#but this was also drawn with just the slightest bit of spite >:t

[meat-fr]

"they're not graceful", "they're not elegant", "They're not angelic"

-and i took that personally (as a challenge!)

[crystalessenceswrites]

Shadows- Chapter Four

Shadows

A modern monster AU Pairings: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence, dark themes, death of unnamed and background characters, descriptions of blood, descriptions of a dead body Summary: Crypto- concealed; secret. You have always lived your life in the shadows; after all, you’re one of the creatures who go bump in the night. He has sworn his life to a creed that aims to protect the world from monsters like you.

[Masterlist] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] Cross-posted to AO3

Why was it always vampires?

It seemed like the bounty lists were chalk full of them these days, more so than normal. Which was not awful for slayers. They were generally high paying jobs, considering most of them were wanted for the murder of the humans or cryptos they’d been feeding on. You just preferred to stay away from the fangs. The superhuman abilities of a well-fed vampire were difficult to match in a fight, even for seasoned slayers. While you had the training and equipment to deal with them, the bounty was not always worth the medical bills after the fact. You specialized in the kinds of bounties that were more brains than brawn. Preferring the chase over the actual fight. Today you did not have much of a choice, apparently. You’d come into the office later in the morning and arrived to find all the new non-vampiric bounties had been promptly snatched up by the early birds. Leaving you stuck with the fangs. Great.

Your target was a vampire named Qin. He was active and was not doing much of anything to cover it up. A serious threat to everyone if left unattended to. The urgency in needing to deal with someone like him had bumped his bounty up fairly high, even for the usual vampire fair. There were plenty of breadcrumbs to follow, making your afternoon much easier. He was holed up in the old industrial district during the day. Most of the old neighborhood was being retrofitted for industrial lofts and modern condos, so there would be plenty of construction sites and condemned buildings for him to hide in and a steady stream of workers to pick off for food. Sightings and intelligence had his location narrowed down to a three-block radius. The was all easy enough. Killing him would be another story.

Vampires did not have any one magic bullet weakness- they aren’t susceptible to iron or silver- making them harder to handle. Staking one through the head or heart was usually the best way to incapacitate one, until their body was burned and ashes were scattered. That required getting closer than you were comfortable with. The last thing you wanted was a fanged creature with arms reach of your neck. You really should have just taken the day off. Too bad your landlord never took a day off when it came time to collect your rent.

Starting with the largest warehouse on the southside and moving north until you got lucky, or rather unlucky, enough to run into your bounty, seemed the best course of action. And today kept proving to be an unlucky day for you. You’d barely broken into the first building when you came across two completely drained corpses left out in the open, bodies still cooling. Your bounty was here and full of fresh blood.

Well shit.

Sword drawn you continue to sneak through the abounded building. Vampires were natural predators; their sense of smell was leagues above your own. It was more than likely he already knew you were here-unless he was occupied with another victim. That must have been the case, considering he hadn’t jumped out at you yet. On high alert you continue farther into the warehouse with a white-knuckle grip on your weapon. The main body of the building is split into two storage areas, the first dark in the overcast afternoon and empty. There are signs someone’s been around, a mattress and blankets in a corner, duffle bags and a pile of dark clothes next to a tower of take-out boxes. Odd.

You drop to the floor as the crack of a gunshot splits the silence. Mind reeling you wonder what vampire needs a fucking gun. Another scan of the space confirms you’re still alone, no shooter in sight. It must have come from the next room, too loud to have been outside the building. As you approach the partition the familiar metallic sting of fresh blood reaches your nose. Vampires don’t bleed.

Three more shots ring out, definitely from the other side of the partition.

Vampire’s don’t use guns.

Another deep breath draws more of the scents in, the dust and mildew of the building, the spark of gun powder and the overwhelming musk of human. Your bounty was not alone and wasn’t with anyone friendly. It wasn’t another slayer- once a bounty gets picked up its pulled off the lists- and most slayers didn’t smell so strongly of human, so the next logical assumption was a lone hunter. Not that it would have been hard for any human to pick up on this vampire’s trail, but if it had been law enforcement to find him the building would be flooded with cops.

You truly had the worst luck today.

Odds were probably one to four against the hunter. Humans rarely stood a chance against vampires unless they caught one out in sunlight.

A loud crash, like something heavy collapsing, shakes the silence. As a slayer you’re obligated to help the human but considering all that’s gone on in the last few weeks you’re feeling much less inclined to do so.

“Come on Mando! I thought you freaks were proud warriors and all!”

Fucking hell. Kira was right, you are a Mando magnet. The vampire’s taunt is not reassuring in the slightest. You did not need a dead Mando on your hands. Creeping into the next room you’re quick to find cover behind some dust covered work benches. Surveying the space leads you to believe the Mando and Qin have been at a while. The space is trashed, boxes toppled over and crushed, shelves up ended, and bullet holes are scattered throughout the space.

The Mando’s back is to you at the moment while he and the vampire stare each other down. You don’t need to see his face to know who you’re dealing with; you’d been on the look out for this particular mop of curls since your last run-in. How was he everywhere you needed to be? Why couldn’t you shake him?

He suddenly springs into action again, drawing the spear he’d been carrying on his back, swinging it in a wide arch at the vampire. Qin’s too fast and easily dodges the attack before going in for his own, trying to get within arm’s reach. Mando doesn’t let him, blocking each attack with deadly precision. Neither gives in, pushing back against the other, jumping around the other in attempt to land a hit.

You’re hesitant to say you’re impressed by Mando, but only out of spite. He moves like a well-oiled machine, despite not having the upper hand he does not give up control of the fight to his undead opponent. This is the most dressed down you’ve seen him, baring the silver tac vest over a dark colored shirt. You can safely assume its beskar, the metal harnessed solely by the Mandalorians. Just one of the things that made then unique to other hunters. As he circles around Qin you catch sight of blood dripping down his sharp jaw, the hair just above his ear dark and matted with it. He’d taken a pretty serious hit already.

Now you really had to help him.

This was the kind of opportunity you never had when dealing with vampires. Qin’s attention was solely focused on the hunter. There was no indication from either that they’d noticed your silent arrival. You had one shot with the element of surprise, and you needed to make it count. If you could incapacitate Qin, stun him long enough for you and Mando to finish the job you could make it out of here in one piece. Mando in close to one piece.

Although there was no magic bullet for vampires, a bullet wound did still require time and energy to heal. Even though vampires and the like were technically “undead,” they still felt and registered pain to some degree, meaning bullets also provided a certain shock factor. You lose the sword, reaching for your thigh holster instead. While you were not a fan of guns, you weren’t willing to risk a fight with a vampire for your pride. You always came prepared when dealing with a bloodsucker.

Qin and Mando continue to circle each other in their tense dance. Despite the dark look in both their eyes, Qin has a smug smirk plastered across his face, probably under the impression he was going to be having a Mandalorian for lunch. Too bad you couldn’t allow it. All you needed was a clear shot. You mentally will Mando to put some distance between him and the bloodsucker, as if that would actually work.

Your breath catches in your throat as Mando sweeps his spear in another wide arc, forcing Qin back. Maybe you were lucky today after all. The moment Qin lands back on his feet, far enough away from the hunter, you jump out from your cover and take the shot, tagging Qin in the temple.

Damn good shot.

Mando jumps as Qin’s body crumples to the ground, face drawing together in confusion. That feeling akin to satisfaction returns. You could get the jump on him and a vampire. Third time would not be his charm, you are sure of it. You would not let it.

His brain catches up with the situation and he swings around, staff pointed at you as you vault over the workbench. Next comes the recognition, his jaw dropping just a bit at your sudden materialization. You’re thankful his first reaction isn’t to attack as you’re quick to re-holster your gun.

“Focus Mando,” you quip, directing your attention back to the vampire beginning to move on the floor.

“Fuck!” Qin curses, already starting to come back to it. That seemed too quick, even for a recently fed vampire.

Mando snaps into action, kicking Qin down before his spear finds its way through the vampire’s rib cage. Judging by the ear-splitting screech Qin let’s out, Mando found his mark, staking Qin where he lays. Mando does not move as you approach with sword in hand. He does not move as you bring your blade to rest on the bounty’s neck.

“You have one chance to surrender or I collect the bounty on your head, Qin.”

“You bitch!” He snarls, thrashing around the pole shoved through his torso. “Working with a Mando, that’s low- even for a slayer!”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“See you in hell one day, bitch.”

Smug even in death. Ugh. You don’t feel much as you chop his off with one swift swing. Not after you saw those two innocents on your way in. People like him were the exact reason humans called your kind monsters.

“Sunny disposition on that one,” you grumble, stepping back from Mando and the decapitated bounty. The hunter doesn’t even offer you a curtesy laugh. Stick in the mud.

“Why are you here?”

He doesn’t bother to hide the suspicion. Did he think you were following him now? That was rich.

“Doing my job. I took on the bounty for this one.” Pulling your messenger bag off, you begin to organize your supplies, “which I’d like to finish up if you have no objections.”

Mando just steps back, leaning against his staff. You can feel the weight of his gaze boring into you while you work. His eyes tracking your every move, detailing each item you pull from your clean up kit. You didn’t spot any bag of his lying around, you wonder how he had been planning on dealing with the body.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Why did you help me?”

Questions, questions.

“You let us go last time- I owed you for that at least,” you shrug. Now you were even. Well, as even as you could be with a human Mandalorian.

He’s silent for a moment, watching as you pull a few jars and a water bottle out of the bag. One contains a small collection of thistle bulbs. Mando doesn’t ask but you can see the curiosity growing as you stick the sharp plants into the vampire’s wounds.

“Vampires are weak to thistle, introduce it into the body and it halts their healing abilities. Aloe vera works too, it’s just not as flammable.

“Aloe vera and thistles?”

You chuckle, “what, did you think garlic would work?”

Mando scoffs, his sharp eye still following your hands. Next comes the burning of the body. You want to get that done as quick as possible. Thistle was not an end all weakness and even decapitated vampires could regenerate. You douse the body and head in gasoline from the water bottle.

“Light?”

Eyebrows raised you gingerly take the lighter he offers, catching the edge of Qin’s shirt with the flame. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the corpse to catch. The flames cast shadows over the Mandalorian’s face as you watch him from the corner of your eye. The air is heavy between you and not with the smell of burning flesh.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to let him kill me?”

“Why would I want that?” Had he not come to the realization that you couldn’t kill him?

“You get rid of nuisances, right? So one of you will have to kill me eventually.”

It takes all your will power to not burst out laughing. There was no way he was getting anything from an inside informant if that’s what he thought slayers did. You had this Mando pinned down about as wrong as he had you figured out. No wonder no one had been able to find a turn coat when one didn’t exist to begin with.

“I don’t know where you’re getting your info, but you need to find a different source. Trust me. As much as most slayers want to get rid of hunters, we can’t without very good reasons. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be any better than the ones we hunt.”

He quirks an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest, “so what? You’re just monsters hunting other monsters?”

“One,” you hold up a finger, “we use the term crypto.”

“Crypto? Like cryptid?”

“Where do you think humans got the word from?”

Mando scoffs at that but doesn’t press.

“Two, most of us don’t actually qualify as cryptos. Slayers are primarily half-bloods.”

You revel in the confusion on his face. Never did you think you would find yourself completely altering a Mandalorian’s understanding of the world. This was priceless.

Why were you telling him all this?

“Half-bloods?”

“You know, half human?”

“That’s possible?”

Now you cannot hold back the laugh this time, “human genetics are surprisingly adaptable.”

A look of disgust washes over his face and your heart drops.

“I just want you to know we’re not so different… our job is to stop those who hurt or take advantage of humans, to stop those who threaten to expose us. I imagine that’s not so different from what Mandalorians want…” after all, they couldn’t want to kill you all, could they?

[thiswasinevitableid]

Return (OT4)

Prompt for the 28th was: Costume

He might be showing off a little bit, carrying all the suitcases in at once, but Duck likes the appreciative look Indrid gives him as he does. The Sylph is already settled on the shoved together king beds, sketchbook in hand, eyeing the ranger conspicuously when he bends to set Joe’s bag down first, just as the agent finishes checking something off his to-do list

“Oh, thank you, um, honey.” The last word still comes out quiet. Really, the only time Joe says it loudly is when Duck has him pinned to one surface or another. 

He smiles to show he heard him, but if he’s being honest his attention has been mainly on Indrid this whole day, watching for signs of discomfort or unhappiness. The Sylph has insisted over and over again that he wanted to come on this trip, that he would be alright, and that they could all stop fussing about this please and thank you. 

But that doesn’t change the fact they’re in Point Pleasant.

They’re here for the Mothman Festival, Duck making good on his promise to Joe to go with him. He’s excited, and he likes seeing the agent happy. Indrid seems happy too, and Duck is trying to walk the line between letting him be and making sure he’s as alright as he claims to be. In spite of his experiences in Kepler, Indrid still sometimes takes unhappiness as inevitable, even when it’s his own. 

“Okay” Barclay tucks his phone into his back pocket, “my vote is for that cafe a few blocks over; if we go early, we can beat the dinner rush. Plus, even though it wasn’t a huge trip, being on the road tires me out, so I wanna crash soon as I can.”

“That is your only reason for wanting to get into bed sooner?” Indrid sends a suggestive smirk his way, making the bearded man blush. 

“Maybe. Depends on what everyone else is up for.”

The answer turns out to be a decent dinner followed by collapsing into bed in rapid succession. It doesn’t escape Ducks’ notice that Indrid stays in his human form and opts to nestle down between the ranger and the agent, holding Barclay’s hand where it’s draped over Joe’s waist. 

He wakes up once during the night, the dim light of the alarm clock enough to sting his eyes. In his arms, Indrid takes several deep breaths, rolls to burrow his face into Duck’s chest. He waits to see if Indrid will say anything, but the next sound he hears is a gentle chirp-snore. So he kisses his forehead, and goes back to dreaming.

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

“Having been to the TNT plant plenty of times, I do not feel the need to go on the hayride there.”

“Yeah, think we can skip that.” Duck sips his coffee as they wander through the first few blocks of the festival. Joe’s early rising has them beating much of the crowd, though runners from the 5K jog by now and then. 

“Why were you there, anyway? It doesn’t seem suitable for you.” Stern turns them towards the museum.

“The Winnebago’s previous incarnation wasn’t all that far away. Frightened humans are not known  for their powers of observation.”

“True.” Joe and Barclay say as one. 

They split up soon after, Joe and Duck into the museum while Barclay and Indrid scope out the food booths (“Being in a space with a great deal of inaccurate information about me is not my favorite). Wandering the exhibits, the agent’s fingers slip between his own, and Duck smiles when he sneaks a peek at him. He’s so relaxed, his dark hair out of it’s usual slicked-back state since he wanted to get out of the door quickly, looks utterly at home in his mothman patterned button up shirt, animatedly talking about the displays. Indrid is usually the one of them most likely to dump information out in one big flow, but Joe has his moments. 

The building is warm enough that Duck unbuttons his overshirt, revealing the t-shirt beneath. Joe turns to tell him something, and stops, eyebrows zipping up his forehead. 

“A little on the nose, isn’t it?”

Duck grins, looking down at the bright red letters reading “mothman is my boyfriend.”

“Juno bought it for me once she found out. Usually just wear it when I wanna make Indrid laugh. Plus, seen three people with similar ones, so it ain’t like anyone is gonna take it as confession.”

Joe nods, gracefully weaving through a small clump of visitors on their way to the gift shop. When Duck falls in next to him, the agent murmurs, “you’re worried about him too.”

“Kinda hard not to be.”

“I know. I’m trying to take him at his word but it’s, well, it’s difficult. It wouldn’t be the first time my interests turned people off. I’d hate for him to get overwhelmed by all this and try to hide it for my sake.”

“He ain’t bad at hidin things, but he’s also real fuckin blunt.” He puts his arm around Joe’s shoulder, “it’ll be okay, city mouse.”

After spending slightly more money than necessary (look, he promised lots of people souvenirs and also he needed to buy a few things for Joe for the holidays), they make their way back into the festival. On a bench near an outer edge, Barclay and Indrid are sitting thigh to thigh, Barclay feeding Indrid funnel cake. He says something and Indrid laughs.

“You know, even though it was fleeting, I’m glad they found each other all those years ago. One of the things I love most about Barclay is how he takes care of people, and I think Indrid needed that.”

“Not gonna lie, never expected the biggest softy in Kepler to also be Bigfoot.”

“You didn’t expect it? Think about how I feel.”

He laughs, “yeah, you got me there.”

They move through the festival as a quartet after that, Barclay delighted with his “Mothman Blend” coffee and Indrid with the sweater bearing his likeness and the words “live, laugh, lurk.” As noon approaches, more and more mothman appear, all in varying degrees of impressive or lackluster cosplays and costumes. Stern keeps muttering about scale, Indrid about wing placement, and Duck can’t help but think none of them get the color right. 

“I have an, ah, an idea.” Indrid says, turning a mug reading “I Heart Mothman” over in his hands, “So many people are excited to meet those who look like me. I want to see what happens if they see the real thing.”

“Uh, that seems real-”

“Risky yes, but I’ve checked the futures and there is not one where I am identified as what I actually am.”

Duck and Barclay trade a skeptical look, but Joe has an uncharacteristically scheming glint in his eye. 

“I know exactly how we can insure that. Duck, Barclay, wait here please. Indrid, come with me, we need to run back to the hotel.” He grabs the Sylphs hand. 

“What are you--oh, oh yes, that is rather clever” is the last Duck hears before losing them in the crowd. 

“....you wanna help me pick out a present for Jake?” Barclay still looks worried, so Duck nods and they set off towards a t-shirt booth.

Barclay is mid-anecdote about his run in with a cougar out in California when every visitor in sight starts whispering and taking pictures.

The cooks mutters “If this goes wrong, Mama’s going to lock all four of us in the safehouse for the rest of our lives.”

In his Sylph form, Indrid towers above the crowd. His arms are resolutely set by his sides and head held high, Duck gets a rare glimpse of how his boyfriend must have looked in the halls of Sylvain. All the same, his eyes are drawn to the  antenna twitching with nerves as the onlookers get closer.

“If you could just step back from the specimen a bit, thank you.” Joe steps directly in front of Indrid, and Barclay lets out a soft, appreciative growl to Duck’s right. The agent is in a full suit, complete with sunglasses, a picture of handsome, aloof calm. 

People in the crowd laugh,take more pictures as Indrid’s “handler” guides him over to Duck and Barclay.

“Do you just pack a suit no matter what, babe?”

“No. I, um, I know how much certain people like it when I wear one. I planned to bring it out this evening but this seemed like the better use.”

“It’s working splendidly. So far. Just keep people away from my wings; I only like it when you three touch them.”

“Roger that. Lunch?”

“Sounds good to me. Lead the way, mister man-in-black.” Duck steps aside so Joe can go first, clearing a path for them, Indrid staying close to the agent’s back. They opt for a waffle stand selling, among other things, waffle sandwiches and something called the “Mothman Delight” that consists of strawberry jam, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream. Indrid orders one, only to ask Barclay to feed it to him to keep up the ruse of this being a costume. The cook doesn’t object in the slightest, though at one point he whispers something in high sylph that makes Indrid poof up with a chirp. 

The longer they wander the festival, the more relaxed Indrid becomes, fielding questions about costume construction and wing mechanics with the ease of someone who spent a century constructing alibis for his very existence. Lots of people take pictures with him, Joe shepherding them into poses that won’t make the Sylph uncomfortable. Several inquire as to why he didn’t enter the cosplay contest. 

“It wouldn’t have been fair.” 

It’s when they’re debating when and how to get dinner that a family approaches. Sandwiched between her parents, a girl of about seven stares up at Indrid with wide eyes, clutching her stuffed mothman to her chest. 

“Can, um, can” she looks back to her parents for help.

“She wants to know if she can hug you.” The woman says, as a child wanting to hug a massive monster is utterly unremarkable. 

Joe glances at Indrid, who nods, “Yes, if she would like to.”

The girl hands her small mothman to her dad, takes four steps forward, and throws her arms around the much larger one. Indrid does his best to hug her back, settling for putting his hands on her shoulders. 

“She’s just obsessed with cryptids.”

“You’re my favorite” she smiles up at Indrid.

“Mine too.” Duck chimes in, resting his hand on the smell of Indrid’s back. 

“We’re out here because it’s all she wants for her birthday.”

Joe makes a high-pitched noise at the same time Barclay lets out an “awww.”

Indrid smiles, pats the child’s head, “In that case, would you like to take a picture with me?”

“Yes!”

“May I pick you up?”

She nods hard enough to send her alien-patterned headband down her forehead. Indrid picks her up, holding her while she beams at her mom’s camera. 

“Are you liking the festival?” He asks as they pose.

“Uh huh. ‘Cept for the parts where people say mothman does bad things. He doesn’t, he stops them, everyone knows that.” 

“She’s gotten in at least three arguments with classmates over that.” Her father adds, holding out his arms as Indrid passes the girl back to him. 

“I, ah, I am glad to know the mothman has such determined defenders. Happy birthday, my dear.”

As they turn, the little girl calls out, “bye mothman! I love you!”

Indrid looks back, red eyes a bit watery, and waves as Duck murmurs, “Me too.”

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

Stern doesn’t regret how much he ate at dinner. He;s just glad he packed those antacids. 

When he sits up, two bodies are missing from the bed, and it’s only the sight of a note on the nightstand that keeps him from bolting out of bed to look for them. 

Indrid and I are out for a late-night walk. Back soon.

-Duck.

“Everything okay?” Barclay rolls over, brown eyes reflective in the dark. 

“Yes” he pops the antacid into his mouth, “they just stepped out.”

“O-” the sylph yawns “kay.” Blinking sleepily, he smiles, “anyone ever tell you you’re the hottest thing on two legs?”

“You did, this morning.”

“Good, gotta meet my quota.” He opens his arms and Stern snuggles in net to him, “sleep tight, special agent.”

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

Duck didn’t see Indrid leave, but he’s got a hunch as to where he went. Still, he almost misses him, spots the silver hair in the moonlight right before a hedge obscures it. 

Indrid sits in the middle of the embankment, the Ohio reflecting the night sky in motion. To a passerby, he looks to be studying the opposite shore. Duck knows that his gaze is closer than that, sweeping over air that wasn’t always empty. 

“Huh, there was only one future where you followed me.”

“You want me to go back?”

“No.” 

Duck picks his way down to Indrid’s side, finding a flat stone to sit on. 

“It’s funny, the ways stories change. What they say about me grows further and further from what I say about myself.”

“‘Drid, you know this wasn’t your fault. No more than the Cottonwood or anythin else was.”

“That is the story I try to tell in my mind. That there are things that cannot be stopped or altered, that must only be endured. That was why I gave up for years. Then you and the others showed me that even the worst, seemingly inevitable futures can be changed. And that is good, so very good, but all the same it....it sometimes serves as proof of what I fear; that I could not stop these” he gestures to river, “disasters not because they were unstoppable, but because I was incapable.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Sometimes. Just as you sometimes worry you could have done much more good in the world had you neglected your powers. I wonder how much of my failure was out of my hands.”

“Drid” Duck cups his cheek, turning his head and gingerly tilting his glasses up his forehead, “You’re forgettin somethin; the cottonwood, the funicular, the end of the goddamn world, none of that was stopped by one person. It took a whole bunch of us, every damn time. You were alone. There’s only so much one fella can do on his own.”

Indrid closes his eyes, inhales and looks out over the river one last time. Then all his attention is on Duck. 

“You’re right. I may not always believe that, but I know it’s true.”

“You know what else?”

The smile suggests he does. Indrid leans the few inches in to kiss him, the action dreamlike in its softness. Duck catches a hint of two different scents; a pine tr sop and a cologne. The Sylph is sheltered from the chill by a sweatshirt that started off as Barclays, but is routinely claimed by his boyfriends. 

“You ain’t alone anymore.”

For the first time in decades, the mothman smiles while within sight of the rebuilt silver bridge. 

“You’re right, my love. I’m not.”