the others. When you reach the other ship, you see Eugene’s relieved face and you cheerfully hug him in greeting.

“Eugene! Thank you, I knew it wasn’t a coincidence when you called,” you tell him excitedly.

“I had to help, as soon as Mando told me you were in trouble,” he replies.

You feel the ship jolt and know that someone has put you into hyperspace and you breathe a huge sigh of relief and joy. Then suddenly you are surrounded by well-wishers as everyone tries to hug you or shake your hand in celebration of a successful rescue. Eira even picks you up as she hugs you tight. Someone brings you some bacta cream for your face and you wonder if you need it more to help relieve the bruises left by Kerrick or to soothe your aching muscles from all the smiling. Finally, when it seems as if you have been congratulated by everyone, Din is there taking your hand and leading you away from the celebrating crowd. He takes you into some sleeping quarters on the ship. It’s a beautiful room, but you don’t spend time looking around because all you want to see is him.

“Cyar’ika, I’m so sorry,” Din apologizes again, still feeling guilty over not being able to protect you from Kerrick.

“Oh Din, no, you don’t have to apologize,” you tell him, “I’m the one who needs to apologize to you. I said those hateful things--”

Din interrupts, “No, cyar’ika, I know you didn’t mean them, you- you just did what you had to do.”

“Yes, I only said those awful things to save you and the child. Oh my goodness, the child! Is he alright? Where is he?” You realize that you didn’t see him with everyone.

“He’s safe, he’s at the Covert being looked after by your friend with the pink armor,” Din reassures you.

“Thank the Maker! I was so worried for you both when I was forced to leave with Kerrick,” you say.

Din looks away for a moment when you say that, when he looks back at you, he says your name softly, almost like he’s trying to ask you a question but can’t find the words.

“Din?” You say his name prompting him to speak to you, to tell you his thoughts.

“Did he force you to… did he force himself on you?” Din asks and you can hear the horror in his voice at this possibility.

“No, no Din, he didn’t,” you assure him, “I was forced to kiss him a few times, but that was it. I lied and told him I was having my period and that was enough to keep him away from me. He always was disgusted by menstrual cycles.”

Din lets out a huge sigh of relief and pulls you close to him, as he tells you, “I’m so thankful to hear that, the thoughts I’ve had about what he wanted from you, about what he might have made you do… it was making me sick and I just, I--”

“I understand, my darling, but you don’t have to worry any more, I’m fine and we never have to worry about him again. You made sure of that for me.” Your voice cracks as you speak and you reach up to pull his helmet down to you to meet your forehead in a Keldabe kiss. Tears stream down your cheeks as you hold him to you. Din pulls off his gloves so he can reach up with his bare hands to cradle your face. You listen to his breathing and you can’t be fully certain, but you think he may be crying a little too.

“I love you so much, cyar’ika, I never want to let you go,” Din’s voice is thick with emotion.

“I love you too, Din, and I want to be with you, I want to go wherever you go,” you tell him.

“That’s all I want too, my love,” Din responds, “And I want to show you how much I want that.” He brings his hands up to cup yours, holding them to his helmet, and then he lifts his head away from yours. Gently he starts to lift your hands up, tugging his helmet with them. You gasp and try to let go of his helmet, but his hands are keeping yours in place.

“Din, wait, what are you doing?” you ask breathlessly. His hands stop moving at your question.

“Please, cyar’ika, please, I want you to see me, all of me,” he implores you.

“But your creed?” You’re so worried he might regret this that it’s overshadowing your desire to see his face.

“I believe it will still be intact, I trust you,” Din says steadily and although you don’t entirely understand what he means by that, his calm and certain tone make you trust him. You nod to him and he begins lifting his hands once again, and this time you help him.

Slowly you see his face being revealed to you starting with a dark stubbly beard, then full lips and a mustache followed by a stately nose and high cheekbones, next, warm brown eyes slightly wet with tears and framed by thick eyebrows, and then finally, a forehead somewhat obscured by wayward dark brown curls. Din is the most handsome and beautiful man you have ever seen. You’re afraid to blink or breathe because it feels as if a spell may be broken and he’ll disappear if you dare to move. It isn’t until you hear him saying your name, repeating it in fact, that you remember how to speak again.

“You have the most wonderful face, my love,” you tell him, your voice filled with awe.

Din smiles at you, a little upturn of the corners of his mouth before he tells you, “That’s impossible; I’m looking at the most wonderful face right now.”

And then he can’t wait any longer, he leans forward to kiss you. Din kisses you like you’ve been apart for decades, putting everything that he is, everything that he feels for you into his kisses. His arms wrap around you and hold you against his chest so firmly that he swears he can feel your heart beating against him. He feels a wetness on his cheeks and he thinks for a moment that you must be crying and then he realizes the tears he feels are his own. He breaks the kiss only because he knows he needs to tell you again that he loves you. As you repeat his words back to him, you reach up to kiss away the tears on his cheeks and Din thinks he’s never felt anything so tender and so pure in his entire life.

“Cyar’ika, before we get carried away, there’s something else I want to say to you,” Din says, stilling your actions.

“You can tell me anything, Din,” you reply, smiling softly at him.

“What you said earlier about wanting to go wherever I go, that is exactly what I want, for you to be by my side for the rest of my life, to share that life with me… cyar’ika, will you be my wife?” Din’s voice is emotional as he asks you to marry him and the look of love on his face is the most beautiful vision you’ve ever seen.

“Yes, Din, yes, I will,” you reply and you pull him close so you can kiss him again. He holds you as if you are the most precious creature in the entire galaxy, and when he breaks your kiss, it’s only so he can tell you how much he loves you.

“Also, that means you can have this,” he tells you as he places a soft pouch in your hands. It’s like the pouch that held your heart pendant and when you open it you see a new beskar pendant, in the shape of a mudhorn, the symbol of Din’s clan.

You unhook your necklace so that you can add this new pendant to it. Din helps you as both of your hands are shaking with emotion and excitement. When the mudhorn is resting right next to the heart pendant it looks so exactly right, a perfect combination. Din rehooks the clasp of the chain around your neck and you can see his eyes shining as he takes in the sight of the symbols of his love, his clan, and his creed on you. Before you know it, he’s kissing you again, and you can feel the power of his love in each kiss. You return his heated kisses passionately, wanting to show him how much you love him and how eager you are to be his wife.

“I love you, Din, with all my heart, and I can’t wait to become your wife,” you tell him as he moves from your lips to kiss your neck, “And for you to be my husband.”

Din nips at your neck when you say the word husband. He tells you, “Mmmm, yes, say that again.”

“I’m going to be your wife, and you’ll be my husband, my riduur,” you repeat in a husky voice.

“Yes, yes, fuck yes,” Din says before he sucks a mark onto your neck and then returns to your lips to kiss you hard, making you throb between your legs. When he pulls away finally, you feel almost lightheaded from the force of his kisses.

Din continues to trail kisses down your neck and chest as he tugs at the fastenings of the dress you’re wearing, eventually pulling it open so he can shove it down your shoulders. He barely gets the top of the dress down around your waist before he’s yanking your bra out of the way so he can kiss and caress your breasts. His hands grope down your body as he buries his head into your chest and when he shoves his hand under your skirt and works his fingers into your panties, he’s relieved to feel how hot and wet you already are for him. He tries to slow his movements, but he feels frantic for you, overwhelmed with need. His fingers circle your clit quickly causing you to moan out his name.

“Din, I can’t take too much teasing, please, I need you too much… I need you now,” you plead with him sounding desperate. You mewl as he pumps two fingers deep into you, pitching your desire into overdrive. It’s been too long since you’ve been together and your yearning for him is staggering. You manage to kick off your shoes and start yanking at your dress in an attempt to get it off your body.

“I need you too, cyare, so badly,” Din sounds equally as desperate.

He quickly helps you finish removing your clothing before opening his trousers and pulling out his weeping cock. You can see how much he wants you as his cock is rock hard and his tip is flushed dark. He’s still wearing the rest of his clothing and armor, but neither of you can bear to wait for him to take the time to remove it. He sits on the bed and pulls you to sit on his lap, straddling him. You start to sink down on his steely length but Din is too eager to wait and he meets your downward motion with a swift and powerful thrust upward, pushing into you all at once.

“DIN! Yes!” You cry out at the exquisite sensation of instantly being filled by him. You grapple at the hard, unforgiving beskar of his cuirass as you rise and fall against him. One of Din’s large hands is at your back, supporting you and holding you to him as he fucks up into you, while the other toys with your clit roughly. You are both moving fast, too caught up in each other to take your time.

“Din, you feel… so good… I missed you… soooo much,” you tell him, panting with the effort.

“My cyar’ika… I missed you too… missed being inside you… like this,” Din gasps out between thrusts.

For the first time, you look into his eyes as you feel him moving inside you, and you feel more connected to him than ever before. You watch every small expression that he makes, simply delighted as you see his desire and love for you play over his face. Wanting to see more, to have the chance to keep looking at his face causes you to draw out your movements, slowing your pace slightly.

Din also loves being able to see your entire face uncovered with his own eyes. The look of absolute love in your eyes is incredible to him and he feels a sense of belonging that he has never felt before. It is not the same feeling of possessiveness that he’s had in the past, instead it is the feeling that he belongs with you, that you belong together.

“Please, cyar’ika, please say you’ll stay with me, always,” Din begs you, despite knowing that you will, he needs the reassurance now.

“I will, I promise, I will, Din, always,” you vow to him, but then you need your own guarantee, “Promise me you’ll never leave me, Din.”

“Oh mesh’la, my love, ner kar’ta,” terms of endearment spill from Din’s lips as he tries to tell you how he’s feeling, “I’ll always stay with you, I’ll never leave you, never.”

“Din, my love, my Din, I love you,” you manage to respond and you feel your inner muscles squeeze him tight as the sensations of love and pleasure swirl around you. Between the feel of him shredding up against pure bliss inside you at a relentless pace and the sheer ecstasy of his fingers on your clit, your climax is rushing towards you.

“Look at me, cyar’ika,” Din commands as your eyes had been fluttering shut. You snap them back open and look deep into his eyes. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

You cry out as you hear Din tell you he loves you in Mando’a and you careen over the edge, falling into his body as you are overcome with pleasure. He wraps his arms around you tightly as he manages to thrust up into you a few more times before exploding within you and shouting your name.

“I love you, Din, I promise I’ll love you forever,” you tell him as you pepper his face with kisses.

“I love you too, forever,” Din repeats back to you before he kisses you soundly. His arms encircle you as he holds you close. His heart swells with joy and Din knows he has found true happiness with you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading!! Again, I appreciate your patience with me in getting this chapter out. I have decided there will be just one more chapter for this series, Chapter 10: The Mando Who Loved Me. 

Mando’a definitions:

aliit = family

vod = brother

riduur = spouse

mesh’la = beautiful

ner kar’ta = my heart

ni kar’tayl gar darasuum = I love you

Tag list: @niiight-dreamerrrr @grogusmum @idreamofboobear @theamuz @fangirlalexia @callmekane @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @theravenreads @nicotinebirds @boomtownboy @nova646 @wandering-storm-lost-shadow @becks-things @rexsjaigeyes @mackycat11 @som3thingcr3ative @punkdalek @pinkninja200 @s-unflowxr @beskarprincessjenny @peppywitch @haley7242 @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @hotsauceonabiscuit @asta-lily​ @onabouteverything​

[slashhinginghasher]

Midnight Star - Chromeskull x OFC - Part 8: The Greater of Three Evils

wow another chapter six months later. much shock. so surprise

Big TW for NONCON at the end of this chapter. Please read with caution.

This work is on Ao3!

Summary: Worst first date ever.

***

Her reward was a bedroom and a fat, juicy orange the size of both her fists. The orange came first; Cromeans produced it from some hidden jacket pocket and placed it in her lap with exaggerated delicacy. For a half-second, she was afraid he’d leave her there to stare uselessly at the piece of fruit until she caved and asked him to free her hands - or worse, to fucking feed her - but he unlocked her left wrist and… left.

Every instinct told her to rip into the orange before it could be taken away, but she forced herself to go slow. Having gone down the starvation route more times than a person should, she knew that stuffing her face would just lead to everything coming back up a few minutes later. She removed the peel in small, methodical pieces while her stomach growled at her like a rabid dog. Then she neatly sectioned one wedge from its neighbors and, self-control over, shoved the whole thing in her mouth. It was a good thing she was alone because she really didn’t want to cry in front of any of these bastards, but fuck, it was a good orange.

And then the brunette woman named Spann had to ruin it by walking in with another entourage of black-clad assholes. The tension that had marginally left Marena’s shoulders came back full force. Spann smiled at her again. Marena was really starting to hate that smile. It was indulgent and slightly condescending, the sort of subtle smugness that came from a person who knew they had damn well earned the right to be smug.

“You aren’t going to do anything stupid, are you?” Spann asked in a pleasant voice that suggested that she knew the correct answer, and that it would be better for Marena’s structural integrity if she also knew the correct answer. Marena was sorely tempted to spit a mouthful of half-chewed pulp in the other woman’s face, but that would have definitely fallen under the category of “stupid”, and besides, it was a really good orange. Instead, she silently held the brunette’s gaze, blank-faced, unmoving, unblinking, which she had been told by multiple people was “really fucking creepy.”

“Good,” Spann said, like she was praising a child. She nodded to one of the assholes who, to Marena’s credit, looking mildly terrified as he unlocked the other cuff. Marena jerked the newly freed hand into her lap just to watch him flinch at the sharp movement, because she was also kind of an asshole.

“Can you walk?” There was a solid chance that the answer to that question was “no”, but like fuck was Marena going to tell any of them that. She pushed back the sheets, noting with distaste that the sluttish excuse for a nightgown she’d been dressed in didn’t even hit mid-thigh, and carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed. The tile floor was cold against her bare, blistered feet, which was about the only thing that felt good at the moment. The motion had sent her head into a throbbing, nauseated whirl. Her weakened muscles burned and cramped. But she’d done a lot more with a lot worse, so she told her body to shut the hell up and pushed herself fully upright. Her right leg buckled slightly, and she leaned her hip against the railing of the bed like she’d meant to do that all along. Spann wasn’t fooled, but she played along.

“Follow me, then.”

Marena wanted to put up a fight. She wanted to be difficult, and violent, and savage. But she was tired. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know what was going to happen to her, although it was probably going to be very unpleasant. And she had talked. A lot. There was a deep, dull ache in each of her shoulders and she could feel the memories hovering around her, waiting for her to fall asleep so they could dive in and eat what was left of her from the inside out. She shouldn’t have caved. She should have let him rape and torture her until she died, and taken all her shitty secrets with her to the grave.

There was also the pride-rankling fact that Mr. Cromeans had gotten more out of her in a matter of days than a trained therapist had in more than two years. Maybe if they taught psychiatrists how to throw a punch, they’d be more effective.

They reached the bedroom by elevator because apparently her captor was the kind of jackass to have an elevator in his fucking house. Spann didn’t say another word, a small blessing since Marena didn’t think she could handle any conversational attempts without making something bleed. Her legs gave out moments after Spann and the Faceless Muscle Squad shut the door behind her. She pressed her face into the carpet (very plush, very soft) and allowed herself to give in to the absolute, soul-obliterating panic for a count of ten. Then she forced herself upright and took stock.

The room was small (by rich people standards) and sparsely furnished (by rich people standards). The carpet was black, the walls painted deep red like a cheesy vampire movie. The bed, dresser, and wardrobe were all carved out of dark wood and were too heavy for Marena to move, especially in her current physical condition of suck. The single window was made of thick, possibly bulletproof, glass, and seemed unopenable. A peek through the slats of the blinds offered a view of a large interior courtyard and a sunset-painted sky. Even if she could get the window open, there would be no escape that way. 

She didn’t bother looking for cameras. She knew they’d be there.

The attached bathroom was almost as big as the main room, with white marble floors shot through with gold. The bathtub and shower were huge, big enough for three people. Or one normal-sized person and one freakishly large person, but if she thought about that for too long she’d start spiralling. At least a dozen different hair products sat in the metal shower caddy, most of which Marena had no idea what to do with, and she’d bet Cromeans didn’t either, since he was fucking bald. Maybe he’d had someone (Spann?) buy them, or maybe they were leftover from the mysterious Veronica that Preston had so obviously wanted to taunt her with. It didn’t take a genius to guess that the woman was most likely dead.

Lucky bitch.

A huge mirror was set into the wall above the bathroom sink, but she didn’t walk far enough forward for it to catch her reflection. Marena avoided mirrors as a general rule; she’d covered the one in her shithole apartment with an old bedsheet. Seeing her face tended to fuck her up on a good day, and in her current state… it might break her, and she couldn’t afford to break right now. She returned to the main room and faced the wardrobe with the trepidation of someone about to open a box that might or might not contain a dead body. The wooden doors mocked her as she stood there, clenching and flexing her fingers. She took a deep breath that wasn’t remotely fortifying and threw them open.

Lace. Lace and tulle and silk because men, rich men, were so fucking predictable it was disgusting. Her gaze caught on a baby blue dress and she slammed the doors shut, staggering backwards until she hit the bed, and then the ground. She couldn’t even look in the direction of the dresser, although she had a fairly good idea of what it contained and it made her want to rip all those pretty dresses to ribbons and hang herself with them. The pain in her shoulders was radiating down her arms and across her back, but she couldn’t rub the ache away without feeling the ghost of the House Master’s touch as he did up the buttons of her dress after Hana changed out the bandages, his perfect pretty little kukolka, and he did always love her in blue... She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted Hana back, and the grief was so heavy it was crushing her, like so much dirt over a grave.

Marena curled in on herself and tried not to fall apart.

***

Her well-deserved panic attack was interrupted sometime later when the door unlocked with an electronic whir and a heavy click. She pressed her back against the wall, waiting for someone - something - to come through, but the door remained shut. Second after excruciating second crept by with no sign of movement. Marena remained huddled on the floor, fists clenched, jaw clenched, hackles up like a dog ready to lunge.

Seconds turned to minutes, and she got bored.

So much of Marena’s life had been spent in a state of torturous waiting. Waiting for Guests to arrive or leave. Waiting for the villagers to let her out of the river. Waiting for the beatings to stop. Waiting for the various devils in her life to fall asleep so she could slip away for a single moment of solitude. She was tired of waiting, and as much as she didn’t want to face whatever hell was about to be inflicted on her, she could not stand to spend one more moment suspended in this agony of uncertainty.

Pushing herself to her feet, she inched her way to the door, preparing to kick in the fucking kneecaps of whoever was on the other side. But there was only an empty corridor and a piece of paper on the floor.

Fourth door on the right.

The obvious choice was to go to the left, then, where a break in the wall indicated a stairway or another hallway. Or was it obvious? Maybe Cromeans was trying to lure her in that direction by giving her orders to do the opposite, expecting her to disobey. So then the thing to do would be to go to the right, to avoid whatever was on the left. Although that didn’t mean that the right was safe.  Perhaps Cromeans was so supremely confident in her inability to escape that he just expected she’d end up where she was told. She didn’t know the layout of the house, and if the car had been any indication, her captor was a technophile. That meant cameras, alarm systems, remote locks, maybe even booby traps. Was that something people did outside of movies? Okay. So assuming both directions were bad news, why leave any options open? Why not send an escort? Perhaps it came down to obedience. Disobey and you get punished; obey and you deserve whatever happens to you because you went willingly?

Fuck. She hated mind games. She barely had a grasp on what happened in her own head, let alone somebody else’s.

She could always remove herself from the situation completely. Lie down in that nice, big bathtub and take a few deep breaths until everything went watery and dark. Marena’s will to live was driven by spite more than anything else, but it was - save for one or two notable exceptions - iron-clad and unshakeable. She wasn’t afraid to die, but was she ready to make that final surrender?

It was the cameras that decided it for her, in the end. They were well-hidden in the room, but she could see a few small, red lights blinking in the gloom of the hallway. Cromeans was probably watching her right now, and if he really was just a few doors down, then he’d have plenty of time to foil a suicide attempt. And plenty of motivation to rain unholy hell down upon her when she woke. Men like him didn’t like it when their toys were taken away prematurely. Trying to rob him of the pleasure of orchestrating her death would end up very, very ugly. For her.

You don’t get to kill what is mine.

Marena shuddered and instinctively wrapped an arm around her midriff as she pushed the memory away. She was already going to have nightmares about bullets and pearl-handled guns the next time she slept; she didn’t need to add her nasty little suicide attempt to the queue. Of course, it was perfectly plausible that she would die before she got a chance to sleep again, or that Cromeans had something planned that would eclipse either of those in its awfulness. She ripped the note to shreds, trying to find some sense of control in the tiny act of destruction, and headed for the fourth door on the right.

It was some sort of lounge, all dark earth tones and metal accents. The center of the room was dominated by a dark, heavy slab of a wooden table that could easily seat twenty people. There was a lit fireplace to her right (which had to be fake, because who in the fuck could ever feel cold here?), heavy drapes blocking the far wall, something that looked like a home bar, and honestly, all of the details of this god-awful hell house were starting to blur together and she just couldn’t bring herself to give a shit about interior decorating.

A hand shot out from her periphery, slapping another pair of metal handcuffs on her wrists before she could even twitch, and the only coherent thought her overworked brain could produce was “Was he hiding behind the fucking door?”

Cromeans looked terribly pleased with himself as he ushered her towards a seat at the table. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt that made it very apparent that yes, his biceps were bigger than her goddamn thighs, which was just fucking excessive, honestly. Heavy metal was playing in the background, a looping, ever-shifting soundscape of electric guitar, drums, and male aggression. Marena was normally quite partial to the genre, but a headache was building behind her eyes, and all this “friendly” buildup made her sure that whatever was going to happen to her tonight would be that much worse.

In a testament to how absolutely out of it she was, she didn’t notice the food on the table until she was seated right in front of it. Meat, greens, bread, wine. More of those heavenly oranges. She ate mechanically, ignoring the wine, refusing to look up at Cromeans where he sat on the other side of the table. It all tasted like glue and stuck in her throat the same way. If they were two normal people on a regular date, it would have been the most awkward first date in history. They barely qualified as people, though, let alone normal, and Marena could only wish Cromeans was feeling even a little uncomfortable. Smug fucker was probably having the time of his life.

Her steak knife sat heavy and tempting in her hand, but there wasn’t much she could do with it. The chain between her wrists was about 18 inches long, enough for her to eat without much trouble, but too short to throw a knife or a punch without an obvious and awkward windup. If Cromeans wasn’t such a stupidly big man, she’d try to choke him out with the chain. But she would need a damn ladder to reach around his neck while he was standing, and she doubted she’d be able to get behind him while he was sitting.

Cromeans stood and smirked as Marena clumsily pushed to her feet after him, desperate to close the height gap between them even slightly. He sauntered over to the bar, holding up two empty glasses and quirking a brow in question. Marena nodded. He turned his back to her and started fiddling with bottles and shakers and… cocktail things. She snatched up the steak knife and crept towards him, drawing on every bit of stealth she’d honed while hunting and hiding as a child. He knew she was weak right now, unlikely to try or succeed at any sort of physical attack. His hands would be full with both glasses, slowing his reaction time by a crucial fraction of a second. His right side was a blind spot. She would sneak up behind him and stab him in the throat when he turned around, and hopefully he wouldn’t be able to snap her neck before he bled out.

She drew as close as she dared. Stilled her breath. Stilled the knife, both hands wrapped white-knuckle tight around the handle. He turned. She lunged. Glass shattered. Her arms weren’t moving.

He caught it.

He caught the fucking knife.

Oh. BLYAT’.

If she thought the look on his face after kicking him in the balls was scary, it had nothing on the way he was looking at her now. Blood trickled between his fingers as he tightened his grip on the blade before wrenching it out of Marena’s grasp and tossing it aside.

There was a flash of silver. Moving purely on instinct, Marena threw her hands up, stopping the other, bigger knife he’d pulled from somewhere with the chain of her cuffs. Her arms shook with strain, the cuffs biting into the tender skin of her wrists. With a deft motion, Cromeans twisted the knife, wrapping the chain around its serrated blade until Marena’s hands were pressed together, all slack gone. Using the knife as a handle, he forced her backwards, step by step, until she was pressed against the table. Dishes were sent crashing to the floor with a mighty sweep of his arm, and then she was laid out on the table’s surface. Cromeans stabbed the knife into the dark wood, then yanked her back towards him until her arms were stretched above her head and her hips were at the edge of the table.

Panic opened like a yawning abyss in her chest, the sheer scope of her terror threatening to swallow her whole when Cromeans produced another knife and brought down near the scar on one of her shoulders. But he didn’t stab it into the old bullet wound the way she’d expected. Instead, he sliced through the straps of her silk shift and pulled the fabric down with a vicious tug that left her completely bare to his gaze, which was fast shifting from rage to pure, undiluted lust. He devoured her, drinking in the sight of her naked body like he’d never seen a pair of tits before. She wanted to say as much, but fear - and habit - had her voice in a vice grip.

He forced her legs open and stepped between her thighs as he dragged his hands over her hips, his injured hand leaving smears of blood in its wake. The table was tall enough that Marena’s toes barely brushed the ground; she had no leverage with which to kick him or push herself away. She flinched at the first touch of his hand between her legs, hating herself for reacting but unable to stop it. The first brush of his thumb over her clit was feather-light. The second was firmer and dragged a bone-deep shudder from her. With the exception of an asshole cop who got a little too handsy while frisking her, Marena hadn’t had any prolonged human contact in four years, and her touch-starved body didn’t know whether to pull away or lean into the pleasure. The result was an ineffectual jerk that did nothing but bring an infuriating smirk to Cromeans’ face.

And the knife moved, just a little.

Marena took a deep, shuddering breath, followed by an equally shaky exhale, shifting her hips slightly as though in surrender. Cromeans was tracing tingling patterns around her slit, drawing enough moisture that he could almost slip a finger inside. When she was certain his attention was fixed entirely on her cunt, she wrapped her fingers around the knife and began to work it free. The serrated edges of the blade cut into her fingertips immediately, hot sparkles of pain shooting down her fingers. She ignored it, just as she ignored the inexorable dance of the fingers between her legs and the building heat in her core. She just had to get the knife free, and then this nightmare would be over, one way or another.

So close, so close, so close…

Cromeans’ fist slammed down on the hilt of the knife, forcing it several inches deeper into the wood, and buried his cock in her at the same moment. Marena nearly bit through her tongue at the sudden painful stretch. She couldn’t breathe; he was in her and around her and god why did every fucking part of him have to be so big? He didn’t give her time to adjust before starting a brutal pace, long, hard strokes that stole her breath and dragged against every nerve ending in her pussy. One huge hand was splayed across her abdomen; Marena thought he must be able to feel himself moving inside her through her stomach. The other wrapped around her throat, tight enough to choke but not enough to let her black out.

She tried in vain to disconnect, to retreat behind the walls she’d spent so many years building in her mind. But Cromeans had added a twist to his hips that brushed against a spot inside her and made her see stars. The jolts of pleasure pulled her back to herself, made it impossible to divorce her mind from her body. Something hot and wonderful and terrible was building inside her. She wanted it to stop. She was being smothered and she wanted everything to stop.

Cromeans reached down to circle her clit once more, and the tension snapped. The orgasm rushed over her like a wildfire. A tsunami. A supernova. Marena was dimly aware of the way her back arched as her inner muscles clenched around Cromeans’ hard length. A strangled, keening gasp that escaped her throat just before he tightened his grip enough to completely cut off her air, pelvis grinding against hers as he chased his own release. Each stuttering thrust sent aftershocks of pleasure-pain skittering through her body. Her vision was starting to tunnel when he bottomed out for the final time and came with a growl that she felt more than heard.

He remained seated inside her for a long minute, breathing hard and supporting himself on one forearm. The hand around her throat eased from a choking grip to soothing strokes, like he could wipe away the lurid bruises already forming with a gentle enough touch. At last, he pulled out and tucked himself away. He wrenched the knife out of the table and pulled Marena into a sitting position. Her body was quivering, boneless; she doubted she’d have been able to sit up on her own. Cromeans pressed a chaste, lingering kiss to her mouth as he unlocked the cuffs. Then he ran two fingers through the mess of cum and blood coating her inner thighs and licked the digits clean with a wink.

He turned his back and poured himself another drink.

***

Marena didn’t remember leaving the lounge. Didn’t remember staggering down the hall. She had no idea how long she’d been standing in the doorway of her bathroom, swaying slightly and staring blankly at the wall. The stickiness between her thighs had mostly dried, smears of pale pink that matched the tender places where the denim of Cromeans’ pants had rubbed her skin raw. Her hands and wrists were covered in drying blood, fresh rivulets still seeping from the angry marks left by the cuffs.

She raised a shaking hand to her mouth, feeling the ghost of his scarred lips on hers, and her guts knotted violently. She lurched forward, dropping to her knees in front of the toilet just in time to vomit up everything she’d ever eaten in her life. Then she turned on the shower as cold as it would go and stood under the freezing spray until her lips turned blue.

[haberdashing]

Fuck, Marry, Kill

TMA fic. A very high Elias Bouchard and Michael Shelley learn more about one another.

on AO3

There was a certain storage room in the Magnus Institute that rarely got used. It held boxes upon boxes of old, dusty documents that were almost never actually consulted by either the Institute’s staff or visiting researchers, but the Institute kept them around just the same, the room quickly forgotten by most who worked there.

As Elias Bouchard had discovered and Michael Shelley had learned soon thereafter, it was an ideal place to smoke pot without anybody noticing.

The two were in the room together now, both well and truly high at this point, the space a bit cramped due to all the old cardboard boxes but more than adequate for their purposes. It reeked of old, rotting paper and mildew, but the smell, while unpleasant, was one that both of them had learned to live with over their months of using this room as their secret hiding spot.

Michael, at least, justified the time spent here by that Gertrude and Emma were off on some conference or other abroad (somewhere in the tropics, if he remembered right, the lucky bastards), and that he’d made a fair bit of progress earlier in the day on all the work that had been left behind for him, and that really they were expecting more than was entirely realistic if they thought he was going to get everything done on his own while they were away.

Michael didn’t know what Elias’ justification, if any, for getting high on the job was, but he never seemed to feel especially guilty about it, at any rate.

Elias was leaning unsteadily against one set of boxes when he looked Michael in the eye and said, “Alright, alright, alright, I’ve got an idea. Fuck, marry, kill. But with the Institute staff. Who would you choose?”

Michael stared at the floor and its unexceptional off-white tiles before replying, “I’ll only do it if you will.”

“Oh sure, sure, but I asked first, so you go first. That’s how it works.”

“Right. Well. Fuck Emma, I guess, she’s always so nice-”

“You choose who you fuck based on whether they’re nice?”

Michael could feel his face heating up, but he continued staring resolutely at the floor and proceeded as if Elias hadn’t said anything. “Uh, marry Gertrude-”

“No. No. Please tell me you don’t have a thing for old ladies. Don’t do this to me.”

At this, Michael’s eyes snapped back up towards Elias’ face, as he got the sinking feeling that if he wasn’t making eye contact when he responded, Elias would accuse him of lying. “What? No, not like that! I don’t really fancy her, I just... I feel bad for her, you know? Sounds like she never got married, or even came close... and maybe if I was her husband, I could get her to be less of a stick in the mud.”

Elias snorted. “Okay, that I can buy. But would you do it with her, if you had to? Lie back and think of England?”

“God, no.” Michael paused for a second before adding, “I can’t even imagine it.”

“You having sex with Gertrude Robinson?”

“Gertrude Robinson having sex, full stop.”

Elias closed his eyes and hummed to himself for a few seconds before saying, “I can. ‘S not a pretty picture.”

Then, without warning, Elias launched into what was clearly intended to be an impression of Gertrude’s voice, saying in it, “Fuck me, Michael Shelley. Fuck me hard.”

It was a horrible impression, really, but it still got both of them giggling for a good minute or two.

Once their laughter settled down, Michael said, “I still have to pick for kill, right? So, kill James Wright. No contest there.”

“He’s not that bad!” Elias protested.

“Maybe not to you, now that you’re his favorite for some reason.”

“I mean, I’ll admit his head’s up his arse half the time, but he doesn’t deserve to die.”

“You go, then. Tell me who you’d pick.”

“Fuck Michelle-”

“I don’t think I know her.”

“She’s from Artefact Storage. Hot as hell, but god, she never shuts up. If I married her we’d be divorced within the week.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Marry James-”

“What? C’mon, when I pick Gertrude it’s because I’ve got a, a granny fetish or something--she’s not even that old--but you’re going with James?”

Elias shot Michael a wide grin. “I bet he’d be a good sugar daddy.”

“Aren’t you loaded? Isn’t your actual dad already your sugar daddy?”

“That- no.” Elias made an exaggerated face of disgust and disapproval. “That’s not how that works.”

“If anyone needs a sugar daddy it’s me and my empty bank account, thank you very much-”

“Fine, then you marry James!”

“Not if you’re already married to him, I’m not going to jail for bigamy-”

Elias’ dark eyes lit up with a wicked gleam. “We can fight to the death over him.”

“No. Definitely not. However I go out, it’s not going to be losing a battle to the death for the honor of marrying James Wright.”

“You reckon you’d lose, huh?” Elias made a show of looking Michael up and down before continuing. “Probably right. Always did think you’d blow over in a breeze, let alone an actual fight.”

“Hey!”

Elias inched closer to Michael and blew air towards his face, hot breath landing on Michael’s cheek and displacing a few strands of his long blonde hair. “Oh no, a breeze! Look out, Michael!”

“Come on.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll save you!” Elias slung his arm across Michael’s shoulders, but lost his balance while doing so, the resulting fall sending them both crashing into a pile on the floor.

“See? The breeze knocked you over. Just like I said.” How Elias could still be smiling after that fall was beyond Michael, who was sure both of them would have some bruises to show for it by the end of the day.

“You knocked me over, you prick.” Michael leaned against a pile of boxes, which wavered slightly but remained steady as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

“You’re right, you’re right, my bad.” Elias stood up, then reached down, extending one arm towards Michael. “Here, I’ll help you up to make up for it.”

Michael took Elias’ hand, which was warm and slightly sweaty, and stood up. His heart was racing now, and he didn’t think all of it was from the sudden tumble. “Thanks, I suppose.”

“It’s all good.” Elias looked up at Michael now, though Michael couldn’t quite make out what emotions hid behind those hazel eyes. “Can- can I change mine, actually?”

“What, ashamed of wanting to put a ring on James?”

“No- I mean, maybe, but- I mean-”

Michael burst into laughter after seeing Elias’ face contort as he desperately grasped for words. “Whatever, change it, ‘s no skin off my back.”

“Can... can I pick you? For all of them?”

Michael’s face grew hot enough that it must have been positively scarlet, but he tried to play it cool just the same. “You want to kill me? Do I need to report you to HR?”

“I- no, I, I forgot about that one, just...” Elias bit his lip as he pondered his next sentence, which had no right being as endearing as it was.

“Sure.”

Michael said it under his breath, quietly enough that he almost thought Elias wouldn’t hear it, but that wide-eyed stare made it clear enough that Elias had heard him loud and clear, so Michael spoke up more this time.

“Sure. You can choose me.”

Michael leaned down and gently kissed Elias’ forehead, and Elias grabbed his shoulders and roughly pulled him downwards, their lips touching for a brief, beautiful moment, warm and soft and right-

And then Elias lost his balance again, and both of them tumbled onto the floor once more.

Elias started giggling, then, as both of them were still splayed out on the floor, limbs piled upon limbs and elbows and knees jabbing each other in more places than seemed strictly possible, and after a moment, Michael couldn’t help but join in in the laughter.

“You’re an asshole, Elias Bouchard, you know that?”

Elias slung one arm under Michael’s chest and pulled him into an awkward, tight half-hug as they both lay upon the cold tile floor. “Yeah, yeah, I love you too, buddy.”

Michael was never quite sure if Elias meant it or not.

[captainkippen]

RECKLESS • A PUNK! TYRUS AU

Summary: 

RATED TEEN for smoking and swearing. 

TJ never expected to fall in love with a guy who hung out in the library for fun. Cyrus never expected to kiss a guy in the middle of a mosh pit. Once in a while, life surprises everybody. 

Chapter One: Respect The Tub

"Shut up. I'm having a mid-life crisis."

"You're twenty-one."

"Fine, an almost-quarter-life crisis or something, whatever."

"You know, I've seen you overreact before, but this time really takes the cake. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Pfft. It's a great idea. The best idea I've ever had."

"You literally just said yourself that you're having a crisis."

TJ let out a long suffering sigh and glared at Marty. Andi snickered from where she was perched on the edge of the tub behind him. She had two gloved hands covered in bright red sludge buried deep in TJ's hair.

"Don't worry, Marts," she said. "I used to help Bex do her hair all the time when she got bored. Well… one time. If it goes wrong, we can just cut it off. Hair grows back usually."

"Usually?!" TJ spluttered, attempting to turn and face her only to be held in place by her firm grip.

Marty snorted. "Still sure about this?"

"Shut up, Marty. Jeez. You're worse than my mom."

"Hey, your shut your mouth about your mom. That woman is a saint. How she put up with your annoying all these years without committing murder, I’ll never know."

That earned him the bird and he snorted again, blowing smoke into T.J's face. The bathroom of their crappy apartment didn't have a smoke detector, which was probably the only reason Marty was even sat in the room with them. 

"Gross," Andi said with an appreciative smile. She might have stolen the cigarette for herself had her hands not been busy. TJ wrinkled his nose at the two of them. He wouldn't say anything, it hadn't worked the first thousand times and it wouldn't work now, but he had learned that if he made enough disgusted faces Marty would eventually put the cigarettes away.

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes at TJ's face and stubbed it out in the sink. "I'm meant to be quitting anyway. I promised Buffy."

"You made that promise like three months ago."

"Well I gotta have at least one flaw, otherwise it wouldn't be fair to you mere mortals, would it now?" Marty grinned and stood up, stretching his arms up until his back gave a satisfying click. 

"Careful bro," TJ said. "If your head gets any bigger you won't be able to get out of the door."

It was Marty's turn to cheerfully flip him off. As he wandered out of the bathroom he called over his shoulder asking if they wanted any snacks, even though TJ was pretty sure he knew they only had ketchup and coffee left in the kitchen.

"So, this mid-life crisis of yours," Andi said, slipping some more dye on to TJ's head. It slid against his scalp cold and unpleasant, dripping down his neck in a wet mess. "You think Epic Death Red is gonna fix it?"

He considered this for a moment. The brand name was splashed bright and obvious on the bottle, and it glared at him from the sink. It had made them laugh at the time, but now it was in his hair it felt a little daunting. "Nah, probably not. But it'll make me feel better about it, feels productive."

"Turning in your assignments would probably feel more productive."

"Hey, I thought we banned school talk from the tub. The tub rules are sacred. Respect the tub."

"I'm just saying-"

"Did you finish your figure drawing assignment yet?"

"...touché."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. After a few minutes, Marty loped back in holding a paper plate with an unwrapped Twinkie carefully cut into three pieces on it. Andi let him shove a piece unceremoniously into her mouth without a word.

It had become a sort of tradition. Well... not a tradition. TJ didn't know what you would call it. A habit maybe? Anyways, it had become usual for the three of them to hang out in the bathroom. Sometimes they'd be joined by friends and roommates. Two or three of them cramped in the tub, maybe splitting a bottle of cheap wine between them all, with someone else balanced on the toilet seat and another sprawled across the floor. But today, everyone else was out at work or class or living their life in some tub-free environment.

It was only TJ and Marty that lived in the apartment of the three of them. They had two other roommates, Walker and Jonah, who were pretty decent guys. Walker was an art major like Andi and Jonah had awesome taste in music. Sometimes he and TJ would walk to campus together, they were both based in the music department, but other than that and a shared interest in sports and skateboards they didn't really have anything in common. Buffy, Marty's girlfriend and (by apparent coincidence) Andi's childhood best friend with whom she was now reconnecting, would sometimes swing by to join them too. However, her disgust at  just how useless four boys could be at keeping their apartment in order mostly kept her at bay. Old take-out containers were not part of her ‘aesthetic’ or whatever. TJ was never sure if he was glad about that or not, the two of them spent most of the time squabbling, but she did make Marty happy and it was hard not to be cheerful when Marty was.

"So I had this dream right," TJ said. 

"Oh God."

"No, it's good right. Because it made me, like, realise I should be doing something."

Andi and Marty exchanged amused looks. They were used to it, TJ's various whims and impulses and Important Decisions About The Future That Usually Turned Out To Be Not So Important. They found it funny. TJ might be offended if it weren't for the fact he had listened to them spout of conspiracy theories more times than he could count.

"Go on," Andi prompted. 

"Okay, so like... I'm standing on this cliff, right? Like on the very very edge of it. And I'm staring out to sea all dramatic and shit, and then suddenly it gives way underneath me, right? And I'm falling and falling, and I look down and there's just like... nothing there."

Another pause. "...and that's it?"

"That's it. That's the dream."

"Okay, lay it out for me. How did you go from falling off a cliff to dyeing your hair red? Give me the logic. I wanna follow your train of thought here."

He takes a deep breath, trying to shake away the lightheadedness the mingling scents of cigarettes and ammonia is bringing on, then twists around to face her.

"When you're falling to your death you're supposed to reminisce about, like, all the good shit you did in your life before you fall to your death right? And for me it was a total blank. Like nothing. Like I haven't lived."

Marty groaned. "Not this again."

"What?"

"You have this same crisis like every other month. Last time you wanted to 'live your life' we got arrested for trespassing on private property."

"Well, if you had run faster-"

"Fuck you! I run faster than you, asshole. It's not my fault there were literal guard dogs-"

"Guys!" Andi interrupted before they could really get going. They both muttered half hearted apologies with a huff. Marty sighed and leaned back, stretching his legs up to rest on the edge of the bath.

"The point is," TJ resumed, knocking Marty’s foot away from his face. "The point is that I've done, like, zero important things in my life. And we're adults now, y'know? I can't just bum around doing nothing forever. I wanna do something that matters."

Andi rolled her eyes. "'Adult' is a strong word for a guy who just this week learned what fabric softener is."

"I never claimed to be Martha Stewart."

Marty laughed. "You're criminal enough to be."

"Okay but," Andi said, before another bickering match could spark up. "The real point is... we're only in our twenties. Pretty sure we're not meant to have everything figured out yet, right? I mean, we haven't even graduated yet."

TJ and Marty both hissed.

"The G word is also banned, remember?"

Andi made a face, but didn't press the point. She hated thinking about the future just as much as the guys did. None of them knew what they wanted to do. They spent all their time in sleazy bars moshing to terrible local bands, getting drunk in a moulding tub and watching Andi paint in the student studios. TJ couldn't imagine any of them with nine-to-five jobs, commuting or working for some big evil corporation. He said as much.

"It's two thousand and five," Marty complained in response. "We should totally have robots to do all the boring jobs by now."

TJ agreed. How could humanity not yet be at the point where they had hover boards and flying cars? They had the internet for crying out loud. The possibilities were endless.

"So what're you gonna do?" Andi asked. “How are you, TJ Kippen, going to change the world?

TJ pondered this for a moment. 

"I'm gonna start a band."

*

Sometimes Cyrus seriously hated his friends.

Not in an actual 'I wish I didn't know you' way but in an 'oh man, you suck so hard right now' kind of way. Tonight was one of those times. He would never say that to them, of course, he had no desire to hurt anybody’s feelings, but a little mental cursing never hurt anyone.

He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around himself. Rain smattered down on the concrete around him. Water seeped through the canvas of his sneakers, soaking his socks and mood both at once. He was cold, wet and fed up. Buffy had asked him to meet her here, outside some dingy rock club filled with scary kids wearing studs and too much makeup, but she was nowhere to be found. She had answered her phone when he called, but the line mostly crackled and all he got was a muffled "-inside" from here.

Whatever. It was fine. It was totally cool that he was stuck out here being eyed by suspicious punks in leather jackets and scary scene kids with scary scene hair. It was great. He could totally cope with the fact that the bouncer wouldn't let him in because he forgot his I.D. and apparently he looked like he was twelve years old. Totally, totally fine. Really, it couldn’t get any worse.

It was as if the universe had heard this very thought and decided to have the last laugh. A large truck roared down the street, sending a fresh wave of freezing water over his legs and shoes. 

Screw this. He was going home.

He hadn't even wanted to come out in the first place. He should be back in his nice cosy dorm room, preferably doing the lit assignment he had due in on Monday, maybe wrapped in a blanket. Two blankets, even. Yeah, his dorm sounded pretty great right now, even if he did have the roommate from hell. Fate had other plans, though. Right as he made the decision to head back, he heard his name being called. Turning, he saw Buffy waving frantically from the door. Huffing to himself, he turned back again and headed to meet her.

"He's with me," Buffy said with a smile to the bouncer. The guy looked doubtful as Cyrus slipped passed, but he didn't question it again. 

"The reception is really bad in here," Buffy said apologetically, pulling him into a sideways hug. "But you found the place okay, right? I mean you're here, so that's good. I didn't think you'd come. I’m glad you did.”

She seemed unusually antsy, and he suspected she was a little nervous about introducing him to her friends. He would be nervous too if he was her, he knew he wasn’t much, especially to a group of cool and interesting people. He decided it was best not to tell her that he almost didn't come. He had been perfectly ready to stay in his dorm all night, even though it was a Friday night and he had little to no social life at the current moment in time with all the work his professors had been throwing at him. Except, Roommate-From-Hell-Reed had come banging into the room, all but yelling into his cellphone to some girl. Cyrus had been able to stand it for about ten minutes, and then he got tired of hearing the word "baby". A night at some dive being shoved around by sweaty drunks wasn't much of an improvement, but at least he didn't have to listen to Reed's obnoxious flirting. 

"It's good you came," Buffy continued. "You don’t get out enough. I think you'll like the band too, and they're friends with Andi and Marty. They’re pretty good - I mean, TJ is a little obnoxious, but they’ve already got a big following on MySpace, and they’re close to getting a deal with Cranked...” Cyrus let her pull him through the crowd, nodding in all the right places but struggling to keep up. Who was TJ? Cranked? What was that? He felt like she was speaking another language. “

They've even got some songs recorded now... did you know Gus- you know Gus Knight? He works at the dining hall. Apparently he’s local and has this whole studio set up in his mom’s basement. He has all the equipment and everything. It's crazy.”

"Crazy," Cyrus agreed, narrowly avoiding getting elbowed by a teary girl gesturing wildly at a boy that looked too out of it to be taking in what she said. The whole arena smelled like puked. He prayed that none got on him. "So when are these Cranked guys meant to go on?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Cranked is a record label, Cy. The band’s called Conduit For Gods.”

The problem was not that Cyrus wasn’t into music. He liked music. He thought it was fun, especially if you could sing bad karaoke to it, and who didn't like to listen to their iPod on the bus? But Buffy's friends' world seemed to revolve around music, more specifically punk music, and the whole scene that came with it. He had accepted a few of their invitations to hang out just to be polite, but most of them involved parties and shows. Parties and shows meant drinking and coming home with wild stories. Cyrus wasn’t a wild stories kind of guy.

As a kid, he had really wanted to be a wild stories kind of guy. He’d longed to be one of the popular kids who knew how to make friends with everybody, who was never bored on a Friday night and wasn’t totally invisible. He had never succeeded in becoming that kind of guy. Even at college, where he'd figured it would be easy. All the television shows and magazines had made it seem like that was what you were meant to do in college - party and drink. Become your own person. Become interesting. 

What he'd learned from actually being in college? He didn't like to party and drink. He had no problem with other people doing it, obviously, but he'd rather he was far away from them while they did. Drunk people had a habit of throwing up on him, and in crowds like this Cyrus had lost his shoe more than once. They might be drenched in grimy rainwater, but tonight he felt like keeping his shoes firmly on his feet. Preferably not covered in somebody's dinner. The other thing he’d learned was that he didn’t really vibe with the whole alternative music scene... or it didn’t vibe with him. He liked things neat and non-violent. In his experience, college-aged punks liked things sweaty and aggressive. Sometimes with a hint of insane thrown in. It’s not like it scared him or anything, he just didn’t want to die in a mosh pit.

“They’re on at ten. You want me to grab you a drink? I got us a table - I know you don’t like being in the crowd.”

He gave her a grateful smile, forgiving and forgetting the last half an hour in one fell swoop. Buffy was a really good friend not just sometimes, but all the time, even if she did make him hang out with scary people that wore studs and eyeliner. She always respected his boundaries.

As she disappeared towards the bar, he meandered his way over to the table she’d pointed out to him. There were a couple of bags and jackets strewn across the booth’s seats, but no people present. Scanning the crowd, he managed to spot Marty and Andi stood off to the side with a couple of other people. Andi caught his eye and waved him over, but he shook his head. She rolled her eyes, but smiled and sent him a thumbs up anyway. He smiled back.

Andi was a nice girl. A cool girl. She wore her hair cropped short and spiky, had a leather jacket with her name painted artfully across the back and her skin was constantly smudged with paint or coal or glue from her art projects. She’d known Buffy forever, and Cyrus was still surprised someone as cool as her was willing to hang out with a loser like him. It was the same with Buffy, honestly. He was always one step behind the laughter and she was the one making people laugh. Once, he’d made the mistake of voicing these thoughts out loud and Buffy had smacked him over the head with a copy of Rolling Stone, telling him he was being stupid and that he was cool. He knew she was lying, but he appreciated the lie anyway. 

A figure loomed over him and he turned.

“That was quick,” he started to say, but the words died on his lips. It wasn’t Buffy.

“Um, hi,” Said the most beautiful boy in the history of all existence.

Bright red hair. Green eyes ringed in black. Torn up denim jacket over plaid over faded t-shirt. Cyrus mentally catalogued all of these things and tried to unstick his tongue from where it seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wasn’t sure what to do. How did English work again? What were words?

In the end, he stuck one awkward hand out before he could stop himself and stuttered out a greeted. The guy took it with a warm smile and shook. 

“I’m Cyrus,” Cyrus finally managed to say.

Understanding dawned on the guy’s face. “Oh, you’re Buffy’s friend. That’s cool. I’m TJ, Marty’s roommate,” he jerked a thumb back towards the crowd. Much to Cyrus’ horror, he realised Andi and Marty were watching them with interest. He dropped TJ’s hand quickly. “I was just grabbing the keys to the van, could you pass me that bag?”

Cyrus did as asked, expecting TJ to take it and flee from the obviously crazy person who had just shaken his hand like they were at some sort of business meeting instead of a nightclub, but he didn’t move from where he was standing. Instead, he rummaged through the bag for a second and then withdraw a set of car keys and dumped it back on the table. Turning, he signalled to one of the guys in the crowd and launched the keys through the crowd. 

“So are you sticking around after the show?” TJ said, turning back to Cyrus with a curious smile. 

No. Cyrus was going to go home and shower at least twice then snuggle up in bed and get a good night’s sleep where nobody could accidentally spill a suspicious substance on his nice clean pants.

“Yeah, I think so,” is what came out of Cyrus’ mouth.

“Awesome,” TJ grinned, the thousand-watt smile disarming Cyrus once again. “Well, I gotta scoot, ‘cause it’s my band…”

“Oh! You’re in Condu-whatsit?”

“Conduit For Gods,” he laughed. “Yeah, I’m the singer.”

Oh great, a cute guy in a band. Just what Cyrus needed to make this interaction less intimidating.

“Break a leg?” He offered.

He didn’t know if he was imagining it or not (probably) but TJ looked a little reluctant to go, but after a moment he flashed him another smile and departed. Cyrus resisted the urge to bang his head on the table and berated himself for not being able to hold a conversation like a normal person. Oh man, he had made himself look like a total idiot. Luckily, Buffy returned not long after, and he drowned his sorrows in his drink. 

*

“Okay, not to be dramatic but we have to play the best show we’ve ever played tonight,” TJ said, speeding over to Jonah behind the stage.

Jonah looked up from tuning his guitar in surprise. “I thought the label weren’t seeing us ‘til next week?”

“It’s not a rep,” he shook his head and sighed as dramatically as he could manage. “I just met the most amazing guy I’ve ever seen and I’m pretty sure we’re soulmates, so we have to impress him, okay?”

“Soulmates, huh?” Jonah grinned. “Do you even know this guy’s name?”

“Cyrus.”

“Cyrus? As in Buffy’s Cyrus?”

“That’s the one.”

“Okay, man. If you say so.”

The stage fright seemed twice as intense as usual as TJ clicked the microphone on. Through the glare of the lights and the packed room he could barely make out the table tucked away in the corner where Cyrus was sat. The crowd roared back as he greeted them, and it felt like the entire room exploded into life as the boys launched into the first song. For the first time ever, TJ worried less about cracking a rib as he surfed across the top of the crowd and more about how exactly he was going to ask Cyrus for his number without sounding weird. 

But by the time the show was over and TJ was drenched in his own sweat while blood dripped down from his nose from where someone had accidentally hit him in the face during the last song, Cyrus was nowhere to be found, and the question of the phone number became obsolete. 

[devilgoat]

The Saw is Family

((We’ll see if this stays up? Anyways so I decided to combine both parts together, so here’s the entire fic in its 18k+ word glory because I hate myself but also Love Bubba Sawyer with my entire being. Find other works under my “devilgoat writing” tag! Do you like my work? Then maybe consider following the link in my bio and buying me a Ko-Fi!))

You can find Part 2, “Blue Rare” under “the saw is family”/ “devilgoat writing” tag

Leatherface | Bubba Sawyer x Gender Neutral Reader 

Sweat. That is what hot Texas summers consisted of. Sweat, heat, and rot. Sweat on your face, dripping down your back, and soaking through your shirt. Sweat, heat, barren landscape, rotting road kill. Road-tripping across Texas in summer was unpleasant, to say the least. What made it more unpleasant was the annoying company stuffed inside this tiny little car along with you. 

Summer break had begun for your university and it was time to head home. Unfortunately, home was 8 hours away and the road there led through the most boring, barren landscape you could imagine. Dry, crumpling hills made of rocks and dust littered the scenery on either side of you. And honestly, you would have preferred to be out there in the hot sun than the sweltering, stuffy car that had become a cage for you. You had needed a ride back to your hometown, and with no money, no car, and your family too busy with work and other things to come get you; your only option was Lana. See, Lana didn’t have a car either, but she did have a boyfriend, Sam. And Sam had a car. Turns out, both you and Lana were from the same town, and if it weren’t for that little piece of trivia, you wouldn’t have been caught dead in this car with the two of them.

To say that you weren’t friends with them would be an understatement. Sam was famous around your university, but not for the best reasons. Known to lie, cheat, and steal to get ahead, he was also known for sneaking into the university’s library to fuck his current hot date of the week on the second floor. During finals. In the middle of the day. He wasn’t very likable. Sam had also apparently never grown out of his high school bully persona because he continued his harassment and bullying far into his academic career. He took pleasure in it. His current paramour just happened to be Lana. And you knew if summer break had started just a week earlier or later, you wouldn’t have had this ride to begin with. And Lana? Well, she was something else. Known to acerbic, arrogant, and also just plain unhelpful during group projects, she had once forced her former roommate to move out because she wanted the whole room to herself. She drove the other girl partly insane over the course of weeks by cutting out her hair while she was asleep and then telling her that the stress of school was killing her. So yeah, it was fair to say that she wasn’t well liked. The only reason you knew this was because you were acquaintances with the poor girl she had roomed with, and she was just too tired with dealing with it to report her suspicions to the bureaucratic student affairs board. It was definitely not the place you had preferred to be in. But Lana had a ride and you both knew that you were from the same place. And now you were here. Your sweat had soaked through the entire front of your shirt. To be honest, you weren’t particularly excited to go back home, but you had nowhere else to go. Sam was driving, Lana in the passenger seat, and you in the back, stuffed with all the luggage. It was cramped and uncomfortable, and you weren’t even through the first three hours of driving. “Ahhh shit,” Sam muttered. Oh no. “What is it?” Lana asked. “We’re almost out of gas,” He sighed and lifted one of his hands off the wheel and ran it through his hair. “I thought you said you filled it before we left?” “Yeah I did! I did...say that.” He was silent for a moment but turned to Lana, not caring about the empty road ahead. “Awww come on it’s alright. I’m sure there’s a gas station somewhere close by. There has to be!” Lana pouted in her seat. Sam reached over and grabbed her chin, while making cooing sounds. “Awww are you mad at me?” His voice was thick with patronization and it made you sick. Lana laughed and slapped his hand away. “You better hope there is or you won’t be getting any tonight.” “Hey uhh,” you interjected for the first time. “I’m still here.” “Oh right, you.” Lana laughed and gave you the gift of faux embarrassment. She turned in her seat to face you and gave you a wry smile. “Sorry, I just get carried away sometimes.” You have a polite, curt smile and turned to look out the window. You knew she enjoyed watching you squirm. It was entertainment for her too. She and Sam were perfect for one another. You felt the sneaking sense of dread settle in the depths of your stomach. Now your worries were less about surviving this trip and more about finishing it at all. Without any gas, the three of you would be screwed out in the middle of nowhere.

“You know,” Lana began, “Sam and I were going to stay at his place for the summer. His family owns this great house by the lake. But when I heard you needed some help I thought, why not? I haven’t been to town for a really long time.” You wondered if she hated her family or if her family hated her.

More dry rolling hills and nothingness. And then suddenly, like a mirage, a black dot appeared on the horizon. It wavered and sputtered in the heat, until it slowly grew and solidified on the side of the road. A hitchhiker? Yes, you were closer now and you could clearly see the hitchhiker off in the distance. You straightened up in your seat and stared him down. “Hey look at that guy!” Lana exclaimed. She pointed at the man in the distance and squinted her eyes. “He looks...weird.” A bit closer to him now and you could see what she meant. His movements were erratic, and you could barely see the manic smile across his face. He had his thumb out, asking for a ride, and it felt...wrong somehow. His shoulders were shaking with what appeared to be laughter. A chill ran down your spine as you felt the car begin to slow. “Wait!” You shouted at Sam. “You’re not actually stopping are you?” “Ahhh what’s the harm?” he responded. What’s the harm? Really? The car stopped right alongside the hitchhiker, and you were able to see clear as day how off-putting he was. He had a large red birthmark on his right cheek. It looked like blood. A camera hung around his neck along with a small pouch made out of some unknown animal. Lana rolled down her window slightly in order to hear him. He spoke quickly, as if he were in a rush or high. “Hey, man, mind if I catch a ride?” “A ride where?” Lana asked. “To my house! It’s just up the road there!” “Well why don’t you keep walking?” Lana sneered at him and Sam followed suit. The hitchhiker hesitated to answer the question. His face twisted in confusion and eventually defaulted into the same, off-putting smile. “Come on! Just give me a ride! I’ll make it worth your while!” To your absolute horror, he turned to face you in the back seat. His smiles grew wider as he noticed you for the first time. “Oh yeah,” he muttered. “I’ll make it worth your while.” You shifted in your seat and turned away from him. You could feel his eyes boring into you, prying you open and digging his hands inside. It was silent for too long as the hitchhiker waited for a response. He took in a breath to speak once more when Sam broke through the silence. “Yeah, umm...” he began. “The thing is, friend, we’re in a bit of a rush and running out of gas and we’d just like to get home.” The hitchhiker seemed to perk up at the mention of gas. His back straightened, and he tried to hide the glee on his face, and failed miserably. “Oh I uhh, I know a place! Yeah! Right up there! By my house! I can take you there if you want, just give me a ride!” Lana and Sam exchanged a knowing look, one that you had no part in. Lana turned to the hitchhiker and exaggerated her thinking process, letting out “hmm”s and “uhh”s and pressed a finger to her chin, her eyes rolled upwards in “thought”. “Hmm,” she “pondered”. “Nah! Good luck and don’t die!” Lana burst out laughing as soon as the engine revved. Sam slammed his foot against the pedal and you lurched backwards with the speed the car propelled itself away with. The tires squealed and kicked up dust. Once you regained your balance, you turned around in your seat to watch the hitchhiker fade away behind you, shrouded in dust. ——— “God, he was such a creep, wasn’t he?” Lana had a look of plain disgust and mockery as she asked this. She turned from Sam who nodded and laughed and turned you. She expected an answer. “Yeah I guess,” you said, forcing a fake smile. You agreed sure, the guy was a bit weird, but did he really deserve to be shit on like that? You tried not to dwell on it. You were long gone now, and the car was getting dangerously low on gas. Everyone was searching the shimmering horizon for some sign of civilization. You turned to your right and saw a dead armadillo on the side of the road. Your heart felt a pang of grief over the rotting carcass. It was a cruel world, you knew that, but you still felt like an innocent animal would be exempt from it. Just a few moments after seeing the poor armadillo, you spied a building between two rolling hills and a cluster of sad trees. A thin road stretched and winded towards a large sign that read “GAS” in thick, red letters. “Wait!” You shouted. “Down that road there!” Both Sam and Lana were shocked out of their concentration by the sound of your voice. Your frantic pointing gave the hidden road away and Sam jerked the steering wheel in order to make the curve in time. Both you and Lana held on as best you could, and your chest strained against your seatbelt. “Ow, fuck!” Lana yelled. She righted herself and smacked Sam on the arm. “You asshole!” Sam burst out laughing. He always worked best when he was able to get a rise out of someone. The car rocked over the unpaved, bumpy road. It took all you could not to bang your head against the ceiling. Lana was a bit less lucky. She hit her head quite hard against the window and cried out in pain. Sam ignored her. “Slow down, asshole!” She yelled. “Do you want to get gas or not, huh?” A few more hours. Just a few more hours and you would be home and you wouldn’t need to deal with this anymore. You didn’t want to be around when their relationship exploded. And it would undoubtedly explode any minute now. The car bumped and rocked up to the gas station, and came to a stop by one of the old, rusted pumps. “Last Chance Gas” was up in large red letters above the entrance to the small station. It was dirty and seemingly abandoned. Sam stepped out of the car and called out. “Hello! Anyone in there?” He quickly ducked his head in the car window. “Lana, come with me.” In response, Lana pouted and angrily shook her head, her arms crossed against her chest. Sam sighed and called out once more. You could tell he was getting exasperated. Right as he was about to call out again, undoubtedly louder this time, a man emerged from the station’s front door. You felt like if the gas station were a person, it would look exactly like him. He was older, worn out, his clothes were slightly grimy, and his hair was greasy, or at least what was left of it. You rolled down your window in order to hear what he and Sam were saying. “Hey, man, were almost out of gas here and we’ve got somewhere to be. Fill her up will ya?” Even when asking a stranger for their service, he couldn’t help but sound like an absolute douche. “Well, sorry about that, son,” the man said, “We’re all out of gas.” “You-you’re out? Of gas? You’re a gas station!” “I’m well aware of that, son, but we won’t be getting another shipment until the end of the day.” Sam groaned in response. The man brought up a placating hand. “Now, you’re allowed to wait here until then, if you like.” “No!” Sam almost shouted. He took a breath and calmed himself down. “Listen, is there another gas station around here? We need to be moving.” “Read the sign.” The man pointed up to the red letters behind him. “Alright then fuck this,” Sam said. He made his way back around to the driver’s side. “I’ll take my chances.” Before the man could get another word in, Sam was revving up the car and continued down the road ahead of you. “Wait, Sam,” Lana began, “Let’s just wait! If they say it’s gonna be in at the end of the day then let’s just stop here.” “I am not going to be sitting in this damn hot fucking car for who knows how long. We’ll just keep going. There’s GOT to be someplace ahead. It’s just a marketing tactic with that whole “last chance” bullshit.” Both you and Lana knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise. Sam got what he wanted when he wanted. And you in particular did not want to find out what happened if he didn’t. And he was probably right. There had to be a place somewhere ahead. You settled into your seat in a puddle of your own sweat. You were just thankful that the window allowed just enough of a breeze in to keep you going. You could feel the car start to sputter and slow as the needle drew closer and closer to the E on the dial. Sam’s knuckles were growing white against the wheel as his nervousness grew. You were wary of his eventual explosion, and there didn’t seem to be any salvation in sight. The sun was an unrelenting presence that was slowing siphoning away your energy, and soon enough you were in a daze. Your eyelids were growing heavy from the sun, the heat, and the road. Before you knew it, your body was asleep and finally able to let go of the tension set in your muscles. It would have been peaceful, if you were not robbed of it just moments later. “Look!” You heard. Your sleep-addled mind couldn’t process what was going on at first, but once your eyelids forced themselves open, you started to wrap your head around it. Lana was pointing towards the side of the road, trying to get Sam’s attention. The sun was in your eyes, so it took a moment to see what she was seeing. Amongst the trees and dusty hills was a very narrow road. And past the tree line and into the depths of the forest, you could see the roof of a very large house. “Maybe they’ll have some gas?” Lana hoped. She looked over at Sam and begged him with her eyes to pull over. He let out a strong and obvious sigh, but did not say a word. The wheel spun and the car turned onto the gravel road. Trees immediately flanked either side of the car and you could barely see past them, even in the sunlight. The rooftop grew larger and larger in front of all of you. It grew and grew like a menacing giant, ready to eat the three of you whole. The eye-like windows glared at you as they came into view. The poor house was incredibly run down. It seemed to slump into itself, sad of its own existence. The white paint was chipping off the exterior, which made the cracks look like veins spreading across its hide. The house was a creature, alone in the forest. What concerned you was that you didn’t know if it was alive or not. The car came to slow stop in front of it as it rolled over overgrown grass. Sam turned the engine off and stuffed the keys into his pocket. “Alright,” he said. “I’m gonna go check and see if they have any gas to spare. They must have some kind of generator or something way out here. I’ll be back.” Sam made no effort to invite you or Lana, so you made yourself comfortable. Or as comfortable as you could possibly be in the sweltering heat. Sam was halfway to the front door when Lana was suddenly spurred into motion. She climbed out of the car and ran after Sam. “Wait!” She called. “I’ll come too.” And like that you were left alone in the car.

Climbing over a small set of stairs, they stood by the door and knocked and called for several minutes. You were resigned to the house’s clear abandonment, but Sam thought he heard something. You could hear it faintly as well. He pulled the screen door open and stepped inside, with Lana glued to his side. You watched them enter the house’s maw. They disappeared into the darkness behind the screen door and you waited. You waited and waited and waited until you felt an unreasonable amount of time pass. They shouldn’t have been gone for this long. If they hadn’t found anyone, they would have come back out by now. If they had, they would have brought them out to the front with gas. Maybe it really was empty and they decided to take some “time together”. You groaned to yourself at their obnoxious behavior. Could they really not wait until they were back home to have their foray? Here you were, in the back of a suffocating hot car, waiting while these two jerks finished pounding one out. As time went on, you were a bit surprised with their stamina and the fact they had been at it for so long. Finally, enough was enough. They had been gone for so long that you didn’t care what you walked in on, as long you got kick them out and get you all going again. You threw the door open and slammed it behind you, hoping it would signal to them that you were on your way. With your feet in the grass, you realized how unkempt it really was. You saw small bugs jump off of the tips of grass and run off further into the vegetation. There was no way this house was inhabited. There was no sign out here that anyone had lived here for years. You climbed up the short, creaky steps onto the porch. You entered a bit of shade and felt an immediate relief. You allowed yourself to rest in the partial darkness for a few moments before you braced yourself. The screen door was in front of you, beckoning to you. You pushed it open and entered an even hotter, note sweltering environment. The house was tight and closed in. Dust had collected on a lot of the surfaces inside. It was dark, with only the natural light that flowed through the cracks in the closed windows allowed you to see inside. “Lana? Sam?” Your voice spread into each nook and cranny of the house. “Hey, you guys, come on!” No response. The floorboards creaked underneath you as you walked down the small hallway in front of you. The stairs before you called to you, but it would be better to check the first floor before anything else. A large steel door was at the end of the tight hallway. It seemed out of place in this home. It looked like it would be more at home in a slaughterhouse than here. You tried to open it, but it only jingled against its lock. You left it alone for now and turned left towards another part of the house. You called out once more to your traveling companions, but still there was no answer. You figured you would be hearing some type of moaning by now, but the house was passive in unsettled quiet. And then you heard it. A small squeal in a back room that was unmistakable for Lana. You followed the sound as best you could. You turned a corner and your feet stepped on something strange. It was soft and fluffy, but a hard piece lay in the middle. Your foot rolled over the object as it clattered away. You looked down. You were stepping on feathers. Piles and piles of loose feathers and…bone. The object that rolled away was a thin, bare bone. And there were more of them. Everywhere. Bones on top of more bones scattered and dumped without a care. Your body froze in place. You felt yourself begin to sweat, but the droplets came out cold and quick down your back. Your muscles tensed, but your eyes desired to explore the room around you. You didn’t want to look, oh no please don’t look, but they moved around anyways. They moved up from the floor of feathers and bones, up to the table full of rusty tools and even more bones, to the pieces of furniture that decelerated the edges and sides of the rooms made of...bones. Human...bones. Human skulls, femurs, and ribs were tied with chicken wire against the frames of shoddily crafted chairs and benches. There was no denying their human origin. The noise. The noise came again from the room to your right. The same small squeal. You knew both Lana and Sam were twisted, but they couldn’t be this twisted, could they? Could they really be here, amongst these rotting horrors and… You shook the thought out and followed the noise. You had to pull them out of there quickly. “Hey guys, quit it, let’s go!” You turned the corner and stopped dead in your tracks. Lana was there. And Sam too. Or at least parts of him. What was left of his body rested on an old, bloodstained table. His limbs were in a bucket in the corner. And his head, well...you couldn’t find it. But it was definitely him. The body had the same clothes, and despite missing its extremities, it still held an energy of callousness and arrogance. A large, bloody chainsaw sat next to his remains. And Lana. She was still alive. At least you thought. She was strung up, facing Sam. You ran to her, jumping over bits of bone and flesh, but when you touched her she screamed. You saw how she was being held up. A long, rusted hook had pierced her back, and every movement on her caused her to cry out in excruciating pain. Your heart began to race. What could you do? What happened? Who did this? It was all happening too fast. You couldn’t think straight. It was all wrong. Every movement you tried to get her off the hook only made her claw out in pain. And then you heard a sound behind you. It sounded like a large hunk of metal sliding up against itself. The screeching metal clawed itself open like a demon out of hell. The door. The door was opening and it was behind you and that meant whatever was opening it was behind you too. The hairs on the back of your neck would have stood on end if not for the layers of sweat pressing them down. Critical thinking was gone now, what was left was simply survival instinct. Your eyes darted from side to side, searching for a space to hide. There were layers of tanned hide — animal? Human? — draped over several chairs next to a table, with piles of animal parts on the seat. You crawled underneath the table and pulled the chairs in front of you to hide yourself as best you could. You were breathing heavily from panic, and after you realized this, you slapped a hand to cover your mouth. You pressed your eyes closed for a moment. You were a coward. A goddamn coward. Sure, Lana wasn’t a friend, but you could hear her desperate cries as she pleaded for you to save her. But you couldn’t. You just couldn’t. Your muscles had seized from fear, and when you tried to move them, they began to shake uncontrollably. Thump, thump, thump. Footsteps came closer. You could hear them clear as day behind Lana’s cries. And behind the steps you could hear a sound like a squealing pig. Whoever had done this was in the room. Your entire body tensed when you saw movement pass in front of the chairs. Dark pant legs approached Lana and the hooks. You could see the end of her legs frantically kicking. You tried not to imagine what that was doing to the hook in her back. She cried out for help. She called for you by name. Part of you hoped she hadn’t given you away, and you immediately felt bad for hoping that. The legs moved away from her and then to the large, bloodstained table in the middle of the room. You heard the sick thunk of Sam’s torso hitting the floor. Whoever was doing this was planning on doing the same to Lana that they had done to Sam. You wanted to stop it, but you couldn’t. Cold blood and sweat flowed through your body, and no matter how much you wanted you could not move yourself. You couldn’t stop it. You listened to the sound of Lana being placed on the table, and then you listened to the disgusting slam of a heavy object against what you figured was her head. Her strained cries turned into a gurgle. The gurgle turned into a choke. The choke turned into silence. Your eyes were wild and bulged out of their sockets. They stared into the coarse hairs of one of the hides in front of you. You heard silence in the room, and you could not see the pair of legs form before. You didn’t know how you would get home or when, but you knew you had to get out of here now now now. You moved your body in this cramped space as slowly as you could. A crunch. A bone snapped beneath you. The snap reverberated through your entire body and then the whole house. Or at least it felt like it. But you were safe. Nothing moved except for you. Then another snap. An even louder snap this time and you knew you had done it. The pair of legs appeared from around the corner. You held still as it came closer to you. You wished it away. You wished so hard that the sting of tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You were going to fucking die. The pair of legs and the figure it was attached to grabbed the chairs in front of you in a sudden fury. The creaky wood was whipped away from your shelter and you let out a scream you could not control. You pushed yourself backwards, squishing bones and feathers underneath you. Thick, pudgy hands gripped the lip of the table in front of you and lifted. The table wasn’t bare. It was stacked and piled with animal parts and skins and that must have weighed it down by a lot. Which meant that the being currently lifting it clear off the floor and tossing it aside had an enormous amount of strength. The pig squealing began again, and you realized it was emanating from the figure in front of you. You were blind with fear, and you couldn’t see much of them before you started to flee. Your legs tensed underneath you as they tried to propel you forward, but you weren’t fast enough. Thick, hairy arms wrapped around your body and lifted you up clear off the ground. The person holding you was big in every since of the word. You panicked and began to squirm in the vice you were in. You kicked at their chubby stomach and strong legs. You pushed against them and you were able to hook your feet against them and push away. Their grip weakened and you fell out of their arms. You landed hard on the floor, and the tough bones that littered it banged against your muscles as you hit them. You twisted yourself around and crawled away as best you could, but the door was nowhere near. You backed yourself into a literal corner and felt yourself press against the wall behind you. The figure was standing above you now. And they were bigger than you had thought. Their body heaved with the previous exertion and each step made a heavy thump as they moved their weight around. You grabbed a bone by your side and held it up. It was old and brittle, useless in a fight but it was all you had. Your need to fight hadn’t left just yet. You held it up between you and the large beast.   “Stay back!” You screamed. Your heart was blasting against your rib cage. You were able to see the full frame of the man in front of you. You stared up towards his face. A face that seemed…wrong, and loose somehow. The apron over his shirt and tie was stained with what was obviously blood and gore. The man took a few steps closer once more. You jabbed out with the bone and he flinched slightly. He was right above you, his body heaving and bursting with strength. The man kneeled in front of you. You jabbed out again, but the man squealed and flung out a big, meaty hand. He smacked the bone out of your hands and it flew clear across the room. Completely defenseless, you pressed yourself as hard as you could into the wall, hoping in some way that you could meld into it and disappear. But you were not that fortunate. You were face to face with the man. He lowered himself to your eye level, and kept coming closer and closer until he was mere inches away. His body and shape seemed to swallow the room around him until all you could see was him and his face. And that’s when it hit you. In another split second, your eyes took in the thick twine that pieced the mask together. The mask made of something slightly translucent. It was poorly stitched together, with flaps covering the ears underneath completely. Greasy black hair erupted from the top of the mask in tangled curls. It took longer to realize that it didn’t belong to the man himself. You could see into his eyes. Holes had been cut away from the mask’s eyes and mouth, allowing you to see the true skin underneath. He noticed you holding your breath, and stopped moving. You looked into his dark eyes. The sun that broke through into the room reflected off of them, and unlocked the honeyed brown kept in their depths. Crooked teeth exposed themselves from behind his chapped lips. The light pierced through the translucent skin he had wrapped around his own. Skin around his own he was wearing skin wearing someone else’s skin on his face. You wanted to scream. You tried to scream as hard as you could, but nothing came out. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye. You could feel your body shutting down. Its natural instinct to flee and fight was beginning to wear off and all that was left was limp flesh. And he kept staring at you. The man wearing a mask of leathery skin tilted his head from side to side. His tongue slipped out and ran over his teeth. He let out a small, pig-like squeal. The strangeness of him knocked some voice into you. “I’m so sorry,” you began, your voice a hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything. Please just let me go. I shouldn’t have come here. Please!” The man tilted his head once more. Your chances were slim, but you would do anything to get out of here. Pride meant nothing to you. “I’m so so sorry. I shouldn’t have been in here. You don’t have to hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.” One of his hands rose before your eyes. You turned your face away in fear of being struck. A hand so large and thick would do terrible damage to you, and your braced yourself from the pain. But instead of a slap or the feeling of the intimidatingly thick fingers wrapped around your throat, you felt a calloused hand brush against your cheek. It was rough, and almost hesitant to touch you. You let out a pained sound as you felt him touch you. To your surprise, he immediately pulled away. Your eyes flashed opened and you heard him let out a small whimper. You saw him immediately grow self conscious of his movements. He held his hands in front of him and shuffled in place. His head ducked slightly and that’s when you realized he was just as scared of you as you were of him. You were an intruder, a stranger who had burst into his home along with Lana and Sam. They had broken in, made loud sounds, and he felt as if his shelter was being invaded. He was defending himself. He was defending himself against you. You had hidden yourself in his house and had even threatened him. Yeah, he had killed two of your “friends”, but maybe in his mind, this was a natural reaction. He kept his head down and started his pig-like squealing once more. “Hey, hey, hey,” oh god you couldn’t believe you were actually trying to comfort him. “It’s okay! It’s okay.” He watched you from the corner of his eye; his head still to the side and tucked low to show his submission. He turned his head to look away from you and stood up. You pulled your feet close to your chest and pressed yourself farther into the wall. The man walked over to the corner of the room and picked something up. He came back to you, knelt, and then presented one of Sam’s arms as an offering. A scraggly sound of fear escaped your throat and you turned away to fully face the corner. Another tear escaped you. The man whimpered and made a sound that almost sounded apologetic. He went to put the arm back where he had first put it. You sensed him return. You felt his heat radiating from his body. You smelled his sweat and his scent filling the room. You heard a soft sound escape his lips. You slowly turned to face him once more. He held his hand out to you. His eyes glowed in amber against the sun. You dared to reach a hand out, palm up, to accept his gift. Very slowly and gently, the man placed a small bird skull into the palm of your hand. You had no idea what kind of bird it was, but it was still greasy after it rotted the rest of its flesh away. “Thank you,” you whimpered. He nodded to you and made an effort to smile behind his mask and crooked teeth. From what you gathered, he could not speak. The best he could manage was small babbling sounds and a pig-like squeal that sounded frighteningly real. You wondered if he was alone here. If you were alone here with him. Your questions were immediately answered. You heard the screen door of the porch swing open and slam against the inside of the house. “Bubba!” You heard someone yell. In that moment, the man’s body seemed to change. His gentle submissiveness was exchanged for manic fear. His back straightened and he sat up. He looked from side to side, as if wondering what to do. Had someone else invaded the home? Would he kill them too? And then his eyes landed on you. Nervous sounds began to spill out of him and he held out a hand as if to say, “Wait there”. He grabbed the toppled-over stacks of animal hide and draped them over you. He covered your entire body until all you could see and smell were the tanned skins around you. You heard the voice get closer. “Bubba! What the hell is that car doing outside?” The voice sounded vaguely familiar. It was scratchy and dug itself under your skin. The voice was inside the room now. “What the fuck is this, huh? What the goddamn hell did you do?” The man with the skin mask began to babble incoherently, like a child. He was panicked and scared. And it scared you. If the man who had just chopped up your acquaintances was scared of this voice, how bad would this one be? This voice, like an old man... The gas station attendant. The old, wispy haired man. He knew the man in the house somehow. Why? Didn’t he see the bodies in the room? Wasn’t he scared? You heard the older man grab something heavy off of a table. “You goddamn bastard! Look at the fucking mess that you made!” You heard clambering and various objects being thrown to the ground. Their voices moved around the room as the older man chased the other, and you heard a hard thump as he hit the masked man with something. The leathered-faced man began to cry, deep painful sobs. The older man had hit him. For some reason, you felt you heart throb in your chest. “You got all of them, didn’t you?” The man made desperate sounds of his agreement. Yes, yes, they were all gone, nothing to see here. “Well, good! Now get this mess cleaned the fuck up!” The voice disappeared, and angry footsteps followed as the older man stamped down the hall and entered another part of the house. Suddenly, there was silence. Except for the man’s crying. He was sobbing, and you could almost hear the thick drops of tears land onto the creaky hardwood floor. You didn’t dare to move. You heard the man begin to move around the room, sniffling the entire time he did so. You heard the dripping of blood as he moved the bodies of Lana and Sam away. He righted the table and chairs close to you, and after a too-long silence, he carefully pried the tanned hides away from your face. The room was still a mess, but nowhere near as bad as before. The man pressed a finger to his lips and croaked out what could have been a shushing sound. He waved his hands, gesturing you to come closer. Tears streaked the cheeks behind his mask and left a trail of wet cleanliness behind his grime. You couldn’t go with him, could you? A man who killed your friends—alright well, tolerated acquaintances—was going to take you who knows where? But you found yourself more scared of the other man than this one. At least this one didn’t kill you right away. You scooted yourself closer to the man, and he picked you up and threw your body over his shoulder. You struggled to right yourself so you weren’t hanging upside down. But he shook your body and loosened your grip until you were hanging again. You allowed this to happen, but you wondered how you were going to get out of this room unnoticed. Then, the man approached Lana’s body. The front of her head was smashed in and you could see bits of brain and bone mixed into a pudding inside her skull. You almost threw up at the sight of it. Flies were already buzzing around her. The man grabbed her, or what was left of her, and threw her over his other shoulder. You realized what he was doing. He was disguising you as another corpse. If this was your only way out, then so be it. You played dead. You let your arms flap and swing down under you. All you could see was the floor and the bits of brain that fell out of Lana’s skull as you left the room. The old man’s voice rang out again, “Don’t get all that fucking shit over my floors!” And as quickly as it had come, it was gone, muffled in another room as he spoke to someone else you could not make out. It had somehow worked. He didn’t notice that he hadn’t seen your body before, possibly because he didn’t care, and left the rest of the dirty work to be handled away from him. The man carrying you turned and headed up the narrow stairs you had seen near the entrance. Fuck, the entrance. It was right there, so close you could almost taste it, but you felt the grip on you to be too strong to even try it. At the top of the steps, the man turned down a small hallway. He opened a door and entered a little room. He made a small grunt as he shook you off his shoulder and you landed on an old, creaky bed in the corner of the room. You righted yourself quickly and pressed yourself against the corner. The man pressed a finger to his lips and signaled that you should not move. You wouldn’t—you couldn’t—as you watched him exit the room with Lana’s body. The last thing you saw of her was the gaping hole in her head. The door gently closed behind him, and you were alone. You looked around frantically, looking for some way to get away. The room was generously decorated with more animal and human bones. Strings of femurs and ribs dangled from their nailed purchase in the ceilings. And like a bolt of lightning you remembered the small bird skull that you held in your hand. You slowly opened the desperate grip and stared down at it. You hadn’t realized that you still had it. You had held onto it out of fear, and its greasy texture coated the inside of your palm. You kept it in your hand as you looked around the unfamiliar environment. There was a large window to your right. You peeled yourself off the bed and took the few steps towards it. Thin, lace-like drapes allowed most of the amber sunset light blaze through the paint-chipped frames. You were on the second floor, that was obvious, and underneath you were scraggly dried branches of juvenile trees and the sharp, thorny brambles of bushes. You tried to dig your fingers underneath the window frame in an effort to pry it open, but the swollen wood couldn’t budge in this heat. You grunted and strained behind your full strength, but you couldn’t get it open. A faint jingling came from outside the bedroom door. You whipped yourself around, your eyes already searching for a new way of escape. The door swung open, and the man came in and closed it right behind him. The jingling came from a strange bracelet on his left wrist, and you wondered who had given it to him. The man was slightly hunched over, and his movements were wary. He shuffled towards you. He could not look you in the eye, rather, he came to you like a meek, punished puppy. Your heart could not help but to ache for him. The man was large, easily a full head and a half taller than you, but in this cowardly state, he only managed to be at eye level. Your body was frozen in place in front of the window. The man got so close that you were practically hugging the wall. His face inched closer to you and sniffed at the air around you. He finally managed to work up the courage to look you in the eye. He wearily brought a finger to his lips, and then pointed out towards the door. You could still hear the muffled voices from downstairs. He whined again, desperate to have you understand. Don’t make a noise, he meant to say, or they’ll hear you. You nodded slowly, and your teeth chattered with fear and dying adrenaline. His hands came up too quickly for you to react to. Their rough, working man’s palms rubbed against your flesh and squeezed. He pulled you over to the bed and had you sit down on the edge of it. He turned from side to side, frantic, as if he were trying to compute something within his mind. As if he were struggling to find the book inside that would translate his own communication to yours. His hands came up, palms forward. Wait here, it said, please wait here. He searched for some kind of understanding in your eyes. You nodded, and to your surprise, he seemed to beam at this. A large, crooked smile stretched from behind his mask. He squealed and reached for you. You flinched and backed yourself farther into the bed. The man stopped dead in his tracks. The smile disappeared, and his head sagged. He realized his excitement had scared you. In apology, he took the jumbled up blanket that hung off the foot of the bed and gently offered it up to you. He whimpered and lowered his gaze. You took the blanket from him and wrapped it around yourself. Despite the harsh heat still present in the stuffy house, you found yourself incredibly cold. Or maybe just in need of a little comfort. The man gave his wait motion once more, and then left the room. You felt as if you could breath again. The hanging bones and rotting flesh didn’t give the most pleasant smell, but you were alive. Lana and Sam weren’t, but you were. The small bird skull hidden in your grip was your trophy; it was the symbol of your survival. But as you thought about it, did you truly deserve to survive? Your mind tried to rationalize things. They were assholes, you thought. They were huge assholes that never have or would have done a good thing in their life. But even if that were true, you were at least partly responsible for their death. They had been giving you a ride. If you weren’t around, they could’ve gone off someplace else and never gotten stuck in road kill county. It was your fault. You couldn’t save Lana, the fear had taken over. You were a coward. You had done nothing. No, but you had tried. You had never seen a dead body before, what could you have done? You tried your best to excuse and reason with yourself. Your mind spiraled and repeated for the next hour. You were immobilized by your thoughts and by the sounds of voices emanating from downstairs. It was a repetitive cycle of guilt and rationalization, and you had no way of getting out of it or this room. The sunlight was slowly fading from the window, and as the last light turned orange and pink and purple, the man entered the room once more. He was hunched over, submissive, and had lowered himself from full height in order not to scare you. He was aware of his intimidating stature. However, his size was probably the least scary thing about him. He was hiding from behind his mask of leathered skin, but not in the way you first thought. He was not trying to hide his identity, no. What is more obvious than a large man in a mask made out of faces? Very few things, you would say. But he was trying to hide himself from the outside world either way. The mask was a part of him, a different face that he could show the world that despite its origin was more of a part of him than its original owner. He held a large plate in one hand, and a cup in another. As he crept closer, you were able to see more of what was on it. It was packed with mac and cheese, greens, and mashed potatoes. Your mouth drooled at just the sight of it. You hadn’t realized how desperately hungry you were. You were running on fumes since this morning, and your stomach twisted and flipped at the possibility of food inside of it. But the man was carrying it. How safe could it really be?   You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself as he stood at the edge of the bed. With his head bowed, he offered up the food to you. It took a moment of him holding it to realize that he wanted you to take it. “Th-thank you.” You took the plate and cup out of his hand and placed the former on your lap. The man shifted from foot to foot and slipped a fork out from his apron pocket. He continued to shift from foot to foot as he waited for you to take your first bite. You stared at your food and debated. Was it truly safe? Could it be poisoned? Did you really have a choice? You raised your fork and began to pick at your meal. You looked up at the masked man, and his eyes shone bright with anticipation. You brought a forkful of mac and cheese to your mouth and ate it. Your taste buds exploded and your mouth coated itself with saliva. It was the best mac and cheese you had ever tasted in your life. Without pause, you began to take more and more food in your mouth. You didn’t know if you were that hungry or if it was just that good, but you did not hesitate with eating the rest of your plate. The man stared at you the entire time, his shifting growing quicker as he saw your enthusiasm. When you were done, you chugged down the rest of the old, slightly dusty cup and took a deep breath. You looked up at the man and managed a smile. “Thank you. That was–that was really good.” The man let out a cheerful squeal and took the plate and cup from you. As he reached down, you saw the large, purple bruises that plagued his forearms. Your heart dropped. Acting on instinct, you reached out and touched him. Your fingers grazed the dark discoloration on his hairy arms. He let out a high-pitched squeal and tugged himself away. He took a few steps back, as if you were the true danger here in this room. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You said. You brought up your hands to show that you meant no harm. “You’re hurt! May I see?” The man’s chest rose and fell with quick, nervous breathes. He set the plate and cup down on a small table nearby. Like a meek little puppy, the man reluctantly approached. With each step he took, his height and presence shrunk, until he was quite literally on your knees in front of you. He weakly held up his arm to you. His head had fallen to his chest and you could feel the apprehension wafting out of him in waves. You were careful not to put too much pressure on his arms in order not to hurt him. The bruises were quickly turning into huge welts. His forearms were filled with them, and you had the suspicion that the bruises crawled up onto his shoulders behind the short sleeves of his dress shirt. “Did the other man do this to you?” He nodded weakly. He made no effort to take his arm from you. He had been beaten into outright submission. If you could have afforded the tears, you would’ve cried. “Bubba?” The man’s head whipped up. “That’s your name, right? Bubba? That’s what that other guy called you.” The man, or rather, Bubba, gave a quick nod. His name on your lips and in the air made his heart beat faster. “Bubba—“ He cocked his head. “Does he do this to you a lot?” He gave another curt nod. He stood up in a sudden motion and sat himself on the bed. The sudden drop of his weight on the spring mattress almost sent you flying. Bubba put his head in his hands and his fingers pressed deeply into the skin of his mask. You reached out to touch him. To comfort him. Were you really doing this? Were you really going to comfort the man that you saw kill two human beings. A man that wore human skin on his face? As the thoughts raced around in your mind, you felt your own hand touch his shoulder before you could even think of it. He flinched at the touch, obviously not used to the end of a hand that was not striking him. You pulled away; scared that too much would warrant an angry or violent reaction out of him. “Did you...” your voice came out scraggly and hoarse so you cleared it. “Did you cook the food you gave me?” Bubba was sniveling and sniffling. He expertly hooked his fingers under the stitched skin to wipe away his tears, as if he had done it countless times before. It took a few moments before he nodded, and his sappy, teary eyes refused to make contact with yours. “Bubba–“ his back straightened. “That food was really amazing! You sure do know how to cook!” His hands crept up to his face, and through his fingers and mask, you could see the reddening in his face as he began to blush. “I mean it! You should be proud of yourself!” Bubba finally faced you, and his cracked lips pulled over crooked teeth to give you the biggest smile you had ever seen on a person. His thick, pudgy hands slapped his thighs in excitement. He began to bounce on the bed, his heavy weight sending shockwaves through it, and almost knocking you off. You couldn’t help but to laugh. His pure, unbridled joy was something difficult to come by, and it seeped into your bones and muscles and filled your belly full of laughter. Your happiness only caused him to get more excited, and he found himself further onto the bed, his legs crossed in front of him across from you. You tried to quiet yourself as to not draw attention to the others downstairs, but once you started laughing you couldn’t stop. This man in front of you, this murderer, had all the excitement and joy of a small child and the energies of it wafted through the air and settled on your skin. You didn’t know what had gotten into you. Was it Stockholm Syndrome? You couldn’t have fallen into it this quickly could you? It was so easy to condemn him for what he had done to people you couldn’t even stand—but still, they were people—when he wasn’t around, but now, with him in his pure joy, in his uncharacteristic innocence, he couldn’t help but forgive him. He didn’t kill you for one thing, but it was like he was a different person. The squealing, ferocious man that you had seen downstairs had morphed into this battered, giggling mess. It was wrong for the three of you to have come into the house, you knew that now. He was scared. Bubba was a frightened boy that lashed out and hurt and hurt because he didn’t understand. And maybe he didn’t understand death or killing but he did understand kindness and joy. And he understood fear. It seemed like he lived in fear every day. Bubba began to settle down, but his body continued to bounce, causing the bedsprings to creak. Your heart was thumping, but for the first time today it wasn’t from fear. The two of you were mushed onto this small, creaky bed in a room full of rot and hidden treasures, and in that moment, it became a sanctuary. Finally calm, you stuck out a hand to touch the beaten arm again. Bubba watched, his gaze quickly shifting from your hand to your eyes. He let you touch him and you saw the hairs on his arm stand up. You smiled and let out a small sigh. “Yeah, Bubba,” his name felt like sweet honey on your tongue, “Thank you. For giving me food. What I wouldn’t do for a bit of steak right now, though.” Like a shock running through your fingertips, you felt the presence in his body begin to shift. He sat up straight, his eyes boring into you. Without warning, he began to shake his head furiously from side to side. His sounds started at a whimper and crescendoed into a constant, loud squealing. He launched himself across the bed and grabbed you by the arms. The momentum and force behind his weight and body caused you to fall backwards, and suddenly he was on top of you. His eyes were wild with panic and his voice and squeals trembled with pain. He shook you, hard. His head wouldn’t stop shaking and his voice cried out as if he were trying to say words that he wasn’t capable of forming. You were a stone statue on the bed, unable to move from both fright and the weight that he put on you. You couldn’t look away from his eyes and see how scared they looked. Bubba let go of you and began to beat at his head, his flat palms slapping against either side of him. He was punishing himself for lord knows what, and you knew he wasn’t being gentle with himself. Your hands flew out and tried to grab his wrists and stop him, but he was too strong. He was crying again, and terrible sobs ripped through the room as he continued to hurt himself. You panicked. You didn’t know what you could do. So your next instinct was to slip your hands around his head and block his hands from hitting himself. The thick palms slapped against your hands, and the pain rang out of your fingers. You grimaced but kept your hands to block him. “It’s okay, Bubba! No meat! No meat!” He tried to hit himself once more when it clicked that your hands were around him, and he was hurting you and not himself. He stopped almost immediately. The room went quiet. Bubba’s lip quivered as he slowly removed your hands from the sides of his head. Your skin was growing a dark shade of red, and he brought your hands close in order to observe. His head tilted and he let out a small whimper. His eyes tore themselves away and returned to you. A small rumble that slowly morphed into a whimper escaped his throat. Bubba’s giant hands wrapped around yours, and he whined and whined like a desperate puppy once he realized he hurt you. His head peeled up after a moment, and his hand shot out to your side. You flinched at the sudden movement. He noticed this and went slow as he picked up the small bird skull he had given you earlier. He took one of your hands and placed the skull in your palm. His fingers curled yours and pressed your hand close to your chest. It was yours now. It was his apology. You gave him a slight nod but you couldn’t afford a smile. He knew he had done something wrong and he might have punished himself more if he knew you wouldn’t stop him. The poor boy was distraught. His eyes were red from tears and his entire body shivered despite the heat. The last rays of light traveled through the nearby window. You could feel your exhaustion growing as the day that could have been your last began to end. You heard the stomping of feet outside coming up the stairs. They stopped outside the room and an angry fist slammed against the old, wooden door. “Bubba! Shut your fucking yapping! Your brother and I are trying to have a fucking conversation!” It was the old man again, undoubtedly angry. A brother? Bubba has a brother? Was that the other voice? You couldn’t dwell on the thought for long, because Bubba’s large, shivering frame flinched and cowered at the voice. He pulled himself back onto the bed and pressed his body against you. You could feel every ounce of his weight as he leaned on you, and before you could stop him, he was burying his face against your side in fear. His hands gripped your shirt and you could feel the wetness of his tears drying against it. You felt the rumble in his chest as he whimpered in fright. Your hand fell against his back, and before you knew what you were doing, you were rubbing and comforting him. Almost immediately, the shivering stopped. A low hum in his body, like a purr, flowed through him and his head fell from your side to your lap. You froze at the sudden change in demeanor. Bubba was quick to change from anger to fear, or maybe it was all fear in different flavors. The thick, curly hair that did not belong to him shook with tears on your lap. Your hand continued to rub him. “Shhhh,” you hushed. “It’s okay, Bubba. It’s okay.” His body began to grow still on you. His fingers kept their strong hook on your clothing, but you managed to lean back against the pillow and wall and rest your head. Exhaustion clawed at your heart and eyes as your breathing began to slow, and the heat in the air and from Bubba’s body provided a blanket around you that you could not leave even if you wanted to. Surprisingly, you did not. Darkness fell over the light clinking of bones that hung from the ceiling. Sleep overtook you, and you were gone.

––––––––

You felt your heart before anything else. You felt the quickening thumping in your chest as your body began to wake around you. Your eyes fluttered open as you took in the peach glow of the morning sun. It was that sort of morning light you saw when you were young and woke up early, even before your parents, and watched cartoons with a blanket wrapped around you for protection. You felt warm as another blanket cloaked you now, although it was much heavier than you thought it would be. You turned to the side and were met with the crude, stitched-together mess of translucent skin and matted hair. Your heart began to speed up, but it slowed as your eyes drifted to the peaceful, closed eyes of the man behind the mask. The gentle curve of his long eyelashes twitched in his sleep, and his chapped lips lay partly open as he breathed in and out. His large hairy arm rested on top of you, the weight of it a comfort in the dawn. Your heart slowed on instinct. For some reason, you felt safe in Bubba’s arms. You were shocked, sure, to find yourself in this situation, but it felt… Right? Was it okay to feel right with this man? Was it okay to find yourself sleeping next to someone who had bashed a person’s skull in and sawed off their limbs to a stump? Maybe not, but it was what you felt. You felt some sort protectiveness over him. Despite his large body, he was frail. Like an abandoned puppy, lost in the rain, you wanted to scoop him in and place him in your warm care. You closed your eyes once more and shifted your body towards him. You were going to embrace him both physically and figuratively. He was only defending himself after all, and you enjoyed a man who would defend what was his with all he had. You turned your back to him and settled into the softness of his chest and tummy. You fit into him like the last piece in a thousand-piece puzzle, with just as much relief and satisfaction. A light noise passed his lips from the movement, and you grew still in order not to wake him. You slowly drifted into sleep. Your eyelids grew heavy with the sweet lull of unconsciousness. Your gentle rock into sleep was disturbed once more when you felt Bubba shift a bit behind you. You kept your eyes closed in case he was just readjusting himself, but the slight movement happened again. And again. You realized his hips were moving, bucking into you. In the swirl of your half-asleep mind, you barely noticed the hardened bulge in the center of his mass, pressed up against you. It was as if your body was asleep when your mind was not, and each of your movements was like moving through a slog of honey. Each touch against you left a buzz that flowed through your skin and deep into your bones. The hardened prod against your rear and thighs pressed gently against you, and you could feel the warmth of Bubba’s member against you. The arm around you gripped you harder, and Bubba pulled you in against each rut against you. He was slowly going faster, and his movements caused you to let out a throaty moan. Your mouth slammed shut as soon as you heard it, as the moan came out from pure instinct and stimulation. You were embarrassed by how easily he made you moan, but if it happened and felt this good, then why deny it? Bubba’s morning wood pressed against you once more before his arm removed itself from around your torso. He was much more awake than you were. His hand slipped down between the two of your bodies and to the front of his pants. You heard the light unzipping of his pants and then the warmth of his heat pressed against you. Your arms reached out above you and stretched the sleepiness from your muscles in beautiful satisfaction. Your back pressed up against him, and the softest of sounds escaped your lips once more. And to your surprise, Bubba responded with a sound of his own. The sound alone could have sent you over the brink. It was a huff that ended in a higher pitch, like a soft whine of desperation and need that sent wild thoughts through your mind of how badly he needed you. You felt his member already leaking against you, as it left warm, wet patches on the back of your pants. On instinct and pleasure, you ground your ass against him, just to get more of a feel of him against you. He was large, you could tell that much, but you were worried about turning around in case it would make him stop. Bubba’s arm wrapped itself around you again, and his face neared the back of your neck. You could feel his breath on you, and the slight chill of it made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. He whimpered again, as if pleading for you to take him. It seemed like this was his first time in this sort of situation, as his hips seemed to buck erratically and with slight hesitance. His belly pressed against you. He stopped for a moment and waited for you to show expressive interest. Now fully awake, you reached down to bring down the hem of your pants. The heat in your crotch was as hot or even hotter than the heat the rising sun that was blazing through the room. And then you felt it, you felt Bubba. He was incredibly, unfairly thick, almost like your forearm. He wasn’t the longest, but what he was packing made you tremble. You felt the eager tip of his cock press against the soft mounds of your ass. His entire body began to shake and shiver and you were convinced that he was going to cum right then and there if it weren’t for the loud footsteps and banging on the door that brought the both of you out of it. “Bubba!” The voice yelled, “It’s time to get breakfast ready!” Bubba’s breath was raspy against your neck, and you immediately pulled up your pants. They still didn’t know you were here, and if you weren’t careful, they would soon find out. And who knows what they would do to you. Bubba tucked himself into his pants before you could see him and—and wow, you actually wanted to see him. You felt a chamber in your core unlock as desire began to take over. This large, masked, strange man had torn a hole in your heart and had settled inside. He was so comfortable there that you had almost…almost… Bubba got up out his creaky bed. He whimpered as his legs dragged behind him. Before he opened the door, he looked back and made a motion for you to stay put, not like you had much of an option. He left and closed the door behind himself. And now you were alone. Alone with your thoughts. What were you doing? You were here, in a house where people had been killed, and you had just, you know, done things with the man who did it. It was wrong. It was sickeningly, disgustingly, intoxicatingly wrong. You had to admit to yourself that the fact that you knew what Bubba was capable of, that this soft puppy of a man was capable of such horrifying acts—but not with you—that it was…attractive. He could hurt someone for you. He could maybe even kill for you, and you knew his curiosity and obsession with you was growing. The simple fact that he was willing to hide you here from the man who hit him said enough. You didn’t owe him anything, but you wanted to give him everything. But your curiosity was getting the better of you. You heard the muffled voices and clattering of pots and pans from downstairs. You swung your feet over the bed and carefully distributed your weight as to not make the boards creak. With careful steps along the dresser and table, where the wood had settled the best, you carefully made your way to the door. You listened for a moment, and after you heard nothing, you cracked the door open and peaked outside. This was your first view of the hallway right side up. The walls were adorned with dark-green, peeling wallpaper that must have been set 20 years past. You saw the doors to a few more rooms and then the stairs leading down. Movement caught your eye as a dark shadow moved past the open crack of the door. Your heart froze in your chest as a man walked past you with no knowledge you were actually there. He turned the corner to go down the stairs, and in the brief moment before you hid behind the door, you saw his face. The face with a large, red birthmark the color of blood dripping down the side of his face.  The hitchhiker. It was the man on the road from yesterday who had tried to get you to come to his…house. You recoiled from the opening and brought your hands up to your face. You were always going to end up here, somehow. You were going to end up in this house, in this room, in this heat. But you realized just how lucky you were that you didn’t die like the rest of them. You were lucky that Bubba didn’t hurt you at all. You were here and that mattered for something didn’t it? And you were here with Bubba, which wasn’t so bad either. You heard the voices return and come up the stairs, and your undying curiosity brought you back to the crack in the door. You saw the hitchhiker again, and then Bubba behind him. You gathered that the hitchhiker was a bit nicer than the older man, as when he put his hand on Bubba’s back, the latter didn’t immediately flinch or cringe away from the touch. The older man yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Now be careful with Grandpa, boys!” Grandpa? Bubba and the hitchhiker went into a room directly across from the top of the stairs. They had disappeared for only a moment when they reappeared once more. Between the two of them, they carried an old wooden chair, and in that chair was a corpse. Your breath caught in your throat and you heart froze in your chest. The corpse was that of an old man. Bald, sheet white, and sunken in, its head lulled from side to side as the two men carried it down the stairs. But it wasn’t a corpse at all. For the briefest moment, the old man regained its control over its head and turned to you. The sunken, hollow eyes made contact with yours before it lost its strength and dropped once more. You heard the thumps and coordination of their feet as they got to the bottom, along with the yelling from the older man. You took a deep breath and exited the room. You needed to see more. You needed to see more of Bubba. You took careful steps along the hallway until you reached the top of the stairs. You took a few steps down and sat. Your hands wrapped around the white bannisters whose paint had chipped and the wooden frame underneath peaked through. You could hear the voices much clearer now. They were below and around a corner. “Nubbins!” The older man cried out. “Go help your brother with the food!” When was this man not yelling? But also, was that the hitchhiker’s name? Strange. You had thought you misheard until you heard him respond. “Yeah, yeah, hold your fucking horses, Drayton.” Nubbins and Drayton. This was Bubba’s family. You heard even more clambering in the kitchen until it began to quiet. The scrape of old chairs against the wood floor signaled that they were sitting to eat. The thought of food made a pang of hunger hit your stomach. A moment of silence to say grace, and then the dining room erupted in noise once more. The all spoke loudly to each other, except for Bubba of course. They asked to be passed the bacon, eggs, ham, and even ribs. They had plenty of food, and you were curious at how they got them. But also, why did Bubba not want you to eat the meat if they were having so much of it now? You wanted to see more of the privacy of their meal, and you slowly slid off the step and lowered yourself down a bit more. You were now able to see farther into the dining room. It was adorned similarly to the rest of the house, with bones tied to and holding the majority of furniture together. You could see part of Bubba, or at least you thought it was him. He wore a mask, but a different one from before. It had short, grey hair, and a hole on the forehead similar to the one you met him in.  The skin sagged and lay wrinkled as it wrapped around Bubba’s face. He served food around the table, and babbled incoherent gibberish in a high-pitched voice. He seemed erratic and nervous as he tried to handle everything around the table. You wished you could run down the stairs and hug him tightly. But you knew that you would be in danger as soon as Nubbins or Drayton knew of your existence. Through a mouth full of food, Drayton muttered, “You did it again, Bubba! Great fucking breakfast. Who knew you could make such great shit out of such little meat, eh? Sometimes God simply provides.” “Hey!” Nubbins yelled, “I’m the one that sent them here!” “You didn’t send shit! You couldn’t even get into their fucking car! You didn’t do anything to provide for this family, you chickenshit! Bubba here, Bubba made something for us. He took care of those fucking kids and used their best bits and gave us this. Do you know how to do that? Do ya?” The voices quickly reduced to a jumble of screaming and yelling. Bubba bumbling and whimpering only added to the chorus. But you weren’t paying attention to that. Their bits? Their best bits? What did he mean? Their luggage? It wouldn’t serve any sort of use. And– No, their bits. Their meat. This grand breakfast the day after you saw them chopped up amongst the bones. They were eating them. And Bubba had cooked them up. That was why he didn’t want you to eat it. If you could, you would have bolted out of here this instant. In fact, what was stopping you?  You stood up, not caring if the stairs underneath emitted any sound. Your legs tensed and you held your breath. Just as you were about to run for your life, you heard a clattering crash and slam. “Bubba!” A whimper. Then a hard smack of a sound. Bubba started to sob. “Bubba you useless, goddamn child! Look what your bumbling ass did with all this! You clean this shit up right now or I swear your ass is gonna red till next Sunday!” Bubba was bumbling and sobbing in his nonsense language, and you could imagine him putting up his hands in his defense. No, you couldn’t leave. Not while Bubba was still like this: alone and afraid, beaten and abused. You were one of the few to show him kindness, and you didn’t want to think about the heartbreak leaving him would do. Every cell in your body was telling you to go, especially now that you knew their eating habits, but you couldn’t leave Bubba. Your feet slowly crept back up the steps, and before you knew it, you were back in Bubba’s room. The bird skull was still waiting for you on the bed. You picked it up and held it close to your chest. You waited for what seemed like forever until you heard the faint jingle of Bubba’s bracelet as he came to the door. He opened it quietly, as if to not disturb you, as if this was no longer his room but yours and he was intruding. You watched him practically crawl to you like a punished dog, not quite knowing what he had done wrong. He carried a plate in his hand piled high with food. The old lady mask was gone and he had returned to his usual one. You felt your heart throb in your chest. The corners of your eyes stung with the beginnings of tears as you watched this (somewhat) innocent man reduced to the small, quivering mess before you. Bubba offered the food to you, bringing it up with his head bowed. The food was quickly in your hands but you did not devour it. You placed it aside and whispered: “Oh, Bubba... are you okay? I heard. I heard everything.” He looked up at you in shock. He knew that you knew and the shame was plain on his face. He whimpered and went on his knees. His hand clasped together in a plea, in forgiveness. “No!” Your voice shook and trembled in its strength. Bubba’s body grew into stone at your feet. “There is nothing to forgive. It’s okay.” Your arms opened and welcomed him into your warmth. The hard stone around his body crumbled away and he embraced you. His head collapsed on your shoulder, and the tears from his eyes soaked your dirty shirt. “I know what you do. And while I don’t quite…understand, I won’t leave alone here. Not with him. You’re safe with me.” Bubba’s body began to rise to his full height, but he never let go of you. He picked you up and his arms grew into a strong vice of a hug that you did not want to leave. Your feet dangled off the ground, and you felt every ounce of strength that Bubba was careful not to use too much against you. He was a specimen of natural strength, and you were well aware of what his arms were capable of. They were capable of crushing, maiming, killing, slaughtering, loving. Bubba set you down onto the bed once more and his gentle hand waivered above you. You could see how desperately he wanted to touch you, how his thick, calloused hands wanted to stroke your face, but could not dare to do. So you solved the problem for him. You grabbed his hand and place it against your cheek. His strong palms pressed against your skin and slowly trailed down to your jaw and then your neck. He watched his face as he did so. You watched the glowing, honeyed brown eyes as they reflected the light of the morning. You watched as he slowly and carefully inspected every inch and detail of your skin. You tried to gather as much information that was buried behind the mask, but all you could see was wonder. Bubba’s hand lowered down to your neck. You had watched that hand smash a girl’s head in, and now it was delicately tracing the tendons and veins of your throat. His fingertips grazed your collarbone and you knew he would keep going lower and lower unless you stopped him. But you didn’t. You wanted to see more of the pure joy and wonder in his eyes. His mouth let out small sounds of satisfaction whenever he hit a certain curve or angle of your skin. A soft whimper as he traced the small indent of your clavicle, and then a squeak as he grazed the flat surface of your sternum. A low growl escaped from his throat, and as suddenly as his touch was on you, it was gone. He slunk away from you, and it was plain just how scared he was to touch you any more. You realized he had never had this before. He never had someone to touch that wanted to be touch. And your heart ached for him. Bubba recoiled from you and picked up the food once more. He tried to offer it once more, but you weren’t interested in that. Bubba did not think he was worthy of you or your touch, but you wanted to show him that he was. You took the plate of food from him, and stood up. He took a few steps back and began to cower, worried that you were going to reject him and his food and get violent in some way. You set the plate down carefully on the table and approached Bubba like he was a scared, stray dog. You were slow and careful with each step, and after a few moments he stopped backing away. Bubba let out a constant stream of whimpers and cries as you closed in on him. You hushed him. “Bubba, shhh shhh, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” His hands came up to protect himself, but they faltered at your hush. Backed against the wall, he seemed so defenseless. And now you knew that he could never hurt you. With your hands raised in front of you, you let him know that you were going to touch him. Your palms pressed against his broad, heaving chest, and he immediately began to calm. He was panting from fear, but with each moment of contact, he began to go at ease. Bubba’s lip quivered and he whimpered as your hands explored his chest. You were a bit scared to touch his face, or “face” rather, but you stomached it to put your hands on either side of it. “I’m here, Bubba. It’s okay.” His dark eyes softened and locked onto yours. His hands came up and held yours to his face, and he applied a comforting pressure to them. After a moment, he let go, and you did as well. Your hands wandered down to chest once more, but this time, your hand wrapped around his patterned tie and tugged lightly. Bubba whimpered once more, but he quickly quieted when he pressed his lips against yours. You felt the surprisingly soft lips quivering against your own before they pressed harder into you. Your eyes widened from surprise, but softened as you felt more of his body around you. Your grip on Bubba’s tie grew stronger and pulled him in deeper. Your mouth parted, and your tongue slipped past his sharp, crooked teeth and slid across his hot, thick tongue. You felt the vibration of his whimpers echoing against your mouth, and you wanted to hear more of it. His sweet, desperate sounds sent chills down your body. His hands had crept up to continue exploring your body as he was before. His hands landed on your hips and squeezed before he continued upwards. Your tongue intertwined with his and you felt burning desire flow through you. You tugged on the tie again and began to lead Bubba back to the bed. You were careful as tried not to hurt the dark bruises throughout his body. “I’ll take care of you, Bubba.” He whined like a lovesick puppy. You turned him around, still with your grip around his tie, and sat him down onto the bed. He whimpered and cried out as you broke away from his lips. “Lie down.” You ordered. He immediately obeyed. As he rested on his back on the old, creaky bed, you saw the bulge in his pants as clear as day. You could tell just from the sight of it just how big he was. Bubba continued to look up at you. His tongue licked his lips. He was already addicted to you. He would do anything you asked of him. He was completely submissive. You slowly crept up onto the bed, and crawled over his body. You planted yourself firmly on his lap, his bulge pressing upwards against you. You leaned down to kiss him once more, before your hand righted around his tie and your hips began to grind. And then Bubba went wild. He began to squeal and babble much louder than he had before as his hips began to buck on their own and you began to bounce on him. His hands began to tug and pull at your clothing, as he tried his best to tear it off. “Bubba,” you said sternly, “Put your hands above your head and keep them there.” He immediately obeyed once more. His hands went above his head and gripped the bed’s headboard. You knew the strength in those arms, arms that could easily lift you up and take you exactly how he wanted to, but he had relinquished control to you, and you would not squander that gift. Bubba quieted and waited for you to move. You could feel his throbbing heat pulsating against your groin and you grew hungrier by the second. You took a moment to take off your shirt, and you saw Bubba reach out to touch you. You wagged your finger and he put his hands away once more. Bubba was panting desperately like an animal in heat. His mouth hung completely open, and his tongue lolled out of the corner of his mouth. You could practically see his hot breath huffing out of him. You were convinced that he would explode any second, as he seemed to grow and grow underneath you. The next thing to go was your pants. You quickly unbuttoned and threw them off onto the floor. Now completely bare, you could feel the throbbing heat in Bubba’s pants that was only separated by a few layers of fabric. Bubba’s ragged breath came out as constant noise, and you loved it. You ground your hips against his for a few moments as you felt his erection grow to its full size. The fabric of his pants could barely contain it. Finally, you scooted down in order to free him. As soon as you unzipped his pants, his thick, veiny cock sprung out from its cage. Your breath caught in your throat as you took the view in. To say he was thick was an understatement. Bubba was easily as thick as your wrist, and strong, pulsing veins added ridges to his member. He wasn’t the longest you had experienced, but it was his girth that shocked you. You knew it was going to ruin you and you were eager for it. His menacing cock jumped and twitched as he could feel your eyes on him. You raised yourself up, and ever so carefully; you grazed your aroused crotch against Bubba’s burning cock. He howled in pleasure and bucked up to reach you, but the momentary friction was gone as you continued to move yourself upwards. You didn’t stop until your groin was right above Bubba’s mouth. You could see his white-knuckled grip on the wooden headboard as he used every ounce of his willpower not to touch you. “You’re a big boy, Bubba. So you’re going to have to get me ready.” A moment later and you placed your entrance to his mouth, and he began to work. His thick, warm tongue slithered out past his lips and traced circles around your entrance. Your voice choked in your throat as you felt the warm tongue lap at you. Your legs trembled around Bubba’s head. You rested yourself fully on his face, and his tongue began to explore your depths.  You felt your entrance part as his tongue ventured inside, leaving a slimy hot trail of saliva across every inch.   Through gasps and moans, you were able to let out a few words. “You can touch me now.” Bubba did not need to hear anything more before his hands removed themselves from the headboard and wrapped their thickness against your thighs and pulled you down completely onto his face. It was like he was trying to devour you from the inside out. His tongue, lips, and even teeth worked in conjunction to prepare you. Your eyes slowly wandered to the headboard, and you saw the faint splintering of the wood around the indents of his grip. His noises never stopped. They vibrated and reverberated against your entrance. His hips bucked in a futile attempt at friction in the air. You were worried that you were suffocating him underneath your meat, but every attempt to pull away only strengthened his grip around you. His thick, slobbery tongue penetrated you as deep as it could, but it was not enough. You called Bubba’s name and he worked himself harder. “Good, Bubba. That’s my boy.” You pulled at the hair of his mask and bucked your hips, gliding up against Bubba’s noise and face with your protrusion. You decided you were ready, or rather, you couldn’t wait any longer. You tapped Bubba on the shoulder to get his attention. “Take me, Bubba. Fill me up.” He let out a hog-like squeal underneath you and pulled you off of his face. Bubba sat up and guided the weight of your body without a problem as he settled your entrance on the head of his cock. Just the head would be difficult enough to put inside, but you calmed yourself and slowly wriggled to ease it in. Bubba had other plans. He grabbed you by the hips, and pushed you down as hard as he could. White-hot burning pain exploded around you as you felt his thick cock travel to the depths of your body. Each vein was large enough to feel against your walls, and the gentle curve upwards guided the fat head to your special spot deep within. You cried out in pain for only a moment before Bubba covered your mouth with his thick palm. He looked up at you in wonder, and you watched a thick strand of drool ran down the corner of his mouth. His dark, hungry eyes were vacant with lust, and he only took a moment to buck into you. You could feel every single inch of him inside you. You felt his thick girth stretch you to your absolute limit. Your head of nerves gently stroked against Bubba’s belly. You needed something to grab onto, and on instinct you reached for his tie once more. You wrapped it around your hand several times before you tightened it against his throat. His squeal died down from the pressure on his airway, and his lips parted in order to breathe. His hips began to buck faster. Despite the pain you were in, you were leading him in your joined pleasure.

“Faster, Bubba. Go faster.” His hips continued to buck up into you, and you let out breathy moans along with his whimpers. Bubba’s arms wrapped around you, and firmly hugged you to his chest. His hips bucked faster, and more and more of his cock tugged the flesh in and out of you. Bubba’s eyes never left your face. He watched as every one of his movements displayed itself on your visage. Each thrust into you hit just the right spot, and forced deep moans out from your mouth. Your sensitive stretch of nerves rubbed against Bubba’s pelvis and stomach, and the unending stimulation caused you to tuck your head in the crook of his shoulder. His head pressed against your own in his own display of kindness and affection. But not too long after, his rut into you began to escalate. His hips became faster and his cock fucked you harder. There was no hiding your noises now, it was all too late. Bubba’s squealing joined your moans as you held on for dear life. You were bouncing on his cock, and his entire length would slip out of you before sliding itself back in once more. Your entrance was aching but that only added to your desire. Bubba lifted you slightly and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Suddenly, you were on your back, and his weight was above you. He slowed down considerable to try not to hurt you, but a quick tightening of his tie, like a leash, hurried him once more. “Faster, Bubba, Faster. Bury yourself inside.” His hips were slamming into you at a manic pace. You could feel the base of his cock slam against your entrance with each quick push upwards. Bubba released a constant stream of needy sounds, and they only stopped once his lips landed on your neck. His sharp teeth bit and rugged at your glowing skin. With each bite he slid his fat tongue across your neck to accent each one. His tongue lapped at you and explored every inch of you. He pumped away below, but above, he kissed and sucked and licked, his mouth a roaming band of sensations. With one last twirl of his tongue, his mouth latched onto you completely. You could feel his teeth scrape and lips suction, and you already knew he was leaving deep hickeys on your skin. His animalistic grunt vibrated against your throat. Your mind had begun to meld into only blind pleasure. Along with his cock, his lips, his teeth, and his tongue, the front of you rubbed against his round belly. He was all around you and every inch provided you with pleasure. Your grip around his tie began to tighten as you felt your orgasm coming to a peak. Unexpectedly, Bubba’s hand moved from your thigh to the front of your groin. His agile hand worked you from what he knew from his own self-pleasure. He rubbed and tugged, and quickly switched from using just his thumb to his the palm of his hand and back again. It was all too much. Too much too much. Your legs quivered and your entire body shook as you came. The tie tightened itself around his throat until he could not breath. Your head rocked back as you let your orgasm take you as far as it could. Bubba continued to pump away at you, and your walls began to close around his cock like a vice. His thrusts began to quicken, and he remained deep within you. He still could not breathe, and it wasn’t until a squeak managed to escape his lips that you loosened the grip around his throat. He fucked away, until he began to squeal and pant wildly.  Bubba’s hip stuttered for just a moment before he let out a harsh grunt, left your neck, and stared into your eyes as he came. He pumped you full of his cum, his hips continuously going until all of his seed was spent. You felt each hot spurt hitting your walls and filling up your guts with each thrust. And then, he jammed the rest of his cock inside, sealing your entrance with all of his hot juices inside. He kept you plugged for as long as he could bear to before the overstimulation caused him discomfort. You felt his warmth in the depths of your belly. Very slowly, Bubba pulled his thick monster of a cock out of you. His giant head made a pop as he exited you, and your gaping hole began to ooze the fruit of his labor. You felt every string and drop as it emptied out of you. You took a moment to take a few breaths and thought it was over. It wasn’t. Bubba’s cock did not waver after its orgasm, and instead stood strong beneath you. He had lived without a kind, living touch for so long, and he was going to get as much as he could out of you. Your grip around his tie was gone, but you were able to peak at the bright red marks along his neck that your control had caused. He immediately began to line up the gorgeous head of his cock against your entrance once more. He had stretched you to your limit, and your muscles did not provide any sort of obstacle to his member. You felt his warmth slip inside of you, slick on his hot cum. Bubba plugged you once more, and his cock filled you to the brim. You were still sensitive from your orgasm just moments before, but the deliciously painful stretch of your muscles distracted you from it. You were completely focused on Bubba above you. You focused on his soft eyes as he traced the features on your face. You focused on the feeling of the hot air around you. You focused on the thump of your heart in your chest. Bubba’s thrusts were slow at first as he tried to create a tempo, but once he did so, he began to thrust into you as quickly as possible. He humped away like a mad dog, his thick, burning cock pressing into your guts and smearing the remnants of his last orgasm against your walls. Your muscles were growing weak. He pumped away at you, his eyes bored into you as they watched his every movement that caused you to moan. His hands squeezed every bit of flesh that they could find. Before long, he let out another squeal and came into you once more. Even more cum came out of him than the first round. Each thrust caused more of his juices to implant themselves inside you, and he buried his cock deeply within. He had a thing for keeping his cum inside you, which was plain to see, and you were into it just as much. He filled your insides quickly, and you swore that you could feel the slight distention caused by both his fluids and his cock. You let out a long, guttural moan as he slowly pulled himself out. You felt his cum slowly drip and ooze out of you, and you were so tempted to use your fingers to spread it around your entrance. Bubba beat you to it. His fingers rubbed along your entrance in long strides, which coated his fingers in his own cum. He whimpered, and ducked his head down between your legs. His hot, wet tongue lapped at your entrance. It twirled and stroked up each drop of his cum that left your body. Occasionally, he dipped his tongue inside to coerce more of himself out of you. The sensation of his wetness sliding across your used up entrance caused your breathing to falter. You listened to him slurp up his cum, and his gentle touch sent gentle waves of pleasure through you body. You hand thrust out and held the back of Bubba’s head to your crotch.

“More, Bubba.” You were addicted to his heat and his tongue and you were not going to let go. He began to slid his flat thickness across your entrance and up over the rest of your groin. His tongue flicked and twirled at the tip, and you heard him gulp down his warm fluids. You looked down and saw his thick, white cum coat his tongue as he pulled it into his mouth, and you felt your body shake once more. You came again and pulled his face back into you, burying him into your scent. He cleaned up the remains of your orgasm and sighed in contentment. Bubba pulled away much too soon, as you could stay there with his head between your legs for hours. But alas, he pulled away, the both of you satisfied. Bubba repositioned himself and rested his head on your chest. The two of you stayed there for what felt like an eternal paradise. His heavy weight on you was a comforting presence, and the slow rhythm of your joined breathing sent your heart into peace. All was still, quiet, and perfect. Until your voice broke through the silence. “Run away with me, Bubba.” Bubba’s head perked up from your chest. He looked at you and tilted his head in confusion. You repeated yourself. “Run away with me. You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to be with them. Come with me. Please?” Bubba sat up and stared at you with the same quizzical expression. You sat up next to him and place your hands on either side of his face. “You won’t be hurt anymore. You won’t have to be scared. And you’ll be with me! Please? Please, Bubba?” He stared at you for much too long. His eyes flicked from side to side until ultimately, he shook his head no. You felt your heart throb in your chest as it sunk into a pit. A sob got stuck in your throat. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You went to hold him, but he caught you by the arms. He shook his head. “Why? Why won’t you come with me?” Your voice began to crack from the sobs you were desperately trying to hold at bay. Bubba turned to the side, to the distant sound of voices, and pointed. He jabbed a finger in the air, and then slowly brought the flat of his palm to his chest. Family. “No, no, no! That’s not an excuse for how they treat you! You don’t deserve that!” Your mind became clouded with emotions. Sadness, pain, anger mixed into a volatile cocktail. “Fine! Fine, then. Stay here.” You started to dress yourself. While you picked up your clothes from the floor, Bubba tried to grab you. You shook him away as tears streamed down your face. “I’m out of here, Bubba. I’m going. I’m running and I’ll keep running. Join me or not, I don’t care.” You managed to get your shirt and pants on in a hurry, and you stood up in indignation. “But I’m going to have a little chat with them first.” Bubba began to squeal in a panic. No, the squeals said, they’ll hurt you, they’ll kill you, you must stay hidden. Before he could grab you and hold you back, you were out the door and heading down the stairs. About halfway down, you realized what you were doing. What were you thinking? They were the dangerous ones. They were the ones Bubba was afraid of, especially Drayton. And here you were, with a death wish. But it was too late now. “Hey!” Your voice rang out like a loud bell through the home. It pierced their usual sounds and instilled silence over the house. You turned the corner to find Drayton and Nubbins together talking. Their confusion was probably the only reason you were alive right now. You had the element of surprise. “You goddamn bastard!” You pointed at Drayton and closed the few feet between you to be able to jab at his chest with your finger. Your words spewed our with hatred anger in quick succession. “You fucking asshole how dare you hurt Bubba like that I should fucking gut you–” You didn’t know where you were going with this, but Nubbins stopped you before you could go any further. He grabbed you by the arms and held you back. His thin frame held a surprising strength and in a moment you were immobilized. You continued to shout obscenities at Drayton, and they only got louder once he took a step closer to you. He opened his mouth to order Nubbins to do something to you, hurt you most likely, but he didn’t get a chance to say it. Bubba thundered into the room, came up from behind Nubbins, and grabbed him by the neck. He grunted like a madman. It was with such a fury that you had never heard from him before. Nubbins let go of you out of shock. He was quickly tossed aside, and fell on a chair decorated with bones of previous meals. He landed in a clatter and the room was in an uproar. You were screaming at Drayton who was screaming at Nubbins who was screaming at Bubba who was howling and grunting like a maniac. Bubba took you into his arms and shielded you from his family. His giant frame protected you from all of them, and when they saw this, the two quieted. “What the hell is going on here?” Drayton asked Bubba. “Have you been hiding someone in your room? Part of those college kids?” “It is! It is!” Nubbins shouted. “I remember!” His mouth stretched into a toothy grin. Bubba gave a quick nod, but didn’t look at Drayton or Nubbins. Bubba stood between you and his bully, and his eyes were glued to the ground. “What the fuck were you thinking? Get rid of it now!” Bubba let out a defiant huff and shook his head no. You knew in that moment that neither of them were going to touch you. “Bubba! Do as I say!” Bubba shook his head even harder now. His entire body was trembling. He was afraid. You reached out and touched his arm to let him know you were still there. Even without looking at you, his body strengthened and he straightened himself up to his full height. “I’m thinking maybe Bubba has got a crush!” Nubbins laughed. “Good for him!” He laughed harder and turned to Drayton. “Aww come on, let the boy have something good for once!” “Something good? He’s got one of these fucking little shits as a pet!” “Hey!” You yelled out. “I’m no one’s pet! I could leave if I wanted to! I could...I could! But I’m here for Bubba.” “Come on, Drayton,” Nubbins whined. “It’s someone new to play with. It’s someone I can photograph. For free!” Drayton obviously wasn’t expecting this sort of resistance. You never thought you would feel this way, but you were actually grateful for Nubbins presence. “Bubba—“ Drayton began, but Bubba’s incoherent babbling cut him off. It seemed like Drayton was more used to it, and could decipher a bit here and there, or at least get the notion that you were Bubba’s and here to stay. Here to stay huh? You didn’t know if you wanted to stay. But you couldn’t leave Bubba here alone. Now, you had the chance to protect him. And maybe a chance to convince him to one day leave with you. You could see the invisible hackles begin to soften on Drayton’s back. He watched Bubba and his desperate attempt to save you, to protect you. There was at least one semblance of a conscience in him. “Well, I guess it’s not too much of a bother.” Nubbins managed to get up from his place on the floor and howled with a cheer. He stepped over to Bubba and gave him a playful slap on the back. Bubba looked at him from behind his mask and smiled his little scraggly-toothed grin that you could just die for. Nubbins turned to you, still under Bubba’s watchful eye, and held out a hand. It looked like he was coursing with energy as he shuffled from foot to foot, and gave a nervous laugh. “Welcome to the family, I guess!” You hesitated for a moment. You tuned to Bubba and once you received sign of his approval, you took Nubbin’s hyperactive hand and gave it a good, stern shake. You and Bubba turned to Drayton, who stood with a clear look of disapproval. He sighed. “Bubba’s gonna grow bored of you, and once he does, I’ll end up cleaning the mess.” He shook his head and walked out of the room. You knew he was trying to scare you. A minuscule part of you worried that he might be right. But even though you had only known Bubba for a short time, you knew he would never hurt you. He would protect you. He would fight for you. He would kill for you. He would die for you. Bubba was your loyal pet. And you would protect him just as he would with you. Nubbins slowly crept out of the room, and the two of you were finally alone again. “I’m sorry, Bubba. I know, it was dangerous. I just—I just don’t want them to hurt you anymore. I’m going to protect you from now on, okay? I’ll always be here for you.” Bubba whimpered and tilted his head to one side. He wondered how he could deserve this kindness. But you knew he did. He leaned down and held his hand to the back of your head. Held in place, he kissed you fiercely, his lips soft and strong against you. Bubba pulled away too soon, although every kiss would end too soon with him. He dug something out of his apron pocket and handed it to you. The small bird skull rested in the giant palm of his hand. It looked so delicate and frail. His hand was large, meaty, brutal, and yet, he held this skull with the utmost care. You took it from him and thanked him. The hot sun had fully entered the sky, and sweat began to seep from your pores. Rot grew both inside and outside of the Sawyer house, but within you, love blossomed.

[vfdbaudelairefile13]

                                     Chapter Twenty-Eight:

                               The One With The New Chief of Police

“So who fucked up my plan?” Olaf hissed as he slowed his speed. He was out of the city, finally. What was the point of speeding if no one was following him. He was racing down the Hinterlands to meet up with one of his associates in hopes of finding exactly where Violet Snicket and Klaus Baudelaire were going next.

His henchpeople looked around the cramped car nervously. No one willing to give him an answer. The only person who wasn’t intimidated by the cruel man was the person who sat happily in the passenger seat of the runaway vehicle, Esme Squalor. She merely rolled her eyes and gazed irritatedly at her long manicured nails. “Obviously, it was the two brats,” she said.

“But how?!” He hissed angrily. “You pushed them down an elevator shaft...how the fuck did they get out of the net?” He glanced at the rearview mirror. “Did you idiots not put it high enough,”

“We put it higher than we thought we could,” the bald man explained nervously.

“Then how did they get out of the net?”

“Magic,” one white-faced woman replied.

“Luck,” the other replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

The vicious kidnapper growled angrily. “Those brats don’t have luck,”

“Well, honestly,” the henchperson of indeterminate gender replied. “I’d argue that those brats are very lucky. They’ve been able to escape your clutches in the last minute quite a few times.”

“ Not all of them,” Olaf replied angrily, pointing at the rope that held the scarlet fish statue to the roof of his car. “And the only reason those bratty Baudelaires survived me prior to Prufrock Prep was because of Snicket. ” His voice was thick with bitterness and venom as he spoke the name.

“Speaking of Snicket,” Esme interjected. “What are we going to do about Jacques?”

“I swear Snickets were only put on this planet to piss me off,” Olaf muttered. “There’s no need to worry about him either, I’ll deal with him in the same way that I dealt with his precious brother. Snickets are not fireproof.,” He snickered to himself.

“Can I point out that not all Snickets piss you off,” Esme retorted bitterly.

“Stop mentioning her!” Olaf yelled.

“Who?” The Hook-Handed Man asked. “Violet?”

“No, not the fucking orphan….” Olaf rolled his eyes. “A different Snicket,”

“There’s a fourth Snicket?” the Bald man asked.

“Well technically if we’re going by birth order, that would make Violet the fourth Snicket,” The Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender explained.

Olaf looked ready to kill somebody. “Can we just stop mentioning the fucking name Snicket!” he barked. “It’s bad enough that my plans were thwarted by Lemony and now...they’re being thwarted by his mangy daughter.”

“I think it’s quite remarkable,” The Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender replied.

Olaf, no longer caring about the safety of anyone in his car, not that he did in the first place. “What was that you said?” he asked angrily, glaring his henchperson in the eyes.

His henchperson went quiet. Knowing better than to repeat what they had said. Olaf growled. “Once we find those brats again...we need a plan...a plan that can’t fail,” he muttered. “We have to make sure that there’s no way for her to maneuver her way out of our clutches. I’m getting really tired of chasing these brats,”

“Well we have two out of three fortunes,” Esme pointed out. “We really don’t need the last one and if you think about it. The Snicket fortune won’t be anything really. Think about it. With Lemony’s siblings both alive. Surely they have their own portions of the money.”

“It’s not only about the money,” Olaf replied annoyed. “And we have to keep chasing them. We have babylaire. Meaning the bookworm could cash in on my fortune a whole decade or so faster than us! With him dead, we won’t have to worry about that and there might be an added bonus to having little Miss Snicket in our clutches. She could give us both fortunes .”  A vicious smile was plastered on the man’s face.

Esme rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest in annoyance. “I’m already insanely rich. I don’t see why we need to keep any of them honestly.”

“You’re just grumpy because I haven’t agreed to let you keep the boy twin,”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Esme hissed. “Also, I just don’t see the reason to keep them for their money…I also don’t see why we  need to keep any that are related to that bitch,”

Olaf rolled his eyes.

“She looks like that bitch,” she whined. “Do you know how hard it was to not tear that little brat’s face from her skull?”

Olaf shrugged his shoulders. “Trust me, I am surprised you didn’t fuck up that part of the plan either.”

“I didn’t fuck up any part of your overcomplicated plan,”

“I know that little Snicket bitch did,” Olaf said angrily. “But...soon...we will have her in our clutches and we will show no mercy,”

He continued to drive as he began laughing. Esme joined in on this laughter and soon the whole car erupted in wicked villainous laughter.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” Esme asked after a minute. “There’s nothing like a trip in a getaway car. I needed a getaway from that dirty, grimy city and all the people after me there.”

Olaf glanced up at the rearview mirror and he noticed something in the distance. “Don’t look now,” he instructed. “But it looks like someone’s following us,”

Instantly everyone in the car looked back to see what Olaf was talking about. Olaf sighed and rolled his eyes. “I said don’t look,” he muttered. “Oh, nevermind.”

“Oh, no,” Esme said happily. “Is it the paparazzi? Or the press?” she gasped. “Or my husband...his lawyers have been calling.”

“It’s a taxi about a mile back. He’s been behind us an interminably long time,” the Hook-Handed man explained.

Olaf glared at this henchman. “You didn’t think to mention someone is following us!?” He asked angrily.

The man shrugged in response. ‘I wanted it to be a surprise?”

“Is it the police?” The bald man asked.

“Why would the police take a taxi?” Esme asked.

“Whoever the fuck it is, they seem to be obeying the speed limit,” the bald man responded.

Olaf grumbled. “There’s only one taxi driver I know who cares about obeying the law,” he says. “There used to be two...but…” he smirked. “I took care of that pesky asshole,” he pushed his foot on the pedal harshly. “There’s a shortcut up here someplace. Let’s see Snicket try to follow us now,”

He jolted the car quickly to the left causing everyone to shift to the side. Olaf continued to gradually pick up speed.

_________________________________________________________________

“He just made a left-hand turn without signaling,” Olivia noted as Jacques sighed.

“That man’s villainy knows no bounds,” Jacques explained. “But we’ll catch up soon,”

“Do you think following him is the best plan here?” Olivia asked.

“What else can we do?”

“Do you think we can figure out where he’s going and get ahead?”

Jacques thought about it. “There’s not much down this road. The Hinterlands has a few VFD locations but I know he wouldn’t dare step foot in our mountainside headquarters.”

“Mountainside headquarters?” Olivia repeated.

“Yeah,” Jacques replied. “My...apprentice created an easy to read map. It’s there in the glove compartment.”

“Apprentice?”

“Yeah, a fellow volunteer.”

“Where are they?”

“I had to leave them...my niece was...more important,” He felt guilty saying it but it was true. Nothing against the young man who was his apprentice. “I will head back for him...eventually.”

Olivia looked towards Jacques. “What?” he asked.

“You’re hiding something,”

“I’m not hiding anything,” he lied.

Olivia reached into the glove compartment pulling out the map. She studied it for a minute. “I’m lost,”

Jacques laughed. “So much to learn Olivia Caliban,”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Where’s the headquarters?”

“Do you see the coffee stain?”

“Yeah...it’s in the Valley of Four Drafts,”

“Exactly...VFD,”

Olivia gasped. “A secret way to mark…”

“A secret organization,” Jacques finished. “Exactly. But he’d never go there. It’s most definitely populated by members of our side of the schism,”

“Then where would he be heading?” she asked.

“Well, there’s a village, a hospital, and a carnival before the headquarters. The carnival is the only truly VFD associate stop. I mean the hospital has the Library of Records and the village is named VFD...but not the same VFD.”

“Like the doilies?” Olivia said.

“That clever bastard...he knew everyone involved would be focused on the box labeled VFD.” Jacques hissed. “And we all missed the literal red herring…but...he’s not going to outsmart us anymore.”

“Well let’s head toward the carnival,” Olivia suggested.

Jacques merely shook his head. “I think I know where my niece might be headed…” he said. “We’ll just have to call Jacquelyn and figure all the details out.”

Olivia frowned. “Are you sure about this?”

Jacques only nodded. He continued to drive with a face of pure determination. He had to stop Olaf and Esme Squalor from harming any of these orphans more than he already has.

_____________________________________________________________

Hours had passed by, Olaf was unpleased about having to double back but this is where his associate claimed Violet and Klaus would end up eventually. As he had parked his car behind the dusty old saloon. He sighed as he entered through the backdoor. He remembered his ‘glory days’ back when he was still in VFD. The missions he had gone on with the Snicket brothers. Speaking of Snicket he was glad to have lost him only a few moments after being told that he was following. He glanced around the bottom floor of the old saloon. It seemed like no one had been in this place for years.

Esme followed him behind gazing around. “This saloon is the perfect place to hide out while we hunt the bratty orphans,” Olaf commented.

Esme merely nodded until her eyes fixed on a fire pole. “OOh! There’s a pole!” she said happily grabbing onto it. “Are you sure this isn’t more of a club?” she asked excitedly.

“That’s a fire pole, love.  This saloon was a firehouse until it was shut down under mysterious and complicated circumstances.” He glanced around. “I see they haven’t changed the decor a bit. Barkeep!”

His group of vile henchmen came in from the front door carrying a large trunk of costumes and a disguise kit.

All seven people turned when they heard a loud coughing approaching.

“That sounds like that unstylish banker,” Esme whispered.

Olaf’s eyes widened a bit. “That’s because it is,” he hissed back as the seven villainous people ran towards the bar to hide behind it.

“Hello?” the voice called out as it stopped coughing. Olaf quickly grabbed a hat that was hooked on the wall just behind the bar as Esme handed him the first fake beard she could grab out of their disguise kit. He quickly put the scraggly, red beard on his face as one of his associated handed him a fake pair of glasses.

“Anybody here/’ Mr. Poe called out in between more coughs.

“Howdy!” Olaf called out in a stereotypical southern accent. “What can I get you, total stranger who I’ve never seen before?”

“I would like your coldest and strongest sarsaparilla,”

“One sarsaparilla coming up!’ Olaf replied as he reached his hand down towards the bar. Within seconds someone had handed him a sarsaparilla. “Here you go,” Olaf said to Mr. Poe as teh man began to look at him suspiciously.

“So, tell me, traveler,” Olaf began still using the fake voice. “What brings you to our parts? How was the road? Did you bring any childrens?”

“I am delighted to tell you that Lilac Snicket and Klaus Baudelaire are now yours,”

Olaf smiled towards Mr. Poe in disbelief. “Well, that was easy,” he muttered using his real voice. Then his face turned to one of confusion. “Wait...Lilac? Isn’t her name Violet?” he asked as he felt someone hit him in the leg.

He growled and once he had seen Poe’s confused face he realized he had misspoken. “I mean...what do you mean?” he asked after a rather anxiety-inducing moment of silence. He wondered what Mr. Poe was about to say. Had he fucked up and been too obvious even to the world’s most incompetent banker?

Mr. Poe smiled. “They are yours and everyone else’s. I’ve delivered them to this town’s aphorism-based guardianship program, It Takes a Village.”

Olaf couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t know how but his associate who resided further into the Hinterlands was correct again about where his prey would end up. He wiped his smile off his face quickly, though. Playing up the sad story. He sighed. “I always wanted orphans,” he said as Poe began to drink his sarsaparilla. He began to over-dramatically fake cry. “This morning, I thought I was just a lonely, single bartender and now I have a fortune of childrens, or whatever a word is for a large number of ‘em.” He said as he continued to fake cry.

Mr. Poe may have looked at him suspiciously but he didn’t question the bartender further. He finished his sarsaparilla, paid Olaf, and went on his day. Once he was sure the nuisance banker was gone, Olaf ripped the fake beard from his face. A wicked smile appeared upon his face. “The remaining two brats are here. They’ve been placed under the care of the entire village.”

“We know, darling,” Esme reminded him. “We heard. We were next to you, behind this dusty bar.”

He pointed at the bald man and the hook-handed man. “You, bring me the red herring.” He glanced at the two white-faced women. “you two, bring me all of my trunk wine!”

His henchpeople quickly scrambled. The Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender following the bald man and the Hook-Handed man to go grab the red herring. Olaf glanced around. This hideout will have to do. He thought as he began plotting a scheme. He needed a scheme that would help him get the upper hand permanently on the two brats who keep evaded his clutches. He also needs this scheme to have room for last-minute changes in case Snicket returned to mess up his plans.

The three henchpeople returned, carefully placing the red herring to the ground. “That fish weighs as much as three kidnapped children,” the Hook-Handed Man said, he and the other two were currently out of breath.

Esme and Olaf smirked as they glanced at one another. “It certainly does,” Olaf snarled.

“They’re awfully quiet still,” the Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender noted. “Should we have added more air holes?”

“Ugh, they’re fine,” Olaf said dismissively.

“It might have been a high dosage,” Esme noted.

“Not enough to kill them,” Olaf agreed.

“Well I didn’t really measure the baby’s,” Esme explained shrugging her shoulders.

“Eh, she’s replaceable,” he dismissed. He turned to his henchpeople, “Now, Snicket may still be following us, we'll need to stash them somewhere less conspicuous,”

“Less conspicuous than a bright red statue of a fish?” The Hook-Handed Man replied confused. “That shouldn’t be too hard,”

Olaf's eyes lit up. “I have just the place.” He smiled. “Now, while we’re here, we can’t risk being recognized by the authorities.” He turned to Esme. “Darling you’re up.”

“Costumes! Costumes everyone!” Esme cheered as she opened the large trunk tossing costumes at each of the henchmen. Pulling out one for herself. ‘We’ll work on yours later darling. You may want to lay low,”

He nodded. “Now this is a small town filled with regular folk. We need to blend in with plain, normal, upstanding, heartfelt, decent, simple, dependable, respectable people.” He noted.

As he spoke, two figures on the second story of the saloon were hiding and listening in on everything Olaf and his gang were saying. One was slightly worried but the other looked determined and fed up. Both looked at one another, agreeing with their eyes to wait until the coast is clear to exit the saloon.

_________________________________

Violet led Klaus down a small hallway until she found a door that read Town Hall. She knocked her fist on the door.

‘Come in!” called a very grand voice called out. Violet took Klaus’ hand and the two half-siblings walked into a large room with a  very high ceiling, a very shiny floor, and several rows of benches. There were very detailed portraits of crows hanging on the walls. In front of the rows of benches, there was a wooden platform. Perched in front of the platform were three vastly older persons, two women and one man. The two children noticed that they all wore a truly strange hat. At first glance, it looked like a few crows had flown in from the streets and roosted on the bench sitters’ heads, but as the two children looked more closely, they saw that the crows did not blink their eyes, or flutter their wings or move at all in any way.  The children realized that they were taxidermied crows that perch on their heads. It was a strange kind of hat to be wearing that the children found themselves staring for quite a few moments without noticing anything else.

“The Council of Elders calls this special town meeting to order. Hello, my dears,” the first one called out as Violet and Klaus walked closer to them as the townpeople glared at them.

“We’re pleased you made it,” the second old woman called.

“Step onto the platform so your Elders can get a good look at you,” the man explained.

Violet and Klaus looked at one another before stepping onto the platform. “Hello, I’m Violet Snicket and this is my younger brother…”

“Silence!” one elder yelled, slamming her gavel down.

Klaus jumped in shock. “Rule number 902 states that no one may talk while on the platform,”

The three turned to focus mainly on Klaus. “Klaus Baudelaire, we know your story well. The tragic death of your parents. The tragic kidnapping of your baby sister. The unfortunate loss of numerous guardians. How you have been pursued relentlessly by a wicked count out to steal your fortune.” They turned to Violet. “And Violet Snicket, we heard about the tragic loss of your father and how you have also been pursued relentlessly by a wicked count out to steal your fortune. But your troubles end here.”

Violet and Klaus looked at one another doubtfully. “We recently made up a new rule to solve all your problems,” the elder man explained.

Violet gave an incredulously look. While Klaus still looked at the three elders with heavy doubt in his eyes.

“We recently made up a new rule to solve all your problems,” one of the women explained. “Rule number 9,833 states no villains will be allowed within the city limits.”

“You’re safe at last children,” the man noted.

“Council of elders…” Violet began.

“Silence!” they yelled.

“I don’t think…” Klaus began.

“Silence!” they yelled again.

“But Count Olaf…” Klaus tried again as Violet looked annoyed.

“Silence!” they yelled again.

“Now the next order of business. When children have guardians, guardians make them do chores. We are all your guardians now,” one of the women began.

“So it follows that you two will be doing all of our chores,” the man explained.

“For the entire village,” the other woman finished.

“What?” Violet asked.

“Silence!”

The two children looked at one another miserably, and they could hear the town behind them cheering.

“Any questions,” one elder asked.

“I beg your pardon, but,” violet tried.

“Silence!” they yelled. “For the fifth time!”

“How many times do we have to tell you about rule number 902?”

“What we meant was, are there any questions from the town?”

A few hands shot up. “Mrs. Morrow?”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Morrow asked. “I am all in favor of the ‘It Takes a Village’ program and others doing my chores. But these children are the same children involved in that kidnapping scandal. I don’t want trouble like that in my town.”

“That wasn’t a question,” Klaus explained.

“Silence!”

“It was more of a statement,” Mrs. Morrow replied glaring at the young boy.

“Me, me,” a man called out raising his hand.

“Man in plaid pants?”

“Yes, I have an actual question,” he said standing up. “Where are these children going to live? It may take a village to raise a child, but I don’t want noisy children cluttering up my home, eh?” He looked around the townspeople. “Am I right?”

The town murmured in agreement and they all began to wonder where Violet and Klaus would be placed.

“Silence!” the elders yelled at the crowd. “Now there’s no need to fuss. The orphans will live with our handyman, Hector.”

“Isn’t that right, Hector?” the elder man asked.

A tall, skinny man in rumpled overalls stood up from his seat. He kept his eyes on the ground. He began to stutter in response. “I...uh,”

“Hector?”

Hector responded to the Council of Elders by fainting. Violet and Klaus looked at each other worriedly. But no one else seemed alarmed by Hector’s fainting spell.

“The Council of Elders takes Hector’s latest fainting spell to mean Hector will feed them and clothe them and teach them our rules, so they won’t do any other terrible things like talking on the platform! Isn’t that right, Hector?”

Violet and Klaus looked back to see that Hector was once again standing up. He continued to look to the ground and he stuttered again. “I...uh...I…” He said before fainting again.

“The Council hears no objections,”

“The next item of business, a report from our new chief of police.”

Everyone turned to look towards the door that the two orphans had entered not ten minutes ago. Violet and Klaus glanced back and when the woman behind the door pushed both doors roughly open, Klaus could feel his heart sink in his chest.

“Already?” he asked Violet.

“He’s here?” Violet whispered.

A very tall woman wearing big black boots, a blue coat with a shiny badge, and a motorcycle helmet with the visor pulled down to cover her eyes. Her mouth was painted in bright red lipstick. “Ciao!” she yelled as she walked down the same pathway the two children had. “Hello! I’m here,” she said happily.

The woman had the entire crowd fooled but she didn’t have either orphan fooled. Violet gently pushed Klaus behind her. Both children watched as Esme Squalor reached the platform. She smiled at both children viciously.

“How wonderful to see you, children,” she hissed lowly as the crowd’s cheers drowned her voice out. She pushed Klaus out of her way as she stepped upon the platform. He grunted in response. Violet glared at the woman. Esme turned towards the two orphans. “Oh how my boyfriend and I have missed you,” she hissed.

Violet and Klaus looked at one another as Esme turned to the crowd. “Greetings VFD. My name is Officer Sabrina Pepper Anastasia Marigold. But you may call me Officer Luciana,” she turned to the children. “The new chief of police.”

She smirked viciously at the two children who looked at one another worriedly. Both having the same thought. If Esme was right here in front of them...dressed up as a policewoman. Where were the Quagmires and Sunny? And what in the world was Olaf planning?

[mahalidael]

Sparkboys #1: I Rescue A Toilet Boy

Content warning: Swearing, implications of abuse, swirlies.

Fifteen-year-old Murphy Rapp has moved south, and he plans on not staying long. The mosquitos are terrible, the people are loud, and his adoptive mother is intimidating--and that's before she turns him and his friends into killer robots, corrupting any hope of leaving the dark heart of Dixie. Sweet home Alabama, am I right?

The social worker didn’t even turn into the driveway.

“Hm, she’s in a hurry,” Dr. Allison said calmly as the car sped off as quickly as it came. Then she turned to me. “Now, what are we going to do here?”

Allison was in her late thirties, but she acted much older. She had the posture of an iron rail and dull reddish hair. She was dressed like a businesswoman, not a mother.

So I was left on her doorstep. She looked at me critically. I imagine other people dress nice to meet their adoptive parents, but I’m not other people, and I was wearing a ratty hoodie and jeans. It’s not that I don’t have nice clothes, it’s just that those clothes belong on someone else.

“Well… I suppose you should come in,” Allison said, clasping her hands together and flashing a professional smile. “Put your bags down, you can unpack tomorrow. It’s already late.”

I put my suitcase down near the door. The room was painted dead white, and the carpet was the color of mush. I swallowed hard. “Thanks?”

“Okay, I can drop you off at a restaurant, or you can—” It suddenly turned over in her head that I had said something. “Excuse me?”

I glanced around, feeling dumb. “Thanks for letting me in your house.”

I didn’t feel like thanking her. I was uncomfortable and I wanted to run down the street behind the social worker. The whole setup looked empty, like someone just barely lived in it. The living room was one couch and a TV on the floor. The dining room was one folding table and one chair. There was a faint smell, something unpleasant under cheap air freshener, like a hospital.

Allison raised her eyebrows. “Well, aren’t you polite. I wouldn’t have thought it, looking at that scowl.”

I wasn’t scowling. “I’m not scowling!”

She scoffed and reached a hand out to touch me, but I stepped back. “Don’t touch the hair. ...Please,” I ground out, remembering that this person was now in charge of me.

It’s difficult to imagine how angry I was when I first met Allison, but I was. I was an asshole to most adults because most adults were assholes to me. She seemed nice, but in a long enough time frame, everyone’s an asshole.

Allison coughed politely. “Alright, easy. I’m going to lay down the rules of the house, and you’re going to listen.”

These are the rules you live by if you live in Dr. Allison’s house.

Allison can make up as many rules as she wants.

Don’t go in the basement. Allison works in the basement and she hates getting interrupted.

You sleep in the attic, because it’s far away from the basement. Do whatever you want in there as long as you keep it clean.

Allison is a terrible cook. Buy frozen dinners and learn how to cook for yourself. You can eat out on weekends.

Seriously, don’t go in the basement. Doesn’t matter if it sounds like she’s in trouble. She’s got it.

If you aren’t grounded, you can go out. Leave a note on the fridge, though.

I was leaning on the wall next to the door, and Allison was sitting on the couch. I didn’t want to sit on the couch. I wasn’t sure of my boundaries.

“So,” she continued. “It’s late. I can take you to a restaurant, or you can go to bed.”

I had spent all day sitting on a plane. I hadn’t had dinner.

Allison’s pickup truck was fading purple, and smells like cigarettes. She said it was secondhand. I believed her, because she didn’t seem like a smoker.

Neither of us talked in the truck. I was looking out the window the whole drive.

By fifteen, I’d assumed I knew everything there was to know about adults. Allison seemed like an upright, uptight woman—an unsentimental foster parent who only wanted that sweet, sweet government money. I felt done for already.

Going out of Mobile, I couldn’t see much, but I could hear the spray of water hitting the side of the causeway. We passed three or four elaborate-looking seafood restaurants, but they were nigh-empty. The problem, Dr. Allison said, is that it’s not close enough to the football field.

“They like football out here. Even in the summer, the high school football teams play, and because there’s not much else to do, other people will show up and watch. It’s novel, really.”

Meanwhile, I was sinking lower and lower. Allison had been introduced to me as some kind of scientist doing important robotics research. That sounded stressful—stress that could get taken out on me, if I wasn’t careful. I continued choking my words back, chewing on the little plastic bits of my hoodie strings.

She turned off the main road and into a series of cramped, winding roads through some kind of shopping outlet. We stopped in front of some restaurant with fading, flickering red block letters reading “Goose Palace.”

“Alright. Get yourself some dinner.”

It was nine at night, and I was standing in front of Goose Palace. For some reason, the place was packed with teenagers—I didn’t even think there were this many people in town. I could hear someone singing, muffled, “for he’s a jolly good fellow.” From inside, I could see sets of eyes staring at me.

“Where’d all these people come from?”

Allison raised her eyebrows, almost disapproving. “One of the football games just ended. I assumed you would like to be introduced to your peers. ...I could drive you home if you want.”

“No, no, it’s good! It’s good.”

Her expression was difficult to read, like most expressions. “Alright. I’ve got some business to attend to down at the lab, so I’ll be back in about an hour. Don’t be afraid to call.” She frowned, and I swallowed hard. “And get those strings out of your mouth.”

The purple pickup puttered out of the parking lot. I was left sputtering at my strings.

Goose Palace is an unstuffy, dark little Chinese restaurant, swarming with kids and lit with red neon signs. A bunch of whooping football players were loitering in one corner. It’s the town’s PG-13 biker bar.

A few big guys started murmuring as I came inside, saying stuff like “who’s this fucker” and “what does he want” and “when did Allison get a kid.” Was something wrong? A few continued looking out the window, their eyes following the pickup truck.

I really like that restaurant now, but I didn’t at the time, because half of the clientele was staring at me trying to figure out what kind of asshole I thought I was, and the other half was still yelling about football. So this was already a huge disaster.

But here’s the problem: I wasn’t raised in a barn. I wanted to wash my hands before I ate.

The booth I got ended up being really far away from the bathroom, so I had to muscle my way through the sweaty crowd to get to it. When I got inside the cramped bathroom, I splashed water in my face until I felt drowned enough to quit kicking myself.

My hand habitually went to my neck. I had a thing about taking my own pulse when I was anxious, and I would stand there for a minute, trying to bring myself down to a resting heart rate. In hindsight, it didn’t help much, since sometimes I got stressed trying to make myself stop stressing.

I was about to walk out the door when I realized there were splashing sounds in the room that weren’t me.

I turned around slowly. The stall behind me was locked, but I could hear laughter and bubbling noises in there. I glanced down. Four guys were in the stall, one of them on his knees in front of the toilet. Oh, fuck.

I knocked on the stall door. “You okay in there?”

They all went quiet, then I heard gasping. “Yeah, we’re fine, our friend here’s just sick, is all.”

One of them kicked toilet boy in the shin and whispered “tell him you’re fine, Jacob.” All I heard out of him was some wheezing and sputtering. I didn’t like this.

“I’m coming in there.”

“Oh no, you better be coming out! ...Wait.”

I stuck my legs under the stall door and pulled myself in.

Bad idea—I was now in a bathroom stall with three football players.

One of them screamed, and I heard the loud crack of my glasses breaking before I even knew what was happening. But that’s all I got, because somehow I had it in me to find and unlock the stall. As soon as the door opened, every attacker in the stall fucked off into the restaurant.

Still in shock, I turned and looked at toilet boy. He was still doubled over, coughing like a drowned rat. I gave him a good thump on the back. “You okay?”

He kept coughing, and I went to put a hand on his shoulder. He grabbed my wrist before I could do so. “I’m fine,” he said in the most gravelly, un-fine voice I’d ever heard. “I just need a moment.”

“...You don’t think they’re gonna come back?”

“I don’t suppose they’ll do anything to us—or you, at the very least… Anyone plumb crazy enough to crawl into a bathroom stall isn’t worth it to them.”

“Oh.” Well, if there was any chance that I could make up my bad impression, it was gone now. “Can I get you a paper towel… Jacob? It’s Jacob, right?”

Jacob coughed one last time and spit. “That’d be nice.”

I went and got him a big sheet of paper towel to dry his hair with, and offered him my hand. He took it and got up… and up… and up.

Now that I could get a good, blurry look at him and his jacket, I realized Jacob was also a football player.

I don’t know how I was looking at him, but it couldn’t have been a good look, because his ears went red. “Um… yeah,” he mumbled. He walked over to the mirror and started washing toilet water out of his hair. “I’m guessin’ you’re from Velma.”

“No, I’m from Chicago.”

“Chicago? What the hell’re you doin’ here?” Jacob sounded distinctly southern, in a way I’d later find I could never nail down for myself. I would always try to imitate him and he would just shake his head, saying I sounded like a white man with a stick up his ass.

“I’m, I’m moving in.”

“Hm. Your family’s here for Airbus?”

“Something like that.” I paused. “So…”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I wasn’t gonna ask.”

Jacob took the paper towel and started wiping his sopping wet face, dabbing at his bleeding lip. He was beat up, probably a lot worse than I was.

Just then, I got a text. Then I realized I couldn’t read it for shit.

My nose wasn’t broken when I was punched, but my glasses were a lost cause. They’d snapped at the bridge, and both lenses had been trampled by everyone who’d left the stall.

After a moment, Jacob stopped and looked at me. “I’m fine, dude. I can take it from here.”

“Uh, there’s actually something I want to ask you…”

“Well, spit it out, Chicago.”

“Can you read this?” I showed him my phone.

Jacob opened his mouth to say something, noticed the bits of my glasses strewn on the ground, then closed it. He squinted at the text. “It’s from… Dr. Allison. ‘Problem at the lab. Can you walk home? I’m going to be stuck here for a few hours.’”

“Shit, I can’t. I wouldn’t know where I’m going.”

“Is there someone else you can call?”

“No, it’s just me and Allison.” Jacob chewed his lip thoughtfully as I continued: “Do you know any local taxi companies—?”

“Do you want a ride?”

I paused for a while. I must have had a bad look again, because Jacob said: “It’s the least I can do, you know. Because you saved my ass.”

“I…” If I walked, then I would be in a strange neighborhood at night, without my glasses. Not to mention that I still had to get my dinner, and the football team would almost definitely jump me if I were alone. “Yeah, why not?”

Vote and comment on Wattpad.

[captainkippen]

Right, this is the beginning of the first chapter of An Fic. It is not finished. Nowhere near it. I’m giving freewriting a go. I have no plan for this please don’t ask me where it’s going. Tell me if it’s too out of character/too boring/too Not Andi Mack to continue. Maybe I’ll change the names and turn it into an original if so, who knows.

Anyway, TW for smoking I guess. PG 13 for swearing? Reader’s discretion advised?

"Shut up. I'm having a mid-life crisis."

"You're twenty-one."

"Fine, an almost-quarter-life crisis or something, whatever."

"You know, I've seen you overreact before, but this time really takes the cake. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Pfft. It's a great idea. The best idea I've ever had."

"You literally just said yourself that you're having a crisis."

TJ let out a long suffering sigh and glared at Marty. Andi snickered from where she was perched on the edge of the tub behind him. She had two gloved hands covered in bright green sludge buried deep in TJ's hair.

"Don't worry, Marts," she said. "I used to help Bex do her hair all the time when she got bored. If it goes wrong, we can just cut it off. Hair grows back usually."

"Usually?!" TJ spluttered, attempting to turn and face her only to be held in place by her firm grip.

Marty snorted. "Still sure about this?"

"Shut UP, Marty. Jeez. You're worse than my mom."

"Hey, your mom is saint. I really admire her. How she put up with your annoying all these years without committing murder, I don't know."

That earned him the bird and he snorted again, blowing smoke into T.J's face. The bathroom of their crappy apartment didn't have a smoke detector, which was probably the only reason Marty was even sat in the room with them. 

"Gross," Andi said appreciatively. She might have stolen the cigarette had her hands not been busy. TJ wrinkled his nose at the two of them. He wouldn't say anything, it hadn't worked the first thousand times and it wouldn't work now, but he had learned that if he made enough disgusted faces Marty would eventually put out his smoke.

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes at TJ's face and stubbed it out in the sink. "I'm meant to be quitting anyway. I promised Buffy."

"You made that promise like three months ago."

"Well I gotta have at least one flaw, otherwise it wouldn't be fair to you mere mortals, would it now?" Marty grinned and stood up, stretching his arms up until his back gave a satisfying click. 

"Careful bro," TJ said. "If your head gets any bigger you won't be able to get out of the door."

It was Marty's turn to cheerfully flip him off. As he wandered out of the bathroom he called over his shoulder asking if they wanted any snacks. TJ was pretty sure they only had ketchup and coffee left in the kitchen.

"So, this mid-life crisis of yours," Andi said, slipping some more dye on to TJ's head. It slid against his scalp cold and unpleasant, dripping down his neck in a wet mess. "You think green is gonna fix it?"

He considered this for a moment. "Nah, probably not. But it'll make me feel better about it, feels productive."

"Turning in your assignments would probably feel more productive."

"Hey, I thought we banned school talk from bathroom time."

"I'm just saying-"

"Did you finish your figure drawing assignment yet?"

"...touché."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. After a few minutes, Marty loped back in holding a paper plate with an unwrapped Twinkie carefully cut into three pieces on it. Andi let him shove one unceremoniously into her mouth without a word.

It had become a sort of tradition. Well... not a tradition. TJ didn't know what you would call it. A habit maybe? Anyways, it had become usual for the three of them to hang out in the bathroom. Sometimes they'd be joined by friends and roommates. Two or three of them cramped in the tub, maybe splitting a bottle of cheap wine between them all, someone else balanced on the toilet seat and another sprawled across the floor. Today, everyone else was out.

It was only TJ and Marty that lived in the apartment of the three of them. They had two other roommates, Walker and Jonah, who were pretty decent guys. Walker was an art major like Andi and Jonah had awesome taste in music. Sometimes he and TJ would walk to campus together, they were both based in the music department, but other than that and a vaguely similar interest in sports they didn't really have anything in common. 

Buffy, Marty's girlfriend and (by apparent coincidence) Andi's childhood best friend with whom she was now reconnecting, sometimes swing by to join them too. However, her disgust at  just how useless four boys could be at keeping their apartment in order often kept her at bay. 

"So I had this dream right," TJ said. 

"Oh God."

"No, it's good right. Because it made me, like, realise I should be doing something."

Andi and Marty exchanged amused looks. They were used to it, TJ's various whims and impulses and Important Decisions About The Future That Usually Turned Out To Be Not So Important. They found it funny. TJ might be offended if it weren't for the fact he had listened to them spout of conspiracy theories more times than he could count.

"Go on," Andi prompted. 

"Okay, so like... I'm standing on this cliff, right? Like on the very very edge of it. And I'm staring out to sea all dramatic and shit, and then suddenly it gives way underneath me, right? And I'm falling and falling, and I look down and there's just like... nothing there."

Another pause. "...and that's it?"

"That's it. That's the dream."

"Okay, lay it out for me. How did you go from falling off a cliff to dyeing your hair green? Give me the logic. I wanna follow your train of thought here."

He takes a deep breath, trying to shake away the lightheadedness the mingling scents of cigarettes and ammonia is bringing on, then twists around to face her.

"When you're falling to your death you're supposed to reminisce about, like, all the good shit you did in your life before you fell to your death right? And for me it was a total blank. Like nothing. Like I haven't lived."

Marty groaned. "Not this again."

"What?"

"Last time you wanted to 'live your life' we got arrested."

"Well, if you had run faster-"

"Fuck you! I run faster than you, asshole. It's not my fault there were literal guard dogs-"

"Guys!" Andi interrupted before they could really get going. They both muttered half hearted apologies with a huff. 

"The point is," TJ resumed. "The point is that I've done, like, zero important things in my life. And we're adults now, y'know? I can't just bum around doing nothing forever. I wanna do something that /matters/."

Andi rolled her eyes. "'Adult' is a strong word for a guy who just this week learned what fabric softener is."

"I never claimed to be Martha Stewart."

Marty laughed. "You're criminal enough to be."

"Okay but," Andi said, before another bickering match could spark up. "The real point is... we're only in our twenties. Pretty sure we're not meant to have everything figured out yet, right? I mean, we haven't even graduated yet."

TJ and Marty both hissed.

"The G word is also banned, remember?"

Andi made a face, but didn't press the point. She hated thinking about the future just as much as the guys did. None of them knew what they wanted to do. They spent all their time in sleezy bars moshing to terrible local punk bands, getting drunk in a tub and watching Andi paint in the student studios. TJ couldn't imagine any of them with office jobs. He said as much.

"It's two thousand and five," Marty complained in response. "We should totally have robots to do all the boring jobs by now."

TJ agreed. How could humanity not yet be at the point where everybody could just sit back and relax? They had the internet for crying out loud. 

"So what're you gonna do?" Andi asked.

TJ pondered this for a moment. 

"I'm gonna start a band."

*** 

Sometimes Cyrus seriously hated his friends.

Not in an actual 'I wish I didn't know you' way but in an 'oh my god you suck so hard right now' kind of way. Tonight was one of those times. He would never say that to them, of course, he had no desire to hurt anybody’s feelings, but a little mental cursing never hurt anyone.

He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around himself. Rain smattered down on the concrete around him. Water seeped through the canvas of his sneakers, soaking his socks and mood both at once. He was cold, wet and fed up. Buffy had asked him to meet her here, outside some dingy rock club filled with scary kids wearing studs and too much makeup, but she was nowhere to be found. She had answered her phone when he called, but the line mostly crackled and all he got was a muffled "-inside" from here.

Whatever. It was fine. It was totally cool that he was stuck out here being eyed by suspicious punks and scary scene kids. It was great. He could totally cope with the fact that the bouncer wouldn't let him in because he forgot his I.D and apparently he looked like he was twelve years old. Totally, totally fine. 

A truck roared down the street, sending a fresh wave of freezing water over the legs of his pants and shoes. 

Screw this. He was going home.

He hadn't even wanted to come out in the first place. He should be back in his nice cosy dorm room, preferably doing the lit assignment he had due in on Monday, maybe wrapped in a blanket. Yeah, his dorm sounded pretty great right now, even if he did have the roommate from hell.

Fate had other plans. Right as he made the decision to head back, he heard his name being called. Turning, he saw Buffy waving frantically from the door. Huffing to himself, he turned back again and headed to meet her.

"He's with us," Buffy said with a smile to the bouncer. The guy looked doubtful as Cyrus slipped passed, but he didn't question it again. 

"The reception is really bad in here," Buffy said, apologetically. "But you found the place okay, right? I mean you're here, so that's good. I didn't think you'd come."

Cyrus doesn't tell her that he almost didn't. He had been perfectly ready to stay in his dorm all night, even though it was a Friday night and he had little to no social life at the current moment in time with all the work his professors had been throwing at him. Except, then, Reed (roommate from hell) had come banging into the room, talking loudly into his cellphone to some girl. Cyrus had been able to stand it for about ten minutes, and then he got tired of the word "baby". 

A night at some dive being shoved around by sweaty drunks wasn't much of an improvement, but at least he didn't have to listen to Reed's obnoxious flirting. 

"It's cool you came," Buffy continued. "I think you'll like these guys, they're Andi and Marty's friends, y'know? They've even got some songs recorded now... did you know Gus- you know Gus Knight? Did you know he's running a studio in his mom's basement? He has all the equipment and everything. It's crazy."

"Crazy," Cyrus agreed, narrowly avoiding getting elbowed by a teary girl yelling and gesturing at a boy that looked too out of it to be taking in what she said. "So when are they meant to go on?"

The problem was that Cyrus liked music. He thought it was fun, especially if you could dance to it, and who didn't like to listen to their iPod on the bus? But Buffy's friends' world seemed to revolve around music, more specifically punk music, and the whole scene that came with it. He had accepted a few of their invitations to hang out to be polite, but most of them involved parties and shows.

As a kid he'd figured that was what you were meant to do in college - party and drink. What he'd learned from actually being in college? He didn't like to party and drink. He had no problem with other people doing it, obviously, but he'd rather he was far away from them while they did. Drunk people had a habit of throwing up on him, and in crowds like this Cyrus had lost his shoe more than once. They might be wet, but tonight he felt like keeping his shoes firmly on his feet. Preferably not covered in somebody's dinner.