November 3, 2022

Maddy sped along the Yellowhead Highway on her Yamaha V-Max. She didn’t care for driving in the prairies; when she was young, she had always kept her nose buried in a book or her DS (until it ran out of power), or even just tried to nap, rather than look outside.

There was too much sky, was the problem.

It was worse in Saskatchewan—the sheep-bear had avoided taking the Trans-Canada Highway route just to circumvent the stretch of road between Regina and Calgary—but you couldn’t really avoid it entirely, at least not until getting up in the mountains. The land was dead flat, and stretched out for kilometres in every direction; in Maddy’s view, it was just unsettling. Dwelling on the sheer scale and expanse of the prairie stretching out in all directions, apparently forever, was uncanny. Creepy, even. It was the closest they had ever come to truly understanding the cosmic horror concept of ‘alien geometries’ driving the observer hopelessly mad.

But right now, she didn’t have Mom to chauffeur her, nor any of her battered old Le Guin or Pratchett or Pullman paperbacks to take her mind off the emptiness of the distant fields. Those were all back in Mississauga. Right now, there was just herself and the highway; the bike thrumming beneath her and the occasional truck to pass; and that endless, maddening sky.

They’d checked in with Slider every day, sending a voice memo. The rat had immediately called them right after receiving it, a few times; not because he needed any particular clarification, but just to screw with the sheep-bear, condescendingly demanding point-by-point confirmation of all the things they hadn’t done that day to fulfill their mission of infiltrating the Korps, through their contact with Grace. Did you try to watch her house? Does she maybe have a spouse? Did you hide behind a box? Have you seen her with a fox?

Well, actually, Maddy had noticed the deer consider Vixie’s sweetly guileless come-on at the party…

…Wait, how old was she? Grace hadn’t made a point of objecting that she would be too old for the petite demivixen, as she’d playfully teased Maddy about the previous week, and the sheep-bear couldn’t have been that much younger.

This was a strange train of thought, and the sheep-bear tried to shrug it off as she rode down the bleakly flat plains in the direction of Edmonton. She most definitely was not attracted to Grace. Or Vixie. Or Carmen. Or Red—Volta. Or that built honey badger girl who’d slyly smiled at her in the hallway on her tour, or the androgynous, pastel-gothy owl that gave Maddy an intrigued wink on the train. Or any of the dozens—hundreds!—of, okay, admittedly, extremely fuckin’ hot women and enbies who’d been bumping and grinding to electronic remixes of vintage Halloween novelty songs in the Dominion Club. She grumbled, gritting her teeth underneath her helmet’s visor.

Fuck, they had it bad, Maddy conceded to themself. That shouldn’t factor into anything, should it? They probably shouldn’t be deciding to join the semi-covert anarchist supervillain organization in part for the dating opportunities, and yet…

Maddy was still trying to shake off the thought when she finally pulled into the Sherwood Park Super 8, and exhaustedly trudged towards the lobby. There was only one more day of driving until she reached Granddad’s house near Grande Prairie; for the moment, she had to get some rest.

…After, of course, a hearty dinner at the Smitty’s attached to the hotel. The diner chain was one of the few things they had missed about Alberta, and alongside their daydreaming about pretty girls, Maddy had been thinking intensely about a giant Cobb salad with quadruple bacon, followed by a stack of fresh-from-the-fryer mini-donuts, for hours.

Maddy practically waddled back to her room from the hotel restaurant. She’d obtained the salad she’d been yearning for all day, and then some; the bemused server had brought half of the crumbled bacon on the side, apologizing that the kitchen had been unable to plate it in the neatly-arranged rows mandated by corporate. The aesthetics of her dinner didn’t matter that much to the sheep-bear in the moment, and she happily sprinkled the surplus meat haphazardly over the rest of the ingredients before hungrily devouring the whole dish. She’d decided to have her dessert of fresh mini-donuts accompanied by a bowl of butterscotch ice cream, as well, and savoured every gulp of the combined fluffy, gooey, caramel-and-cinnamon goodness…

…All of which meant that, sated and dozy, it was time for the sheep-bear to have a nice lie-down.

Swiping the keycard at the door, they kicked off their boots, logily lumbered towards the bed, and hurled their wide, brown-furred bulk onto the soft mattress. After a quiet moment of relaxation, Maddy opened their eyes, and made efforts to get more comfortable. The sheep-bear undid their leather jacket and the flannel shirt beneath, letting their generous breasts hang out, before unzipping their tight jeans to release their stuffed, bloated gut from captivity. They sighed and grunted happily in contented relief, sprawling out and wriggling a loose nest into the bed covers.

Feeling pleasantly hazy, half-nude and halfway into a food coma, Maddy’s thoughts wandered, returning to that afternoon’s musing about all the attractive faces (and hot bodies of all shapes and sizes) she’d seen in the Dominion Club. Inspiration struck the sheep-bear: was there, perhaps—and she felt vaguely guilty yet remarkably excited at the idea—Korps-themed porn? It had never occurred to her before; she tended to get her kicks from spicy fanfics and soft-focus artsy indie lesbian content, but surely some studio (or enthusiastic amateurs) must have put out something along those lines.

They reached for their phone. Eyes reflexively darting from side to side despite being alone in the hotel room, the sheep-bear tapped on a VPN and flipped their browser to private mode – old habits died hard – and proceeded to carefully type ‘korps porn’ into the search field.

Results: 419,000 hits.

Maddy boggled, and began scrolling through. Sure enough, there was a lot of generically Hero-and-villain-themed porn from various professional studios; the scenario of a weary superhero, tied up in a classic deathtrap and not-so-unwillingly seduced by their archnemesis, was a popular one. But there was also a non-zero number of video clips with participants who were wearing RCGs, and they looked as real as the ones she’d seen at the Halloween party, or buried at the bottom of her duffel bag. She bit her lip at a particularly tall, lanky transfem zebra, and a red panda with huge breasts and a truly astonishing cock, but kept scrolling.

…Wait, holy shit; was that thumbnail Volta? The sheep-bear’s mouth dropped open, and without even thinking, they immediately tapped the link. It was… a commercial of some kind? For milk? They watched, baffled, as a goat of ambiguous gender talked folksily about their farm’s ‘top producers,’ and then, wow, that sure was Volta, huh. The gigantic wolf was sitting in some kind of industrial-looking chair, with a milking machine attached to her gigantic tits.

“Hey, I’m the infamous supervillain ‘Redline.’ You may have heard of me, and maybe you’ve already tasted me,” the red wolf said from the tiny speaker of Maddy’s phone.

“Tasted,” the sheep-bear mused aloud, sleepily, as she became aware that she was growing hard. It had been a while, she admitted to herself. Not wanting to waste rare horniness—somewhat awkward though the source of it might be, fuck—she reached down below her broad belly to pop open the button of her plain black boxer briefs, allowing her chubby cock to peek out.

Maddy gave themself a sensuous stroke as they continued watching the video, which had cut to shots of a dairy production line. So they could just… drink Volta’s milk, if they wanted to? Anyone could? (At least, anyone with access to these ‘Korps Farms’ products, she supposed.) The sheep-bear recalled sitting next to the huge she-wolf at the party, how their six-foot-zero frame put their blunt muzzle exactly at the larger woman’s chest height, and pumped their shaft, hand bumping into the overhang of their muscle-gut to the thought of suckling at those voluptuous teats. It felt mildly wrong, somehow, and yet…with the effects of HRT on their libido, they couldn’t remember the last time they’d been so ready-to-burst (in more ways than one) and riled up.

“Oh holy fuck,” she exclaimed, eyes growing wide at the video’s next scene. The demimorphic fox woman she’d also met at the party, Vixie, was sprawled on the floor at Volta’s feet, licking and spit-shining the wolf’s shiny black boots. Boots a lot like her motorcycle boots, discarded carelessly by the hotel room door, as she’d stumbled into this indulgent session of post-gluttony self-pleasure. Maddy’s mouth hung open as she drooled at her phone’s screen, and she began pounding furiously as her fantasizing shifted to the idea of the short, soft vixen at her own feet, eagerly and submissively servicing her.

Maddy couldn’t help themself; they growled, they sobbed, they roared at the decadent sensations and the thought, the extremely visceral realization, that they could have this, if they wanted! They could be part of those orgies Hagen disgustedly raved about! The Korps was known for being horny as hell, that was genuinely one of the things that appealed to the sheep-bear, and that was fucking great…!

Two things happened at that precise moment. The scene in the video changed again—now Vixie was the one hooked up to the milking machine, and Volta’s massive hand was knuckle-deep inside her pussy, Jesus!—and the sheep-bear reached a howling orgasm. Unable to stop herself, Maddy bucked her big beefy butch bear girl ass a dozen times and exploded, watery cum spurting from her chunky member across the treasure-trail shag of her bloated belly.

The sheep-bear panted as they closed their eyes, the phone slipping from their grip onto the bed. It had begun playing the next video, but Maddy hardly heard it. Having sated all their appetites, they pleasantly wallowed in their sweaty, sticky, and extremely soft nest of blankets, and began to drift off.

Tomorrow would be a big day, after all.

November 4, 2022

Grovedale was exactly the same as Maddy remembered it: same old Agricultural Society announcement board at the turn-off from the two-lane highway, same old general store (“COLD BEER — HOT FOOD — TACKLE”), same old stifling sense that if there was a bright centre to Canada, this was the hamlet it was farthest from. They slowed their bike, puttering carefully down the muddy, worn asphalt. At the end of the township road, past a swung-open gate, was Garth Oakes’ tidy ranch house.

The sheep-bear carefully propped their bike’s kickstand into the thin gravel driveway. Granddad’s F-150 was parked by the porch, so she assumed he must be home. However, knocking at the front door resulted in no answer. Maddy stepped down from the porch and ambled around the side of the house to the long back acre. Sure enough, there he was, back along the scrubby brush forest, chopping firewood.

Garth Oakes was 89, but neither age nor the loss of his wife had slowed down the burly old bear; Maddy could see him swing the hatchet with as much force and precision as they’d recalled from him fifteen years earlier. When they were a few metres away, the sheep-bear called out. “...Hi, Granddad.”

The man turned around, surprised. When he saw who had arrived, a range of emotions flashed over his face—first happiness, then a briefly uncertain scowl, until settling on a neutral expression, dark lips pursed. “Madison,” he said quietly. For a moment the two stood staring at each other, arms folded, before he spoke again. “I’m getting a beer. Do you want one?”

Maddy nodded, uncertainly.

Granddad lumbered off to his shed, and returned with an opened bottle of Labatt 50 in each meaty paw. He handed one to his granddaughter, and they perfunctorily toasted before sitting in two nearby plastic lawn chairs. She took a swig, wincing at the insipid taste.

“So,” the old bear grumbled. “Haven’t seen you in a few years. Haven’t talked to you in a few years. Not since you went and… not since you moved out East,” he said with more than a hint of derision.

“Yes,” Maddy muttered. “I had to. You know that.”

He shrugged, a motion like the slow turn of a battleship on the high seas. “Maybe so. I hear you’re a full-fledged Hero in Ontario, now.”

“Yeah. I am.”

He took a long sip of his beer. “Madison, I was thinking, when I went to the fridge just now. I was thinking you probably wouldn’t have come all the way out here, unannounced, if that was going well. Is it going well?”

“It’s going like shit, Granddad.”

The old bear snorted, a bitter grin spreading across his muzzle. “How’s that? Toronto not everything you hoped for?”

Maddy swallowed another swig of the vile brew, and took a deep breath, looking away from her grandfather’s gaze. “I know how Dad died. How he really died, I mean.”

Granddad’s grin faded. “I don’t know what—”

The sheep-bear whipped their head back towards their grandfather, scowling. “He got so fucking mad at some logging protestors that he gave himself a brain aneurysm, during a press conference, in front of Prairie League HQ. It was on the goddamn news. Except, hey, it turns out the League pulled some strings and covered that up, and told everyone he died from fighting a supervillain. And then you and the rest of the family made my own mother lie to me about that too, for nearly twenty years. I didn’t learn any of this until a few weeks ago. Is this ringing any bells, Garth?”

He sneered, and finished the bottle, before getting up and heading back towards the shed. “I’m going to need another drink for this,” Granddad growled.

When he returned, he had a new beer in each hand, confusing Maddy. When the old bear slumped into his chair, he downed the entire second bottle in one long gulp, before a briefer swig from the third.

“Madison—”

This time, the young sheep-bear growled at him. “It’s Maddy. I know you know I prefer Maddy. And by the way, I know Dad was an abusive piece of shit who would beat Mom bloody on the reg, too.”

The old bear was silent, and stared at his feet.

Maddy grew louder, gesturing angrily with their free hand, and stood up to berate their grandfather. “I never fucking wanted to be Heartwood, or Heartforce. I wanted to play hockey with my friends! I wanted to write dumb little stories about Olivier Armstrong kissing Izumi Curtis! I wanted to have a life, and you and the fucking PHL took that all from me, when you forced me into being a replacement for your stupid raging asshole son, when I was all of twelve! I couldn’t quit even when we moved to Ontario, because it was only since I was so ‘responsible’ and ‘mature’ that Mom let me start transitioning at fourteen! And now, here I am at twenty-three; I never got a chance to go to college, and I’ve never had a relationship that lasted longer than a couple months. I have no useful skills outside my telekinesis, and an encyclopedic knowledge of Heartwood’s career and Ontario’s Heroes policy, most of which is just fake. It’s made up! Dad was a monster, and so are my bosses! The only friends I’ve made in years are… well, they’re criminals! And they’re still better people than you, or Dad, or anyone I’ve ever worked with from the PHL!”

She paused, taking a breath, now panting, spraying spittle as she spoke. Granddad looked unnerved. “And do you know what the worst thing is about this job? I’m basically just a cop! And I hate being a cop! Pretty much every other queer person in the country hates me being a cop too! So yeah, old man, the Hero career thing? It’s going like shit.”

The sheep-bear roared furiously, and lashed out with one hand, flailing with their powers to topple a nearby tree to the ground; the old bear shuddered at that, but kept looking downwards. “I am so glad I changed my name to Gillespie. Who would want to be a member of this fucking family?” They huffed, eyes wide, and downed the rest of their beer before letting the bottle bonelessly slip through their fingers, landing on the scrubby grass.

Finally, Garth Oakes spoke, hesitantly, looking up at his granddaughter with damp eyes. “I did what I thought was best for everyone,” he said, in an almost pleading tone. “You needed—you needed him to be a legend, to inspire you. You had powers, and you needed training to keep them under control. We were all so proud of you, of what you could do, and carrying on his legacy was, well… it just made sense! And Roger was—he was gone, he wasn’t going to hurt Deborah any more…”

Maddy’s reserve momentarily weakened at seeing her grandfather like this… almost expressing contrition, regret, for once in his long life. Was this necessary? Did she have to take this out on him? It was then that she remembered how Mom had broken down weeping in her bedroom, as she’d ashamedly forced out an admission of how her husband had hurt her. It had broken something in her. She huffed.

“You know what she told me, Granddad? He nearly beat her to death, one time in Ottawa. He couldn’t catch some villain, a liz—” Maddy’s breath caught in their throat, as pieces came together in their mind, and the sheep-bear’s jaw dropped. One hand flew up to their mouth, and they began to cry. “Oh my fucking God, both of them in the same night…”

Granddad peered at Maddy quizzically. “Both of who…?”

The sheep-bear turned her gaze back to the elderly bear, incensed, teeth bared and nostrils flaring. “Shut up. Shut up. Just shut the fuck up, old man. Just tell me this. How long did you know about him hurting Mom?”

He shifted uncomfortably in the plastic chair, jaw set defiantly. “Roger… had a temper. He told me he had it under control. That was just something men used to do, when I was a cub. When I came home from the war—”

“That was 1954. You got back from Korea in 1954. When was the first time that you knew your youngest son, Roger Keith Oakes, who was fucking born in 1972, liked to hit women? Liked to bash queers? Was a bully?”

The old bear growled, pained. He tipped up his beer, swallowing the rest, and then hurled the empty into the woods. There was a faint sound of shattering glass. “He had super-strength! How was I supposed to stop him? The last time I tried to correct him was when he was seventeen. He broke my arm.”

Maddy was incredulous. “He hurt you too? And you still went along with letting the world think he was a great man, once he was dead?”

“We did it for you, Mad—Maddy…” The bear’s face showed his age, now that they were looking closely; his eyes were sunken, and he trembled in the fading dusk. Granddad seemed small, almost frail, weak, despite his massive ursine bulk. He couldn’t meet his granddaughter’s gaze.

The sheep-bear took a deep breath, and gazed out at the scrubland. The sun was dipping below the horizon, and a chill wind blew.

“Goodbye, Granddad,” Maddy said coldly as she walked away.