#and my brothers and I are Forced to do some labour with hauling everything around so 90% i'm tired and dying

[apmeka-blog]

she may or may not have repainted her mech brown, stuck some novelty antlers on it & gave it a red nose. 

[mollymauk-teafleak]

"you're in no condition to be walking around" + ThanZag

Mermaid AU!!!! Thought it was time to roll this one out, I’m just super feeling mournful Thanatos on a break from his hectic city job post nervous breakdown, out in an isolated cottage by the sea, falling in love with a mermaid Zagreus he’s been secret friends with since they were kids. 

and some Angst

Please leave a comment on Ao3 if you like this! 

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Three days wasn’t late.

Thanatos told himself that every morning and evening, when he would pull on the largest and thickest of the sweaters his mother had knitted for him, shove his bare feet into boots and take a tin mug of coffee out onto the little jetty to wait for Zagreus. He told himself that every hour as the waves rolled in and out without so much as a ripple or a flash of a scaled tail like fire in the water. He told himself every time he had to trudge back to his lopsided cottage on the fringe of the pebbled shoreline, cold and probably soaked to the bone, to start work or to sink into fitful dreams, still with that question weighing him down inside like a ballast stone.

But three days wasn’t late. He’d been gone for longer stretches than this. His people ranged far, travelled long distances for forage and food or on sheer curiosity. Hadn’t Zagreus shown him fossils he’d rescued from deep coves or necklaces ancient with tarnish he’d scavenged from shipwrecks older than both of them, hadn’t he been widening his friend’s eyes with stories of underwater volcanoes and tropical waters warm as blood and dodging ice floes in arctic waters, since the two of them were children? Three days was nothing. Three days wasn’t late.

So why weren’t the words any comfort?

Because every other time, he told you when he was going away, Than catalogued his reasons for anxiety miserably, sitting on the end of the jetty in a misty drizzle with his eyes fixed out to sea. Because even if he was going ranging, he’d swim back at twice the speed to come and see you. He sipped his now cold coffee and tasted rainwater. Because the storms have been bad recently. He bleakly noted that it was an hour past sunset, their usual meeting time, and he should probably be going inside. Because you have a really bad feeling you just can’t shake.

Thanatos pushed a hand through his silver hair, feeling the raindrops caught in it melt and run down the inside of his wrist. He was beyond exhausted, it was a fog in his mind, but something kept him pinned to the edge of the rickety little pier, swinging his legs like he used to when he was a child. Maybe if he acted like he did back then, Zagreus would just appear with that same, bright grin on his face, as unexpected and magical as the first time.

Eventually the ache in his joints grew impossible to ignore and the damp in the seat of his jeans reached an unbearable level of discomfort. Than swallowed his disappointment and upturned the dregs of his coffee into the sea, wincing as he hauled himself back onto his feet, carefully so he didn’t slip on the slick, half rotted wood and end up tumbling into the slate grey water. He sent one last, longing look out across the waves, straining for a flash of black hair or scales like flame. When there was none, he sighed and turned back to his cottage, a smudge of shadow through the hazy rainfall.

Four days wasn’t late.

The wind was starting to pick up, promising another storm close on the heels of the one that had just broken the day before. It’s low, threatening murmur was almost loud enough that he didn’t hear the wild, desperate cry of his name. Almost.

He whirled and saw it, out where the waves were starting to roll and surge, a good few yards out from the end of the jetty. In between the rising peaks of the water, only visible when they fell away, a pale, shaking form, waving desperately. And, visible even from here, a mouth tight with pain and a pair of mismatched eyes large with panic.

Thanatos barely paused to think. Only to remember the many lessons his mother had drilled into him and his siblings when they would visit in the summer and to realise that the heavy wool jumper and the clunky boots should be pulled off and left behind. Once that was done, he was running, slipping into a smooth dive as he launched himself off the end of the jetty.

As soon as he hit the water, all of his senses went dead for a moment, only to flood back with screaming alarms of panic and pain that threatened to pull him under. But at the last moment he managed to enter that strange, eerie headspace of total calm he could summon when things seemed most dire. He sunk himself into the rhythm of his strokes, the pull of his muscles, the swell of the water around him, the burn as his head broke the surface and he dragged in as much air as he could before plunging ahead.

Thanatos had always been the strongest swimmer of his brothers and a childhood spent trying to keep up with Zagreus had only sharpened those skills. The water was a bitter, sullen force around him, wanting to draw him everywhere but where he needed to go, angry at his intrusion. But Than managed to be stronger, closing the distance between himself and his friend as quickly as he could.

Zag’s mouth was open and faint, frantic words were coming out but Than didn’t waste time listening.

“Go limp!” he called over the crash of the waves around him, slipping his arm around Zag’s chest, tipping him back so he could drag him along.

He heard an unmistakable yelp of pain from his friend and felt a wetness on his side far warmer than seawater but Zag did as he’d asked and towing him back to the shoreline was surprisingly easy, now the shock of the cold was over, now that he could feel Zag’s terrified heartbeat against his arm. Now that Thanatos could feel how much his friend needed him, it was a simple task.

The last part was mostly an ungainly dragging and hauling act as Than laid Zag down as far out of the surf as he could stand to carry his weight. Against the stones and silt and sand, he could see how deathly pale his friend was, how sharply the blood stood out against his skin from the tear in his side. It was like the colours of his tail were running in the water, leeching up

“Zagreus…” he panted, teeth starting to chatter.

“Sorry I’m late,” Zag choked out, his voice a faint echo in his throat.

Than cursed, forcing his burning muscles to keep moving, sliding his arms under Zag and managing to lift him. He wasn’t as heavy as he might have been, built lithe and sleek for a life of swimming, and he wasn’t slimy the way a younger Thanatos assumed fish would feel. But neither was he warm, the way he was supposed to be, and he had the heaviness of someone truly exhausted.

“Just stay with me,” Than ground out, carrying him the last of the cold, windy way to the cottage, “You can be as late as you bloody well please if you just keep talking...do you have enough to change?”

Zag tensed in his arms, grimacing before going limp and shaking his head, “Sorry…”

“Don’t you dare,” Than didn’t even stop, shouldering the door to his home open and just carrying him straight up the stairs to the bathroom, “Just talk. Tell me how it happened.”

Zag swallowed hard and turned his face to Than’s shoulder, clearly trying to bear the pain from the jolt of the steps, “I...I wanted to visit but the storms...and then we heard word of hunters coming into our territory…”

“Hunters?” Than frowned, kicking down the door to the poky little bathroom, “You’ve not mentioned hunters?”

“Half fishermen, half pirates,” Zag’s grip on Than’s shoulders was like iron as he laid him down in the tub, voice tense and tight, “They want our scales. Jewellery and stuff. Or else put us on display in shows. It’s death or captivity if they catch you and we heard they were in our waters. That they already had some of my people.”

Than murmured soothingly as he tried to get him comfortable, wrenching the tight, temperamental old faucets into life so water could pour down onto him, keeping him going until he could summon the strength to shift.

“Let me guess,” he sighed, “You went on a rescue mission. By yourself.”

“Not by myself,” Zag muttered sullenly, as Than moved his arm so he could properly see the gash in his side, “Father’s guards were right behind me. I just got there first.”

Than nodded, unsurprised, studying the wound. It wasn’t clean, the edges were ragged and it was deep. He’d need to stitch it shut, he realised. He could, of course, anyone in his line of work knew basic medical things like that, he’d just need to steady his hands first.

“And did you get them back? Your people?”

“I did,” Zag’s face twisted into a triumphant kind of grimace, “Just got a harpoon in the side for my trouble.”

“A harpoon? Blood and darkness, Zagreus…”

“Sent me right over the side of their damned boat,” he hissed as some of Than’s cleaning came too close, “Storm was up by then, I lost sight of everyone else and...and…”

Than looked up, curious, “Zag?”

“And I ended up with you,” his friend’s voice was faint, his eyes more distant, “I guess the currents just took me where I wanted to go.”

Than’s hands stilled, everything seeming to pause for a moment apart from the rushing of the water from the taps and Zag’s laboured breathing. But the moment passed and he set it to one side, focusing on that calm, the stillness that allowed him to do what needed to be done.

“Well...you’re here now,” he murmured soothingly, “And you’re staying here for the foreseeable. You’re in no condition to be walking around.”

Zag gave a thin laugh, flapping his red gold fins weakly, “You’re telling me.”

“I was more thinking of your oversized new gill,” Than rolled his eyes, “I’ll stitch you up, bandage it and you can shift. Then you’re sleeping for a very, very long time.”

“Aye aye,” Zag murmured, head lolling back against the rim of the tub, “Thanks, Than...and I am sorry I was late. I hope you weren’t waiting for me.”

Than exhaled softly, reaching over and brushing sodden hair back from his forehead. Already he was starting to warm, in from the cold and the wind. Warm and safe and sound.

“Not too long.”

[lostinthewiind]

Help Me, Help You

Joe Toye - Band of Brothers

Synopsis: Joe Toye is inherently an angry man, but when he reaches that level of pure rage, there is only one thing that helps calm him down: you — or more accurately, your body. 

Warnings: ***SEXY TIME***

Tag List: @gottapenny @warmommy @croatianbagudna @scissorsfordoc @wexhappyxfew @curraheev @mayhem24-7forever @one-who-hunts-eagles @bandofmarvels @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @wildwilliamgaurnere @majwinters @theonetryingtolive

When the door to your dimly lit office opened and shut with such force that the picture frames hanging from the wall shook and the stale coffee in the mug beside you rippled, you didn’t even have to look up from your typewriter to know who it was. There was only one man who ever entered a room without knocking first, without asking for permission to come in, and without managing to not take his anger out on the doorframe. 

“Those cocksucking, motherfucking, pathetic excuses of human beings.” Joe Toye seethed as he began pacing in front of your desk. You weren’t taken aback by the sudden intrusion in the slightest, however; it was a rather regular occurrence. 

More often than not you spent your evenings cooped up in your office writing reports, and more often than not, Joe was down at the bar with the men, getting drunk and picking fights with anyone and everyone — verbal and physical. 

Your fingers froze in place and you watched him for a while — his broad-shouldered frame moving quickly back and forth across the smaller room — but as soon as you realized this wasn’t one of his quick cool-off sessions where he would rant to you for a minute or so before leaving again, you accepted that you were in this for the long haul and sat back in your chair. 

Folding your arms across your chest, a slightly amused smirk played at the corners of your mouth as you observed what was nothing less than a grown man’s half-drunken temper tantrum; his mouth moving a mile a minute while he rambled on about something that you couldn’t quite comprehend. “Joe,” you spoke softly, waiting for him to stop pacing and to look at you before continuing. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” 

Joe’s eyebrows knitted together harshly as his chest rose and fell dramatically; whatever had happened, it had certainly made him upset. “They’re all wastes of fuckin’ space, that’s what happened.” he snapped at you with such force that it was almost like it was you who had said or done something to offend him to such a great degree. 

“Okay,” you chuckled slightly at his inability to focus on the question at hand. “Well, whatever these ‘wastes of space’ did, is this going to take long? I have a lot of reports to write tonight, Joe.”

Joe’s eyes narrowed at you and his mouth stretched into a straight, tight line. “Don’t fucking laugh at me.” he jabbed a single finger in your direction. “Don’t try to get rid of me. I know what you’re doing. I’m serious here, Y/N!”

You took a moment to process this unique mixture of anger and intoxication he was sporting. “I’m not laughing at you, Joe.” you stood from your chair and walked around to the other side of your desk. “And I’m not trying to get rid of you. I’m trying to listen, but you aren’t telling me anything. If you want my help, you need to calm down and use your words.”

“’Use your words.’“ he spat as if the short sentence tasted rotten in his mouth. “I’m not a fucking child! I am using my words! You aren’t listening!”

Drawing in a deep breath, you placed your hands on Joe’s chest in some hail-mary attempt to transfer some calming vibes to him. “Joe, the only coherent things you have said since coming in here is calling some unknown group of people, and I am quoting here, ‘cocksucking, motherfucking, pathetic excuses of human beings’ and ‘wastes of space.’”

“Yeah?” he questioned.

“I can’t help you from that very limited amount of knowledge.” you kept your tone understanding but firm. “So, I think what we need to do is sober up a bit and let some of this anger dissipate, and then-”

“No.” Joe slapped your hands off of him. “We don’t need to do anything. You need to listen.”

You let out a frustrated groan and ran your fingers through your hair. “Joe, I am listening,” you repeated once more before deciding that at that point in time, he was a lost cause. “I think maybe you should just go take a walk and come back in a little bit.”

“See!” he threw his arms into the air. “You are trying to get rid of me!”

“I can’t do this right now, Joe.” you went to return to your work, but before you could get very far, Joe’s hands grabbed hard onto your waist and lifted you up before dropping you haphazardly down onto the top of your desk. 

“Why won’t you just listen to me?” he growled as he stepped between your legs, his hands now gripping the edge of the desk on either side of you. 

In a split second, you suddenly realized what it was that he had come into your office for in the first place, and it wasn’t to talk out what had happened. In fact, you were almost positive he hadn’t planned for there to be much talking at all.

“Okay,” you breathed out as you tilted your head up to look at him. “I’m listening. Tell me what happened.”

Joe’s lips parted, but instead of speaking, he kissed you hard and wantingly. His large hands moved from the desk to your collarbones, his fingers dangerously close to wrapping themselves around your neck. The action didn’t scare you, however; if anything, it excited you. His tongue forced its way into your mouth and before you knew it, you were completely under his control. Everything you did was in an attempt to pull him closer, kiss him harder, feel more of him. 

You always prided yourself in your ability to help people in a crisis, and at that moment, that was all you were doing. Joe Toye needed help, and you were helping. 

Picking you up once more, Joe spun you around and placed you back onto the floor. Once you were standing in front of him again, he backed up and leaned against the desk, his eyes scanning your body hungrily. “Take your clothes off,” he demanded, his raspy voice sending chills down your spine.

Without even thinking about it, your hands snapped to your jacket and you began to unzip the first of many layers. Joe watched you intently as you shed layer after layer, and when you finally dropped your pants to the ground, leaving you in nothing more than your bra and underwear, he licked his bottom lip and smiled. “Good.” he praised.

“Is this helping?” you asked, trying to convince yourself that you didn’t live to please anyone — but even you couldn’t make yourself believe that. At that moment, you lived to please Joe Toye. 

“Yes.” was all he said, but that small, three-letter word brought butterflies to your stomach. “Now, come here.”

Slowly, you approached the still fuming man before you, but now he wasn’t just fuming with regular anger. No, he was also full of sexual anger, and you already knew that you were going to be the output for all of that frustration and aggression. 

“Get on the desk,” he ordered as he stepped to the side and began to unzip his own pants. “If you really want to help, you’ll be a good girl and keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut while I fuck you like there’s no tomorrow.”

You swallowed hard as you lifted yourself back up onto the desk, knowing full well that you weren’t going to need any foreplay to get ready. With just his words and tantalizing voice, you were already soaked completely through the thin material of your panties. 

When Joe Toye stepped out of his pants and slowly stalked towards you, his already hard cock in one hand and his eyes glued to you like a juicy steak dinner and cold beer, you felt your breathing hitch. 

Once he was in between your legs again, Joe reached down, and in the impatient state he was in, grabbed the fragile fabric of your panties and tore them to shreds, clearly unable to waste the few seconds it took to push them to the side or pull them off of you regularly. 

As soon as the miniscule barrier was out of the way, he ran two fingers between your folds and immediately commented on how wet you were. With his eyes locked onto yours, he brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them clean, which caused a pool of heat to gather in your core. 

“Fuck me until all your anger is gone,” you told him, your breathing laboured as you took in the full form of the man in front of you. 

In a quick, sudden motion, Joe reached behind you and used his forearm to swipe the contents off of the top of your desk, sending your typewriter crashing to the floor and your documents into the air before they slowly drifted to the ground as well. You didn’t even care though. Right then, the only thing you cared about was Joe Toye.

Pressing a hand into your chest, Joe pushed you down onto the desk roughly. “I thought I told you to keep your pretty little mouth shut.”

You almost apologized for speaking; almost. However, Joe was much too hot when he was angry, so instead, you decided to poke the bear some more. “Make me,” you smirked up at him, your hands reaching for the sides of the desk in preparation for whatever he was about to do to you.

“Don’t test me.” his eyes darkened as he let the tip of his cock slide in between your folds. “Don’t fucking test me, Y/N. You won’t like what happens if you do.”

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you batted your eyelashes a few times. “I don’t think you have the balls to do anything about it.” you prodded even further. 

As a primal, low growl emitted from deep within him, Joe grabbed your arm, pulled you up, spun you around, and bent you over the desk in a matter of seconds. “I thought you said you were going to listen.” his hand pushed down on your head, causing your cheek to smush into the desk. 

You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could, Joe lined himself up with your entrance and thrust into you hard with everything he had. He gave you no time to get used to his length at all, and although not a second ago you were hollow, you were now having your brains fucked out like you had never experienced before. 

Joe had one hand wrapped around both of your wrists, holding your arms behind your back, while the other grabbed hard at your hips and thigh, throwing in a relentless slap to the ass every once in a while that was sure to leave marks. 

You tried to keep your mouth shut, you really did, but without access to your own hands so you could muffle the sounds, you were squealing and crying not long after the fucking had begun. Every time a desperate whimper escaped your lips, Joe would slap you hard on the ass before pounding into you with no regard for the fact that your body was taking one hell of a beating; the most pleasure-filled beating in the world. 

“J-Joe!” his name fell from your mouth without you even realizing, but instead of punishing you even more, Joe instead did something that you considered a reward. 

Pulling you upright again, Joe fucked you in place for a few minutes, his arms wrapped around your waist while the two of you stood completely vertical. Your arms snaked behind yourself to wrap around his neck, and with a slightly-painful crane of the neck, your lips were on his again. The kiss was sloppy and full of need and there was no doubt in your mind that one man’s mouth had ever turned you on as much as Joe Toye’s did. 

Then, in a quick switch, Joe had pulled out of you, leaving you empty and thoroughly upset. Before you could complain, however, he had hoisted you up into his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist, and he pushed you hard up against the nearest wall. 

“Look at me.” he groaned as he entered you again. “Look me in the eyes while I fuck the living daylights out of you.”

It took everything you had to keep yourself from throwing your head back and breaking eye contact due to the immense waves of pleasure coursing through you, but the way Joe’s eyes stared deep into you made the experience even sexier, dirtier, naughtier. 

With this new angle and access to your body, Joe took the opportunity to dip his head down and press kisses to the exposed skin of your breasts that your bra didn’t cover. This was enough to nearly send you over the edge, and since he had broken the eye contact first, you finally tipped your head back, closed your eyes, tangled your fingers in his hair, and let yourself fully enjoy the ride of a lifetime. 

“Harder.” you pleaded as you sensed the oncoming tidal wave of euphoria approaching. “I’m so close...I’m gonna...”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” he filled with rage all over again as he lifted his mouth to bite down on your shoulder. “Don’t you fucking cum until I say you can.”

You let out the most desperate whimper of your entire life. “Please,” you begged as you reluctantly began to work against everything naturally occurring throughout your body. “Please, stop then. I can’t hold on. I-I can’t.”

Joe stared at you as he continued to pound into you over and over again, each one somehow deeper and harder than the last. “Hold on,” he instructed. “God, I can feel how close you are, but hold on. Don’t cum yet.”

You felt actual tears prick at your eyes. “Joe.” you nearly sobbed. “Please...please, please, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum.” your lips quivered as you spoke. 

After a few more thrusts, Joe nodded his head subtly. “Okay,” he granted you permission. “Cum for me. Cum for me like you’ve never cum before.”

Before his sentence was even fully out, your entire body was shaking with the most intense orgasm you had ever experienced. Your legs tightened around his waist, your nails dig into his shoulders, your head pressed back into the wall, and your mouth fell open. As your walls contracted around Joe, you pulled him into ecstasy with you and within seconds his head was buried into your neck. 

“God-motherfucking-damn.” Joe gasped as he came all over your upper thigh. 

Once you two had ridden out your orgasms, Joe unwrapped your legs from around himself and let go of you, but your legs were still shaking, so as soon as your support system was gone, you slid down the wall and collapsed onto the ground.

After a few deep breaths, you turned your attention back to the room around you and watched as Joe pulled his pants back on. “Feel better?” you barely managed to get the question out.

Joe smirked, his eyes still focused on his fly as he pulled the zipper of his pants up. “Yes.”

“Good.” you remained in your puddle of pleasure on the floor. “Are you going to tell me what happened in the first place?”

As Joe fixed his appearance and headed for the door, he turned back to you for a second and smiled. Not a smirk, not a curl of the corners of his mouth; a genuine smile. “Some of the guys were saying that you’re nothing more than a cock-pocket,” he admitted the reason he had been angry in the first place. 

“Oh, so you defended my honour?” you chuckled.

“Guess you could say that.” he shrugged.

A laugh escaped you. “And then you came and used me as a ‘cock-pocket’?” 

Joe didn’t answer that. Instead, he just shook his head and promptly exited your office altogether, leaving you as a mess on the floor. As much as you knew you were going to scold him for leaving you so fast the next time you saw him, at that moment, all you could do was sit still and bask in the memories of Joe Toye fucking you like it was his last day on earth. 

If that was how Joe took out his anger, you secretly hoped that he would never, ever calm down. 

[alchemisland]

The Moors Mutt - II

https://www.wattpad.com/676844776-the-moors-mutt-ii

II. Limbo

Rising early, if rising it was and not merely stirring from a wakened restive state, I walked a barren stretch. At pale dawn birds like Aztec idols flighted at my stirring. Cold light stained the pasture either side. Sleepshod, the road to Cairn Cottage found me quiet company. Even the tinkers were not yet to the road in their triskeled wagons.

When the machine architect of our world was in infancy, men of old, men of renown, used more than sight in their primitive observations of our world. Already we, we as mankind, had realized what appeared as reality was deeper yet than simple tangibility. Further back towards the chaotic and infinite churn of the burning epoch, when mankind had not language to manifest destiny and lived subordinate to Echidna's descendants still fearsome on the plain, parts of the brain which one day became memory centers first stirred to life, elongating the possibility of human memory. Scent still is brother to memory.

The air was heavy with scent when I relinquished vision, only for a short time, and let wind corral me. The breeze carried faint lavender.

A pebbled stretch I crossed stirred a memory of my late father and a codex of heroic tales he purchased, whose high adventure stirred me like nothing prior. At six, maybe seven years old, tales of old Arabia appealed greatly. Fabulous kingdoms wrought of yellow stone against a tangerine haze, swirling tarot sun bemused of countenance, scorpions armoured like chargers sending rodents to their redoubt, the cloying madness of it all. I visited them in dreams, jumping from the path of unruly camels, watching the impenetrable waves humbly part in the wake of Royal palanquins.

Their heroes were unlike our knights. More often broody boys who preferred quill to falchion. Brooding teenagehood made me relish the stranger stories, tales without lessons existing solely to unnerve, speaking on the bleak lives of Tartarian wizards. Older, into adulthood, I came to enjoy Greek tales most. The tragedy of Ajax in his lover's plate leaking on the golden sand moved me. Waves, caressing the moored fleet in passing, bursting against the shale where the pyre burned. Since, when I hear crunching pebbles, I think of soldiers marching on the beach at Troy.

I heard the crunch of a trap and waited hopeful until the crude plume fixed atop the horses head appeared like the mantle of some deposed pagan lord. Ixion's disc four times divided had been fixed to bear this chariot. Its trundle ground debris to powder. I hailed the man, a being of wind, every strand of hair or cloth lank enough to lift stood in disarray. A peak stole his brow, but a smile waved me aboard. He never spoke, though carried me within shouting distance of the manse.

Inside chaos reigned. Lady Sizemore's estate was measured first in paper, not coin. Hundreds, thousands of jaundiced sheets, all in disorder busying every surface. Before a single coin changed hands, a great many hours I spent hauling boxes, within which were more boxes where spiders large as potatoes spun temporary wonders above the invoices.

I wonder what effect prolonged tedium has. Such thoughts are entertained in the avoidance of work that should never be given lucid credence. An entire day dedicated solely to translating letters in incomprehensible cursive, it felt ridiculous. My mind, perhaps reflecting its surroundings, felt dulled, unfocused. So long I stared, when I pried my eyes I found feint margins plastered across reality.

The previous night's visitations I had pondered, ultimately chalking to anxiety. Nothing substantially portentous. Unfortunately, another day was required before I indulged my cryptozooligcal fancies.

*

Darkness in ravenfeather arrived prematurely. I gathered my belongings, wondering where the time went, then ran to the track and the sounds of the the last husbandmen bound for Sperrin. I found easy passage. Too easy perhaps; I was cursed to endure indignity on a wagon halfheartedly scraped of its stinking contents; with my legs lolling over the side, I was soaked in every splash. I arrived back mud-caked, a shambling golem. Lar tended bar. I wondered had he stirred in my absence. Anticipating my thirst, two mugs were set.

I dropped my satchel, enjoying relief akin to weightlessness by contrast, and we drained tankards like soon-to-war Saxons, speaking of weather. I asked had anyone noteworthy visited, mostly from politeness. When asked had the room served, I replied it had done so more than adequately. Again, politeness.

Not wishing to seem overeager, I spared him my dream. If the tale was relayed to me, I should say how convenient the very man hoping to find the beast would experience a vision.

Besides, in the unlikely event we found a mangy badger after I'd described a prehistoric horror.. perish the thought.

'Do we depart tomorrow?' Lar grunted, pretending to clean.

'Short delay actually. I'd have said from the doorway, only for the ale calling. Alas, labour remains. My charges lust for satisfaction. They are at Rome's gates! Distant cousins write in droves. By air, land and sea their letters come, squeezing through grates, shimmying down chimneys. Forget the beast, if they find me I'm dead.'

'We sank tankards enough last night. I've seen folks pale on the dizzy morning after the night before. If this delay is to spite me, let me allay concerns, I'm the man for this job. We're the men for this job.' He shot a glance at Fergus, a pale lance cleaving his brow.

I looked to my empty cup then longingly at his selection. Lar fingered a cask, but reached further back and took another instead.

'My god, man. Boil a pot and toss it down your trousers. No such notions occurred to me. We're expedition mates! I didn't make a dent in the work, really.' I raised a silencing finger to hear the splash of ale. 'There you have it. Mystery solved. If the mystery of the beast is this easy, we're laughing.' I inhaled its aroma. Fruity, potent, sickly almost. 'This expedition diary I mean to publish, any thoughts?'

Lar's measured tone returned. Careful as a tiptoeing sinner, he asked 'You good?'

I smiled. 'Only Ben Adhem saw the book, ask him.'

Lar stove the ashen helm crowning his cigarette, plunging the embers into the cold bronze bowl. 'At writing.'

'You should say! I tease, I tease. To answer your question, yes is the answer. Humbly, in my hand, the pen is like the master mason's chisel, from whence grand cathedrals spring forth from their less divine constituent parts.' Lar was fumbling for his tobacco already and I thought what small use that vice would be in peril.

'I'm convinced.' Lar spoke quickly, stumbling over the words to get them out. I took no offence at his zeal to change the subject. 'Do you have a manuscript at hand?'

'Not with me, unfortunately.' He stifled a sigh of relief. 'Upon returning home one story heavier, I'll ensure you receive signed copies of every one. I'll sing them My favourite tub of Lar. Yours literately, Beastman. That way you'll know it's me.'

Lar's ale, a home brew, was a swift agent, promising to travel from your mouth to the toilet's in twenty minutes. I joked he might patent it for a medicine. Call it the Midas touch. Everything it touched turns to gold: toilet seat, floor, shoes if you weren't careful.

I spied Fergus. His thumb led a blunt edge across the ribbed bark of a sprig, from which he had carved two lidded eyes and a pursed mouth.

Lar lit a cigarette from the flared end of the last, then discarded it on the ashen pyre.

Lar had to raise the hatch spoiling any hope of a dramatic exit, but I hovered over the stool while I spoke. 'Departure two days hence, on the strict proviso no unpleasant libel suit comes once the story hits print. Rest assured, I'll include nothing untoward, but I reserve the right to artistic licence. Print the myth.'

'Libel is a city crime.' Anticipating my desire, Lar walked while he spoke. I mirrored his step, slipping through the open portcullis to sleep, perchance to scream.

*

Lying in bed, I wondered what to include in my chronicle; exciting details only, or every charged exchange? Nobody asked how the shipwright felt constructing thousands of ships without prior notice. They only wanted Achilles. The reader will concede, I have included much of the mundane.

Well-oiled, I slept easily. Set like a star I saw things past, dark present and murky future, useless without chronology, stifling their prophetic nature. The beast came again, shaking the ground.

Waking, it seemed I fell to the mattress from a height. Not far enough to endanger, but enough to worry the springs. I lurched, took my journal from the bedside locker, levered its purple tongue to split its leather cuirass and let it whip to a clean page.

One mark on the opposite face demanded attention. A black circle, subtle as a bearded chin, formed by the swift fury of a graceless wrist, its blackness total.

How strangely the lines blended. One moment a nest of fastened rat tails, one mark indistinguishable from another, the next a clear set of growing rings. In its swirling centre around the maelstrom's eye, the paper tore with the fury of the quill.

I found the pockmark on every page. Someone strained greatly to make an impression so indelible. First I thought Fergus with his ham hands, unknowingly forcing the nib through the page. When he had the chance, or the notion? It seemed unlikely. Throughout the workday it was with me, resting once for a moment unattended on the desk.

Despite concerns, I knew no progress could be made at this hour. For now it seemed safe to be about my duties without much extra precaution. I returned the journal, pulled the duvet across my shoulders and turned to sleep, when suddenly a violent jolt racked the shutters so fiercely they juddered back into place with a great thunk.

I winced toward the disturbance and found mocking empty blackness. As my head sank back into the pillow, a shuddering pulse shook the building. A rippling seismic attack. Unlike quakes from within, which sally in waves, this was a single detonation, like a dying star; one magnificent shockwave that stirred everything in the world at once, only for a moment. I stemmed panic, falling to courageous platitudes that would embarrass the most shameless Kipling-mimic. Without panic, I deduced more likely my head sharply turning had disturbed my equilibrium, giving the walls the appearance of motion. As if in answer to my doubt, dust sprinkled from the rafters.

Nothing else came. I waited, steeled. I pretended to be brave and at some indeterminate point, felt into a brave slumber.

*

Lar, blackbird that he was, rose early. He emerged from the fugue state that best pleased his constitution and stretched, his wingspan filling the alcove.

He found me in my linen cell, bewhaled as Jonah.

'Terrible day.' He drew the shutters. I pulled the sheets down over my face to the sight of Lar's stocky silhouette in the dirty light. Tapping his pipe twice on the sill, he plonked one cheek on the ledge and struck a match. 'Anything you want from town? I'm going to get supplies. I should be away most of the day. There won't be a return trip before we go. Speak now or forever hold your peace.'

'Ambulo in pace.' I tapped my journal, 'I have everything.'

'Do you have a mac?' The rain beat harder.

'No, we're English, some Irish. Although I heard tell that a distant branch traded their roses for thistle stalks.'

Lar shuddered, ill-humoured before midday, despite protestations he needed no proper rest. 'I mean a waterproof.'

'Oh give me credit. That's humour.'

'We in the smiling countryside call it idiocy. There's a time for revels. Unless you've been up all night, dawn isn't it.'

'I don't have one and I'd like a loan if that's what you're asking, thank you. I didn't sleep well now you mention it' I tossed my feet onto the cold ground and felt for a sock.

Lar watched the rain spilling in romantic sheets. 'You'll need an ark to get back. It's like a bog when it rains. No one will be able to get you. Not me, not the constabulary, nor anyone else. If the weather worsens, make sure you get back in time. Otherwise, everything will be closed until further boatice.'

'Boatice?' I said.

'Now that is humour. Rain, boats, further notice. Get it?' Lar left more spritely than when he entered.