#they look strangely stocky from the waist down

[theriu]

Finally finished this piece! :D The joke here is that @jenniferbrincho and I discovered that both our main characters started as Danny Phantom fan characters. So naturally, I had to draw them all interacting. XD My guy Barrenger (wolfy-lookin’ dude) was modeled after Wulf’s species originally. (Now he naturally looks more human if not for shapeshifting shenanigans, thus him thinking these other glowing-eyed individuals are also tulinai, his race. Everyone is confused and it’s great.)

Btw, you can see more of Farron (elf king on the left) in Jennifer’s Webtoon Farron and Noodle (go read it, it is so fun and has an adorable samoyed puppy who is happiness personified)! You can read about Barrenger…someday, when I finish writing his book series! (I’M ON BOOK 3 WE’LL FINISH EVENTUALLY)

BONUS: Decided to have fun with pencil shading before I colored it!

[serpentface]

Full ref outline of the main White Calf characters, a dysfunctional noble family and two monks, all tied with the titular sacrificial wild oxen calf.

Left to right: Couya Haidamane, Faiza Haidamane, Janeys Haidamane, Hibrides Haidamane (née Uryashta), Brakul 'Red-Dog', Palo Apolynnon, Tigran Otto.

Design notes and very brief character summaries below the cut

Couya Haidamane

Odonii priestess, assigned to the sacrificial white calf, pretty sure that God has chosen her as Its emissary. Half sister to Faiza and Janeys. Constantly three seconds away from killing Janeys with a rock. Friends with Hibrides.

Has an awkward demeanor, doesn't talk much, borderline humorless, both intentionally and inadvertently intimidates those around her, regarded as strange and unsettling, very much in her own head most of the time.

32 years old.

Wardi and Titen-Wardi, born and raised in the city of Wardin.

5’9’, yellow-brown eyes, light brown hair, lanky muscular build

Usually wears a men’s styled robe.

Wears a standard issue Odonii's veil and headband.

Almost always carrying her pistol with no sheath, and usually positions it to be prominently exposed.

Often wears her hair unbraided, which is somewhat unconventional.

Terminal resting bitch face and signature cold, dead eyed stare.

Has a mole on the left side of the face, above the lip.

Routine bloodletting scars on the side of her left index finger.

Doesn't wear jewelry unless she has to.

Faiza Haidamane

Senior Odonii priestess, personal friend of the king and a de-facto leader of the pilgrimage, sister of Janeys and half sister to Faiza. Just desperately trying to make sure everything goes alright.

Skilled with diplomacy, shrewd and pragmatic, charismatic and confident, has a bit of a martyr complex about protecting those around her and enjoys power.

35 years old.

Wardi and Titen-Wardi, born and raised in the city of Wardin.

5’6’’, gray eyes, brown hair, wiry build

Hair is almost always braided and worn down the front.

Wears a standard issue Odonii's veil and headband.

Likes to keep her arms bare, and usually wears her cloak around the waist outside of blazing sun or very cold conditions.

Wears a lapis lazuli necklace

Has a serpent pelatoche bracelet she wears on her left wrist, a gift from the king Stavis Amanti.

Really likes the color blue (blue clothing is typical wear for Odonii but it's a thing for her specifically)

Routine bloodletting scars on her lower left forearm.

Janeys Haidamane

Unaccomplished wealthy brat mercenary, is in command of 25 soldiers entirely due to nepotism via Faiza. Married to Hibrides and sworn brother/lover to Brakul.

Generally regarded as unpleasant and an all-around jackass, perpetually anxious and spiteful, superstitious and intensely religious, low self esteem.

34 years old.

Wardi and Titen-Wardi, born and raised in the city of Wardin.

5’6’’, gray eyes, brown hair, wiry and stocky build

Upper arms, thighs, chest and back are covered in razor scars inflicted by Brakul.

He and Brakul have a matching scar through their left eyebrow.

Routine bloodletting scars on his palms and left thumb.

Hair is usually worn slicked back with (obnoxiously scented) oil. When untreated, it’s wavy and falls in a part down the middle.

Has sideburns and a thin beard on his chin. This is the full extent of facial hair he can grow.

Almost always wearing at least one pelatoche charm, usually as a cloak clasp.

He and Faiza look very alike and can pass for twins.

He and Couya share a signature dead eyed stare

Hibrides Uryashta

Daughter of an Erubinnos chancellor, brought along with the wives of noblemen attending the pilgrimage. Miserably married to Janeys. Has a strained platonic emotional affair with Brakul. Friends with Couya.

Shy and somewhat lonely, very nervous about her presentation, very intelligent, frequently condescending, puts up a serious and tough front but is very sensitive. Heavily germaphobic.

5’2’’, hazel eyes, dark brown hair, delicate build

Yuroma-Wardi, born and raised in the city of Erubinnos.

29 years old.

Always well protected from the sun, rarely seen outside without a hat or veil.

Her hair is kept in very long braids, worn down the back.

Wears closed toed high heeled shoes, which keep the wearer away from dirty city streets.

Usually bedecked in jewelry, especially fond of pearls. Has a particularly fine odatochent necklace.

Really likes wading birds and ducks, a lot of her clothes have bird motifs.

Routine bloodletting scars on her right thumb.

Brakul 'Red-Dog' (actual full title- Brakul virsum Kuligan et Borunil an Briyonis ne-Taig an Bict-Urbinnas)

Originally of the Bict-Urbinnas people and considered a 'heathen' by most compatriots, mercenary with a passion for riding sports. Mostly present on the pilgrimage due to nepotism by proxy. Illegitimate father of Hibrides' children, sworn brother/lover of Janeys.

Usually quiet and placid, calculating and thoughtful, prone to startlingly intense emotional outbursts and fits of melancholy and just really fucking annoying self-pity.

37 years old.

Bict-Urbinnas, born and raised in southeastern Greathill in the Erubin River Valley.

6’2’’, brown eyes, light red-brown hair, heavyset muscular build.

Doesn’t particularly like cloaks, and usually wears a less common tunic over his robes.

Has tattoos- clan identifiers on his face and family history on his upper arms, a purely decorative dog over his heart.

Usually keeps his arms covered in public to minimize annoying questions about aforementioned tattoos

Face and forehead is frequently sunburnt, a problem of his own creation (he doesn’t like hats)

Usually wears riding boots and spurs.

Head shaved close to the scalp

His upper arms, shoulders, chest, back and thighs are covered in razor scars inflicted by Janeys. The dog tattoo is avoided.

Matching eyebrow scarification with Janeys.

Palo Apolynnon

Newly initiated Galenii monk, son of glass traders from Godsmouth, assigned with Tigran to the sacrificial white calf.

Thoughtful and analytical, somewhat catty and vain, suspicious of others and slow to trust. He's going through several personal crises that have him under a lot of stress, and has a fairly pleasant (if guarded) personality under normal circumstances.

23 years old.

Kos-Wardi, childhood spent in the imperial city of Godsmouth with a few years in Kosov.

5’10’’, brown eyes, light ash-brown hair, very skinny, lanky build

Has dark purplish-gray patches on his skin from use of hidije in his youth, an (ineffective) alchemical treatment for epilepsy

Only wears his sunglasses in particularly bright conditions/around water (having picked up on sunlight on water being a trigger)

Large forehead and long face.

Benefits socially from not being visually identifiable as a eunuch, though his facial hair has stopped growing.

Usually keeps his hair in a single braid, wrapped around the front (somewhat unconventional)

Has one iron ring per ear, showing he is a 1 year Galenii initiate.

Usually wearing a standard issue Galenii robes, cloak, and sash.

Tigran Otto

Galenii monk since the age of 11, son of immigrant Ubiyan laborers, assigned with Palo to the sacrificial white calf.

Nervous, cowardly, impulsive, a fast and excessive talker, superstitious, very book-smart but devastatingly foolish in action.

19 years old.

Ubiyan, born in a farming village on the Brilla river, has lived in the city of Wardin since the age of 11.

4’11’’, brown eyes, brown hair, short and heavyset build

Perpetually sweaty

He has five iron rings per ear, a sign of a fully initiated Galenii.

His features are considered soft and androgynous, and he is easily visually identified as a eunuch.

Keeps his head shaved to stubble.

Usually wearing a standard issue Galenii robes, cloak, and sash.

Wears a Galenii ceremonial dagger and routinely takes it out to fidget with it.

[mischasbongwater]

farkas x reader

warning: intense sex, vaguely fem-bodied reader but only if you squint

authors note: this is most certainly not my best work, just practice if anything but im still glad i finished it (emphasis on finished) and i wanted to share it and this felt like a good place to do it

(also for context this takes place after his transformation in the crypt that first time)

You slip into Farkas’s room as quickly and quietly as you can, out of worry that one of the other Companions might get suspicious. You carefully close the door, turn around—

—And Farkas is standing at the foot of his bed, in nothing but a loincloth.

“OH!” You yelp, throwing your hands up in front of your face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“It’s fine, open your eyes. I don’t care.”

You falter. “Wh- seriously?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

Slowly, you lower your hands and look at him. He’s sat down on his bed now, arms folded. Somehow he still looks just as big and intimidating as when he’s wearing armor. You can so clearly see his muscles rippling beneath his olive skin, but you try not to look anywhere other than his face — or arms.

You catch the inquisitive look on his face and snap yourself back to reality. “So,” you begin. “Werewolf.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “It is a gift given only to those in the Circle. Should you want to share the beastblood, you’ll have to prove your honor.”

“Right.” You cannot stop looking at him.

“Truth be told, if you want a more technical history, you should talk to Kodlak or Vilkas. I don’t usually put much thought into it beyond the gift itself. But- are you okay?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You smell different.” He stands up.

“That- is so weird,” you respond, momentarily distracted by bewilderment. “What do I smell like?”

“Normally? Just you. But now…” He steps closer until he’s barely a foot away from you. It feels like his bare chest is looking you straight in the eyes. “It’s different. Stronger. Sweeter.”

You look up at him, eyes wide, feeling something you’ve never quite felt before. Dread and thrill both building up in your stomach, like white-hot balls of metal expanding through your abdomen. Sharp bursts of adrenaline spiking through your body.

“Are you interested in me, new blood?” His deep, gritty voice had a strange new cadence to it, like warm honey pouring into your ears.

You inhale shakily. “I- don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Can I answer it for you?”

You don’t even know if the word “yes” had left your mouth yet before you were in Farkas’s grasp. One hand is gently gripping the back of your neck, and the other is caressing the top of your head, weaving fingers through your hair. His rough, salty lips are pressed against yours, hard. You reach out and place your hands on his hips, closing the gap between you. He quivers under your touch, then melts into it, grabbing a handful of your hair and pushing his tongue into your mouth.

After a few heated moments, he pulls back, much to your disappointment.

“Do you want this?” He asks, his voice sounding much darker now.

You look at him, confused. “Wh-“

“The beast-spirit inside of me. He wants you. Bad.” He fidgets with his hands, showing the first glimpse of true uncertainty and nervousness you’ve ever seen from him. “I don’t know if I can keep being gentle like this. I don’t want to-”

“Farkas.” You take his hands. “I don’t care. I’m yours.”

A lustful spark appears in his eyes. He grabs you by your waist, picks you up with ease, and pins you to his bed, desperately grabbing at your clothes and trying to pull them off.

He seems as stocky and strong as a tree trunk, every part of him laying over you like this. He reaches down and pulls his loincloth off, then lowers himself down, almost completely immobilizing you.

His hands wander up to your face, lazily at first, then grabbing you roughly and once more pushing his lips against yours. His hips begin to thrust slowly against yours, and you feel his hardening cock sliding up and down against your stomach.

“Mmm… you smell so good.” His hands travel across your body, greedily touching every part he can reach. Your own hand begins to drift downward, but he grabs your wrist and pins it above your head.

“You had your chance to lead,” he growls. “It’s my turn now.” He pins up your other hand and buries his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting, forcing high, breathy moans out of your mouth. His movement slowly grows more desperate, and you feel the same.

“Farkas…” you say pleadingly. He lets out a deep purr and snaps his hips against you in approval. He raises his head above yours. You stare into his eyes, and he stares back, perfectly mirroring the burning passion you feel. His soft raven hair hangs down perfectly around his broad, rugged face. He leans down and whispers into your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin and sending tingles down your back. “I’m going to make you mine.”

Without any more warning than that, he grabs your hips so hard you think he might leave handprints, and he pushes his tip inside of you. You let out a shuddering gasp, your hands shooting up and grabbing onto his biceps for dear life.

He begins to push further into you, his thick shaft throbbing and stretching you out. The pain felt so good. A keening moan escapes from your mouth. Farkas closes his eyes, and you can see the muscles feathering along his tightly-clenched jaw as he sinks deeper and deeper into you.

“Farkas,” you breathe out. “Farkas-” you yelp as he forcefully thrusts his full length into you. “Y-you’re so big…” you manage to stammer out. “Fu-uuck. Please, Farkas.”

He opens his eyes and smirks. He smirks at you.

“Please what, darling?”

“Fuck me,” you heave desperately, your nails digging into his skin. “Fuck me, Farkas, please, I-”

You’re cut off by his strong, meaty hand pressing over your mouth, covering half your face. He gives a firm but gentle squeeze. “Sshhh, shh-shh.” He purrs. “Can’t have you waking up the others.” He starts slowly thrusting again. “Or is that what you want? Does the new blood want all of Jorrvaskr to hear them whining like a dog?”

You can do nothing but squeeze your eyes shut, your whole body pulsating with the feeling of him inside of you. That white-hot feeling is back, even more intensely now, like a sun planted in your stomach.

“That’s right,” he groans, starting to speed up. “Good.” He squeezes your face tighter, his eyes closing again and his head tilting back in pleasure. His movements grow almost animalistic, shoving himself further and further inside of you over and over. Your body tenses up, vibrating with heat and ecstasy, his cock filling you up so deep you think you might pass out. Your moans are uncontrollable and muffled by his hand, while your own are nearly drawing blood from their death grip on his arms. He keeps pounding into you, grunting and moaning huskily, holding you solidly in place. Your hips snap back up in rhythm with his, your body twitching from the pleasure and strain. If not for him muzzling you, you would be crying out, screaming his name, moaning and keening in primal euphoria.

The ball in your stomach expands like molten metal, spreading through your body until it feels as if Farkas has filled every last inch of you. It builds and builds and builds-

Until he stops, hilt-deep inside of you. You squirm and cry out, frantic with lust and just on the edge of overstimulation from his huge cock. He hums smugly at your struggle, his face inches away from yours. “Look at you. Such a desperate little thing. You like being used like this?”

You nod, aggressively and pathetically. Farkas chuckles, and the deep, raspy sound of his subtle laughter is almost enough to send you over the edge right there. He shifts, taking his other hand and grasping both sides of your face, pushing his thumbs into your mouth.

“Stay quiet,” he growls, before continuing his merciless thrusts at the same pace he left off at. Without even meaning to, you clamp down on his thumbs between your teeth, letting out a flood of sharp, cut-off moans as he fucks you with reckless abandon. You almost can’t stand the speed and girth hammering into you, sending you into a state of complete, mindless hunger.

Through your feral haze, you see his bottom lip caught under his teeth, his eyes tightly closed, and his eyebrows knitted together. Then his mouth hangs open, and a small whimper escapes into the air.

The molten ball inside of you explodes, coating his length and squirting onto his thighs and stomach. You lay completely silent, convulsing and arching beneath him, consumed with bliss. You scratch helplessly at his shoulders, wordlessly begging, and Farkas complies, thrusting more sensually yet somehow rougher into you now. He covers your mouth again, and you allow the torrent of wild moans to erupt from within you as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, every vein and ridge on his cock hitting you in all the right places.

Just when you think you might finally go unconscious, he pulls out and a thick ribbon of cum streams out onto your stomach. He looks to be reared back like a horse, holding tight onto your hips to keep from falling, head swung back as he shudders through his own orgasm.

Panting, he collapses onto you, practically forcing the air out of your lungs with his weight. You wrestle your arms out from under him and wrap them around his torso — or at least, as far around as they can reach.

“Fuck,” Farkas whispers hoarsely, enveloping you in his arms now and turning you both to your sides. You make a noise of agreement muffled by his chest.

“Are- are you gonna stay here?” He asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice. You make another noise, this one of more serene agreement. He exhales deeply and goes limp, pulling you closer to him. You were both far too hot and sweaty for his blankets, but not for your own skin against the other’s. Filled with contentment and… other stuff… you relish in his scent and the feeling of his body pressed against yours. You catch a glimpse of the moon from outside his window.

Who cares if he’s a werewolf, you think to yourself. Nothing could make me rethink this.

[unknownjpegs]

you wish

It’s still dark out when Xavier wakes up, earlier than his alarm. Night bleeds into the room, makes his eyes feel fuzzy as he adjusts to the smallest bit of light eeking in through parted curtains. The street lights, casting orange glows through the panes, making everything look hazy and strange. He can’t remember the dream, it slips through his fingers, recedes back into his subconscious to plague him at a later date. But Xavier knows it had been a good one.

Explains the aching beginning of hardness in his briefs. He palms his hand down over it, groans out a sound as he flattens his hand over his eyes. Xavier’s tongue feels thick in his mouth, sleepiness making crust around his eyelashes, making him blink rapidly to try and clear the fog over his pupils.

“Benji,” he mumbles like the name was resting right on the tip of that fat, tired tongue. “You awake, man?”

The body next to him doesn’t shift. Not even a little and Xavier huffs out a breath, can’t decide if he’s annoyed or envious—knows for a fact he wont sleep until he takes care of what’s quickly becoming a full erection. It doesn’t help that his body is warmed from the memory of Benji; he’s so close, maybe a sliver of mattress between them and Xavier could flatten his hand to his back if he wanted. Feel the curve of his spine. Touch the bite mark he’d left on his shoulder when Benji had been grinding against him, missionary on the bed.

He’s remembering the sounds he’d made, the way his half naked body had looked tensing. Benji’s short, but not small. Certainly not where it counts; stocky built and muscular with defined thighs and arms. Drummers build. Stamina for days. Which Xavier had tried to test all night long, so it’s like no fucking wonder he’d had some crazy sex dream that had woken him up hard. But he’s also exhausted. It pours through his veins, like he could fall asleep easy if it weren’t for the current issue.

“Benji,” Xavier says again, just a little louder.

“Fuck off.” There’s a shuffle under the covers. Xavier reaches out, slides his hand up Benji’s spine and cups the back of his neck. “I don’t have to look at my watch to know it’s fuck early in the mornin’.” But even as he says it, Xavier’s dark adjusted eyes can watch the way his body rolls in reaction to the touch. Finding out Benji reacted to every little brush of fingers over his body had been fucking delightful.

“I need your help,” Xavier whines, pushing his hand up into Benji’s hair. It’s scruffy and cute and he’d liked it from the first minute he saw it. An inch or so out of militant regulation and that didn’t matter. It framed his exhausted looking, pissed off face so well. He threads his fingers, tugs a little and feels Benji’s hand slap onto his thigh. Xavier sucks in a quick breath at the sensation.

“Help yourself.” There’s a pause where Benji turns his head slowly. “Not to me, dickhead.” But it seems half hearted, laced with sleep. Xavier turns on his side, hooks an arm around the smaller mans waist and tugs him closer. Listens to the groaning exhale of him as their bodies get close and molded together. Xavier presses his nose into Benji’s neck, breathes out long and slow.

“God, you smell good.”

“We jacked each other off all night, I fucking reek.”

Yeah, but it was that nasty, primal, human scent that was making Xavier feel riled up in ways he couldn’t explain. He could move his mouth a little and find the exact spot he’d sunk his teeth into. When he puts his tongue there instead, Benji’s moving instantly. Turning over, pushing Xavier onto his back and staring down at him.

“Prick,” Benji says and Xavier shrugs fondly, runs his giant hands up the other man’s sides. Feels the ripple of his muscles, the expanse of his ribcage as he draws in air. He’s learned to read this prickly guys attitude, learned that a few soft and gentle touches has him pliant and supple. But sometimes Xavier likes when he’s mean, likes getting called British insults. Likes being snarked at more than he probably should. Really likes Benji’s chest hair too, which he runs a hand into fondly.

He flicks a glance down Xavier’s body, at the outline pressing up in his dark navy briefs. Then his eyes roam back up and Xavier is lifting a hand up.

“I just said help, not like, do something.” He holds his hand up under Benji’s mouth. “Loan me some spit.” Benji’s weight settles over Xavier’s thighs, straddling him and staring down and Xavier can’t parse if the look he’s giving him is absolutely disgusted, annoyed or really, really turned on. Considering one of their first intimate moments had been Xavier pouring whiskey and saliva into Benji’s mouth he’s betting on the latter, but with a little of the other two mixed in for spice.

So when Benji finally does spit in his hand, he’s grinning ear to sleazy fucking ear.

“Atta boy,” Xavier mutters and feels Benji’s thighs squeezing around him hard. He slicks his hand with the spit, watches as the other mans hands pull down his briefs for him. The cold air hits his cock and makes him shiver, makes him gasp aloud and Benji palms across his chest and shoves him back against the mattress harder. It makes him laugh but that laugh turns whimerpy when his spit soaked hand wraps around his own cock.

He drags his fist lazily, thumb swiping over the tip of himself. He’s thinking about the night. About them tumbling into the room, clothes pulling off. Thinking about the same position they’re in right now, except in his dreams he’d been inside Benji; fucking upward while he ground down, while Benji had leaned back, hands on Xavier’s big thighs and worked himself up and down. Xavier’s hand had been around the other man’s cock then.

“Damn, I had dreams about this,” he mumbles, working his hand faster. “Wish I wasn’t so fucking tired.”

“I think I did a lot of the work. S’my mouth that’s probably more sore.”

Xavier huffs out a laugh as he tugs at himself, looking up at Benji. Unsurprised to find the man’s eyes connected solely to where he’s taking care of himself. The sheen of his own spit worked over Xavier’s cock. Like he’s trying to put on a show, Xavier rolls his hips up slightly, fucks into his fist harder and Benji’s hand slides down his stomach in response. Xavier moans, long and loud and pathetic.

“Yeah, talk about it.”

“Need help gettin’ yourself there?”

Benji’s mean little voice does make Xavier twitch in his grasp. He enjoys the way Benji slides from his thighs, tucks his shorter body closer to him. Xavier lays there, on his back as Benji spoons beside him. His nose trails over Xavier’s ear and makes him shudder again, makes him tug harder at his cock.

“You want me to tell you about how good you feel, handsome?”

“Oh, fuck, Benji. Yeah. Really do.”

He responds to Xavier’s desperate sound by roaming his hand over the red heads chest, cupping his pectoral a little—just the way Xavier does himself and it makes him feel weak in the knees to be fucking known like that. To have someone touch him in a way that is almost intimate in the knowledge of how much he enjoys it. It makes him whimper and that whimper makes Benji’s eyes look dark. Xavier’s tongue wets his lips, his head turned more so he can look at his medic, press his forehead to the other mans, like he’s desperate to keep those eyes on his.

“So good,” Benji purrs as Xavier’s hand quickens on himself. “Nah—slow down, Xavier. Don’t go so fast.” And even though it makes his calves tighten, makes his body feel painful, he does slow. Makes his fist tighter, but the pace unhurried and languid. Xavier’s panting starts up, washes against Benji’s lips. “Make some noise for me.”

And just like the command to slow his wrist down, Xavier commits to what Benji wants, immediately. Let’s his jaw drop open, lets his moan slip free. His spare hand fights to hold onto Benji, arm half wrapped around him. His hand lands somewhere on Benji’s stomach, fingers digging in tightly. He groans out, eyes squeezing shut as he jerks at himself.

“Fuckin’ hell, Benji.”

“Fucking you, gorgeous—you wish, though, huh?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Nah, say it—let me hear it.”

“I want you to fuck me so hard, I fucking cry, Benji.”

It becomes all too much to not be close to him. Xavier turns into Benji’s body, both of them on their side as he keeps his slow rhythm. They’re both watching his hand now, watching it move over his achingly reddening cock. His heavy breathing comes out in huffs now, his hips pressing forward needily and Benji lets out a laugh. It’s not condescending or cruel, it’s amused in a sort of way that makes Xavier feel sweet.

“Tell me,” Xavier whispers. “Please.”

“You’re doing good, sweetheart. Real good. Real pretty. S’nice like that, yeah? But you want to go faster?”

“Yes.”

Benji loops his hands behind Xavier’s head, gives him a soft and slow kiss. Their bodies are pressing closer, Xavier’s cock rubbing against the other mans stomach, smearing precum. His hand moves harder, faster.

“You want to cum on me while I tell you how good you are?”

“Yeah.”

“Good fuckin’ boy, Xavier. My good fuckin’ guy.”

“Jesus, Benji, you’re real—real fucking good at this.”

“You make it easy.”

It makes Xavier clutch Benji closer, makes him rut up against him. He feels Benji’s bare skin, his stomach, against the tip of his cock. And then he can’t hold back any longer, jerks off harder and faster and needier. He’s panting and groaning, bucking hips forward as Benji’s lips find his ear and talks him through it. He can’t catch the words, can’t find them or define them, just feels the cadence of the soldier’s voice. They no longer matter nearly as much as just feeling Benji’s tone; feeling the encouragement.

When he comes, it pours over his fist and he can’t not rub it against Benji’s skin. His eyes are watery with the feeling as he looks down at the mess he’s made of the two of them. His breathing comes in stuttery and hard, his chest expanding and contrasting a little desperately. Then his blurry eyes flick up to look at Benji; who appears just as satisfied.

“You came right when I was telling you how cute you sound, you know that?”

Xavier’s blush spreads all the way up his ears and he groans, leans his head back onto the pillow.

“I am a mercenary and I’m very frightening,” he tells Benji.

“You fuckin’ cum buckets sometimes, too, you prick.” 

In the shower, Xavier’s the one who helps Benji through his own, and it’s wet and it’s slippery and it’s even a little funny the way the big mercenary (because sure, yeah, he is that big scary fucking guy isn’t he?) almost slips a few times trying to get his long body to his knees. And it’s good. It’s sweet, even. Dreamy, in a lot of ways. Feels too good to last, in a lot of other ways.

[silkenstarlight]

wild cherry sweet (part two)

Summary: Reader is distracted as she and Bucky prepare to embark on their mission at the GRC’s private gala. Bucky decides to help ease her tension.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warning/s: smut (18+ only, minors dni!); public sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, kissing, brief mention of sugar daddy

Word count: 3.9k

Find part one here

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Author’s note: i didn’t plan a part two for this, but tbh bucky is not the type to let a woman pleasure him without even trying to reciprocate on her

Do not repost! Likes and reblogs are welcome and encouraged :))

“Glasses? Really?”

You pressed your lips together tightly, scrutinizing Bucky’s lackadaisical efforts at putting together a disguise: wayfarer eyeglasses with a thick tortoiseshell frame that pressed awkwardly against his brow bone. You leaned across the center console of the car, and when you reached up to his face, he smiled dopily at you, expecting some loving, gentle caress. But, when you ripped the tag off of the glasses he had just bought at the pharmacy, his jaw clenched, lips turning downward into a chagrined frown. You settled behind the wheel again. 

He seemed strangely excited about the prospect of donning a costume for the mission, so unlike his usual disgruntled self. Even so, his efforts at disguise were last-minute and low-effort. Earlier, before you had left the apartment to drive to the gala’s discreet venue, he had flattened his hair onto his forehead in an uncharacteristic style, reminiscent of the neatly-combed 60’s mop-tops donned by the likes of Ringo Starr. And, when you were slinging on your heels, ready to walk out of the door, he had asked you to dust some eyeshadow below his eyes. He explained that exaggerated dark circles would help to draw his face down and make him appear slightly older. 

You obliged, trying not to let the breath stall in your throat as you traced a cool taupe shade below his eyes in faint crescents. You couldn’t ignore the fact that his eyes were trained on you the whole time.

The way his eyes followed your every move had made you suddenly shy and docile, even though just minutes before, you had been on your knees in front of him, his cock shoved down your throat. After he came, he had brought you up from your knees to a standing position, and had kissed you with the fervor of a man who was just getting started. 

But, you had a mission. Which you were already late for.

You had fixed your hair and lipstick quickly after he had tucked himself back into his pants, a brush and a damp tissue working wonders to conceal your tryst. And then, you were both out of the door, climbing into your car and plugging the gala’s location into Google maps.

But, first, he had insisted on making a stop. You groaned, clutching the wheel tightly as he directed you through traffic towards a pharmacy a few blocks away from the venue. You parallel parked and he jumped out of the car, jaunting into the store with bouncing, confident steps. You left the engine running, eager to get to the gala. The sooner your mission was over, after all, the sooner you could both return to the apartment and resume where you left off.

The thought made you ache, the wetness pooling in your underwear momentarily making you forget the jittery tapping of your foot and the sweat that slicked the creases of your palms. Your stomach flipped when you remembered the blissed-out expression on Bucky’s face as your mouth had bobbed up and down his length, lips popping with a lewd smack as you pulled back--

The passenger door opened and Bucky climbed in with a plastic bag in hand, interrupting your daydreaming and making you jump.

He noticed, settling in his seat and shutting the car door behind him.“Pre-mission jitters?” He asked knowingly.

“Uh-- yeah.” You blushed, choosing not to elaborate.

He simply gave you a smirk, as if he could read your every thought, and pulled his purchase from the plastic bag. A pair of reading glasses. He slid them on, and you scoffed.

“Glasses? Really?” You lightly whacked his arm, laughing. “Who are you, Clark Kent?”

He shrugged. “Well, it seemed to work for him just fine.”

“Alright, just don’t come complaining to me when the magnification in the lenses starts giving you a headache.”

“Noted.”

You pulled out from your parking spot and rejoined traffic, hoping to find a parking space closer to the venue. You didn’t want to use the valet, just in case things went south and you needed a convenient means of escape. So, when you were two blocks away, you parked.

You both climbed out, stepping up to the sidewalk and locking the car as you began to walk. You smoothed your hands nervously over the skirt of your dress, breath slightly shaky. Missions like these were a part of the job description, but you would never get used to the nerves they gave you.

Or, maybe, the possibility of impending doom wasn’t what was giving you nerves.

Maybe it was the man walking next to you.

You bit your lip at the thought, turning your head to look at him.

“What?” he asked, still facing ahead, surveying the streets around them for possible exit points they could use if the evening went south.

You just shook your head, pushing the thought to the back of your mind. It wasn’t safe to get distracted like this, on a night as potentially dangerous as this one. Instead, you surveyed his body language, noticing that he had adopted a slouch to accompany his floppy hair, gaunt makeup, and glasses.

You snorted. “You look like an old man.”

“I am an old man, thank you very much.” His eyes slid to yours briefly, before facing forwards again.

“Never said it was a bad thing,” you smirked, trying to get a rise out of him before the serious portion of the evening officially began.

He grabbed your wrist suddenly, pulling you flush to his side and wrapping his arm around you.“Oh, I know that you like it,” he whispered, lips brushing against your hair. You felt your throat constrict, and he squeezed your waist before letting you go. “But we’ll have to save that part of the evening for later.”

“If you insist,” you sighed, lacing your voice with faux disappointment, knowing that if there was even a whiff of foul play at tonight’s event, you would both be cool, composed, and on the job, lewd thoughts far from center stage. But, it was fun to tease him, to hope that the gala would be tame, just so that you could go home sooner and do some not-so-tame things with each other.

The venue was a stocky cement building, gray and brutal and unassuming, the windows surprisingly dark. The only indication that it housed a private event was the presence of two guards, their bulky, muscled figures situated on either side of a nondescript metal door. You grabbed Bucky’s hand, fingers intertwining with his, and took a deep breath before you approached the guards.

You cleared your throat. “We’re here for the GRC event.” You clenched your jaw as both guards swept their gazes up and down your’s and Bucky’s bodies.

“Last name?” The one on the right asked gruffly, not bothering to look at your faces, pulling a tablet computer from behind his back to check the guest list.

“Jancovik. Daria Jancovik.” Your voice was steady despite the nerves, the fake name rolling off your tongue.

The guard raised his eyebrows and looked up, stepping to the side and gesturing to the door. “Ah, of course. Miss Jancovik.”

You smiled warmly. Your plan had worked. The real Daria Jancovik, a foreign informer who reported migrants to the GRC, leading to eventual deportation, was on… vacation. You had paid her an earlier visit, advising her to leave the country, to return home and visit her family instead of attending the gala. Bucky had advised you against this approach, claiming that it was too risky, that it would be better to just find a way to sneak in. But, you told him, it was better to enter where the GRC would least expect: the front door. And, it looked like the real Daria Jancovik took your advice-- she obviously wasn’t here.

“Thank you, sir.” You nodded slightly, leading Bucky behind you, hand still clutching his.

“Wait, Miss Jancovik.” The guard barred your entry with an outstretched arm. “The guest list doesn’t say anything about you having a plus one.”

Fuck. You tried not to let your brows furrow, tried to quash the electric feeling of panic that traveled down your spine. You bit your lip and broke into a shy simper, staring up at the guard through fluttering lashes.

“Oh, so sorry, sir,” you drawled slowly, voice dripping with apology. But, your voice shook, a slight tremor belying your confident tone and drawing a suspicious glare from both guards. You hadn’t planned for this. Your palms began sweating again, and your thoughts ran wild, searching for any plausible alibis that would explain your companion. But you couldn’t focus, thoughts erratic and shapeless. Your mouth dropped open, ready to babble some thoughtless, on-the-spot response, when Bucky cleared his throat next to you.

“Sir, I am what you may call a… generous donor.” He enunciated his last words carefully, adopting some strange, implacable and vaguely European accent. His words lilted and swirled lightly in his mouth, further elaborating his mysterious presence.

In spite of this, the guards weren’t convinced. “If you’re not on the list, I can’t let you in.”

Bucky simply stared back at him and squinted, deciding to try a more blunt angle. “I have a previous arrangement with this young woman. I… help her with personal causes. Of a financial nature. And, I was hoping to witness her fine employer in action tonight. I am… willing to spread my generosity to its cause, if I find it to be convincing.” You tried to conceal the awe that threatened to spill on your face at his quick save. And, you wanted to laugh at the insinuation that Bucky was your sugar daddy, some stuffy, lonely old man with heavy pockets brimming with cash. In reality, he struggled to pay rent and didn’t own a bed frame. It was comical, watching him trying to swallow his inner protests at the idea, managing his microexpressions with a steady, slightly uncomfortable stare.

You both paused, letting the guard’s mind wander. 

His eyes flickered to his partner briefly before settling back on you. 

The guard considered for a moment, and then simply nodded, avoiding further elaboration from you about your relationship. He stepped aside again. “Enjoy your night.”

You smiled sweetly at him before stepping past him and opening the door, tugging Bucky behind you.

“Wow,” you muttered as the door creaked shut behind you. A looming, dark passage stretching out before you, the dimly lit, bright red door at the end your final barrier to successfully infiltrating the gala. The thrumming pulse of music seemed to make the walls vibrate. You looked at Bucky, and he dropped your hand, flexing his fingers. “The plan actually worked.”

He laughed, and you both started walking toward the red door. “Only because my old man costume came in handy.”

“Well, like you said earlier,” you hissed. “You are an old man.”

He just shook his head slightly at your recall, and when you were both a foot away from the red door’s threshold, you paused. You did a mental check on your weapons, ticking them off on your mental checklist one by one. Handgun in thigh holster, check. Knife in ankle strap, check. Baggie of poison tablets in bra, check--

“You ready?” Bucky’s voice interrupted your last-minute internal review, and you turned to face him. His concerned expression ignited a whole new kind of nerves in your stomach, warm, fluttery electricity travelling down your limbs like lightning. It was a delicious feeling, and you longed to lean into it, to allow yourself to be cocooned by its enticing, buzzing embrace. To allow your tense muscles to relax, to press your body against his, melting into the muscled, statuesque contours and comforting stability of his body. 

You were most definitely distracted, but that’s because you hadn’t had a proper outlet for your pre-mission jitters. Sucking his cock, watching him devolve into a euphoric, aroused state, had only gotten you more worked up than you usually were before missions. You felt embarrassment bubble in your stomach, a deep red blush travelling up your neck at the thought that you couldn’t control yourself in this moment. Your judgement was clouded, all because you couldn’t fucking function around a man like Bucky Barnes.

Bucky grabbed your chin and tilted your face up to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

You felt bad, noticing the genuine concern behind his eyes, but figured it was best to tell him. You didn’t want to lie and endanger the rest of the mission with your preoccupied thoughts. “Umm-- this doesn’t usually happen, but… I’m a bit… distracted.”

“What’s on your mind?”

You huffed a laugh and bit your lip, trying to gain the courage to tell him the truth. “Uh-- I guess I’m still… still stuck on what happened earlier tonight. Before we left the apartment?” You said it like a question, sentence nervously trailing up in pitch at the end.

His expression was unreadable, the pressing dark of the hallway leaving his face in shadow. But then, his teeth flashed in a broad smile. “I remember what happened,” he said fondly, as if you two were reminiscing on a shared memory before entering battle together. “But what’s holding you up about it right now?”

You took a deep breath. Time to come clean. “I’m just still a bit worked up.”

He raised his brows slightly in surprise, then nodded, face settling into an expression of understanding. “That makes sense. You didn’t get your release.”

“Yeah.” Your voice broke around the single syllable, your blush now flooding your cheeks.

“Well,” he said, dropping his hand from your chin and tracing his fingertips lightly along the curve of your neck, trailing them down your spine until settling at your waist. He squeezed slightly, making you gasp. “How quickly could you cum? If I helped you right now?”

You blinked in disbelief, shocked by his vulgar words, but when he just continued to stare at you expectantly, waiting for a response, you realized that he was serious. You scoffed. “I-- I don’t know. Probably pretty quickly.”

“Good.” He pushed you back, your exposed skin meeting the cool cement of the wall, pounding beats and indistinguishable lyrics pulsing through you to your very core. He stared at you for a moment, drinking in your neediness and saving the image of your blown-out pupils and parted lips for later. And then, he bridged the gap between you, resting his forehead against yours before pressing his mouth lightly against yours.

The kiss was surprisingly soft, despite your admission to a desire so pressing, so consuming, that you couldn’t focus on your job. And then, his teeth grazed against your bottom lip, catching it in a faint, erotic bite. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth, nipples peaking and wetness pooling in your underwear. You felt his lips curve upwards into a smug smile. You simply pulled him closer, sliding your hands up his chest and wrapping your arms around his neck. He took that as an invitation to push the kiss further, his tongue sliding against your swollen lips, softly prying your mouth open. He was sweet, so gentle and patient, but a sense of urgency drove his actions. He wanted to help you, so that you could release that burning tension coiled inside of you. You had treated him so nicely earlier that evening. He hoped to return the favor. Well, that and he also wanted to watch you cum. 

You shuddered another moan into his mouth and he pulled back a fraction, hands tracing down your sides. He grasped the slinky fabric of your dress, pulling the skirt up until it was bunched around your hips, exposing your thin underwear to the cool air and solid press of cement behind you. He let out a low whistle at the sight, the delicate black lace and your soft skin.

You grabbed his wrist, sudden doubt blaring in your brain. “W-wait. What about the mission?”

He simply met your gaze with his, maintaining eye contact while he slowly sunk to his knees in front of you. He twisted his wrist out from your grip, wrapping his hand around one of your ankles and lifting your leg, bringing it up to rest on his shoulder. Your heart pounded in your chest.

“Yeah? What about the mission?” 

You could feel his hot breath against your clothed pussy as he answered, his voice low and rumbly in his chest. You pressed your head into the wall behind you, trying to fight the urge to twine your hands through his hair and beckon him to where you needed him most. Despite your weak protests, you desperately hoped that he would continue his actions. “Shouldn’t we--”

Your words trailed off into a long, loud moan as he quickly moved your underwear to the side and licked a long, wet stripe up your aching slit. He pulled back slightly to look up at you, and he hummed, pleased at your desperation, your knotted brows rosy cheeks. 

“It’s alright, darling.” He scraped his fingernails teasingly up your other leg, chuckling as it buckled under you at the unexpected stimulation. And then, he settled that hand on your inner thigh, pressing his thumb against the soft skin and circling it lightly in a teasing massage. “We’ll make it quick.”

He waited for you to consent before continuing. You just nodded, not trusting yourself to form words, and he smiled wickedly before dragging his fingers against your wetness and plunging two digits into your center.

You gasped at the sudden intrusion, his thick fingers igniting a pleasant ache as they pushed inside of you, stroking your tight walls slowly until they relaxed around him. When he leaned forward, closing his mouth against your clit and flicking it with his tongue, you sighed. He lapped at your wetness eagerly, lips making an obscene smacking sound. You felt your muscles relax, that enticing, stirring warmth quickly travelling through your body as he teased you into a state of relaxed arousal.

He pulled back yet again to look at you, and you wanted to moan at the loss of his tongue, but he replaced it by circling the pad of his thumb against your sensitive nub. He noticed your hands, balled tightly at your sides, and he laughed. 

“You can grab my hair if you want, baby. I don’t mind if everyone in there sees that I have sex hair.” He jutted his chin towards the door as he increased the pace of his fingers thrusting inside of you.

That permission was all you needed. You reached forward and twined one hand through his hair, bringing his face closer to you and inviting him to continue his earlier ministrations. Your other hand remained rooted against the wall, a necessary point of balance as he made you fall apart at his command. He replaced his mouth at your center, making you shudder.

It was warm, it was rough, and it was everything you needed. You tried not to think about the risk of intrusion, of the guards outside letting in other guests and getting an eyeful of a private moment. Or, if someone opened the red door and wandered in, they would be right on top of you, close enough to smell the musk of your arousal and see the pebbled peaks of your nipples pressing through the satin of your dress. It would be humiliating. Bucky would never let you live it down, forever reminding you on future missions about the time when you were caught with your legs wrapped around his ears. But, if you were being honest with yourself, the thought of someone walking in and witnessing you, drenched and dirty and moaning all because of him, only served to turn you on even more. A loud moan erupted from your lips, wetness squelching as he curled his fingers inside of you and sucked lewdly. You pulled his hair tightly, urging him on as you came closer and closer to completion.

In response to the sharp tugging of your fingers, he moaned, echoing the shameless sounds that were tumbling from your lips. The faint vibrations, the low, gruff sound of him as he lost himself in the endeavor of giving you pleasure, made you clench around him. A glowing pool of warmth began to form in your stomach, tension building and building. You bit your lip. The feeling of his mouth, sliding and sucking against your clit, and the sensation of his fingers spreading you open and coaxing sweet, high-pitched moans from your lips. It was almost too much. You slapped the wall with your free hand, twitching with pleasure as a deep, burning tension began to build.When his curled fingers rubbed against the spongy, sensitive spot inside of you, that was it.

With a high, keening cry, you fell over the edge, your orgasm wracking your body. A copious gush of wetness flooded from your center, likely drenching his face, and your legs trembled, threatening to buckle beneath you. He sensed this, his free hand pressing your hips roughly against the wall, still thrusting his fingers inside of you and suckling your clit. He fucked you through your orgasm, wringing every last ounce of warm, dripping pleasure from your body, not slowing down or stopping until a dull, tired ache bloomed in your center and you had to pull him back by his hair. He grinned up at you, making eye contact with you through his lashes, a slick wetness clinging to his upper lip. He huffed a laugh at the reluctant sucking sound your pussy made when he slipped his fingers out.

You rolled your eyes and he guided your leg off of his shoulder, making sure it was planted firmly on the ground before moving your underwear neatly back into place. He rose from his kneeling position. As he grasped your waist, your skirt fell back down around you in a dramatic curtain, and he pulled you close, kissing you lightly. The taste of you on his lips was intoxicating.

He pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours, and stared at you with a half-lidded, deeply satisfied expression. He had liked making you come apart just as much as you had appreciated the release.

“Uh oh,” he whispered, grabbing your chin and examining your face. “Looks like we ruined your lipstick again.”

You laughed, a raspy, tired sound, and smacked his chest lightly, stepping back. “Well,” you sighed, smiling up at him. “I don’t mind. I’ll go straight to the bathroom to fix it. Brought an extra tube of lipstick in my purse for any… potential touch-ups.”

He raised his eyebrows, smoothing a hand over his mussed hair and straightening the cuffs of his sleeves. “Sounds like you planned for this to happen.”

You shook your head. “Only subconsciously.”

He grinned, and you both turned to face the red door. Despite the fact that just moments before, you were writhing around his fingers, wanton moans swallowed by the diffused thump of techno music, you felt serene, ready to jump into action. No more distracting thoughts clouded your mind.

“Ready?” He asked, reaching for the knob, waiting for your confirmation before continuing.

You nodded in affirmation and smiled, eyes crinkling. 

“Ready.”

He turned the knob and swung the door open. You walked through the doorway side by side, partners in crime, ready to meet whatever awaited you beyond its threshold.

[iriel3000]

I'll Keep You Safe - Chapter Two

Please join me every Sunday in May and June for a new 'episode' of I'll Keep You Safe, a clintasha/Walking Dead AU.

THANK YOU for your kind support, reblogs and comments 🤗 it means so much to me!

I'll Keep You Safe If You Let Me - Chapter 2 - Iriel3000 - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

Chapter Two - excerpt

Summary: Natasha meets the prison group.

Natasha fell on top of Clint and shielded him as best she could, making sure he wasn’t shot. More walkers emerged from the woods. Reaching for the knife, she came up empty.

No.

Frantically, she felt around on the wet ground. 

Nothing. She was helpless to defend them. If she tried to lure the biters away, Clint would be left unprotected, and she wasn’t going to abandon the one person who risked their life for her.

Another shot rang out followed by shouting.

“Sam! Get Barney, it’s Clint!”  

Natasha was lifted off and away. Whimpering, she struggled against the strong arms holding her.  

“You're okay, we got you.” A stocky man in army fatigues unloaded a large pistol into several approaching walkers.  

“You two grab Clint, I have her. We need to get inside now!”

He snatched Natasha’s hand and pulled her as he ran towards the prison. She looked back to make sure the others had Clint.

Each man had one of Clint’s arms over their shoulders, dragging his lifeless form up the long gravel driveway through two sets of gates into the first building.

Tripping several times, the man put his arm around her waist and practically carried Natasha the rest of the way.

They hurried down a series of hallways and gates until they burst into a large, open room and she was hoisted up on a gurney. Natasha sat up and watched as they put Clint on a nearby cot. Someone wrapped a blanket around her. 

“Were you bit?” 

She didn’t respond fast enough.

“Did they bite you?!?”

“No...no.”

“Check him over! Is he?”

It was overwhelming. Strange people ran in all directions talking at once. 

"We need to get to those injuries.”

“What the fuck happened to him out there?”

“Who is she?”

“Miss, can you tell me your name?” A calm voice asked.

Dark brown eyes studied her. The young man appeared no older than Natasha, possibly former military with a short haircut and strong build. His dark brown skin was covered in dirt and Clint's blood.

“Natasha.”

“Hi, Natasha, my name is Sam. That’s Barney and Bucky. Barney,” he pointed to the husky, unshaven man that resembled Clint, “is going to go get the girls and we are all going to talk.” 

Natasha trembled and looked around the room for a possible weapon. Clint wasn’t awake to explain what happened. What if they blamed her? She closed her eyes and fought back the tears threatening to spill.

“Natasha? Natasha, are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

Two women rushed in followed by Barney.

“What’s happening? What’s going on?” The short, blonde asked, running up to Sam.

The other woman stood by Clint’s side, quietly asking Barney questions. Her eyes were sharp and prominent on her uniquely bald head, a no nonsense Katana strapped to her back. 

“Clint returned…with a friend.” Sam answered diplomatically. 

All eyes locked on Natasha.

“Natasha, this is Sharon and Okoye. They live at the prison too. They’re going to take you to the showers then we’ll talk some more.”

All she wanted to do was sleep now that Clint was safe but she had no other choice than to do what they said. 

“How did you and Clint find each other?” Sharon asked. 

“I ran into some trouble. He helped me.” 

Sharon chatted excitedly as they walked down a short hallway and into a big tiled room. 

“Clint is great like that. Here is some shampoo and soap. It’s not much. And we brought some clean clothes. It’s a prison uniform, sorry. We can find something better from the extra pile later.” 

Natasha thanked them but didn’t move.  

“Do you need help?” Okoye looked concerned. 

Numb, she nodded. 

Okoye and Sharon gently shed the mud and blood soaked clothes.

“Are these Clint’s?” Sharon asked.

“Yes, I didn’t...my clothes got ruined so he gave me these.”

She saw the women exchange glances when they noticed the bruises on her hips, thighs and arms. 

“He didn’t do this to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Sharon looked at her with sad eyes. 

“Clint wouldn’t and nobody here will either.” Okoye turned on the water. “We will wait outside and give you a few minutes.” 

Standing under the lukewarm water, Natasha crossed her fists over her chest and silently cried. It was too much, running for so long, barely escaping from Wade and TJ, and Clint appearing out of nowhere to stop them. 

Why would he risk his life like that? He didn’t know her or why they were chasing her, and he sure as hell didn’t have to trust her to patch him up. She could’ve easily stolen everything and left him for dead, but there was something about him. 

The way he looked at her, like he wanted her there. She shook her head. It was ridiculous, strangers don't bond like that. 

But, still. 

Natasha hurried and finished. She wanted to get to Clint.

tbc, please click highlighted link above.

thank you for reading!

[ab1tofsp1ce]

A Warmer Refuge

Chapter 7: Someone Else Again

Masterlist HERE

A/N: A special thank you to @mandos-things​ for your kind message, so here’s the next part!

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Words: 2.3K

Warnings: Just some fluff (and a little bit of angst)

Description: Finally, you both reach Kistern - now what?

“Okay, but you have to promise me something,” I said, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” He grumbled slightly when he asked that question.

“Don’t… don’t open your mouth.”

“Why would I do that,” he asked incredulously.

“Just – just don’t, okay? I really don’t want to get my fingers in your mouth.”

“And what would make you think I would want your fingers in my mouth?”

I sighed exasperatedly, although with light-hearted intentions. “Never mind. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

I reached my arms out, feeling around the air as I shuffled forward until my right hand bumped into his shoulder. From there, I anchored myself by grabbing his other one with my left hand. They felt stocky and warm under my grasp; the only thing separating his skin from mine was a thin shirt. I let out a playfully dramatic sigh, shaking myself slightly, and then began to trace up his shoulders to his collarbones, then his neck, his jaw, and finally I was cupping his face in my hands. He had a ragged stubble that scratched my fingers slightly, and I smiled and hummed contentedly at the feeling under my palms. I tickled my fingers slowly up the side of his face to his eyes, to which he grunted and muttered something about how I was poking him. His eyelashes were surprisingly long, and I could feel his skin was aged, yet still smooth – probably as it was consistently hidden from sunlight. I traced down the center of his cheeks, past his nose, and to his lips, which I ran my thumb over gently. At this, I felt two hands snake their way onto my hips, and he peppered a small kiss onto my fingertips.

“Why did you want to do this?”

I didn’t answer right away, because truthfully, I wasn’t sure how best to word it without sounding ungrateful or cold. So, I deflected.

“What do you mean?”

“You could just look at my face, if you wanted.”

“Is that what you want,” I asked. I didn’t want to pretend I knew what he wanted, but I had my suspicions.

“I don’t know what I want anymore.” He sounded so dejected, and what made it worse was how he also sounded brutally honest.

“Did you want to take it off?”

There was a moment of silence. “Yes. But I had to.”

“Well, if you were forced – ”

“No,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “I wasn’t forced. I wanted to, but it was more than that. I – I needed to.”

I nodded. I appreciated what he was trying to say, and it didn’t take a genius to see it was hard for him to articulate. He was doing a better job than I was, standing here like an idiot not knowing how to explain myself without sounding like a bitch.

“The truth is, I’m scared,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’m scared that once I open my eyes it’ll be real.”

“Would that be so bad?” I knew what he wanted me to say by asking that question, and so I felt guilty that I knew my answer right away.

“Yes, because I can’t stay here. In a few hours we’ll be on Kistern, and then I’ll go my way and you’ll go yours and… if I see your face, I don’t think I could ever do that. And I know that I have to do. So…”

“So, you can’t,” he sighed, and I felt a hand leave my waist and caress my cheek slightly. He understood.

“No. No, I can’t.”

His weight shifted and there was a momentary puff of his breath against my face before his lips came into contact with mine. It was a gentle kiss, as delicate and precarious as this all felt right now. It was a cruel trick of the universe, that just as I finally found a home, I would have to leave it. Right now, he felt so far away from the man in the suit of armor – it was hard to even believe they were the same person.

He pulled away slowly, as if it was a chore, and pressed a soft kiss against my cheek before starting to move behind me. But I grabbed him by the hem of his shirt and, eyes still closed, pulled myself into his chest, wrapping my arms around him. He obliged, in turn doing the same, and with my head in his chest I could smell him so clearly. It was something warm, like a foreign spice of sorts, mixed with rich woody tones and salt, like what I imagined the ocean to smell like. I felt him bury his face in my hair and sigh deeply, rocking me slightly with his overbearing frame. We stood like that for a while, and I soaked up every second of it, knowing when I let go, he would go and adorn his armor and be someone else again. Out there, he would be the Mandalorian but here, in my arms, he could be Din.

I tried to pretend it didn’t affect me. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, I allowed my focus to be enveloped by the view of my new home, rather than the dread of leaving what I had. As we jumped out of hyperspace, I got my first look at Kistern. What struck me as new and strange was the number of other ships around us. Larger stations orbited the planet, and I had never seen so many New Republic ships before.

As we came into the planet, there was a buzz through the intercom.

“D50 Genesis, this is landing tower 5, you need clearance to land on Kistern. Do you copy?”

The Mandalorian leaned down and pressed something before responding to the call.

“Landing tower 5, this is D50 Genesis. I have a passenger with eligible refugee status, and I am the accompanying chaperone.”

There was a crackling pause over the intercom.

“D50 Genesis, may I please speak to the refugee?”

The Mandalorian looked over at me, nodding his slightly as a gesture for me to speak up. “Uh, yes?”

“Am I speaking with the refugee,” the woman asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Do you have your completed paperwork?”

“Yes.”

There was another brief pause.

“D50 Genesis, you're cleared for landing on terminal 14. Do you copy?”

The Mandalorian shuffled forward in his seat as I sat back down.

“This is D50 Genesis, I copy. Over and out.” The intercom switched silent.

I paused, feeling suddenly how loud my heart was beating. I couldn’t believe it. I was finally here, about to land. I felt only apprehension.

“How long do you get on Kistern,” I asked him. “I mean, I’m assuming they don’t just let you wander free down there.”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, staring forward as we entered the atmosphere. “I’ll take as long as I can get.”

I leaned back into my seat and stared at the roof of the ship, swallowing hard. He said it so calmly, like nothing had happened between us. How could someone feel so close to me and yet so far away? He didn’t even seem to care.

Part of me wanted to ask him, but the truth was that wouldn’t be fair. Because if he asked me the same question, I would be completely clueless. I wasn’t sure what to do, or what I wanted from him. I wasn’t even sure if there was anything he could give me. What would I do, trek around the galaxy with a bounty hunter? Not that he would ever want me to…

The ramp lowered and we were greeted by an officer, flanked by two guards. All three seemed rather taken aback at the sight of a Mandalorian escorting me down from the ship, although seemed to withhold any reaction.

“Welcome to Kistern,” said the officer, his eyes sliding from the Mandalorian to myself. “Can I see your papers?”

I dug around in my rucksack before producing a few slightly crumpled documents. The officer pilfered through them, occasionally looking up at each of us, almost skeptically.

“These are in order,” he said at last. “You can come with me to get your authorizations. We’ll, uh, give you two a moment.” His voice was laced with unease.

“Hold on,” I said, frantically. “He… you’re not sending him away, are you?”

The officer turned back to me with an eyebrow raised. “Well, he can’t stay… surely you know that. He has no jurisdiction on Kistern.”

“Can’t you make an exception,” I stammered, getting a bit desperate. “Just for… just for a couple of days? I – I just…” I could see the officer wasn’t buying it, so I reached over and took the Mandalorian’s gloved hand in mine. I could feel him tense up slightly under my touch, but he didn’t react. I pulled out my best desperate expression. “Please. I’ll never… I’ll never see him again.” Well, it wasn’t a lie.

The officer sighed. “I can give you 24 hours, no more. Come with me.” As he turned away, I exchanged a look with the Mandalorian, who seemed a little baffled. “Uh, thanks.”

“Hopefully it’s enough time…” I said, diverting my gaze and slowly letting go of his hand. “It’s better than nothing,” he admitted. “Come on,” he gestured, and I followed him after the officer.

Apparently, Kalbier had known nothing about Kistern, although this didn’t surprise me. The planet was not desertous like Yak’ish Temeen, and in fact, couldn’t be further from it. The city we were in was covered with a grey, dull sky, and was bordering a large ocean. The air was salty and somewhat humid and smelt of oil and smoke. The only immediate similarities I noticed between my home planet and this one was the variety of creatures inhabiting it. Once again, like that outpost on Utaran, many of them seemed to stare at us as we walked past, and I kept my eyes trained to the ground as best as I could.

We were taken to the New Republic’s post, where I was given a starting balance of 500 credits and keys to a lodging to which I had access to for four weeks. Their behavior was curt and professional, and I had to bite my tongue so as to not make my resentment apparent. I blamed them in part for what had happened on Yak’ish Temeen, and after everything they hadn’t done, they still treated me with civil disregard. I couldn’t be more pleased to get out of there.

The Mandalorian escorted me through the city streets; tall metallic buildings that created thin and crowded alleyways and backstreets. The streets were muddy and well-trodden, and the place was far less than pleasant.

“Kistern is notorious for pirates,” said the Mandalorian, placing a hand gently on my lower back to guide me through the crowds. “No wonder the New Republic wanted to get it under control as quickly as possible. But that doesn’t make it impenetrable. I’m sure there are plenty of pirates who would love to get back on this planet. Like our friends on Utaran…”

I tried to focus on what he was saying, which was valuable information, but I could only feel his gloved hand gently resting on my skin as we shuffled through the alleys.

We finally reached the lodgings, a dilapidated multistorey apartment covered in graffiti and adorned with flags and washing lines that hung out the windows between the buildings.

Inside, the room was small and minimally furnished. I walked over to the opposite wall and looked out the window, which boasted a view of the city sloping down to the docks. I heard the door shut and lock behind me.

“Keep the door and windows locked at all times,” said the Mandalorian. “And don’t stay in this town longer than you need to. I’ve heard there are far safer cities inland, and ones where your skills will be useful.”

I turned around and leaned against the windowsill, looking over at him. He was by the door, and there was something passive about the way he stood; he was trying to distract me from asking.

“Can I… what if I came with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“To find your… the person you’re looking for. You only have 24 hours here, surely you could use some help?” I knew my voice sounded desperate, but it was hard to hide how I was really feeling.

“No,” he said, with a tone of finality. I knew it was pointless trying to convince him, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try.

“I’m not entirely useless,” I said, rather unconvincingly. “I’m sure there could be something –”

He interrupted me with a morose sigh, looking down at the ground. “Of course you’re not useless, but you’ll only tie me down while I’m out there.”

“Oh,” was all I could muster. Ouch. I tried to hide the pain in my voice, but he noticed, looking up at me.

“I didn’t mean it like –”

“It’s okay, really,” I said, mostly meaning it. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about doing what you do.”

He sighed. “What I meant was I’d worry too much. I wouldn’t be able to focus if you were with me…”

It still hurt, hearing what I already knew. It made me realize how starkly different we were and snapped me back into the harsh reality of our situation.

“Well,” I said, gathering what composure I had left. “I don’t want to keep you here. You’d… you’d better get going.” I avoided the eye contact he was so intensely trying to give me. He seemed to take a hint, and slowly turned for the door.

I couldn’t hold back. “Will you – will you come back to say goodbye?” He didn’t need to be looking at me to hear my pain as I choked on my words. I felt stupid, bleating it out like a child, but at the same time, I didn’t care.

“I’ll try,” he said. And then he was gone.

[youarejesting]

Wash out.2 (special)

Banners: @purpleskies1999​ Pairings: Dolphintrainer!Taehyung x SharkDiver!Jin,  Mer!Jimin x Reader, Scientist!Namjoon x MerKing!Jungkook, Mer!Yoongi x Mer!Hoseok. Words: 1k Genre: Mystery, Romance, Comedy, Drama, Fantasy, little bit of Action, Slice of life, Enemies2Lovers, Friends2lovers, Social media au, Fake Texts, Fake Subs.

Summary: Taehyung and his best friend Y/N are Dolphin trainers at Wash Out; Marine Wildlife and Theme Park. When the nerdy marine biologist and resident veterinarian Doctor Kim Namjoon goes missing; the two friends form a ragtag team with Taehyung's rival Seokjin and a…. Fish?

Namjoon swallowed the pills hoping he would be able to keep them down, they were a fast-acting anti-nausea medication. It wasn’t his fault, he just had trouble getting out on the ocean waves without feeling painfully seasick. 

He placed his things inside the locker and everything else he needed was placed in the waterproof ziplock pouch attached to a lanyard around his neck. Before heading out to the dock, the group headed out and to the end of the bay where there were some sharp rocks that tended to catch sick and injured marine life. Between the rocks, the rock pools were quite deep, so it could be anything from a shark or a Jellyfish or a broken surfboard. But, they responded to the call as they always did, and they would care for the animal or just clean out the pools of debris.

The boat was in motion and as such was not causing Namjoon any stress, it was only when the boat stopped and was rocked gently by the waves would it stir in his stomach. He hoped they would never reach their destination, though the hope was short-lived as the boat slowed to a stop and the swaying felt more like churning. Namjoon, saving himself from heaving, jumped into the ocean and swam to the edge of the rock pools looking in, he began inspecting the creature. It was dark and he couldn't really see but, he soon noticed it was a human.

Grief consumed him, "It's a body," Namjoon reported seriously, "this poor young man had most likely drowned and was washed up during the high tide into the--" 

It moved, that couldn't be, his eyes must be playing tricks on him, the man was now facing him, his features were delicate and his eyes seemed to watch and follow Namjoon's movements. Namjoon again passed it off as a trick of the eye and the reflection on the water, or even the froth of the waves, until the thing blinked. Hands reached in to grab the body and that's when he was smacked with something in the face, whatever it was, it was fierce and he felt as if he was going to blackout. 

He had no strength to move under the water, but he was also intrigued by the two figures swimming towards him. The first took his left hand, his reddish hair glowing faintly as the sun broke the water and left small beams of light shining on the two gentlemen. The second smaller and blonde grabbed his right hand and they swam so fast. Namjoon was starting to feel like all the oxygen was being sucked out of his lungs but just as he felt himself seeing black he broke the surface. 

Wherever he was it was night time, it was dark but there was a glow like a thousand stars on the walls, and the two men threw him out of the water and onto the ground and climbed out, this was the moment Namjoon noticed they had fishtails. "Mermaids" He muttered, receiving two glares. "You don't like that term, I am sorry?"

They stood up naked making Namjoon turn red, they wrapped themselves in silk that glistened like the sun on the waves. The redhead draped Namjoon's hands with a piece of similar fabric and he let out a, "oooh so soft..." at the cold watery feel as it touched his skin, before it tightened, binding his hands together. "Oh. I see."

There was a strange clicking and he turned to see the blonde returning his thin legs shaking as if he had just run a marathon and would collapse any second. More importantly and taking up his entire attention span was the clicking coming from two very large and deep blue crabs, They were the size of a miniature pony but twice as stocky, he came closer slowly and began patting the shell of the crustacean with a prominent grin on his face.

He was lifted onto the crab and he almost passed out, this creature was majestic and he was overjoyed with being this close and seeing such a gargantuan version. "You are big boy aren't you, you are so perfect, you are doing amazing"

The two who were leading and sharing a crab were sitting sideways and watching him patting the creature and speaking gibberish, they shared a look and rolled their eyes, heading through the place, there were lanterns filled with crystals that gave off a large green glow and the walls were covered with a blue bioluminescent slime, that seemed to come from snails that were traveling around the large cave painting the walls there houses glowing brightly lighting the whole place.

It was like a scene from a fantasy movie but all Namjoon could think of was studying each organism and creature and looking into their lifestyles. He knew there was so much to learn. He touched the wall and his fingers were covered in the thick glowing slime and he grinned and played with it slowly. 

Namjoon was glad for his notebook and phone, as he would be able to document some of the creatures and sights he saw. He was going to take out his phone from the pouch, and snap some photos when the crabs stopped and he felt the fabric around his hands being pulled. Thanking the creature with a friendly grin he followed after them into an ornate room with big arches and intricate carvings in the crystal pillars that all glowed.

The room was round and directly across from the entrance was a small platform with a tall ornate throne, it seemed to be made of hard crystals but lavished with the soft silk fabric which made it seem quite comfortable. 

Upon the seat was the most beautiful young man Namjoon had ever seen fabric wrapped delicately around his waist a little lower than Namjoon was comfortable with, it showed off the man’s deep adonis belt. His chest and arms were also muscular and Namjoon counted at least six elaborate necklaces and three armbands, the latter looking as if they would snap if he flexed his bicep. His hair was a little shaggy making his features look softer and more androgynous. 

Namjoon was stopped and the men beside him began speaking, in their language, it was melodic, slow, and higher-pitched. Namjoon wondered if it was because they had to communicate underwater that the pitch was raised to cut through the water, he wondered if they had some sort of sonar in their bodies.

The young man on the throne listened to his subordinates, his eyes trailing over Namjoon’s form, making him feel nervous. Many people thought he was funny looking and dressed oddly, they thought his personality was dull and his hobbies and interests were too eclectic to be relatable. He was just waiting for the man on the throne to look at him with the same level of displeasure as others do when they first meet.

But it never happened instead the young man stood from his perch and walked towards him, stopping a few inches shorter than himself Namjoon smiled at him and held out his hand. The young man looked at Namjoon’s hand intrigued but waved him off and he was guided into another chamber and was made to sit in a room that he could only liken to a prison cell. 

Namjoon had been there for what felt like half a day but according to his phone was only a few hours. The young man returned, handing him something wrapped in a leaf, Namjoon took it and frowned, it was seafood and he didn’t particularly like seafood especially since he had met so many nice sea creatures that day he couldn’t stomach it. 

He handed it back shaking his head and the man frowned and tried to demonstrate eating it and handed it back. Namjoon tried he really did but the moment the raw fish touched his lips he vomited in the corner.

The man sighed placing down the leaf of food and rubbed Namjoon’s back in wonder, he looked at Namjoon’s build and tried removing his shirt making Namjoon blush but reluctantly removed his shirt. 

“You all seem to trust skinship, so I will cooperate with your customs” He removed his shirt and dropped it to the floor beside him. The young man’s eyes were big and made him seem so innocent when he looked at Namjoon’s broad chest. He seemed to measure their builds making Namjoon chuckle. “Our builds are quite different, you all seem quite small and lithe for agility when swimming. If you think my shoulders are wide, you should see my best friend, he has very broad shoulders.”

The man in front of him adopted a deeper voice while scrunching his nose playfully. Namjoon rubbed the back of his head bashfully, he must stick out like a sore thumb, a big burly guy with a deep voice amongst these elegant lean creatures who were sweetly spoken.

He lowered his head in a greeting and said something and Namjoon lowered his head and repeated it making him laugh his face lighting up. This perhaps king was cheeky, he liked to play games, or at least this was the impression Namjoon got from him.

It was going to take a while for the two to communicate properly without understanding but the king hummed and kissed him on the lips surprising Namjoon. When the two finally pulled away from the kiss the young man laughed again and said. “I hope now you can understand me, my name is Jeon Jungkook, I am the King of the Merpeople”

“What!?”

Tags: @backinblack1967  @miriamxsworld​ ​

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[language-of-love]

For the intimacy prompts: 3. Touching foreheads and/or 51. Slow dancing

For some reason, this sparked a little high school AU idea, so I hope you enjoy it! Read on AO3.

❅ ❆ ❅ ❆ ❅

Spreading his fingers wide inside his mittens, he tries to soak up as much heat as possible from the roaring bonfire as wisps of snowflakes mix with the embers shooting up towards the stars. It’s too cold to be out here and there’s a million reasons why he should have gone home hours ago, but the one reason he’s stayed is inching ever closer. 

And he just can’t help but wonder. 

The music coming from the open windows of Twyla’s hatchback changes to a soft guitar intro that’s familiar, but his memory of it is too far out of reach as his mind is so focused on the proximity of Patrick Brewer as he hums along beside him under his breath.

David doesn’t usually come to these high school parties, but Patrick had asked him if he’d be here as they’d put a final coat of black paint on the chairs for Cabaret and David had found himself so tongue tied that he’d somehow mumbled that he'd “maybe make an appearance”. Patrick’s smile had been immediate, wide and welcoming before he’d quickly tucked it back away with reddened cheeks and David knew he had to show up. To see. To put himself in the path of a possibility. 

“What song is this?” he asks, needing to break the silence with something.

“The Civil Wars and Taylor Swift. I can’t remember the name of it though.”

“It’s pretty.”

Pretty. That’s the best he can come up with? Patrick’s the best musician at their school and…

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Oh. Okay.

“Where did everybody go?” Patrick asks.

When David lifts his arms to tug his beanie down over his ears, his elbow rustles Patrick’s coat and swirls of anxious anticipation erupt in his belly at the unescapable knowledge that Patrick is choosing to stand very, very close to him right now. Ten minutes ago, he was standing on the other side of the bonfire. He’s not now.

“I heard something about a beer run and I think some of the couples have retreated to their cars. I’d steer clear of Jake’s truck by the barn unless you’re into that sort of party.”

Patrick’s chuckle is deep and rumbly and the breath he expels creates a cloud that mixes with David’s before disappearing up into the smoke. 

“Nah, I’m good here…” Patrick’s words trail off into the cold air and David conjures some courage to look over at him, finding him staring back with a look so full of questions David feels a bit uneasy at the multitude of possible answers. “...with you.”

“With me?”

“Yeah. Is that…? Is that okay?”

David’s face gives away his answer as his mouth curls up into a half smile that he can’t seem to stop, even as he chews at the inside of his cheek. God, he just likes Patrick so much and he’s wondered, for a while, if he was picking up hints. But Patrick’s always been with Rachel. Until a few months ago. So...David just wasn’t sure of his preferences. 

Stevie had chastised him just last week about that though, spread out on her bedspread as she puffed smoke from her joint towards the ceiling. “David, you’re not going to learn his preferences hanging out every night with me.”

Fuck, she’s going to be unbearable if she learns she was right all along.

The music gets louder suddenly and David shifts his attention to Twyla’s car, spying her through the window holding up her thumb in a silent show of encouragement and oh god, does everybody know? How mortifying. Looking back over at Patrick, he has to catch his breath at the smile he sees there, waiting, patiently for whatever is supposed to happen next. 

“Do you want to dance?” he hears himself ask.

When Patrick’s eyes go wide, David regrets that impulse immediately and tries to conjure up something to say so he can take it back.

“Um, I’ve never,” Patrick says, his voice quiet as he speaks towards the frozen leaves at his feet. “With a guy, I mean.”

“Oh, okay.”

Patrick’s fingertips from where they are poking out of his fingerless gloves are bright pink as he tentatively reaches out for David’s arm, and David lets his body move in the direction he’s being lightly tugged until he finds himself face to face with a very flushed, very nervous, Patrick Brewer.

“But I’d like to.”

“The song’s almost over though,” David hedges, suddenly overcome with a wave of insecurity.

“David.”

“What?”

Patrick’s hands are on his waist now, pulling him forward and David, well, he takes a deep breath in and lets the cold air shock his system into action.

“Come here.”

He does. 

His arms anchor into the thick padded shoulders of Patrick’s brown corduroy jacket and his eyes dance everywhere except Patrick’s face for a good ten seconds as he lets himself acclimate to this new, dreamlike reality he’s found himself in. When he does force himself to meet Patrick’s gaze, he almost stumbles in surprise at the warmth reflecting from the fire in Patrick’s whiskey colored eyes and the soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Too strange?”

Why did he ask that? God, he needs to stop self sabotaging himself all the time.

“What?”

“Dancing with a guy.”

Patrick’s hand at the waist of his entirely weather inappropriate leather jacket clenches a little and David’s afraid he’s about to let go, but instead, he slides that hand inside the open jacket and spreads his fingers wide along David’s back and David’s unsure of what to do next. But something he’s heard his mother say many times as she’s prepared for another role pops into his head and maybe for the first time in his life, he heeds her advice. 

He leans in. 

And so does Patrick.

Their foreheads are thankfully warm from the fire as they meet and David waits with bated breath for Patrick to answer the question he probably shouldn’t have asked. But now that he has, the answer has somehow taken on monumental importance.

“It feels right.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

Before he can respond, the song ends and there’s a jarring shift to a driving beat, but things go silent and David chuckles softly as he pictures Twyla in her car, frantically searching for another slow song on her drugstore brand MP3 player. He could let go of Patrick’s shoulders while they wait, but he doesn’t, and neither does Patrick. They just keep shuffling their feet and smiling down at their shoes crunching the dead leaves and the thin layer of snow.

When the first few notes of Christina Perri’s “Arms” comes on though, he huffs and can’t stop himself from turning towards Twyla’s car and shouting “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“But David, it’s so romantic!” 

She gives her horn a little honk and David gives her the finger, but he’s grinning from ear to ear as Patrick’s arm winds its way into his jacket to join the other one to draw him in closer. 

“David,” Patrick says, so soft, practically a whisper, drawing David’s attention back where it belongs, back to where Patrick’s eyes are darting new questions straight at his mouth.

Okay. 

So, this is happening.

His cashmere mitten gets snagged a little in the short hairs at the back of Patrick’s neck as he tips his chin and draws him in and their lips are a little chapped from the cold, but the tiny pant of breath Patrick expels the second their mouths touch spreads like fire all over David’s skin. Patrick leans into it, just lets himself be kissed, smiling sweetly into the firelight when David pulls back too soon to let him, both of them, take stock of what’s just transpired. Patrick doesn’t say anything, but his fingers are pushing tenderly into David’s plush sweater and he’s keeping the tip of his nose close so it’s brushing David’s as he takes a few uneven breaths, so David just waits. He wants Patrick to make the next move.

Thankfully, he does.

“Wanna go warm up in my car?”

“Did you fix the heater?”

He can’t help it. The last time he was in Patrick’s car it was an icebox.

“Yeah. I watched a YouTube tutorial.”

“That does not dispel confidence, Patrick.”

“Fine, you wanna stay here and makeout in front of Twyla and whoever else is watching us from their cars right now?”

David’s jaw drops open at the return of the overly confident Patrick Brewer he’s been crushing on for weeks and he just shakes his head and lets himself be led through the parked cars, many with windows scandalously fogged, to the passenger side door of Patrick’s little silver sedan. Away from the prying eyes of their classmates and past the unknown of their first, Patrick doesn’t hesitate, not even for a moment, from initiating their second kiss. He presses David up against the car and with fingers so cold David can’t help but flinch, he holds David’s face steady as he kisses all the breath from David’s lungs. His stocky frame is warm and pulled tight as he settles his weight between David’s legs and it’s not long before the back door is opened and they scramble into the back seat in an uncoordinated tangle. 

Through laughs and demands, he manages to wrestle the car keys from Patrick’s pocket and climbs over his lap so he can reach up into the front and turn the car on and get the heat going. The radio station is set to some sports talk show and he’s about to start turning the dial to find something more appropriate for the mood, but Patrick’s hands are on his hips dragging him back and he abandons that task for the prospect of more kissing. 

Patrick’s thighs are thick and wide and a perfect perch as he settles himself onto his lap and smiles down at flush pinked cheeks and lips wet from his kisses and he honestly can’t believe that all of this is real. Pulling off his mittens, he finally gets his hands on Patrick’s skin as he wraps his hands around his neck and lowers himself down to his waiting mouth, shivering at the eagerness of Patrick’s lips and hands welcoming him back. Patrick’s ineffective tune-up of his heater is no match for the stamina of teenage hormones and it eventually sputters out, but they’ve done a pretty good job of warming themselves all on their own at that point anyway. 

Their drive back home is spent with fingers clasped, shivering, and smiling from ear to ear as Patrick’s death trap of a car trudges slowly along the back country roads with fogged up windows and young love blooming warm in their hearts. 

He hears it from his mother the next day at dress rehearsal when Patrick’s neck is covered with hickeys and the makeup team can’t seem to cover them up. He can’t help it if Patrick was already wearing the lightest shade.

From the look on Patrick’s face as he smiles over at him from center stage, he can honestly say that neither of them have any regrets. Not a single one.

[monstersandmaw]

Male changeling (Dunnock) x female reader - Part Two (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I had not intended for this to get so long, and the story is now three chapters in total! The last part just needs a bit more adding (it's nsfw btw) and some editing, so it shouldn't be as long between this and the last part as it was between the first and second. It’s been up on Patreon for a while, since folks there get it on early release as usual.

Catch up with Part One (sfw) here (Tumblr link | Patreon link)

Content: more fluffy bonding and memories with our childhood friend, a bit of talk about the reader's father, and of Dunnock's origins/background, and preparations for the little village's Spring Equinox Festival...... Wordcount: 2886

As dawn filtered through the thin, light-degraded fabric of the hut’s old curtains, you became gradually aware of the warm, solid presence of Dunnock’s body behind you. After sharing the evening and your food with him for supper, you’d fallen asleep on the soft hearthrug beside him, and apparently he had dozed off as well. Over the course of the night, as the fire had died down to little more than ashy, red embers, he had shifted to tuck you tightly against his chest. One massive arm dangled over your waist, clawed hand resting limp and relaxed in the space beside your stomach, the other arm pillowing his strange head.

In the moments before he stirred too, you stared at him. The monumentality of just what his existence meant stunned you for a second, and you swallowed thickly. He was every bit as real as the solid floor beneath you, and yet your mind screamed at you that he was impossible. The smoky grey fur swirled around his closed eyes in a pattern that made you ache to trace your finger along it, just to feel the contours of his face, the strange plains and angles that weren’t quite wolf and weren’t quite bear; they weren’t quite anything that you could relate to, and yet there he was.

Perhaps sensing the shift in your breathing as you slid from sleep to wakefulness, perhaps sensing nothing at all, Dunnock inhaled more deeply and blinked himself awake. His long-lashed eyelids fluttered for a moment before they revealed the deep, cornflower blue of his eyes and you smiled. He, however, appeared to crash back to reality with a jolt. The moment he realised where his arm had been lying, he retracted it with the speed of a striking viper, ears flattening and eyes widening.

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice rough and thick with sleep. “I… I didn’t… I didn’t mean…”

“It was nice,” you smiled honestly, half rolling and half shuffling to look at him a little better. More than one part of you felt bruised and sore from your night on the hard floor, and you probably had makeup smudged under your eyes or something, but there was a look in his steady eyes that made you not want to care at all. They really were spectacular eyes after all - the brightest and most vibrant blue.

He blinked slowly, left eye closing fractionally before the right, and you grinned as you recognised it as something that the little barefoot boy in the woods had done too. In a flash, you saw him standing in a glade and beaming at you with a handful of dirt and a tiny hazelnut that had clearly been stashed by a squirrel and subsequently forgotten and left to sprout. His freckles had enchanted you as much as his eyes had, and you found yourself tumbling unbidden down the verdant banks of memory lane in an instant.  

“What?” he rumbled.

With a chuckle, you reached a hand up to his cheek and trailed your fingertips over the impossibly downy fur there. A quiet, almost wheezing rumble left him, and those eyes, so clear and intense, disappeared again as his eyelids fluttered down, unable to look at you as you touched him with such tenderness.

“What?” he repeated in a hoarse whisper without opening his eyes.

“Just remembering the little things, is all…” you said. “You really are the same, you know?” you added a moment later as you dropped your hand again.

At that, he did look at you, surprise evident in the set of his cervine ears.

“I mean… sure, you’re about as different as it’s possible to get, physically, but you’re just the same otherwise.”

His lips tugged into a wonky smile that revealed sharp canines, and he rolled onto his back to stretch. He lay there for a while with his hands resting lightly on his chest and his legs stretched out like a hound luxuriating by a fire.

“How’s your leg?” you asked as your eyes travelled down the length of his strange and beautiful body.

Flexing his foot experimentally, the pads of his paws spreading rather sweetly, he grunted and nodded. “Fine. All healed.” Shooting you a cheeky sidelong look, he added, “Told you.”

Breakfast was bacon butties, something that Dunnock hadn’t had since your father had died, and he clearly relished them.

“He used to bring me one sometimes,” Dunnock confessed after practically inhaling two soft white rolls filled with hot, crispy bacon that you’d offered him. “I’d always smell them when he made them on Saturdays, and sometimes he’d see me between the trees and make me an extra one too.”

Something ached at the thought of Dunnock knowing your father almost better than you had.

As if he’d spotted the thought on your face, the changeling looked away and then added, “He used to talk about you a lot.”

“Really?”

“Mn. If he’d recently come back from visiting you when I saw him, he’d tell me about how you were getting on. I think he knew I missed you too.”

Guilt twisted your gut and you felt your breakfast curdle as you stood by the kitchen window and gazed out at the empty bird feeder on the edge of the clearing near your car. “I should have come back here, but I just never seemed to find the time… between studying and taking care of mum - at least to start with - and then juggling work experience and a part time job to pay the rent…”

“He understood,” Dunnock supplied quietly from behind you, and you sensed that he wasn’t just speaking for your father.

“That… That doesn’t make it easier,” you said. “I’m glad he did though.” After another pause you said, “I loved him a lot.”

Dunnock bobbed his head and grunted softly. “You’re a lot like him.”

“Mum always said I’d end up working for the wildlife service or something. Speaking of… I’d planned to take a hike today. You don’t know of any good trails, do you?” you asked with a grin.

“Oh, I can think of a few nice routes,” he chuckled, heaving himself onto all fours and shaking his dense fur out. “I’ll let you get ready and meet you just up that little trail where you found me yesterday.”

The hike with Dunnock brought back a relentless flood of memories.

He led you down the network of endless paths that the two of you had forged together as children, taking in all the old haunts from the Neolithic quarry nestled between tall mossy pines, to the small bog at the edge of the forest where the heath drained down into a treacherous, peaty swamp, dark and stinking and full of tannins. Here there were butterflies and glittering dragonflies that made crazy loops through the reeds, and rabbits with twitching noses snuffling through the underbrush. Further out, you saw stocky, bristle-brush ponies on the moor, and the larks burbling above, and although the walk drained you, physically, it began to recharge something mentally that had been empty for so long that you’d failed to notice it any more. Even your boss had seen it, but it had evaded you for the longest time.

That evening, Dunnock stayed with you again, and he remarked on the life returning to your eyes, which made you blush and thump him on the shoulder. In turn, he just rumbled another chuckle.

“Dun… Tell me about the Fae then?” you asked after you'd both eaten. With Dunnock tucking into your food as well, you were almost out of the modest supply you’d bought on your way in, and the next day you’d have to go to the store in Iska’s Well.

A ripple of tension shuddered almost imperceptibly up his spine, and he seemed to have braced for an impact that you couldn’t see. Sitting beside the fire that you’d decided to let die down early that night, he then sighed and half shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know much about it. I’ve never lived with them.”

“But… how do you know what you are?” you pressed carefully.

Taking another huge lungful of air, he shifted slightly and gave another noncommittal shrug. “The family - whose human baby my parents stole to bring up as Fae - raised me until I was about five I think, and I must have shifted for the first time around then. I don’t really remember them very well, but I remember that they were frightened of me. The woman was… she… I think she knew about the Fae in some way because the moment she saw what I was, she drove me to the forest and left me there. I won’t repeat what she said, but she knew that I wasn’t human. I don’t know what the man thought of what she did, but no one ever came for me.”

He didn’t seem particularly upset by any of what he’d just revealed to you - just awkward - but you sat there with your mouth hanging open in horror. “Dunnock…”

“What?” he asked, blue eyes searing with a frank confusion that stunned you.

When you blurted, “You were abandoned twice?”

He just snorted. “I suppose so, but the forest took care of the rest. And I include your father in that. He knew I was different when he found me riding the wild ponies across the heath. I must have been six or so, completely naked and thoroughly wild… I think he gave me some of my earliest clothes…”

It was your turn to snort. “I can’t believe he didn’t try to take you to a hospital or a police station like any sane person would have done.”

“I shifted in response to what I thought was a threat,” Dunnock laughed, shaking his head as he fondly recalled the events of his first meeting with your father.

“And he just… accepted it?” you asked, amazed. From what you recalled of your father he had been a patient man, but not very… imaginative. He’d entertained no ideas of religion or of a world beyond. For him to accept that Dunnock wasn’t from this world painted him in a new light. You wished you could talk to him about it now, and that thought brought unexpected tears to your eyes.

Dunnock startled at the change in you and surged silently to his feet, nuzzling his head and cheek against your neck where you sat on the floor with your back to the moth-eaten couch behind. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Shaking your head, you told him it was fine. “Being here - and learning all this - it’s just… stirring up old feelings, you know?”

“I know. How about you tell me more about the animals you care for? I’d like to hear what happened to the Rottweiler that wouldn’t be adopted without the rabbit…”

You knew he was distracting you, but you were only too happy to tell him that one.

Yet again, Dunnock stayed the night, but this time you both curled up on the mattress in the corner of the room. There was no need for a sleeping bag with the warmth that Dunnock’s body threw off, and you curled gratefully into the curve of his body while he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around you this time.

As you drifted on the shores of sleep some time near midnight, having talked each other hoarse again, he gave a cavernous sigh and tugged you a little tighter, murmuring in your ear, “I missed you…”

The next day you woke late and headed into Iska’s Well in the car while Dunnock returned to the woods alone. “I’ll know when you’re back,” he said quietly. “That infernal jay will probably come tattling to me first.”

“Really? Do they actually… you know… speak?” you’d asked, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

He shook his head. “Not with words like we are now, but they have their own way. I got pretty good at listening, besides… I can… feel when you’re in this part of the wood.”

You’d petted him gently between his ears and listened to his brief but happy rumble before he’d risen onto his hind legs and brought his finger to the underside of your chin. Leaving with an obviously affectionate little stroke there, he disappeared into the shadows in a mere few paces, and you blinked in surprise. It was as if he’d vanished completely and you swayed on the spot.

“Dunnock?” you whispered.

“Mn?” came his curious response from the depths of the trees. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah… don’t worry. See you later,” you breezed. He really was something Fae about him after all.

Iska’s Well was busy that lunchtime, which was to say that there were all of three people in the general store, and they were all talking animatedly about the Spring Equinox Festival. The owner of the shop, a portly woman in her early sixties with soft grey hair and a motherly look to her, glanced away from their little huddle as the brass bell above the door tinkled a welcome, and she smiled at you. “Hello dear!” she called. “How’s the old cabin treating you? No squirrels in the roof?”

“Nothing of the sort, thank you,” you replied, warily eyeing the other three women who had suddenly taken a very keen interest in you.

“Oh that’s good,” the shop owner exhaled dramatically. “I was wondering after you left last time if we’d have to send Steve down to help you out with anything. I’m pleased to hear that your father’s place is being lived in again.” She turned to the other three gathered conspiratorially at the end of the counter and added, “You remember our dear ranger? Well, this is his daughter. She’s only up here for a short while though, is that right?” she asked you and you nodded.

One of the women brightened visibly, her initial suspicion of an outsider evaporating now that she had a context for you, and she said, “Oh! How long are you here for then? You should come to the Equinox Festival tomorrow. It’s the highlight of the spring! Isn’t that right, Martha?”

The shopkeeper nodded. “Our Sam is going to be playing with his little band, and there’s a hog roast and dancing… You’ll never want to leave, I promise!”

“Sounds ominous,” you quipped, but the women only laughed.

“We’ll see you there then?” the second asked.

She looked like the kind of woman who wouldn’t take no for an answer where hospitality was concerned - in fact they all did - so you just nodded and smiled and said you’d probably be there. That seemed to do the trick and you were allowed to continue your shopping in peace, leaving fifteen minutes later and heading back to the cabin.

Dunnock wasn’t there when you drew up in the little gravel parking area in front of the house, and he didn’t reappear until sunset which saw you sitting on the porch step, idly watching the birds flit back and forth from the pines to the bird feeder.

“No wonder everyone’s here,” came Dunnock's deep, rough voice from between the rough trunks of the nearby trees. “Sunflower seeds at this time of year - what a treat, eh?”

You couldn’t help smiling, and in a heartbeat you found yourself on your feet and walking towards him. It felt as though he were reeling you in, pulling you closer by the sheer force of his presence. Everything about this felt natural and right and you didn’t pause to think. He leaned his tall body against the last of the trees and waited for you to join him, watching you approach with his steady, forget-me-not blue gaze.

Hanging on the branch beside him you noticed two fresh trout, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. “You’ve been feeding me since you got here. Thought I should return the favour. Do you not like fish?”

“Oh, they’re fine,” you grinned. “You’re lucky my dad taught me how to deal with them though. Not everyone knows how to gut and bone a fish…”

Something flashed across his face but he hid it behind a chuckle.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was definitely a ‘something’,” you pressed playfully.

Dunnock just shook his head stubbornly and took the fish off the branch with a claw and into the cabin for you.

As you ate that night, Dunnock easily lounging on the floor and you at the little scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen, you were reminded of the equinox festival. “Have you ever been?” you asked when you brought it up.

Dunnock shook his shaggy head. “No,” he said, easing back a little and leaning a fraction closer to the wood burning stove. Apparently, despite the thickness of his pelt, he really enjoyed the heat it threw off. “I’ve heard it going on most years though. Sounds like it could be fun.”

“You think I should go?” you asked and he grinned.

“If you want,” he shrugged. “I think most of Iska’s Well show up for it. You’ll have no shortage of dance partners, that’s for sure.”

With a snort, you inhaled deeply with the satisfaction of a full stomach and easy company and murmured, “Maybe I will go after all…”

Part Three

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[the--highlanders]

7. “That could have gone better.”

on ao3.

He had missed this terribly, really. Well – not this, exactly. Not the spaceship the size of a country, filled with plants and animals. And not the machines that tended the place, either, like the one he was clinging onto, halfway between a horse and a cow and not entirely like either of them. Certainly not the soot all over his face, the tang of electricity and not-quite-steel in his nostrils, the curled bits of blasted-apart wire that had caught their sharp edges on his sleeves. None of that was familiar in the slightest. But the beast beneath him was stocky, sure-footed as it galloped up the rocky, narrow cliffside path, determined not to be wrenched away from whatever route it had picked out for itself. If he ignored the feeling of metal against his legs, he could almost pretend it was one of those fuzzy little ponies they had used back home, the ones you had to bribe with a palmful of your own oats before you asked them to do anything.

Shame that mechanical creatures didn’t eat oats.

They crested the cliff with a bound, and he tugged automatically on the ridge of wires that stuck out of the beast’s neck like a roached mane. It skidded to a halt – had it actually felt the pull, or was it just coincidence? Tapping at its sides with his heels experimentally, he grinned when it loped onwards, wandering across the plateau that faced them. Maybe whoever had made the machines had missed their horses, too.

Something scrambled up after them with considerably less grace, and he twisted around to see the Doctor clinging to his own beast for dear life. His face was as pale as Jamie had ever seen it, and his jaw was clenched like he thought he was about to be sick. When at last he spoke, the words came slowly, as if he was reluctant to open his mouth. “Jamie,” he said. “Remind me never to listen to one of your plans. Ever again.”

“Alright,” Jamie said cheerfully. The Doctor just scowled at him. “But now ye know how I feel when ye come out with one of your harebrained schemes.” The Doctor did not seem to have heard him – out of queasiness, maybe, or maybe just because he didn’t want to hear it. It was always difficult to tell, with him. “An’ aye, alright. That could’ve gone better.” Tugging his sleeve over the back of his hand, he wiped at his mouth. The fabric came back damp and blackened, and the bitter taste of smoke and metal and chemicals sat heavy on his lips. He could only hope none of it was too toxic. “But at least we’re out of there.”

“At least we’re out of there,” the Doctor parroted back, so darkly that Jamie wasn’t entirely sure he was grateful. “Well, it’s done with now.”

“Aye, exactly.”

Jamie’s beast had come to a halt on the edge of a short precipice, and the Doctor’s drew up alongside it, snorting. Well, it wasn’t really snorting, the Doctor had insisted. Just clearing its vents, which happened to make a sound rather like a horse snorting. Purely coincidental. Jamie still had his suspicions that the things were rather more purposefully horselike than the Doctor had assumed, but he hadn’t bothered to argue.

And below them – it was by far the most tempting sight he had ever laid eyes upon. A great pool of crystal-blue water, clear enough that he could see every pebble lining the bottom of it. They were just a little too uniform in shape and colour, the boulders scattered around the pool’s edges just a little too clinically placed, betraying the fact that this whole place had been made by humans and refined by machines rather than carved out by nature. But at that moment, he hardly cared. It was the water that was important.

“Come on,” he said, wheeling his beast around by the mane again to trot it over to a more gentle incline. “Best clean ourselves up, aye?”

The Doctor followed at a more sedate pace – not that Jamie had been going particularly fast. “You shouldn’t do that, you know,” he said, raising one hand for a moment before hurriedly clinging back on. His fingers were reddened from his desperation, and he dug them back into a groove in the metal plating on the side of the creature’s neck, only just deep enough for him to cling on with his nails. “You might pull a wire out, and that – ah – that would be quite dangerous, you know.”

Shaking his head, Jamie slipped off his beast’s side before it had even come to a halt. It had been slowing down anyway, tempted away by the grass, and he slapped its rump as he went, though it did not bother to trot away. Maybe it hadn’t even felt it. He had no such apathy, himself. The pool was too inviting for that, and he jogged down to its edge, splashing in until it was thigh-deep and the hem of his kilt was floating on the water’s surface around him.

The Doctor had managed to get his beast to stand still, but was looking a bit more reluctant to slide off its back. He had been onto it quickly enough, and galloped away before Jamie had even clambered onto his own – but that had been the heat of the moment, he supposed. Jamie’s own adrenaline was still clearing itself out, but the Doctor’s seemed to have drained away long ago, replaced by the sort of white-knuckled fear that made you hold onto anything and everything for dear life, even if you knew it was perfectly safe to let go. Like a fear of heights, but for strange metal beasties.

Sighing, Jamie wandered out of the water again, muttering curses to himself when he realised that he had forgotten to take his socks and boots off when he had gone in. Oh well, he thought as he toed them off. Better late than never. The artificial sun was bright overhead, and they would dry out soon enough.

Bare-footed and wincing as he stepped on some of the sharper pebbles, he picked his way over to the Doctor, holding his arms up to catch him. “Swing one leg over,” he said, snapping his fingers against his palm to beckon him down. The Doctor just stared at him balefully for a moment – but then he sat back from the beast’s neck, releasing his grip on it one finger at a time. “There ye go, that’s it.” Before Jamie could guide him any further, the Doctor had swung his leg forward, putting it over the creature’s neck rather than its rump so he had to swing it higher. But he got it over alright, leaving himself sitting there awkwardly, legs dangling over the beast’s sides, hands still clutching at whatever edges of the plating they could find. “Now just push yourself off. It’s no’ far, an’ I’ll catch ye.”

Truth be told, he didn’t think he would have a chance to catch the Doctor at all. The distance to the ground was so short that he would already be standing before Jamie could get a hold of him. But when at last the Doctor moved, he eased himself down so slowly. There was a chance, Jamie thought, that he would never manage to get himself off the thing. He would just be stuck there for hours, waiting until he fell off from pure exhaustion. Taking pity on him, he grabbed onto the Doctor’s waist, pulling his weight down so he slipped away from the beast’s side to land on the ground with an oof.

His beast certainly seemed to be relieved to lose its burden, loping over to join its companion in grazing. Or in siphoning grass clippings up into its mouth, at least. It paused, lifting its head and shaking its tail – then a great blast of fire shot out of the pipes on its sides, sending hot air streaming down towards the pool.

“Come on,” Jamie said, taking the Doctor’s hand and pulling him over to the water’s edge. “You’ll feel better.”

“I feel perfectly fine,” the Doctor muttered, though his face was still too white for Jamie to believe him. “There’s no need to fuss.” He kicked off his shoes with a touch of enthusiasm, though, wading into the water almost eagerly. That was more like it, Jamie thought. He should have known water would perk the Doctor right up. It usually did, after all. “I still think there was – ah – a more sensible way out.”

“it worked, didn’t it?” Jamie retorted, wading in after him. “An’ anyway, since when have we done sensible?” The Doctor tipped his head towards him in reluctant acknowledgement. “And,” he added, “now ye know how I feel.” The Doctor still said nothing. He was definitely ignoring the needling deliberately, Jamie thought, fighting back a smile. “Oh, cheer up,” he said, nudging the Doctor’s side. “It wasnae that bad.”

“I can assure you, it was.”

“Come on, then.” Leaning over, he kissed the Doctor, searching for even a trace of a smile. “Ye cannae go on complainin’ about it.”

But the Doctor was still pouting when he pulled away. “Jamie,” he whined. “Don’t you know you’re all covered in -” Wiping the back of his hand over his lips, he pulled a face. “I don’t suppose I want to know.”

He had grown so used to the taste of – well, whatever it was – on his lips that he had stopped thinking about it. “You’re no’ much better,” he pointed out. “You’re covered in it yourself.”

“Oh -” Reaching down, the Doctor splashed a cupped palmful of water at him. “I’m covered in it, am I?”

“Aye, ye are.” Jamie did not even bend down to retaliate, just slapped his hand into the water between them as hard as he could. The spray from the blow spattered over the Doctor, who shrank away from it, shaking himself off like a cat. “No’ that ye can tell, with how dirty that coat of yours is normally.”

“Is it, now?”

Now he’d really done it. He turned to wade away as quickly as he could, laughing, the Doctor following in his wake and tossing water after him.

The sound of their laughter and splashing ran out across the clifftop, broken only by the weary braying of the beasts.

[grim-faux]

2 _ 28 _ Uncontested Foe  

First

 TW For uncontrolled bleeding. Nothing graphic, but tread carefully readers.

The kitchen had edibles to offer, despite the condition it was in. The walls washed with mist, the paneling long drenched and warped at corrupt angles. With each step the floor creaked and bent beneath the delicate echo of his step, thus it was best if he remained still for the time. Not much was enlisted to pass the time, while the child rifled through an upper cabinet prying at packaging and boxes. If not for the passive crinkle of a bag ripping, gently, the child might not exist at all.

 If not for the face peering out beneath the cupboard door, searching for movement, he could almost forget the boy was there at all.

 This was the first time in the last few days (hours?) that the child held still. To sit and chew through a ridiculous and puzzling weight of foods. Where did he put it all? The Thin Man struggled to make sense and calculate the grams to the childs's mass, but found himself unable to reach a feasible solution. As well, he didn’t fully grasp what all Mono was going through.

 Not for the first time, the child dropped from the inner shelf and carried over a small package of something viable. He made it to the edge of the counter, nearest to where the Thin Man stood. Another miniscule grunt escaped the boy, as he landed from a substantial height, token in arm. When he reached the Thin Man, he balanced to bag above his head and shook it.

 The Thin Man sighed through the distortions of vibrations. This was becoming a superfluous habit. “No child. I don’t need that.”

 Another shake of the package. Then, the child hoisted it down and gave it a look. His gaze flashed back to the tall thin man, the eyes moving beneath the side of his hat. He raised the package and inched closer to his shoes.

 “N’t good?” he whispered. “T's Diff’ErNT?”

 “No. Nothing.” He did reach low and retrieved the package. Only to liberate the child of this odd little duty, so he could scramble back to his normal job in the kitchen. He placed the bag on the table, among the others that the child had brought over to him. There were quite a few. “You need to stop doing this.”

 Redirecting his view to the child, the Thin Man presumed for the time Mono was finished with the task. The child huddled in the notch beside the row of cabinets, where the wall and cabinet side connected. After fluffing out his coat a bit, the boy began chewing at his toenails.

 With a grimace, the Thin Man decided to find a more hospitable... room. He detached form beside the dining room table and bypassed the rows of cabinetry, the floor cupboards cracked or bent by perpetual saturation. He shifted with a buzz and arrived at an access, fitted with steps leading to a smaller room not far below. In one casual step he's up to his ankles in flooding, the room opened up to spacious dimensions, one wall dominated by windows. 

 A splash draws his attention down, where Mono now wadded through the murky shallows. The child trailed to the opposite wall and some furniture, climbing onto a waterlogged couch. When the Thin man resume moving, the boy slipped back into the water and followed. The Thin Man doesn't try to dissuade the little wreck.

 In one of the cracked frames hung the disjointed body of a creature; an adult with a stocky short build and wild, bent arms. It was coiled in a tattered comforter, arms knotted into painful angles against its sides. He’s not certain what came about, but he pressed a suspicious eye Mono’s way. There was the incriminating arm the boy held above his head, as he treaded the shallows – up to his waist. His sleeve sliding back, revealed a fresh bandage. That wound was old, though it was not new, from the day before? He didn’t see where the child received it let alone when, it was not there when he managed to get the kid to sleep. He only suspected its existence after finding blood smudges on the floor, and managed to wrestle the child in for an examination (these dramas were so over the top).

 All of this goes dismissed. These pieces of a puzzle wouldn’t add up, and the child denied there was an injury when he inquired about it. He was ready to accept that nothing the child did would ever make sense.

 Another set of steps led up into a new room, sprawling with rectangular boxes and discarded water damage. As of yet, the residence did not receive the thorough examination like it should. Aside from whatever Mono got up to, in the Thin Man’s absence. He merely came upon the area, once he located the child, following another cacophony event.

 Aside from a collapsed portion of the ceiling and the dire creak of the structure, the perimeter was altogether secure. The lights flickered upon the Thin Man’s proximity, but with a nudge of electrical assuage, the frequency soothed.

 Mono glanced around at the dull illumination, his sights drifting over the box littered by the walls. Curiosity engaged, he hurried to the nearest and gave the base a thorough examination, likely seeking a panel or opening to enter. The Thin Man doubted this, as the box gave enticing frequencies and tampering.

 Touching one box afforded the screen in its center to gleam encouraged. Hmm.

 A tug pried at his slacks, but he disregarded it for a moment. The Thin Man bent over to touch the buttons, the controls. An eroded and garbled tune played out.

 “Noise,” Mono rasped, with a small amount of urgency.

 “It’s safe,” he assured. “Nothing will follow it. I’m here.” At current Mono was trying to scale the side of the machine, conflict set in his features.

 With a little cub of effort, the screen flashed with a botched and distorted image. The years of waiting and moisture had its hand in play, but the screen and interior components remained tethered enough that he could remind them what life was like. He had to momentarily shift his focus to the floor, Mono was trying to climb up his dress pants. He untangled the boy by gripping the collar of his coat and hoisted him up to the screen face. At first the smaller one was spooked by the warped images flashing beneath the Thin Man’s persuasion, the chitter and pulse of noises. The Thin Man set a hand to his back and steadied him, before he could topple off.

 “Speek.”

 “Hmm.” The Thin Man wasn’t sure, but it was something. As the Broadcaster, he had insight of such things. It was a distraction from escape.

 By touching the buttons and moving the dial, he could control the pixilated figure in the screen. He couldn’t define fully what it was doing among the jungle terrain of blocks and polygons, but it was making noises. Not a lot. The box which housed the mechanics sputtered and hummed, drawing on the Thin Man’s current and receiving some stability.

 Mono moved a little onto the screen, trying to push his way through. When that didn’t work, he checked the Thin Man’s hands and the way the image complied. “Game,” he offered.

 “Not.” Though the denial was uncertain. He looked at the buttons the Thin Man toggled between. “Do.” And pressed at one. When the effigy responded, he kept pressing the button. In a short span he tired of that, and returned to the screen, practically sitting over the surface to observe.

 The Thin Man tugged Mono off the screen by his coat back, only enough to see more of what he was doing. He was unsure of the games purpose, of what he was trying to achieve through the movement of the caricature. Usually these games held a simple goal, but reaching it was another matter.

 As he moved the abominable character on the screen, Mono became disinterested. His focus settled on the controls, likely wondering how—

 An abrupt and distorted shriek blurted out of the apparatus, causing the Thin Man to recoil. Before he could react, Mono shot off the surface and ducked out of sight. The machine was still screeching all to the Tower, and the Thin Man swept an arm over it and shut the whole thing off.

 “Mono?” he tried, gently. And a little irritated, under his breath, “Ț̴̐h̴͈̚a̷̹̿ţ̵̑ ̶̺͝Ẁ̷̹a̵͈͗s̸̙̈ ̶̜̂N̸̯͋ô̷̱t̷̮͒ ̷̞̄S̶̪̉u̵̱͂p̵̛̻p̸̧͗o̴̧̔s̸͚͌e̵̦͋d̷̩̐ ̸̠̊T̴̠̽o̷̳ ̵͕̆H̴̠̉ą̵͝p̷̻p̴̬̎e̵͚̾n̶͕͗.̵̹” He glanced the room over, he could sense the child but he was having some difficulty locking on his exacts. “There is no danger. It’s safe.” In his peripheral something skittered by, but when he closed in on the space under some table box thing, the tinge of transmission was lost.

 He did not want to go rooting for this child again. How long it took to relocate him, he was uncertain. The child seemed receptive to his reappearance, which was heartening. In the same instance, disheartening as well. The child inflicted a strange smile.

 After a bit more going through the room, at last Mono was located in the cracked hollowed base of one machine, were the wall had caved inward and the serrated edges tore the plastic siding off. Mono was crammed among the wires and debris, with both arms plastered under his chin. He blinked at the Thin Man, his hat gone stray.

 “That was not my intent,” the Thin Man insisted. “I didn’t know it would do that.” It wasn’t as if the contraption was enjoyable, he thought the child would take interested in it. A lot of good that did. “Won’t you come here?”

 Mono wasn’t receptive to emerging yet. He turned his back to the Thin Man and wedged himself in a little more. He set his eyes over his shoulder.

 “Please, Mono. Don’t be this way.” He put his hands down. “It’s safe. Let me see you.”

 A little muffled, Mono croaked, “Not.”

 The Thin Man suppressed a reflex to tamper with something electrical. He reflected that may have been what drew the child to this building, the machines. The lot was out of commission, but the outlets still carried a current.

 “Should I wait? Do you need your rest?” Some little croon rolled out of Mono, and the boy ducked his head down. This riled some concern from the Thin Man, and he reached out to snag the child by the elbow. The boy gave a subdued whine when he was pried loose of his space, he snapped his sleeve free of the Thin Man’s fingers and brought his wrist back to his mouth. He lapped at the blood already trailing loose, trying to stifle the flow and duck out of view once more. But the Thin Man had already seen.

 For the hundredth time, he cursed the Signal Tower.

 “Child. Don’t do that.” The Thin Man didn’t waste any time to snare Mono around the waist and hauled him out. Immediately, the boy flailed his arms and clawed at his cufflinks. He was getting blood everywhere. Up until he shoved his arm back to his mouth. “No. No-No-No-NoNoNo….” He held Mono one handed, while his fingers pried the arm from his face. “That’s not good.”

 “Nah.”

 “No!” The Thin Man moved as quickly as he could muster, teleporting through the drowned room, and returned to the kitchen. He tore the few discarded dishes out of the sink chucked them aside, before dumping Mono into the basin. “Be still.” The child flapped his arms at the grungy sides, making an assortment of animalistic sounds that were hardly coherent. The Thin Man turned the water on, a gush of brown dredge rushed out. With a sharp swipe, he moved the faucet aside. “Coat. Off. Cooperate Mono. No biting!”

 In short, it did not go well.

 Blood was everywhere. Mono wouldn’t hold still or stay put in the sink, he clawed at the surface edge while the Thin Man wrestled the offended arm out of his ‘care’. The most that he made of it, the cut was reopened or worsened by the child’s fall – likely the latter. It wouldn’t stop bleeding, though the surface and depth were not nearly as bad as the one Mono took when avoiding the man in the hat.  How did he manage this? Not only was he trying to stifle the bleeding and clean out remnants of dirt, Mono’s face was covered in blood. Thankfully(?) it was his this time. Once the faucet cleared out of residual rust, he adjusted the waters intensity and moved the crisp flow over to the child.

 “Cold. H’rt—” Mono yelped.

 “S̸̘͊t̸͇͐ọ̸͘p̴̻ ̴̙̂W̴̜͋r̶̩̓i̶̜̎g̵͗ͅḡ̸̭ĺ̴̮î̴̤n̴͎͌g̵͕̔,̶̭̇ that is not helping.” The Thin Man was trying to have patience and use a practiced hand, but this was far more difficult with a resistant patient. Not only resistant, but in denial.

 “Not. H’rt! Stop!"

 “I’m looking at a gash bigger than a fissure.” Overstatement. Mono thrashed against his grip, futile as it was. And the biting. Whenever he could manage a nip, he got one in. Somewhere in this chaos, he managed to get a portion of the coat off Mono’s shoulder, so he could get easier access to the full damage. He wanted to supply a firm bandage, and figure out how to stop the steady weeping. However, he knew the moment he gave Mono the time of day, the child would vanish. Honest, he’s shocked the building was still standing despite the horrendous injustice the kid endured. Likely he was mostly agitated, not threatened.

 “Cold. Herrt.” Mono twisted over and kicked the faucet aside.

 The Thin Man collected him from the sink and began going through drawers, rooting for inspiration. In the third slot he snapped open, he narrowed his eyes.

 “If you don’t cease this, I W̵̲͒ǐ̵̮l̸̥͆ḻ̸͆ bundle you up,” the Thin Man crackled, the lamp dangling by its tattered cord pulsing, “And H̸̱̓á̴̞n̴̢͠ġ̴̘ ̴̗̚Y̵̰̊ó̵̲û̸̡ you from the ceiling.” The child persisted to scrabble and lash at anything that wasn’t the Thin Man, eyes averted. “And leave. Then! Y̷̯͌o̷̒͜ů̴̬ ̷̢͆C̶̥̋a̷̜̒n̶͕ ̶̠͊F̷̗i̶̺̽g̷̤̑u̶̯͐r̴̤̿e̵̟̍ ̸̻̔Ý̷̰ó̷̙u̶͉͝r̵̖͝ś̵̯e̷͇̒ḽ̵́ḟ̷̯ ̴̠͝O̵̪̕ṳ̴̎t̴͜͝ ̶̳Ō̷͇f̶̬̏ ̶̡̉T̵̫͘ḧ̷͓́ä̶͎t̶̬͐.̸̧̎”

 “Not. Aam’not.” Mono gave an indignant howl when he was pushed down onto the countertop.

 And wrapped tightly into a dishtowel. The Thin Man was ever cautious to certify the red washed arm was extracted, as with the bind not being hazardous. With the way the boy squirmed, he didn’t think it was possible to make the bundle tight enough.

 At long last Mono lay secure and going nowhere, the Thin Man could bring out a few more of the cleanest dishtowels and began ripping them to ribbons. He tied another towel around the child, given that this boy refused to cease wriggling, and was trying to use the damaged arm to undo the outer fold at his backside. This did not calm Mono at all, not in his wild thoughts did he suspect it would, but he could in the least work and minimize blood loss.

 When Mono was too tuckered to fight with the horrendous foe towel, the Thin Man dropped a soft rag on his head and dried out some of the excess water. At least the wrap would percolate the saturation of the lads clothing, though Mono was already soaked in the first place. At least his clothing was clean-Er.

 The Thin Man sighed and undid the flap shielding the essential limb. He took the pieces of absorbent cloth and layered down one cover, then took the ribbons and began wrapping. Languidly, the child made an effort to draw his arm away from the work, but the Thin Man grumbled and applied a firmer grip to Mono’s shoulder.

 “D̴̪͌o̸͍̅ń̸͔'̴̢̓t̴̻͒.” The Thin Man focused himself and lessened some of the pressure. “We’ll cover this, so you won’t have to look at it. Or work on it,” the Thin Man uttered, as he tied the ends. “Does that hurt?”

 Mono sniffled. “Not,” he rasped. He wasn’t accustomed to making such volume, and likely was unsettled by it. He wouldn’t look at the Thin Man. A pitiful whimper curdled in his throat.

 “You must take it easy. No moving. No searching. Your arm is badly hurt, and that demands some mending.” He touched Mono’s hand lightly, and the child winced as if delivered a sharp blow. “Next time, D̷̝̕o̷̲̚ ̷̞̇A̷̘͌s̵͉̈́ ̸͑͜I̵̻͘ ̸͚́S̵͓̅ḁ̷̐y̴̘̌.̸̧̋” He also wanted to mention, Mono looked ridiculous wrapped up this way. Like a little burrito. It would do well to get the child untied and soothed, but he was realistic. It was likely the boy would dash off into a secluded corner or hole in the wall to isolate for….

 Worst of all, even if Mono wasn’t about to fuss with the bandage, in his haste he child might knock his limb and make the bleed worse. “Mono? Listen to me. Are you paying attention? Child?”

 Curious, the Thin Man aligned his view with the child’s gaze and found the clutter of filthy dishware discarded, from the sink. It barely occurred to him then, that he’s in a kitchen and Mono is bundled up tightly, on a cutting board.

 “Let’s… go to a different room.” The child was trembling through and through, as he carried him to a space far distant from the sight and smells of the kitchen.

 A spare room survived the flooding and pseudo wetland transformation much of the residence suffered, though the carpet was still damped. The Thin Man was ever cautious of such accidents or incidents, and assured that no live lines tampered with the conductive shallows when water invaded the buildings. Some furniture through the room remained altogether – a tall cabinet or squat drawer set might provide enticing cover for the child if he got away, but from what the Thin Man gathered, exits would be limited. He could only brace himself.

 He bent over to set Mono on a frumpy couch and began unwinding the tight bind around his shoulders. Even before the child was fully loose, he tried to bolt away. But the Thin Man snared him around the waist and knelt beside the couch.

 “Child, this is tiresome.” He let Mono keep his feet on the cushion. It’s a small wonder this boy wasn’t thrashing like a burning leech, though he was pushing at the cushion with his heels. “If you disappear and force me to search you out once more, I will make the decision for you and go. I will never look back, I̸̪̽ ̵̼͠W̸̧̐í̷̬l̷̞͝l̵̮͆ ̷̭͝N̴̤̉e̴̹̓v̶̤͝ẻ̸͉ŗ̵͊ ̴̺̄T̴̻̃h̵̤̔i̷̤n̶̟͑k̷̨̆ ̶̼͗A̵̤̔b̷̞̋o̸̖͐u̷͖͐t̸̢̿ ̵̙̽Y̸̙̓ò̶̺u̷͎͂ ̴͊͜A̷͙̋g̴̏ͅá̸̘i̸͙̓n̵̞̔. I have been extremely lenient thus far.”

 “Not heert. Aam not. T’hur-t.” The child was in the process of trying to pry a finger loose. This wasn’t going well.

 “I am fed up with this. Accept that your arm needed tending, or I’ll leave right. You can T̷͔̐r̷͙̍ỳ̵̤ to follow, O̷͙̐r̴͔̋ ̵̘͆N̶̞̈o̶͉̕t̵͖̒. I really don’t care.” After a wait, Mono did cease his failed escape. He slumped with his bandaged arm tucked under his chin, maybe debating chewing on the bandage. That, or on the fingers locked around him. “Are you mad at me?” The child nodded. “For what reason?” An answer came, but not quickly.

 “D’nt Hurt.”

 The Thin Man grunted. This child…. He rubbed Mono’s coatless shoulder with his thumb, pondering this opposition. Ironic, how even in a situation where the boy could grasp his presence was benign, the child remained defiant and driven against the elder’s best intuition. Many factors perpetuated the cycle, one being the baseless intolerance for the other, and inability for coexistence. Somewhere he read that opposites attract, in that case then same’s repelled.

 The boy fidgeted and ducked his head down.

 “You are resistant to my aid. That is made explicitly clear,” the Thin Man muttered. “However, I have no intent to sit out as a spectator while you gnaw your arm like an animal.”

 “Don’t.” Mono tugged against the hands holding him. “N’t hert. Leggo.” When he is released, Mono didn’t squander an ounce of a second to lunge into the corner of the couch and wound himself into his coat, head tucked between his knees. He glared out as the Thin Man glided to the opposite side and took a seat. Slouched, a hand pressed to his forehead and the impressive hat fitted far back.

 After a spell of quiet, Mono took the time to study his new bandage. It was tight, but not painful. He put his teeth to it and nibbled the frayed thread.

 “The simplest of tasks you overcomplicate,” the Thin Man hummed, static vibrating. “You never rest when I tell you to, I practically have to nail you down before you‘ll sleep.”

 “Bhh.” Mono fitted his coat back on over his shoulder and leaned more on the couch, exhausted and head dizzy. “Pract’lee. Ev’t’ild. Down. Sleep.” He swung his head up and regarded the bent figure. “R’to sleep?” The Thin Man slipped the hand from his forehead down, to cover his face – the light in the rooms corner flashed. “Am watch.”

 A growl rolled through the sizzling current. “Y̶͖̾ô̷͎u̶̪̔ ̷̪̓A̶͒ͅṟ̷̏ẽ̶͍ ̴͕̒S̶̗̐ũ̶͙p̵̭͂p̷̳͊o̵̧͠s̵̬͝è̷͕d̸̫͘ ̴͜͝Ț̵͋o̸͖̍ ̷̨̊S̶̪̑l̶͔͗é̷͖e̶̢̛p̶̹̏.”

 It was always confusing dealing with the Thin Man when he was like this. Everything Mono did annoyed the man in the hat, but he always forgave Mono and came back. Not surprising, Mono was not very good at company. He kept trying. Eventually, he would get it right.

 In the meantime, Mono wound into himself tighter yet, scrutiny of the man in the hat never wavering. So much to do, and he hadn’t the chance to give the rooms a thorough search. There was the one creature he tricked, but others could be somewhere. Hide. The tall thin man didn’t understand; it was Mono’s responsibility. He wouldn’t let the Thin Man get hurt again.

 “One of these days you’re going to trap yourself somewhere, and I won’t be around to drag you out,” crackled the Thin Man.

 Mono sat  with his bony arms bundled over his knees, while he watched the Thin Man ramble on. This was his favorite thing, when the Thin Man prattled with the big speek. Some of the speek he recognized, but he only recognized the sounds and could parrot them back to himself. What the noise meant for the most part, was lost on him. Still, he liked the sounds. The man in the hat made mention of ‘child’ or ‘children’ a lot. Danger, he knew that. Irritant, he wasn’t sure what that meant.

 Other speek, sometimes the long phrases that had more recognizable noises like appree-siate, complik-ated, dist-erbed, or something-something abho-rant. Rid-ik-u'louse. Other times, the man in the hat spoke swift and fluidly, Mono couldn't separate the sounds. Still, that was wonderful noise.

 He tilted his head. Sometimes the Thin Man only did speek to himself, the way Mono did speek to himself in his head. But loud. He didn’t know if all kids could do the in head speek, like the way not all kids could use television to go places or see halls in ambiguous places. The hallway was only something Mono dreamed about, until he started to TuNe The TRanSMiSsion. One time he thought all kids could, in some way, manipulate the televisions. Until he learned that this was something only he could do.

 Then he started wearing his masks.

 Was the Thin Man still speek to him? Or forget? It was hard for Mono to figure out. Listening to the Thin Man was restful, even if he didn’t get most of what the tall thin man muttered about. The sounds felt like speek stories on walls, it meant something to the Thin Man and he tried to share it with Mono. This was all something important, but the adult couldn’t convey it right. Mono tried forming the sounds with his lips. If only he had some paper and crayons….

 “…Then when you look up, you’ll realize every mistake you ever made in your life couldn’t have prepare you for this moment.”

 The Thin Man stalled briefly, silent and unmoving. The tall figure turned and checked Mono. “Have you heard any of what I speek?”

 Mono nodded. He was listen. “D’es more? Like... n'story.” The corner of the Thin Man’s mouth twitched, and with a long, deep wheeze, the man in the hat buried his face deeper in his hands.

 Of course, nothing he did ever made the Thin Man happy. Mono dragged the towel with him over to the man in the hat, and wrapped it over his messed up arm. “Not hurt,” he reminded. “Aam good.” He tried to see past the long arm, to the face behind the hands.

 “Eer y’sad?” he tilted his head. “Aam’fix.”

 “G̶̰̓e̷͉͐t̴̘̿ ̷̭̍Ŝ̵͎ò̸̡m̷͖͒e̸͔͆ ̴̛̯R̷͎̿e̷͕͋s̵̘͗t̸̮̐,̶̱͠ ̵̙̅B̷̩͠o̵̳͒ȳ̸͍,̶̗̍” grated the voice. “We cannot linger here.”

 Humming a little to himself, Mono shut one eye in passive thought. The food was not horrible, and there was plenty to have later. A sound bounced from his throat, when the Thin Man wrapped a hand around his shoulders. “Not.” He tried to slip loose, but the fingers only tightened. Should’ve paid attention. NoNoNoNo. The only free hand he had, he latched onto the Thin Man’s suit side. “Hurt. Aam soft.”

 “D̸̛̹o̴͎͂ ̸͙͌N̵̙̓o̶̺̐ṫ̶ͅ ̴̳̈́Ă̶͓r̷̟͌g̶̡͌ǘ̷͙ė̸̢ ̴̺̓W̸̯͊ï̴̢t̶̜̽ḧ̵̦ ̸̞͝M̸̳͗e̴̺͛,̸̻̕” the Thin Man hissed. “The next time you collapse, you’ll lay there. I̴̤͘ ̵̺̊W̶̞̉ọ̸̚n̶͎̕’̷̰̒ẗ̶̳́ ̴̖̂S̷̮͠p̸͕̄a̷͉̎r̴̨͗ẻ̸̞ ̸͖̚A̷̧̐ ̸̼͆G̴͕̅l̴̬̉a̵̝͊ṋ̴͛c̵͍͂e̵͙͛.̶̗”

 Mono garbled some sort of noise and wriggled. This only managed a firmer grip and the Thin Man’s hushing, which only made him hiss and struggle more. He couldn’t endure the exertion for long, and with a groan, relinquished his fight. His fingernails still dug into the thick knit of the Thin Man’s coat, but the Thin Man did loosen the iron coils on his shoulders. Only by a fraction. He wouldn't leave the Thin Man.

 “E’go sum’where?” Mono murmured. He pulled himself up a bit by the coat he held, and checked the tall thin man’s face. The man in the hat held his gaze averted, sights fixed on a barricaded window. It was a long-long while before the stark figure responded… after a nip from Mono.

 “N̶͎͝o̷̟̅,̷̟͋” the Thin Man grated. “No. It just… isn’t safe, to shelter in one place for too long. You know that, don’t you?”

 Of course he did. Kept him alive for so long. No place was ever truly safe. Not for long. His pack... he missed them.

 Mono nodded. He pulled himself up into more of a seated position, and shrugged out of the Thin Man’s hold. The hand settled on the cushion beside him, but didn’t snare him. “Am here,” he reminded, tugging the Thin Man’s suit. “Look after.” Nestling in more, he leaned against the man in the hat and lost himself staring off into nothing.

 This was the strangest company Mono had ever done. The Thin Man wasn’t doing anything, but watch the window. Against the shattered patches of glass, the enduring storm lashed; wood and plaster anchoring the walls groaned, beaten by the unrelenting fury seeking to undo the occupants of the dwelling. The storm was bad, that could be it.

 “Am here,” Mono hummed. “Watch f’r.” However, it was more important to stay quiet and keep motionless. He did suspect it would have been better to find a book for the Thin Man, if he could get away. The notion that the Thin Man needed some quiet and do-nothing time, did occur to him. This was easy enough to do. Usually only when the man in the hat was in a sour mood, then, Mono preferred to hide somewhere else. He never was certain what the tall thin man might do, he could do things very fast without meaning to. The Thin Man could be fast when he wanted to be. Fast and deliberate.

 In the hours that the two sit in wait, it is the Thin Man who delved into dormancy. At first Mono is not aware, while he intently observed the patterns of shadows vibrating on a clean section of wall. The Thin Man’s knee twitched and a scratchy whine vibrated in his chest. Even the carved shades slipping across the wall become distorted and sharp, when the lamp fluttered.

 Mono blinked muddled, head still scrambled from the other time. “Shh. Shh,” he cooed, tugging on the coat side. He slipped his bandaged arm out from the towel and gripped the thick knit of the suit tighter. “Shh. Have you,” Mono rasped. He made other soft trills of speek, all of it had no meaning. It just sounded nice. "Okay. Aam have."

 With some persistent tugging and noises, the man in the hat ceased making frightening sounds. That was good. The tremors diminished as well. It was always scary when the Thin Man had dream haunts, at the same time, Mono wondered what it was which frightened an adult. The Tower? But the Thin Man feared nothing.

 For some time still, Mono clung to the suit's sides, stony faced and unyielding, knuckles white. At least, until he certified the man in the hat wouldn’t knock him off again.

 Exhaling a stale breath, Mono released the suit seams and shuffled carefully to the edge of the couch cushion. Very carefully. Cautious not to disturb or spook the Thin Man. The towel he wanted to take, but it was snagged under the Thin Man’s wrist. Maybe the Thin Man needed it more.

 When Mono dropped safely to the floor, he scurried to the other end of the couch and huddled at the base. In some time, he would go on his own and check the other rooms. Retrieve his hat too if possible, he was not doing very good with hat collecting (and keeping). It was important to hold stern vigil of the Thin Man, in case he had another dream haunt. The merciless night terrors always upset him, but they seemed to bother the man in the hat even more.

 Mono hiked the collar of his coat up a tad higher on his neck and coiled into himself. Shutting only one eye, he listened attentively for a gasp or shudder from the Thin Man. Noisy children always die.

Next

[fvaleraye]

Echoes

Well well well, would you look at that, we got another chapter :> This one is the long awaited return to the gals- Leona, Velda, and Artemis This one is definitely longer than my other chapters, coming to around five pages worth of words. But I’m very happy with how it turned out... and I hope y’all like reading it ;w;

The hour was early, the sun was peeking shyly over the horizon. Pale orange and yellow hues bathed the earth, the colors highlighting the light brown paths among greenery of the wide open plains. It was all very vibrant, like something out of a painting. Beautiful. Not very many people were up early enough to see it, of course, but travelers got to see it all quite often. Though, the sight usually lost its luster after the first few dozen times. Especially when many of said travelers would prefer to not be awake- let alone travelling- at such an early hour. But such were the sacrifices of those who wanted to explore the expansive lands of Magna Terra.

The trip to Crystalbarrow was much the same as the one to Springford. Leona riding on the back of Artemis- not just because there were very few carriage drivers willing to transport a greatwolf from Springford- but because they were all taken. The carriages were all so busy, as they usually are during spring, and they were just too anxious to get going to wait any longer. So, the old fashioned way it was. Just a roadtrip with a girl and her giant wolf. The one difference from the last trip was the extra passenger. While Leona was- quite begrudgingly- awake, Velda was sound asleep behind her, resting her head on her back, arms around her waist. Her presence definitely made the long trip much more bearable than the last. Artemis was beginning to get a bit tired- a rare sight- but she pressed on, because she knew as well as her charges that Crystalbarrow was not far. Not too close, but certainly not far. She had been trotting along for ages… she could manage a bit further. It was just on the edge of the Outlands, bordering the sea.

Just a bit further.

After about an hour or so more of walking, the sleepy archer managed to rouse herself from her slumber, making her consciousness known with a big yawn, startling the tired warrior. She glanced at her from over her shoulder, and the two quietly exchanged a look. A moment later, she was back to resting her head, arms around her a little more tightly now.

“I’m shocked you’re so comfortable resting your head on my metal armor.” Leona mumbled tiredly, idly glancing at the road ahead.

“I’m never not comfortable around you…” Velda replied, her voice just dripping with lovey-dovey tones.

If it was a mystery whether or not a wolf could roll their eyes, Artemis would have solved it just then.

Eventually, as swaying grass and fertile land turned to grey, still earth, the sounds of waves started to echo out from the horizon. The coast was nearing. Their destination was nearing. Finally. The two had started to sit a bit straighter, look a bit more presentable. They weren’t trying to impress anyone, but Leona was going to visit a family friend. She needed to wake up a bit. Hopefully he still lives here...

The town climbed into view soon after, a fair portion the old wooden buildings nestled snugly in a sizable crater in the ground, the rest extending into the horizon. The ocean was in full view, a small dock off in the distance, sails being raised and lowered as sailors were either bringing in hauls or setting out for more. The town was a rather simple one, but not a small one. Still, its humble appearances hid its less humble origins.

After all, the town got its name from producing loads and loads of gems and crystals, whether found in the bountiful sea or mined from its expansive crystalline cave networks. It was the single largest producer of gemstones across the entire continent. But you wouldn’t tell just by looking at it. Well, unless you caught a glimpse of people pushing around wheelbarrows full of the stuff, of which there were a few right now. Just loading them onto carriages or into buildings. For now, though, the only thing on the girls minds was getting to the local inn- The Diamond in the Rough. A rather… on the nose name, but it fit, what with the town itself being in the middle of one of the more hostile environments on Magna Terra. 

Not the most hostile, but still. 

As usual, Artemis sat down outside while Leona went in to talk with the innkeeper for a room. Though this time she had the company of her lovely girlfriend Velda, who, unlike her, had actually got a decent amount of sleep the prior night. The two stepped up to the counter, and the kindly old lady there gave them a warm smile.

“Hello there.” She said, sounding a bit tired, but still welcoming. “Welcome to the Diamond in the Rough. Would you like a room?” The practiced ease in her voice was pretty comforting, especially compared to the last inn.

Leona just nodded, pulling up a barstool for a second. “Yeah, we’d like a room…” She replied, rooting around in her pockets for her money. “Us two, and a greatwolf, Artemis, if that’s okay.”

The woman leaned to her side to peek past her guest and out the window. Sure enough, there was a greatwolf out there. Big. But not the biggest she had ever seen. She let out a tired sigh. “Can you wait another half hour or so before letting your pooch in?” She asked, fidgeting a bit. “We’re sort of at capacity for the big fellas at the moment, but a few are about to leave…”

“Oh-! Of course!” After a moment, she produced a small pouch of silver and gold coins from her pocket. “How much? For the room, I mean.”

“Thirty-five silver a night.”

She breathed a sigh of relief at the quite frankly reasonable price. She was expecting to have to pick up odd jobs to make ends meet at this point. But no… her current savings should be just fine for now, thank the gods. She set a handful of silver coins onto the counter, and very quickly stepped back outside.

“Hey Arte…” She mumbled, giving the wolf a few pats on the head. “You’re gonna have to chill out here for an hour or so, but you can come right in afterwards, okay?” The wolf gave a tired little nod, clearly just thankful she’s getting any rest at all. “Okay, good… love ya, big gal. I’ll tell Velda to grab you when you can come in, I just… need a bed…”

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It wasn’t long before Artemis could come into the building, and it wasn’t much longer after that before the duo fell soundly asleep, leaving Velda to her own devices. As much as she wanted to stay in the room and go to bed with her lovely girlfriend, she just… wasn’t tired. Not that that usually stopped her, but… she had a few things she wanted to do. Look around, mostly. This wasn’t a small town. While it wasn’t near the size of the cities, it was still one of the biggest towns she’d ever been in. There was a fair amount of ground to cover. And a lot of people to talk to. She had to start sometime, and there was no time like the present. Carefully tip-toeing out of the room, she stepped into the inn’s lobby. It was a bit empty, which was fair. It was still early. Most sane people were asleep. She gave the little old lady at the counter a wave as she wandered out into the streets of the Crystalbarrow.

It was a nice enough town, it generally had that rough, stocky look that most coastal towns had. All the buildings were of wooden make, with stone foundations lifting them a good seven or so feet off the ground for when the tides came in. A few of the older buildings here and there had barnacles growing from the sides, while others had plenty of scrape marks on the wood from barnacle removal. Everything had a vibe to it that could only be described as vaguely damp, salted, and well-worn, but still lovingly upkept; like a ship that had seen its fair share of the tides- and had its fair share of repairs as a result. It was surprisingly homey, even among the dreary and slightly depressing gray earth of the Outlands. Velda took a breath, the salty sea air making her pull a face, and started to wander the streets.

Most of the people out at this hour were workers. The workers in question were miners about to go to the mines, though there were a few idle early birds on the streets as well. Everyone was dressed in what you would expect, cotton shirts, pants, knee-high mud-covered boots… nothing really out of the ordinary.

At least, until a… figure, approached her.

They stepped up to her from the side, just barely catching a glimpse of them from her peripheral vision before turning to face them. They were tall, just under seven feet. An old, slightly rusted iron breastplate covered their chest, brown robes flowing from underneath it. It parted in the middle, showing the leather armor that covered their lower half. Their face was concealed beneath a hood, the top of which held a strange crown, and an ornate, but featureless, gold encrusted mask. Gaunt hands, covered in bronze gauntlets ending in sharpened claws, emerged from long brown sleeves, and in them a simple plate, which they held out to the woman.

After the shock of their appearance abated, she let out a sigh. They were a church missionary, and they were asking for a tithe. Of course. She shoved a hand into a pocket, and dropped a few pieces of silver into the plate. The missionary gave a slight bow, and left wordlessly. Her gaze followed them for a time, and she shivered. Gods damned were some of the people the church employed unnerving sometimes. There were always at least a few of the silent missionaries in towns this far out, to help keep the townspeople on the “right path” and away from religions that the church would consider unsavory. Which was most any religion that wasn’t theirs.

Kind of dick-ish, when you thought about it, but considering that most other religions nowadays were apocalypse cults, it was hard to blame them. Hard. Not impossible. They do overstep their bounds occasionally.

She continued to wander for a bit, looking for someone who wasn’t busy or currently under an oath of silence. Her search eventually led her to the docks. Of course the docks were busy, but there were a few workers who were just resting, evidently not having much to do. She nervously stepped up to the least intimidating one, a tired looking young man, probably barely over eighteen. His face seemed to lighten up at her approach, and he started standing a bit straighter. He gave a grin, showing off a few missing teeth.

“H-hello there.” She greeted, fidgeting with her stowed bow.

“Hey there, ma’am!” He greeted right back, running a calloused hand through his messy, damp hair. “What can ah do for ya?”

She was a bit caught off guard by the youth’s enthusiasm, but it wasn’t unwelcome. “Uh… d-do you know anything about the- uh- caves. A-around here?”

His smile dropped for a second, his expression shifting to a more confused one. “Uh… well, ah mean, ah got an idea…” He mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Unc’s a miner, so’re my cousins. Ah know the names at least, if tha’s helpful.”

She gave a small sigh. Okay, that’s better than nothing. “Do you know where a cave called… uh, called Echo Cavern is?”

He flinched a bit at the name. “E-Echo Cavern, ma’am?” He parroted, tilting his head. “Y-yer probably not from around here, otherwise ya’d know that nobody- ain’t nobody- allowed in there.”

“Please. I really need to find it. It’s the whole reason I c-came out here.”

The boy cringed, and took a sharp inhale, glancing around at the other workers. He grimaced as he turned back to her, eyes still darting around. “Ya sure ‘bout this…?” He asked, his tone making it empathetically clear that he was already sure he was going to regret this.

“... y-yes.”

“Ya don’t sound very sure, ma’am.”

“Th-that’s just how I sound.”

“... I’ll take yer word for it.” He leaned a bit closer. “It’s on the north-east side, further inland. You’ll know it when ya see it, ‘s got lotsa crystals around it. And bugs.”

She blinked at the last bit. “B-bugs?”

“Ye, bugs. Bigguns, too.”

“Well… th-thanks.”

She stepped away from the dock, not wanting to sour the poor lads mood any more than she already had. Hopefully he wouldn’t get in any trouble. He seemed like a nice kid. From there, she just idly paced through the town for a bit. She should probably wait for Leona and Artemis to wake up, so they can all go together.

… but also, she really wanted to get to the cave. She really, really wanted to get to the cave. It was the only lead she had right now. And she really wanted to follow it. But it was probably dangerous- what wasn’t nowadays- and a bow wasn’t exactly the go-to weapon for spelunking in… bug-caves. Eugh. The thought of it made her skin crawl. She really didn’t like bugs. Bugs just made her… viscerally uncomfortable. Especially big ones. But she’s faced scarier… probably…

… I’ll just take a peek, and then go back and wait for Leona and Arte.

The Outlands were dreadfully oppressing, especially when walking on foot. She didn’t quite imagine the cave being this far out from the kid’s description. But who knows, maybe she had already passed it. The town was already getting kind of far away… and she really didn’t want to lose where it was. The Outlands were very same-y- gray rock and dirt as far as the eye can see. At least Crystalbarrow was a coast town, so she can just follow the coast and get there eventually. That is, if she hadn’t lost where the coast was already. Her sense of direction definitely could have been better... but it also could have been worse. She could figure out a way back, she could… she just had to push the anxiety down for the time being. If she didn’t find the cave within the next ten or so minutes, she was heading back.

Of course, it only took about two more minutes of looking to find it.

When the lad said that she would know it when she saw it, he wasn’t joking. It was… a big cave. Even from a distance, it was intimidating. An enormous, yawning maw of an opening, lined with crystals, giving the impression of the giant, toothy mouth of a hungry monster. It wasn’t exactly welcoming. But there were no bugs… at least, not visible ones. Not yet. Slowly, carefully, she stepped closer. The closer she stepped… the louder… something became. It wasn’t clear what it was. It was… deep. Bassy. Cacophonous. Like a choir of some sort. But it definitely wasn’t a choir. Not out here. That became more obvious the closer she came.

She peeked into the vast opening, the glittering crystals providing light a far distance down… but that just made it even more obvious how it just kept going. There was no end in sight to the tunnel, and she could swear it branched off at several points. The sight made her stomach drop. No. No way, no way was she going in there without Leona and Artemis. The noise was near unbearable this close… and it still wasn’t any more distinct. Just. Gibbering and jabbering, echoing out of the cave. She decided now was probably a good time to just turn around and head back. No way. Nuh-uh. She could not get back to town fast enough.

In fact, Velda was in such a hurry, she tripped right over something and fell flat on her face, a cry and ‘oof’ pushed from her.

She picked herself up off the ground, a hand reaching up to her eye. Yeah, that was definitely going to be a black eye for her troubles. And her arrows spilled all over the ground. Fuck off. She brushed the dirt and dust off her clothes, and started to pick up the arrows. At least she didn’t accidentally stab herself on any of them. That was nice.

The only thing that broke her bit of misery was the little chirping noise she heard behind her.

It was a little hard to hear over the cave, but it was… different. Enough to notice. She turned around, arrows clutched in shaky hands, and didn’t see anything at first… left, right… nothing. Then she turned down, and she saw it.

It was a bug. A big one, about the size of a small dog. But it was… different. She jumped back at first glance, but as she looked closer, she was almost immediately disarmed. It was… very round. Almost spherical. Its back was covered in a shining, sparkling, deep purple carapace. A small horn protruded from its forehead, sharp, but short. It had rounded legs, and what seemed to be a pair of small arms, ending in three little fingers. Its stomach, strangely, was not covered in a similar carapace, rather it was a bright, near-pristine white coat of fur, coating its belly, neck, and the lower half of its face. It was knocked on its back, chirping and squealing, struggling to right itself. The sight was a little sad. Her heart getting the better of her, she inched closer to the little creature, and gingerly picked it up. It seemed to panic very briefly, but seemed to take to it after a moment. She set it back down on its legs, and it looked up to her, making a little chirping sound.

“Uh… y-you’re welcome…?” She said, hesitantly giving it a little pat on the head. It trilled in response. “... you uh. Y-you have a good day, I guess.” She added, before turning on her heels and hoofing it back to town.

While she didn’t notice it immediately, the little creature started to follow her after a moment. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was attachment. Gratefulness. Who knew. But she had a little tagalong, whether she knew it or not.

[silverlysilence]

An Emissary’s Duty

@madcapmiss and I have worked together to bring you this little collaboration steaming from the comment section of Spirit of a Guardian.  (She did most of the work meshing the two ideas into one and I formatted the DMs into this, please praise her).  Enjoy.

Officially he's come as a peaceful emissary, looking to negotiate a trade agreement with the young chief of the Hooligan tribe. Officially. Truthfully his people have sent him to take the boy’s measure and gather the pertinent information needed to launch a successful attack.

They've heard the stories, of course. Who hasn't by now?  It’s been the talk of the entire Barbaric Archipelago for the last few years.  The stories growing and new details added with each rendition.  Still, they're not fool enough to actually believe in such tall tales. They go beyond the realm of far-fetched and straight into the downright insulting.

They say the chief rides a Night Fury, the Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death itself; more than that there are whispers he is more kin to the beast than he is to men. They say he struck down Drago Bludvist, a nightmare of a man who once slaughtered nearly every Chieftain in the isles in the space of a single night. They say he defeated a vast army from beyond the archipelago with only five warriors at his back. They say he built himself wings, that he can command dragons and call lightning and walk through fire. They say that he is so fierce that the queen of the fair folk herself asked him for an alliance, that when he grew lonely for companionship, he stole a god from Asgard itself for his lover.

The emissary, like the rest of his tribe, holds these stories in contempt. It's one thing to exaggerate your strength to ward off attackers, but this boy’s efforts have strayed beyond the realm of arrogance into utter foolishness. Stoick the Vast may have been formidable in his day but he must have long since lost his wits to old age if he's stepped aside to let a child trying to frighten them all with shadow-tales to take his place. Given the hubris of the tales, a few of the weak-minded foals whispered that they’d heard his tribe were acting on behalf of the Gods themselves. It was only right that more sensible, worthy men should deal with such upstarts before the Gods decide to take offence and retaliate against the whole of the archipelago over such blasphemy. And with a prize as rich as Dragon's Edge there for the taking, there's plenty of incentive to be...worthy.

He was expecting to see the dragons of course because there had to be SOME seed of truth in the stories for the rumors to have spread so far. There are more than he expected but it's fine. They've been fighting dragons for generations; they could still take the Hooligans with some cunning and a bit of Dragon Root. Though there are a handful of oddities beyond the dragons that catches his eye and makes him pause; the shimmering liquids in the alchemist's workshop, a burnt-orange orb of light that flickers in the corner of his eye as he passes a short brunet Viking only to disappear whenever tries to catch sight of whatever made the strange glow.

The minute distractions hold his attention far more than they should as he fails to notice the way the dark-haired alchemist looks at him from over her potions, or the sharp-edged grin she flashes at the young Guard Captain. He fails to hear the mean-spirited chuckle that escapes the stocky, mace-wielding warrior at her side when the burnt-orange orb seemingly appears off to the side but a twist of the head reveals nothing there. He doesn't see the danger in the way said Guard Captain goes from straight backed and polite to lazily welcoming.

He doesn't know to be alarmed by the very distinct silence from a pair of twins that only ever pass unnoticed when they have business to attend to. He does, however, take notice of the tattoos and scars the broad-shouldered man who leads him through the village at the young Guard Captain’s command. The man is strong, the emissary will give him that, and has obviously seen much of both war and the world, but he isn't worried. He's felled bigger of men under less than ideal circumstances. Case in point, the hulking blonde squealing over baby dragons isn't even worth mentioning, though the sword he carries on his waist would make a fine trophy. Better by far than those spears with blackened tips the pair of blondes lazily trailing them carry.

Then he enters the forge and his dismissive hunger shatters, his heart pounding in a helpless echo of the smith's hammer blows.

There's a tall figure looming over the anvil, wielding a large blacksmith’s hammer with the ease other men lift their ale flagons. His head is bent intently over his work and there is lightning crawling, dancing, skittering over his skin like ripples on water. A blinding bolt leaps from smith to anvil and the emissary flinches violently. A second bolt cracks from the anvil to a nearby workbench. He draws a shaking breath and firmly reminds himself that a single rumor validated is no reason for the creeping dread trying to rise in his throat. A third bolt leaps from the anvil to the smith, twisting around his arm like a snake before dripping down to race across black scales.

The emissary blanches. There, a terrible black beast is curled at the forge-master’s feet, near invisible in the shadows but for the acidic green of its eyes, the deadly fangs glittering from its snarl, and the lightning crackling across it's hide. The emissary swallows hard and though he tries to rationalize, to remind himself that yet a second partially-validated rumor is no reason for alarm, he cannot help taking an involuntary step back.

He doesn't get far. Someone is in the doorway at his back, blocking his escape route. The young Guard Captain's voice calls out to the forge-master, and a detached part of his mind wonders when she had arrived and where his original guide has gone. The man (is he even a man? Surely not. This- this thing before him cannot possibly be flesh and blood, to pretend otherwise is nothing but a polite fiction) doesn't respond right away.

Instead he sets his hammer down and walks away to quench the red-hot metal held casually in his bare hand. He plunges the metal into the barrel of water against the far wall, flames dancing up his arm as vivid green eyes crackling with storm-light glances over his shoulder towards the mortals standing on the threshold. The emissary could feel his hands trembling, his adrenaline spiking as his mind shouted at him to draw his weapon and fulfill his duty to his tribe, to strike down the threat before it could reach them. He still had the element of surprise on his side and even if he died in the attempt, even if the Guard Captain killed him afterward, his people would sing his praises and he would be welcomed into the Halls of Valhalla.

He wraps a trembling hand around the hilt of his blade as those terrible eyes seemed to wring both the breath from his lungs and the strength from his soul. He sends up a brief but heartfelt prayer for the courage to die well and is gathering himself for a desperate attack when a sneeze breaks the tense atmosphere. Once more the emissary's eyes are pulled towards the fiendish dragon curled in the deep shadows at the foot of the anvil.

For the first time he notices a delicate pattern of ice ferns curling across half the creature’s scales, spreading across the floor around it. Even in the intense heat of the forge the frost refuses to melt. The dragon rumbles, lifting a wing to reveal a slender silver-haired youth rubbing sleep from icy blue eyes. The boy stretches and the ferns spread almost searchingly across the floor, reaching the chief and twining lovingly up his ankles and calves almost to his knees.

The emissary feels his heart leap to his throat as the creature that is clearly NOT a mortal boy rises and nonchalantly walks across the room towards the chief. He doesn't even look in the emissary's direction, but the blade in his hand suddenly burns with a deadly cold that leeches all warmth from his flesh. He's forced to jerk his hand hastily away from the weapon or risk losing fingers to its chill. The youth smiles, kisses the chief softly on the cheek, and asks if the man would like for him to show their guest to Niflheim since he clearly didn't have any courtesy.

The chief agrees.

He collapses where he stands and begs; for lenience, for his life. He begs them to keep the white-haired jötnar runt away from him. The last earns him a terrifying scowl from the jötnar but the chief relents and the smirking Guard Captain leads him out of their lair, back to the alchemist's workshop where the dark-haired woman sits waiting for them with her shimmering vials and a too-sharp grin.

[thiswasinevitableid]

75 for Indruck!! and either nsfw or sfw is chill

I went with SFW! 75 “I’m an insomniac who calls my best friend at 3am except I misdial on my landline and I tell you all about my nightmare before letting you talk and now I’m mortified but you don’t hang up

CW: mentions of pot and of death

Indrid awakens in a panic, flailing and falling onto the floor. This is why he doesn’t have a bedframe; the routine falling hurts less from a half foot of drop.

“Ouch.” He says to the empty room, the white noise machine doing nothing to soothe his nerves. Maybe if he stays very still, the nightmares can’t find him.

No. That’s not how this works. Maybe he should see if anyone is awake. He just needs another voice, to know someone can hear him if he screams for help.

He grabs the nearest phone, which happens to be the landline that came with his little studio, and dials Barclay’s number.

“H’lo?” 

“Hello, it’s, ah, it’s Indrid, I, I know it’s late, but I need to talk and you said I could call anytime so I am. I, it, it was the dream again. I’ve been staying up as late as can, not sleeping unless my body just sort of forces me too and I dropped off while drawing and it happened again, the one with the bridge this time, not the one with the car, and I, I fell, like I always do, but this time I, I didn’t, didn’t wake up when, when, when it happened. I’m sorry, just, please, can you talk with me awhile so I can remember I’m here?”

“Uhhhh, sure? But, uh, got a feelin’ you mighta mixed somethin up.”

Indrid’s fairly certain Barclay does not have a southern accent. 

“Oh, oh god, I’m sorry, I dialed wrong didn’t I?”

“Guess so? Don’t know any fella named Indrid, and I’m guessin’ you don’t know anyone named Duck, it’s a nickname.”

“No, I don’t” he curls his legs to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. I was still up, been tryin to beat this level.”

“Why didn’t you hang up?”

“‘Cause you sounded real fuckin scared.”

He was. He still is, his heart a deer still running from long-outrun wolves. 

“Are, uh, are you okay now?”

“I will be fine.”

“I mean, I ain’t a therapist or anythin’ like that but, uh, I can try to help somehow.”

“I’m afraid the only thing that may work is continuing to talk with me which, were I in your shoes, I would not want to do. Christ” he shivers, fumbles in the dark for his sweater, “I need a hug.”

“I can do that.”

“We’re on the phone.”

A small laugh, “no kiddin, here I thought we were at a Taco Bell. I was offerin’ to come over or, uh, wait, no, you better come here, think I might still be a little high so I shouldn’t drive.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“Nope. I live at 5547 Williamson, apartment 2B. Ring the buzzer and I’ll let you in.”

This is ridiculous, how does either of them know the other isn’t planning on wearing their skin as pajamas?

“I’ll see you there.” 

The walk gives him time to second guess himself, then second guess that second guess, and so on until he reaches the three story building that clearly used to be one, family home. He rings the bell for 2B. No one will come down, Duck is probably asleep, or has realized how dangerous his suggestion is.

“Who is it?” The same drawl from the phone, now through the door.

“Indrid. From the phone.”

“Howdy, Indrid from the phone.” Duck opens the door, looking better than Indrid dared imagine. They’re about the same age, dark hair with fading streaks of blue falls about a round face, a stocky frame looks singularly nice to lay against.

“C’mon up. Tried callin’ you a little while ago to see if you wanted me to order food or somethin, but since you didn’t answer think we’re gonna have to settle for leftover pizza for now.”

“That’s, ah, that’s fine. And that was a landline I called from, hence the lack of response.”

“Jesus” Duck giggles, “you still got one of those?”

“The previous renter left a lot of things behind, and whoever is paying that telephone bill hasn’t stopped so far. Oh, thanks.” He steps through the door Duck holds open, finds a room much like his own; a messy studio full of the elements a single man needs to get by. A tiny T.V is linked up to an XBOX in the corner, and two hanging planters flourish by the windows. 

“Still want that hug?” Duck opens his arms.

Indrid nods, stepping into them, his own arms locked by his sides in case Duck doesn’t want to be touched. The shorter man is warm, his arms solid and strong, one holding Indrid’s shoulder blades so the other can run up and down his back. 

“You can hug back, I don’t mind.”

Indrid hugs his waist, “This isn’t weird to you?”

“Kinda? I dunno, I give damn good hugs and I don’t like seein’ people scared or hurtin, and you seem to need someone to be a little gentle with you. So, what the fuck, may as well hug you; knew I wasn’t gonna feel right if I hung up without offerin’. Besides, that dream sounded fuckin’ awful.”

“It is, its’ that way every time. So is the other one, and the one after that.” Indrid curls inward, as if he could somehow squeeze his nearly six foot frame to fit snugly under Duck’s chin, “I, they aren’t just dreams, either. I have what you call very bad luck with death. My mother died in a car accident when I was seven, with me in the backseat. My father died in a freak bridge collapse, again with me only barely surviving. Then my best friend drowned when we were swimming.” He shudders, images flooding back, “the dreams make me see it over and over in strange, altered versions, versions where I die, and they say you’re supposed to wake up before you die in a dream but tonight I didn’t, I felt my dream self die and I, I, I woke up so frightened.” he gasps, cringes to find tears slipping from under his glasses. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay man, here” Duck sits them down on the bed, Indrid now clinging to him, “don’t worry, ain’t lettin go, you can keep talkin if you need.”

“I get so scared sometimes, like I’m an omen of doom and anyone who comes near me will die. And I know that’s ridiculous because the majority of people who’ve been close to me are still alive, but nights like this I wake up and watch the door and the windows because it feels like death is following me, waiting to grab me, and I’ll die frightened and alone and not be found for days until someone, one of the few who still cares for me, wonders why they haven’t heard from me and, andandand-” it’s sobs now, awkward and painful each time they push out of his chest. 

“Shhhhh” Duck pats his hair and Indrid wiggles closer, hoping his whine communicates the desperate hope he’ll do that again, touch him like he matters. What it does is knock them over, bed squishy under them.

“Hush, hush now, ain’t nothin like that gonna happen. No more talk of shadows, partly because I only sobered up like ten minutes ago and talkin about seein the grim reaper in the corner don’t play nice with that.”

‘“I, I’m s-sorry-”

“Hey, hey I was teasin’, tryin’ to see if I could make you laugh at me a little” Duck strokes his cheek with his thumb, voice warm as a summer morning and soothing as moonlight, “besides, even if somethin’ scary did show, you got the ‘hero of Kepler’ to protect you.”

“The, the what of what now?”

“Kepler’s the tiny town I grew up in. Both my folks were real respected and shit, dad was former marines, everyone assumed I was gonna grow up and fight the good fight. Instead I disappointed ‘em all by wantin’ to look after trees all day.” He mutters, looks sad, and Indrid can’t bear the sight and so he mimics him, places a hand on his cheek and pets it gently.

“Trees do far more good, and need far more help nowadays.”

“Thanks, ‘Drid. Oop, sorry, just kinda slipped out.”

“Nono, I like it, I’ve never had a nickname before. Or, ah, never had a good one, that is.”

“Well, you do now, because I like you and I say so.” Duck pets his side, making his sweater ride up and exposing a tattoo.

“Oh shit, that’s so fuckin’ cool.”

“Thank you, I did the design myself. That’s, ahd, that’s what I’m doing in town. I’m apprenticing to be a tattoo artist.”

“So. fuckin. Cool.” Duck draws a finger along the moth design, Indrid squirming a little when he does. It feels nice; unfamiliar, but nice. 

“You gotta tell me all about it.”

“Alright” Indrid sniffs and Duck, after flopping to the side of the bed and reaching beneath it, produces a tissue, “as long as you promise to tell me about those” he points to the row of succulents on the far wall.”

“Think I can handle that. Fuck, got cold in here.” He drags a blanket up over them and Indrid purrs at the warmth, snuggling up in his arms as Duck nuzzles his neck, “now, where were we…”

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

Indrid wakes up with his glasses smushed to his face, a thick blanket wrapped around him, and the smell of coffee tickling his nose. He yawns, sits up and gets his bearings well enough to not be startled when Duck speaks.

“Mornin, sleepyhead.”

“Good morning.”

“Didn’t seem like you had more nightmares last night.” Duck pours two mugs of coffee.

“I didn’t. Your, ah, your presence helped immensely.”

“Maybe my true callin’ is a teddy bear, good for snugglin and keepin monsters away.”

“Perhaps.” He pads over to the little kitchen to join him. Takes the sugar when offered and dumps a large amount into his cup. 

“Hey, uh, this may be way off base, but, uh, I, uh, I feel like we really kinda clicked. Even accountin for the weird circumstances and the heightened emotions and shit. I coulda talked with you for days, and honestly the reason I kept holding you after that firs hug was because I felt so fuckin comfortable with you. Like you fit.”

“I felt the same.” Indrid stirs his coffee, unsure of how to ask for what he wants. 

“If, uh, if you ain’t busy tonight, do you wanna go out? With me?”

“On a date?” 

Duck suppresses a smile as he nods. 

“I’d like that so much.”

“Hell yeah.’ Duck hugs him and this time he hugs back instantly, giggling when the shorter man kisses his cheek and whispers, “and if you feel like it, happy to be your teddy bear tomorrow night, too.”

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 95

SYNOPSIS: Jamie makes his way towards the monastery and takes out several guards in the process. Having found his way inside he comes across an obstacle that could hinder his progress.

This chapter has a lot of violence in it.  Previous chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

My apologies for mentioning the rodents in the last chapter but nothing happened, they were just used only to exacerbate Claire’s fear as I’m sure it would have ours as well. Rest assured Jamie will find her in the next chapter and they will make their escape.  THANK YOU all for reading, liking and reblogging my story so that others may see it. I am very appreciative.

  CHAPTER 95 (V) Wearing his night vision goggles and dressed in mission black from head to toe, James Fraser made his way towards the building. Less than 50 metres from the perimeter he parted the tree branches and stopped to get his bearings. From this position in the woods he could see the monastery clearly through the undergrowth. Taking out his special night binoculars he surveyed the large construction in the distance and assessed what obstacles lay in the path of his objective. Considering that Fergus had said that surveillance at the monastery was sophisticated, Jamie was thorough in his sweep of the grounds and surveyed all corners of the perimeter. What he saw confirmed Fergus’ evaluation. The triad was certainly prepared for any contingency. Surrounded with wire fencing, probably high voltage judging by the simplicity of the design, Jamie made out twelve men who were outside the monastery keeping watch. There were two guards in the courtyard, four patrolling inside the premises, another two at the door of the monastery and a four-guard rotation outside the complex. Without a thermal body count he had no idea how many were on the inside, so until he found Claire he would be exposed. However, he was confident that eliminating the guards on the outside would be just a formality. Having seen enough he lowered the binoculars and glanced down at his watch timing when the guards on the fence line changed. Jamie then did another complete sweep of the area. This time he made out two high-resolution digital security cameras to the east and west. He timed the rotation of the cameras and found that a full revolution occurred every five minutes in sync with the guard change. It was a short window of opportunity but nevertheless it was enough time for him to slip past undetected. Preparing for his assault, he opened his backpack and took extra guns out of the bag that Murtagh had given him. He slid a Walther P57k with bottleneck silencer into the back-waist band of his mission pants, he placed another under the leg of his pants and the other weapon he put in a pocket on his mission suit. He also took out a scanner and a destructive detonator timer. He placed them in his pockets as well. Just as he was about to advance further towards the monastery, a guard passed by. Dropping to the ground he rolled over training one of his weapons on the guard. Jamie thought it strange when the man reached up to check something protruding from a large tree in the grounds. Zooming in on him, he watched what he did next and saw the guard adjust some type of mechanism on the tree before walking away. The guard’s movements set him to thinking, but he was not happy with his thoughts. Had the triad strategically placed sensors in the grounds? It certainly appeared so. Were they also on the outside of the perimeter? If so ... how could he have missed them? How had he failed to see the devices? As a consequence, did the triad already know that he was here? Jamie tapped the comm. link on his earpiece hoping that communication had been restored and that Fergus would answer.

 “Fergus ...” 

Back at Section One in Tactical … Since they had lost communication with Jamie, Fergus had anxiously waited for any message from Section’s Level 5 operative. When he heard his faint voice say his name he answered almost immediately.

 “Jamie ... I can just hear you ... wait ... I’m changing to C Band ... Jamie?” 

“Fergus ... I need to get in here.” Suddenly he heard a shot ring out. It sounded like it came from inside the monastery. Jamie closed his eyes. “Fergus ... hurry ... I heard a shot.” Having heard the dismay in his voice, Fergus knew that every minute was crucial. “What can you see? ...” Jamie barely heard his questions. He brushed his fingers over his upper lip. Was he too late to rescue her? Had they already eliminated his Claire? “Jamie? ... What security does the monastery have?” When the sound of Fergus’ voice cut into his thoughts, he methodically relayed all the security devices he had observed without delay. “An electrified fence, twelve hostiles outside, hidden sensors and two digital cameras with a full sweep of the grounds every five minutes.” Quickly typing the Intel Jamie had given him into his computer as he spoke; Fergus collated this information with what Section One knew already. However, there were some discrepancies as the Rising Dragons had increased their security surveillance from his original data. The hidden sensors must have been added recently, he thought. Fergus made some adjustments then spoke to Jamie once more. “Okay ... Got it ... I’ve tuned into the cameras’ wavelengths and linked their rotation directly to the mainframe. I’ve been able to construct a picture that will replay the same images repeatedly.” He then hit another key on his computer keyboard. “Okay, we're rolling.” “Covered?” “Yeah, they're watching our feed now; they’ll think the perimeter is clear.” “What about the sensors?” Having anticipated his next question Fergus was prepared. He’d immobilized the sensor triggers by looping into the same frequency as the cameras and was able to re-jig their capabilities as well. He watched his monitor with a broad smile on his face.

“Disabled.” 

“How long have I got?” “The tape runs another five hours ...You can take care of the rest ... No?” “Yes.” “Jamie ... Operations has sent a backup team. Perhaps you should wait.” “Thank ye ... but I canna wait for them. I need to rescue Claire now,” was James Fraser’s succinct reply. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Quickly making his way in the direction of the sound, Jamie knew he would have to keep to the shadows to avoid detection by the patrolling guards, but first he needed to find a way through the fence. Cutting a way through the wire was out of the question. It was far too dangerous and not time effective. He was faced with a dilemma but not an impossible conundrum. He would need to disable the electricity current somehow before he had any chance of approaching the monastery. If he could short circuit the power just long enough for him to scale the fence it would be enough. This short window would be sufficient not to raise suspicion by the guards, who when and if they checked, would think that some kind of animal had run into it. Rummaging in Murtagh’s bag of tricks, he found some fibre-optic cable, wire snipers and a metal spike. Cutting the wire, he fringed the strands, wound it around the spike and carefully laid the loose ends against the electrified fence. He heard the sizzling sound crackle first, then Jamie jumped back as a shower of white sparks suddenly exploded around him. It had worked. The power was temporarily rendered dead so he quickly scampered over the fence. Making it over with seconds to spare, he dropped heavily to the ground on the other side before rolling into the shadowy corner as the fence bounced back to life. That was too close for comfort, he thought. “Jamie, you okay?” James Fraser could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise with static electricity. One more second and he would have been electrocuted. “I'm fine. Dinna fash, I'm in.” “I'm picking up a signal ... Jamie, do you have visual?” Composing himself he took a moment and watched from the shadows to see the reaction of the guards. He looked around and saw two men look over towards where he was. One of them signalled to his buddy that he would patrol over to the fence and check what had caused the sparks to fly. “I've got them.” Steely eyes watched as the guard advanced towards where he was hiding. Little did the triad member know, but his time was numbered. James Fraser was waiting for him. The guard looked like a body builder. He was stocky and broad shouldered and carried a lethal automatic weapon. The guard looked along the fence then bent down when he saw something that caught his eye. As he did so Jamie closed in behind him and thumped him with his gun. However, before he could shoot him, the guard regained momentum. He twisted around and knocked the silencer out of his hand. He lunged at him and threw a punch. Retaliating Jamie caught the guard off balance by throwing a punch of his own. He fell to his knees but in so doing brought Jamie down with him. Regaining their balance, the two exchanged more blows. Similarly accomplished and just as dangerous, they engaged in hand-to-hand combat for a short while until the guard gained the upper hand. One precise blow to the head caused Jamie to loll backwards. The guard then lunged at him in an effort to finish off his opponent, but Jamie was able to leverage his legs around his neck. Rolling him to the ground, he twisted his legs snapping the guard’s neck with a resounding crack. He lay on the ground lifeless. Jamie then dragged the man’s body into the bushes and covered him with foliage. “One down.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Taking another look around for any of the other guards, he noticed that two were patrolling the far side of the fence, while the third was now making his way over to where he was hidden in the shadows. Coming to look for his colleague the unsuspecting guard was not prepared for what awaited him near the perimeter of the fence. Hearing the sound of a twig snap in the bushes behind him, the guard looked around to the source of the noise. That’s when Jamie struck him to the throat with a blow that saw the heavy-set guard crumble and fall. Like his partner, he dragged the body out of sight. Picking up his dropped weapon, James Fraser watched as the other two guards began to make their way over to change with the two guards he’d disposed of. When they came closer and were unable to see their colleagues, the two men became a little agitated. Just as they were about to make radio contact, Jamie raised his silencer and with two quick, rapid shots watched as the two men fell to the ground one after the other. One of the men fell towards the electric fence. His body rested heavily against the deadly wire as a riot of luminous sparks filled the air. The guard’s frizzled corpse twitched uncontrollably as the high voltage current coursed through his lifeless body. “Four down.” Sprinting towards the monastery his objective was as clear as crystal. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Slipping through the night like a shadowy apparition, Jamie moved swiftly but quietly towards the monastery building. His night vision goggles made his course easy despite the darkness. Ever alert to the danger that surrounded him he was cognizant that there were still eight guards that were unaccounted for. He saw two move away to the far corner of the grounds to patrol the outskirts of the monastery boundary. It would be a while before they returned. The coast was clear. Keeping his eye on the patrolling guards who were within the perimeter he moved up several steps and into the open courtyard of the monastery. So far, he’d had clear passage towards the building but when he heard a guard approach, he ducked behind one of the larger than life-size statues with exaggerated features and grotesque expressions that were facing into the quadrangle. He then observed what the man did. The lone guard stopped to light a cigarette. Leaning his back against one of the statues near where he was positioned, he took a long drag before blowing the smoke up into the air. While the man was preoccupied Jamie made his move.  Creeping up from behind the guard, he grabbed him from behind in a head lock. The cigarette fell from his lips as a small gasp of surprise was muffled when he placed his hand over the guard’s mouth. With a flick of his wrists, Jamie twisted his neck. The snap of the guard’s bones breaking echoed in the stillness of the night. As the sentry’s head lolled forward, he eased his body down to the ground and placed it behind the statue out of sight while still keeping alert for any other movement. James Fraser barely made a sound in the quiet of the night as he ran across the span of empty courtyard space to the next statue watchful for the second guard patrolling this part of the monastery. His vigilance was rewarded when the sound of footsteps echoed on the gravel surface. Taking cover once more Jamie was aware that another guard was making his way down some steps into the courtyard. Once again, he merged into the shadows and waited for the guard to appear. Standing just below the steps, the guard shone his flashlight around the quadrangle on a routine check of the courtyard. When the beam of his torch passed over the statue where Jamie was hidden, he pulled back deeper into the shadows until the beam traversed onto the next concrete monument. The guard moved further into the quadrangle shining his torch around the area. Suddenly his flashlight honed in on something out of the ordinary on the ground near one of the statues in the distance. Jamie’s eyes followed the path of his curiosity. The guard had stumbled across something where the first guard was felled ... it was the man’s smouldering cigarette. Thinking that this was strange, as he knew that his friend always smoked his cigarettes to the butt, he called out his colleague’s name, but he heard no reply. The second guard began to move toward the fallen cigarette to check it out. He called out again. However, as he did so, the guard turned around behind him when he heard the sound of a rock being thrown and shone his flashlight in that direction.

“Is that you Chen? ... Where are you?”

Another rock tumbled past his foot. “Okay ... I get it ... two can play this game!” He shone his light in the direction of the small thrown missile only to have another stone come from the other direction. Spooked, the guard turned sharply to his left and came face to face with a man clad in black ... James Fraser “What ... the ...fuck!  How did you get in here?” he mouthed dropping his torch and reaching for his weapon. “Over the fence ...” Jamie replied casually as he sidestepped the guard knocking his weapon from his hand in the process. The sentry was caught off guard as he out manoeuvred him. He turned and charged at him. Sidestepping him once more Jamie karate chopped the man, but he retaliated with a blow of his own. A quick flurry of exchanges occurred before the guard pulled a knife from his shoe. With the knife raised, he lunged at the black clad intruder who managed to avoid the thrust of his blade. They fought for possession of the knife that the guard was holding but he lost his balance in the scuffle. He lunged once more but Jamie grabbed him, twisting the hand holding the knife to the guard’s chest. He tried in vain to avoid the blade piercing his flesh, however, the more he struggled the deeper the blade went until it was embedded in his chest. Blood spilled from the deep cut yet still he continued to fight off his aggressor. James Fraser, however, was far too strong and sharply twisted the blade up piercing the guard’s heart. With a cry of anguish, he fell lifeless to the ground. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Having made his way across the courtyard, Jamie climbed the stairs leading to the entrance door of the monastery and observed that the guards who were there were nonchalant about their duties. They were both playing a game of Mah-Jong to wile away the hours knowing that the perimeter and grounds were well protected. Any interlopers who had managed to get into this well fortified monastery were either dead or would have been captured without their input. Jamie bypassed the two preoccupied guards and slipped to the west side of the building from whence he’d heard the gunshot.  

“Jamie ... when you are able, you’ll need to place a scanner so that I can pin point where Claire is being held.” Flattened against the wall, he pulled the scanner from the pocket of his mission suit and attached it to the building. “Done.” James Fraser slipped from window to window peering inside to see if Claire was being held in the rooms. He knew instinctively that the torture room would not be here and was more likely to be in an underground room within the monastery. Nonetheless he continued along the wall looking for an opening into the building. “Fergus ... Have ye located Claire yet?” “No ... but I’ve now got a blueprint scan on the monastery.” “Okay.” The computer whizz had worked quickly to use all the sources he had at his disposal. Once he had planted the scanner, he’d set to work immediately collating the Intel he already had. Fergus then pulled up a transparent schematic of the monastery on an overhead monitor. He relayed the Intel back to Jamie. “I did an infrared scan of the monastery off our satellite feed as well. It’s built on top of an ancient structure. Over the centuries a system of underground tunnels were built by the monks who lived there.” “Location?” “Proceed about fifty metres north of your position there’s a disused tunnel that the monks used there.” “How do we know the passageways aren't collapsed?” Fergus noted the different colour patterns to the various passageways in the schematic on his overhead monitor. “Colour saturation indicates structural density. A blue line traces a pathway through the maze that leads to what I believe is the underground torture chamber.” “How stable are the configurations?” “There is no way to be certain but our options are limited. Jamie ... There’s a hot spot in the west wing of the building three floors down.” “That must be it.” “Yes.” Armed with the Intel he needed to enter the building; James Fraser made his way to where the tunnel was located. The door was well camouflaged. It was overgrown with foliage and was nearly unrecognizable as a secret entrance into the monastery. He looked back and forth for any triad security guards but this side of the monastery was apparently deserted and although he kept watch for other guards none eventuated. He had clear passage to the tunnel entrance but when he tried to open the door sealing the opening, it was locked. Taking his laser from his hip holster he shot the laser bead over the lock in order to cut through its interior mechanisms. “Jamie! There are two guards on the north rim, coming from behind!” Although he’d not completely cut through the lock, he had damaged it enough for him to enter the tunnel. He quickly kicked the door in. The weakened lock couldn't hold against the force of the thrust and gave way. Jamie tumbled inside, and just as quickly closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “I’m in ... which way?” “The primary tunnel runs directly before you. Follow the tunnel straight ahead. It should veer to the right then there are a set of stairs that descend downwards.” “Have ye got a reading on Claire?” "She's down about three floors ... At the first flight of stairs there is a grate covering the entrance.” “Tunnel access?” “Through the grate. From there it’s two hundred meters to the next point.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* When Jamie reached the stairs, he was confronted with a steel frame covering the opening to the stairway. He pulled it off, slipped through the opening and made his way down a short flight of stairs until he came to another landing. Ahead of him was a long and narrow passageway. He ran along it until he was confronted with three tunnels each going in a different direction. “Which way?” “Take the far-left tunnel ... and keep moving straight.” These tunnels had not been used for a long while. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and they were eerily quiet and cold. Moving further through the tunnel Jamie’s foot suddenly stumbled across something lying on the ground. As he looked down, he jerked back in surprise to see some human skeletal remains dressed in a monk’s robe. The corpse had long since decomposed and judging by the remains he had been there for many, many years. The triad obviously didn’t know about these tunnels which boded well for him. His detection would go unnoticed and he would be able to egress the same way when he’d rescued Claire. He continued on with renewed confidence. “Twelve meters to your right there are another set of stairs.” Adhering to Fergus’ instructions explicitly, Jamie continued on following the tunnel as it weaved its way through the bowels of the monastery until it came to an abrupt stop when he came to a dead end. All that was in front of him was a brick wall. Realising that something was wrong he spoke to Fergus who was monitoring his progress back at Section One. “Fergus ... There's no more tunnel ... there's just walls.” “It has to be there.” “Well, it’s not.” Fergus stared at his computerized schematic, trying to figure out the reasons behind the discrepancy between his program and his information. “Jamie, kick the wall.” He did. One kick and the wall began to collapse. Bricks and crumbling mortar fell onto the ground at his feet. “Got it ... That's it ... Okay.” He kept kicking at the wall until he had opened up a hole that had been sealed over for some time. Pushing at the rubble with his hands, he dislodged the bricks opening up a cavity large enough for him to be able to get through. Once on the other side, the tunnel wall zigzagged into the darkness. He followed the winding passageway and went deeper into the monastery. Straight ahead of him Jamie could see what appeared to be some kind of air duct and a beam of light filtered through a closed door beneath it. He stopped and pulled out his silencer.  Checking the clip, he slid the weapon into position then clicking off the safety switch he held it at the ready. Reaching out, his hand rested on the doorknob.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued on TUESDAY 21st when Jamie finally finds his Claire.