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bonktime · 3 years

Text

Take a Breath

Ezra (Prospect) x AFAB!reader Oneshot (no use of y/n)

Masterlist

Rated: Explicit

Summary: Your ship has crashed on a planet with low oxygen. With no other options you begin a tenuous partnership with a strange prospector in need of your help fixing his pod. He’s charming but dangerous and if he finds out the whole truth about you, you’ll probably end up dead. With trouble closing in from all sides, you navigate this new connection and hope you both survive in one piece.

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence, blood and death, mentions of religion, sexual harassment (just a couple comments), me having no clue what asphyxiating is actually like, Two has a clear helmet for plot reasons, smut: unprotected PinV sex (there’s no STDs in space), cunnilingus, dom/sub elements, rough sex, size kink, choking (just a little), spitting, praise kink (this one surprised me), biting, a little dirty talk (it is Ezra) - let me know if I’ve missed anything!

Note: I was totally inspired to create this by @jura-moon ‘s fic Nostromo which lives in my head and without it, this never would have been written. I have used some of her story beats and ideas so absolute credit goes to her for that. This is sort of a fanfic of Nostromo in many ways 💘 I’d also like to throw thanks at @absurdthirst who reawakened my love of fics, @slater-baby who awoke something in me specifically, and especially to @danniburgh who not only deals with my damn near weekly requests for softness but who also got me to stop editing at 1am whilst drinking tequila. She did us all a favour, let’s be honest.

I hope everyone enjoys this behemoth. Don’t forget to reblog!

Wordcount: 22k

~~~~~~~~

It's not the worst planet to crash on.

The thought is so ridiculous you'd laugh if it wasn't for the blaring alarms and the screaming. Instead, you wrestle into the pilot’s seat and strap in. With the engine dead you'll have to manually time releasing the parachute. It's completely insane. Too early and the parachute burns, you crash into the ground and die. Too late and the parachute doesn't catch you, you crash into the ground and die. Provided you do survive you've at least got your suit on, oxygen tank attached, you'll be able to breath. The planet's oxygen is too low to survive for longer than two hours alone but it'll aid the tank and give you two days, three if you're careful, to get more. At least it isn't poisonous.

Thoughts all over the place you wonder where the other ship will fall. Hopefully close enough you can still make use of it. Hopefully they've got a good pilot.

You've been lucky this far, now all you can do is hope your luck holds. You break atmosphere flames blurring the view of the planet and then it's rushing to meet you. You start counting, watching it come closer, closer. You see the other ship careen away from you.

“Fuck!” Someone behind you shouts “Pull the damn lever are you trying to kill us all?!”

You ignore them, don't lose count. Ok

Three… two… one…

You close your eyes and pull.

You don't open your eyes.

No. For the first time in years. You pray.

⧫⧫⧫

Pain is the first thing you register, across your chest aches like, well, like you've just crashed a ship. The next is the smell, smoke, that can't be good, it's not entirely unpleasant though. Then the noise, someone's shouting in your ear telling you to get up, to move, they swear and leave you dangling upside down, still strapped into the pilots’ seat. Oh, that's why your chest hurts, ok, you think to yourself, you’re alive. You need to move. You need to open your eyes.

You do.

Lights are flashing, disorientating you more than your current position, blood rushing to your head. You reach up and press the release on the seat belt and drop to the floor, or maybe the ceiling, head first. Didn't think that one through you chastise yourself. The engine is on fire, filling the hull with smoke but your legs are numb so, seizing your pack where it’s fallen beside you, you crawl to the light you think is the door and to your relief, flop outside.

No one notices you. They're all looking away, throwers out and pointed into the dead trees you sit back against the ship still reeling from the crash, too slow to realise how absolutely fucked you are. They come out the trees fast, even with spears and blades, you watch as the crew falls one by one. You can't process what you're seeing, frozen in place. Blood splatters, coming down like rain around you. Too late your body reacts and you stumble to your feet and run.

You get out of sight and then you stop, panting. Every breath aches your chest.

Something's wrong. Something you're not seeing. Right before your eyes. What is it?!

It hits you, slowly like a wave, realisation and then panic. You reach up slowly and touch your head. Gloves come away wet and dark with your blood.

Your helmet is shattered.

You aren't sure if you're crying or blood is dripping into your eyes. You suspect the blood. Feeling numb you keep moving, one foot in front of the other vaguely glancing down at the dial on your arm. After the running you'll be unconscious in at best an hour and a half, dead a little after that.

The petrified forest seems to close in around you. It’s a stillness like you’ve never experienced. Trees tower above you, skeletal branches reaching up like fingers. The limbs cast dark shadows in the bright sun, crossing over the dry brush underfoot, hiding foot falls and branches to trip on.

You walk on.

⧫⧫⧫

15 minutes left.

You decide to find a place to sit, ideally somewhere with a view but you can't me picky. A fallen tree does the job and you pull off the remainder of your helmet. Trying not to think about your imminent demise you look up. The suns are low, three of them. It twinges in your chest that you'll never go home, never see that sky again. Left to rot alone, no one who knows your traditions to perform your rites. Not that you deserve them. If you're going to put the ring back on, now would be the time. Make penance, but you don't think you can. Perhaps the hundred years wait is what you deserve.

7 minutes left.

There's someone approaching. Silhouetted against the scorching red sky, the heat rising from the ground distorting them, making you wonder if you’re hallucinating. The only clue they’re real is the crunch of the ground beneath their feet, but even that seems to echo around you.

Hope is the thing with feathers and it just flaps a wing wearily in your chest. And then stutters. The sun glints off their pistol, a beautiful sparkle that dims your hope. You do what you're good at, grab your own and shoot first. His gun flies from his hand and you smile, at least your aim is true. It falls off your face as quickly as it appears though as you feel a barrel press into your skull.

Clever buggers divided and conquered.

You drop your thrower but whoever it is doesn't lower theirs. “A little creature all alone,” a low voice drawls, “No helmet? No breath? What will we do with you?”

Staring straight at the man in front as he picks up your pistol and glares at you, you respond. “If we are going to chat, can we do it wherever your pod is? I have quite a story but I'll be dead in…” you look down at your dial, the gun increases its pressure on your skull as you try to suppress the panic “In about 5 minutes” the man remains silent, his pistol staying pressed into your skull. Your mind races, trying to find a way to argue your survival and clutches at the one thing you have. “I chose not to kill your friend when I could have done. Can you at least hear me out?”

The man behind you clicks his tongue “Ok! Well, I'm certainly intrigued and I'm sure even my partner here can't disapprove of allowing you to argue your case.” The comment seems pointed like he'll definitely disagree but even as you see his mouth twist he stays silent. “On your feet creature I'm not inclined to lug you back myself.” Standing the man lowers the thrower into your back and gently pushes you forward.

Their pod is close but you're feeling dizzier by the second and don't even think to protest when, as soon as you're in and the doors shut, the man at your back ties your hands behind you.

Focusing on him as he moves in front of you and pulls off his helmet you notice he’s favouring one arm and despite his sharp brown eyes, he looks feverish and drained. Not paying it much thought, you breathe deeply feeling sharper but it only draws your attention back to the pain in your body. Kevva you're tired. The urge to lie down and rest is near overwhelming, but the one who talks is eyeing you coldly for weakness, you’re no use if you can’t even stand.

Still, you try to get your bearings. The pod is small and rectangular, they haven’t turned the lights on and the looming shadows seem to pull in the walls, making your saviours into giants, making you feel like you’re pledging your case to The Olympians. There’s a small bench with a couple chairs next to a tiny stove and sink, there’s only one cot up against the wall, opposite what could be a cupboard but your eyes can’t make it out in the dim light.

“Now then creature, it's not every day we come across such a little thing with no air on this breathless planet and certainly not one who can shoot so damn straight!” The chuckles “I am just fascinated to know how you got into this predicament.”

You nod thinking carefully about your words. “We were a prospecting crew,” that's definitely a lie, “I'm an engineer but I know how to dig.” Well that's true at least, “Our ship fell of orbit but I managed to deploy the chutes in time so we didn't die on impact but…” you close your eyes as the images of the blood flashes before you.

“Let me guess your theatrical entrance gathered a welcoming party?”

“Something like that, I didn't realise my helmet had broken right away, I managed to run… I think everyone else is dead.” In a way you hope they are, else you really are in trouble.

The man is grinning at you, showing his teeth but the calculating gaze doesn’t falter “An engineer I'll be damned! And you can dig too? This is my lucky day. We happen to be in need of an engineer. See, our little pod has seen some better days and now it is unwilling to fly. Say, if you can fix it up and help us dig a smidgen, save us some time, we'll give you a lift out when the time comes? Quid pro quo”

An unwanted thought strikes you, settling deep in your stomach like a stone. “That sounds like a great deal but I won't be able to help you, not unless you supply me with a helmet.”

With that the other man seems to reach the end of his patience. And he moves gesturing at the talker.

“Now then, it just doesn't seem right to let such a pretty little thing suffocate on this rock... Well, I can't argue with that I suppose… I do apologise, little creature, I find myself, however unwittingly, agreeing with my partner. If you can’t help us then I can find no reasonable excuse to waste our resources on you. Looks like the deals off” he sighs “This is disappointing, I had such high hopes for our association.” With a shrug he pats your shoulder in sympathy that doesn’t meet his eyes. You shouldn't have hoped, your lucks all spent.

You take a deep breath, mind racing to find a way to survive, “Untie my hands at least, I'd appreciate some dignity as I walk to meet my maker.” You glance at your pack on the floor, you won’t need it now.

He pauses for a second, seeming to size you up before nodding and turning you around to face the door. In the reflection of the glass, you see the profile of his sharp features as he looks back, “Now then two, surely you can do the creature the quick the justice of a shot rather than a slow suffocation… Right good.” He cuts your hands loose and instantly the other man is there pressing his thrower into your back. You walk together, back into the waste.

There's only one way you're getting out of this so you close your eyes for a second and pause. He shoves you, lifting his gun to the back of your head. You take a breath and act.

Bending forwards and shoving your elbow up into his arm so the shot goes over your head, you spin knocking the gun aside and grab the small switchblade concealed in your pocket. He should have searched you. You don't hesitate as you stab him in the heart, following him to the ground and wrenching his helmet off. You close your eyes as the light leaves his.

Shaking off the nausea clamouring at you, you pull out the blade blanching as it sprays blood across you. You wipe it clean before stowing it away and then swipe a hand across your face, there’s no way to tell whether the deep red that rubs off on your hand is his or yours, or someone else’s. Feelin around in your pockets for a coin, you suppose the least you can do is pay his boatman so you place the coin under his tongue. You don’t pray. The dead don’t need it.

Ezra watches as you perform this strange ritual, he had to admit that he's captivated. Perhaps his wound has rotted so much he's delirious, finally driven mad by the toxins. Perhaps that was why he agreed to free your hands, why he didn’t check you for a blade. He considers you as he watches, so determined to stay alive.

You pull off the man's suit grateful he's small, even if it'll still swamp you, and grab his helmet. Stripping your own suit quickly you ignore the bandages on your forearm and pull his on. The fit isn't bad, it still seals around your wrists and ankles but it’s loose at your neck. You've got 12 minutes before you pass out unless you fix the hole your own knife made and get a tank of oxygen.

You look at the pod, the other man is watching you. Brown eyes piercing yours as if looking into your soul. It's him or nothing. You've got to try.

You approach the pod carrying your suit. Looking through the glass in the door and you gesture a setting for your radio, there’s a click followed by his harsh breathing.

“That was not especially kind, little creature. I certainly underestimated your ferociousness”

You shrug, “It was him or me.”

“What makes your existence so exponentially more important than his d’you think?”

You frown, “I didn't decide that it did, the powers that be choose. I did bring a knife to a gunfight” He smiles slightly and lets out a little chuckle.

Ezra watches you carefully, you look so tired, so small as you lean against the door of the pod his feverish brain seems to be attempting to soften a long-hardened heart. Still, he's not an idiot. “I'm afraid letting you in may be a detriment to my state of being, creature, you are indeed viscous and I'm not inclined to trust someone that murdered my acquaintance with so little hesitation.” He watches your eyes closed and for a second you look so hopeless but when they open, they've hardened.

“I could simply pull apart your pod from the outside, make sure you suffocate with me!” The last words come out in a shout of frustration. You bang your hand against the glass window of the door.

He glares at you, his voice low and menacing “I do not take lightly to threats, creature.”

This day’s too long, too hard, you've done too much. How many deaths? You realise that you can't kill someone for, sensibly, not letting you in. You laugh “I feel like the wolf at your door,” you sigh god your head hurts “There's no point!” you gesture, “Killing you would do nothing but damn me further I won't kill you out of spite. Fuck!” You glance and the dial on your arm,

6 minutes.

You turn away and sit, suit back against the door. It's as nice a spot as any. “I will choose to die here though I think, just as a reminder that you killed me when I fall through the next time you head out”

You chuckle at the macabre thought then turn off your radio and pull off the helmet.

3 minutes.

The final sun is setting, this really is Apollo's world and it is beautiful. The orange sky outlines the forest’s hands like an oil painting waving you off. Not a bad place to go at all.

2 minutes.

At least it's quiet.

1 minute.

Black spots are filling your vision, blurring out the beauty. Rude you think to yourself and you let out a delirious giggle.

The door behind you slides open and a strong hand grabs the back of the suite as you flop back, hauling you in, snagging the helmet and sealing the door. You don’t move, staring at the ceiling for a second breathing deeply.

Ezra drops heavily down onto the cot and watches you, you're quite something up close even covered in another's blood and your own, you're beautiful. He imagines this is what a witch would look like after a ritual, all blood and magic and secrets.

You open your eyes and peer up at him. “What changed your mind?”

He grins “Call it a reckless curiosity fuelled by this festering limb of mine.” He gestures to his arm.

It’s your turn to size him up, he seems to be looking worse by the minute and now slumped against the wall, you could probably just kill him and take what you need. Maybe you would if he hadn’t let you in. “Perhaps I can patch it up, I've got steady hands and too much experience with wounds from weapons” you struggle into a seated position with a grunt as pain flashes.

“You might as well have a gander, I'm afraid if left to my own devices I'll have to saw the thing off myself or else perish” He frowns down at his twitching fingers, “I do believe this may be my lowest point, little creature. I invite in trouble and then ask it for help? I have certainly had preferable days, for instance, when the ship I was presiding upon became infested with channel rats seems superior to today.”

You hum in reply not really paying attention as he continues to talk. Reaching for your pack, you pull out a pretty well stocked surgery kit. “I'll numb it as best I can but it's not much”

“Anything that alleviates this agony will be a blessing little creature” You raise an eyebrow at him in acknowledgment, clearly doubting it as you hand him a tablet which he swallows. He pulls off his shirt and you examine the wound trying not to stare at his strong arms and broad chest. It’s a couple days old and badly infected, you’ll have to get out the rot before you can think of sealing it.

“Lie back” you tell him

“Perhaps in another situation your choice of language would be quite desirable” he smirks at you, not succeeding in disguising the worry in his face.

You sigh at the comment “Scream all you need but don't move”

That makes him chuckle, “You're a siren luring me in to slay me, aren't you?” His jaw clenches as you start cutting away the rotted flesh. It is slow work, carefully taking as little pink away as possible. To his credit he doesn't move a muscle and you know it must be agony. He talks the entire time, telling the tale of how he got himself shot in such a long-winded way you can’t tell the truth from the fiction. It seems to give him distraction though, so you don’t ask if he’s lying. As you close the wound with foam, he smiles at you, softer than before.

“Names Ezra, by the way.” Then he passes out.

He’s rather strange you decide, but most prospectors are. You’ve got to be a bit odd to spend your days nearly isolated on hostile planets. Asleep he looks peaceful, none of the calculating gaze or darkness. That little patch of blonde is so distinctive, you find yourself almost hypnotised by his face. Frowning at yourself you move away and sit back against the other side of the pod facing the cot.

A few things left to do with him unconscious, you pull off the stolen suit and grab the patch gun from your pack, melting it closed. You pull it back on and holster your pistol. Sitting back, you take a pill from your med kit to ease the pain in your chest and let it pull you into sleep.

Unsurprisingly, you wake before him. You check he's alive then pack your stuff together. You're even, you suppose. He saved your life. You saved his (or at least his arm) and you'd rather not stay around to find out if, when less fevered, he decides to get more even with you for killing his partner. He did give you his name though and names are powerful things so you pull out your notebook and leave a note as you grab an oxygen tank.

You glance behind you as the door seals behind you but you don’t turn back. If you head towards the ship your crew had brought down yesterday, it should have an escape pod still on it. Hopefully you can fix it up if needs be. You follow your compass East.

⧫⧫⧫

Ezra wakes slowly, he hasn't slept so deeply in years, he feels comfortable if a little cold and slowly he opens his eyes. The previous day returns to him in a haze, a pretty face and bright eyes glaring through the door, a gesture to old gods, his arm…

He looks down and moves his fingers. It's good, remarkably so, still stiff and aching but whatever you’d given him seems to have hurried his healing. That stuffs expensive. Not the sort of thing a prospector would usually have and certainly not something they'd share. You were quite strange, he concludes, but fascinating. Why on earth would someone who could act so brutally for their own survival give him something so valuable? Sure, he let you in but you certainly hadn't needed to let him know you had such a thing in your possession. He supposed guilt over his partner, perhaps you were truly naïve or, bizarrely, you could have money. Which would create a more baffling question of just how you ended up here.

It doesn't occur to Ezra for a moment the other reason, until he looks around the pod to find you gone along with a portable oxygen canister leaving a bit of paper in its place. Things stolen hold less value.

The paper was clearly torn from a notebook on it, it simply said your name.

He curses pulling on his suit and following your tracks into the forest. The trail is light but visible, branches broken where you’d passed, dry brush crushed under your feet. He moves quickly, sure of his footing after spending so much time navigating the dead forest. He’s only travelled about a mile before he can hear you moving ahead.

⧫⧫⧫

You walk through the trees, one sun shining above you warming your bones. As you check your direction you pause. A twig snaps and you freeze listening carefully. There's another noise behind you and you spin tensing. You can't see anything or anyone as you peer around you, the forest is too dense.

A body crashes into you from behind flinging you into the ground, looping something around your neck. Your head ricochets off the inside of your helmet shaking your brain, opening the cut again but not breaking the glass. You try to lurch up but get nowhere so you roll into your back with them now beneath you but the cord around your neck holds you back. Choking, you catch your fingers in it so you can breathe and pull forwards, hard, rolling again and thrusting your helmet back into theirs, loosening their grip enough so you can pull the cord away, only for them to shove you head down into the ground.

The world is swimming now, wobbling around you as you try to get your body to listen to you. To get away. To fight back. Anything! But their weight on your back prevents you from moving. You try to look out of the corner of your eye to see your opponent but get nothing. It surprises you when a tear tracks down your face. You suppose you have been putting off the inevitable for days now, Kevva has called you back.

Whoever it is clicks on your radio and a familiar voice hisses, “You stupid fucking cunt, I'm bringing you to hell with-“ A shot rings out and the body slumps on top of you, you lift yourself up and shove it off sitting up on your haunches looking around for the shooter.

It's him, Ezra, gun still trained on you. He watches you halt, eyes wide.

“You took something of mine, and although usually I don't go out of my way to find trouble, which you little creature certainly are. I awoke to find myself abandoned and a little peeved to discover that you had liberated a couple of my possessions and shimmied out of part of our prior agreement.”

Your heads still spinning and with the blood trickling into your eye you find it immensely difficult to focus on what he is saying. “Prior agreement?”

“Yes indeed. You'll find you had affirmed in exchange for breath you would fix up my little ship so when the time comes, I may leave this barely liveable planet. I do not appreciate reneging”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“On your feet creature,” he approaches, “I find myself growing impatient.” You stand and instantly stumble forward. He grabs onto your shoulder steadying you, his other hand darting out before you can relax and snagging your thrower from its holster. “I underestimated you once, I will not again. Now, your assailant seemed to know you, if I'm not mistaken, by the way they deemed to remark upon you. Pray tell me the tale?”

Looking at him you do feel a lot like prey. He's close, grip still firm on your shoulder and towering over you. A grin showing all his teeth like a wolf, all you would need is a red cloak and you’re dinner.

You glance down at the body and clench your jaw, it was Cora. Formally, a member of your crew, she had always distrusted you. Rightfully so, you think to yourself.

Steadying yourself you shrug off Ezra's grip, ignoring the gun still aimed at you and kneel down to pull off her helmet. Taking a coin from your pocket you place it under her tongue and look back up at him, the helmet still in your grasp. He's watching you curiously, seeming to be rolling words around in his mouth as if completely thrown by your behaviour.

“She was part of my crew, I was the engineer so the crash was my fault,” well that was definitely true.

Ezra chuckles darkly, “I'm not too sure I want you to repair my ship after all, creature. Your predilection for incident does appear wearisome.”

You tilt your head up at him, “See any other engineers around here?”

“I suppose you'll have to do, but I will be watching you mighty closely little bird, in case you decide to take flight again.” You frown at the new nickname but don't get a chance to argue as you both hear a horn a little way off. “Unfortunately, my shot appears to have alerted the ever-irritable locals to our location.” He grabs your arms and hauls you back to your feet pulling you along with him as he walks back the way you had come, Cora’s helmet still clasped in your hand. “Luckily the settlers are not quick on their feet, I must say.”

You can't think of a response, your head is still reeling and your feet feel like lead as you trudge after him, his hand gripping firmly onto your wrist.

You're grateful you hadn't travelled far when he tugs you into the pod. Closing the door and turning, Ezra finds you slumping down to sit on the floor ripping off your helmet and attempting to wipe the blood out of your eye. It feels a little voyeuristic as he watches you tug off the suit soaked with his partner's blood, revealing the black insulating vest and leggings beneath before flopping back eyes closed for a moment. You feel his stare and pointedly ignore it as you grab your own suit, abandoned the day before, and shimmy into it. Cora had the same suit and so her helmet will fit yours. You feel a little relief at no longer having to wear the blood of someone you'd killed, not to mention more secure in something that fits.

Glancing up at Ezra as you transfer your possessions between pockets yet again you see he's elected to tie his suit up around his waist revealing those damn arms again. He crouches down in front of you and gently grasps your chin to tilt your head up at him. “That's quite the cut you've got there little bird.”

He carefully watches your face but your head is still fuzzy so with no retort he moves away from you and picks up your med kit. He cleans your wound gently, wiping the dried blood off your face. As he does, you study him. Close up you can see the wrinkles around his eyes from when he smiles and the curved scar on his cheek. Fighting off the impulse to trace your fingers over it, you ask how he got it. He grins as he places a plaster on your head “Now that’s quite a story” but you don’t get to hear it yet, sounds outside means the settlers have found the pod.

“They'll leave provided they don't know we're here” He grumbles, tugging you into the cupboard running along the wall.

It’s slim but long inside, there are blankets on the floor, a lantern and a small stack of tattered books. “Do you sleep in a cupboard?” you have to ask but you do your best to keep the incredulity out of your tone.

“I'd rather you didn't insult my little burrow as a guest, there's only one cot in this pod and I lost the wager so I made do. I think you’ll find it’s rather cosy”

You nod, a little thrown by his change in attitude since being in the forest. As you both sit you watch his face in the golden light of the lamp. It makes him appear to glow, almost like a painting. He'd look almost relaxed if it wasn't for how his eyes were watching you carefully.

Ezra studies your features, if you hadn't been such a bringer of chaos, he'd think he'd made you up, that, or Kevva had reached into his head and plucked you out. You're just perfect, perhaps anything his own mind could come up with would have to come with chaos, there was no fun without it.

The quiet moment is disrupted by a bang on the side of the pod, you jump and Ezra tenses slightly but seems to be expecting it. “They're trying to frighten out anyone inside” he whispers, “If we stay quiet and hidden, we'll be just fine”

You nod and tilt your head back against the wall trying to block out the noise as Ezra reaches for the book at the top of his stack. You read the title ‘Perfume’, you haven't heard of it but judging by the battered pages and writing in the margins Ezra knows it intimately. He glances at you. “It is a tale of a man who gets so enraptured with the scent of a woman he endeavours to turn her essence into perfume.”

You hum in response “That sounds a little morbid.”

Reaching into your bag you pull out a similarly dog-eared copy of ‘The Power’ and do your best to ignore the man opposite you.

Ezra frowns at his book. It's not often a good read fails to pull him into its world but something about your presence has driven him to distraction. Instead, he closes the book and continues to study you, it's a nice change having a stranger in such close quarters. You're frowning at your book a little furrow in your brow he finds endearing. It's only then he notices you're shaking. He wonders if it's from the death of your friend, from the settlers’ insistent pounding on the side of the pod or from him. He supposes it's quite scary to be trapped in a small space with someone twice your size and he hasn't exactly been kind to you. Ezra frowns to himself, not that you've given him a reason to act kindly. You will be useful to each other but there's no point making friends on such rough terms.

You look up meeting his eye as he glowers at you and swiftly glance away, trying to take up as little space as possible.

“You said you came to prospect?” he murmurs to you. You look back at him, wide eyed, and nod. “Good, you can help me finish me dig, 60/40 split, since you so callously divested me of my partner.”

You nod “You ridded me of mine too. Looks like we're even again. Equal split.” He’s tempted to laugh at your boldness, negotiating with no leverage. He keeps his face stern, unwilling to let you know how much he is enjoying your spark.

“I don't think so.” he speaks lowly making you tense, “I will permit that without you my arm would be about as useful as stim gum is at staving off hunger. And at least to me my arm is equal to a partner.” He tilts his head at you, the light cutting plains across his skin, “Even so… we still aren't even. That’s twice I saved your troublesome arse. One could suggest you’re indebted to me.”

To his surprise you nod, even as your jaw clenches and he watches you swallow “I guess I'll have to make it up to you another way. Even split or I don’t dig” That breaks him, he can’t hold in his grin at your fearlessness. He strongly suspects you’ve had an abundance of practice getting what you're owed from characters more unscrupulous than himself. He frowns at that, even hardened prospectors treat him warily, there must be something else to you. He agrees though, more out of curiosity than necessity.

“Even split it is then.”

⧫⧫⧫

You both agree there's no point going out to dig with the settlers so close but after the noise has subsided Ezra looks you over and suggests you shower. You don't tell him what a gift that is but he sees how your eyes light up at the prospect of washing off the past days’ grime. He hands you a towel and as the water starts running, he distracts himself from picturing you naked by satisfying some of his inquisitiveness and going through your pack.

There's not much of interest. Your med kit, some protein bars, instant caf, ammunition but in the front pocket he finds an old ring. Round like a signet but instead of a family emblem it is simply a small coin, plated in gold. He studies it, it's roughly hewn, well-made but not particularly fine. He wonders if you stole this too, but it isn't flashy and everything else you've taken had been useful so he posits it is yours, but why don't you wear it? Frowning he puts it back as he spots a notebook, worn and well-loved but as he reaches for it the water shuts off and he leaves your pack, choosing to get nourishment for you both before you sleep.

You emerge dressed just in your leggings and vest, Ezra gestures to the seat noticing the bandage on your arm. “What did you do that your mystical little tablets cannot heal?”

You finger the material absentmindedly, “Oh it's an old wound I keep reopening, better to keep it covered to prevent infection.”

He peers at you clearly unconvinced but he doesn’t question you further, you avoid his eyes looking at the floor as he sticks some food in front of you. “Eat up little creature, we've hard work to do tomorrow and we'll need our energy.”

You take a mouthful before asking, “Where will we sleep?”

“Better we stay out of sight in case our hospitable friends return, so back into the burrow. And I'd rather keep you close in case you start to feel flighty again” You sigh but to his surprise don't argue, perhaps the settlers really did shake you.

Ezra returns to studying you as you both eat, without your suit on he can see the harsh bruises around your neck where your former friend had tried to strangle you but the gash through your eyebrow has stopped bleeding and fresh from the shower, you're quite the vision. It has been so long since he'd had another body to warm his bed and you look so soft and vulnerable without the suit and imminent danger, he finds himself picturing you under him, writhing, brow furrowed like before. His hands grabbing your arms, your hips, your neck- He shakes himself of the image. Your partnership is tenuous at best without bringing in the pleasures of the flesh and he doesn't really want to scare you off potentially leaving him alone and trapped on this world.

When you've eaten you head into Ezra's ‘burrow’ as he called it and settle opposite each other, legs stretched out in front, feet almost touching. Ezra is next to the door ensuring you can't leave without waking him but you're not inclined to try, you know your luck is running out. You're grateful he doesn't try to scare you into staying, instead curiously he picks up his book and looks at you.

“I propose an exchange, it appears we are both almost prepared to recite our beloved tomes cover to cover, so, would you acquiesce your book for mine?”

You shrug, “I wouldn't mind something new but I'm not sure how much you'd enjoy ‘The Power’ and I have nothing else.”

He smiles his eyes crinkling with amusement, “Well then, read me the blurb and let me decide for myself. It seems only I would know what I may delight in.”

“It's about how women become the dominant gender in the world, told by a man in the future where a male dominated society seems absurd.”

Ezra grins, “I am intrigued! It'll be a joy to discuss books with another person, a pleasure I can rarely partake in”

You smile back as you swap books. A tentative exchange that leaves you both a little hopeful for the progress of your partnership.

You both read in silence until you yawn twice in a row causing Ezra to yawn too and he suggests you turn in. Or you guess he does, his choice of language seems to baffle you here and there. He wrangles a blanket out from under you and you settle in, top to tail, his feet level with your chest and yours to below his hip. You didn't realise how the adrenaline of the day had worn you out and you're asleep in seconds.

You awake on your front, head nestled into your arm. It's pitch black and there's a weight on your ankle. Trying not to panic you wait for your eyes to adjust and peer over your shoulder to see what's grabbed you. It's Ezra.

Asleep on his back one hand on his stomach where the blankets had been shoved down and his under shirt had risen revealing a strip of tan skin glowing in the low light. You try not to focus on that. His other hand, by his side wrapping nearly all the way around your ankle. You wonder if he grabbed you awake to stop you trying to escape or if unconscious, he simply wanted to keep your warm body close, that idea makes you feel a little soft, this is easily the gentlest he's touched you apart from patching your head. You debate if you should shake him off but you don't want to wake him and his warm hand is anchoring so you just put your head back down on your arms and go back to sleep.

⧫⧫⧫

Ezra had his sleeping pattern nailed down, a necessary thing for a prospector, usually out cold for 7 hours so he's surprised when he startles awake. He doesn't usually dream. He grasps at the threads of images his mind had conjured committing them to memory. It was about you and it was enough to make him flush and now as he rouses himself, he gently detaches his hand from your ankle unsure about when he grabbed it. It's still early, he looks over you asleep on your stomach breathing slowly. He sighs adjusting himself in his pants if he can't get these images of his head, he's going to have an even more difficult time working with you than he already will. Desire is fickle like that he supposes, giving him a beautiful creature, he can't trust. One who is clearly concealing something and who certainly doesn't desire him in return. A beep tells him the suns are rising and you begin to stir

“Arise little bird, a day off struggle and fortune lays in wait.”

You grumble in return shuffling onto your back and sitting. Ezra tries not to stare as the blanket slips away revealing your body. To avoid further thoughts, he leaves his burrow taking his suit, subtly clutching it to his front so as not to alert you to his predicament, and heads for the shower to sort himself out, eternally grateful that the pod had connected to an underground lake making the water supply essentially infinite. Hopefully a brisk wash will clear his head and body of the lust.

You flop back and sigh. That damn blonde tuft and those sharp features were following you even into sleep. It had been far too long since you'd enjoyed another person and if it wasn't for the dilemma you were in, Ezra would be an easy yes. Broad and handsome and charming in a way that just spelled trouble, but your uneasy alliance, and your lies, and the fact that he could easily kill you make you especially wary of being vulnerable in the way you truly crave. Instead, you shake yourself, grab your pack, dig around for that terrible instant caf and leave the cupboard.

Ezra's shower was doing nothing for his erection. Feeling a little exasperated he grasps it harshly and tries not to picture you so vivid in his dream moaning around him. The water raining down on him acts as a lubricant as he harshly begins pumping his hand not wanting to take his time and fall into a fantasy of you. It doesn't work, he imagines how soft your hands would be, how wet you'd be, how he'd take you here up against the tiles. It's quick and dirty. He grunts, swears, then cums, the water washing the sin away leaving him panting and if anything, more frustrated than before.

You hear Ezra swear in the shower and wonder vaguely if he dropped something as you grab two mugs and start heating water for caf. The shower shuts off and you look round as he emerges with a towel wrapped around his waist. His eyes are dark and he looks furious so you turn away and try not to think about how the water droplets on his broad shoulders shimmer as he disappears back into the cupboard.

Seeing you there, making you both caf, dressed in your underclothes sparked a craving of domesticity within Ezra. For the briefest moment you weren't a reluctant partner on a hostile planet, instead you were a lover he could wrap his arms around from behind as you giggle and try to get breakfast and it aches.

When Ezra re-emerges, dressed with his hair sticking in all directions, you've put his caf on the small bench and are sitting waiting for him. He sits too and picks it up.

“There's only a couple months left in the dig” he says, “You up to it? I will be displeased if you slow us down”

You glare, so this is what he's worried about, “Don't worry I've had plenty of practice. If anything, I'd worry about your arm!”

He grins at you “No need to fret little creature, I managed to do my job with a hole in it and with your miraculous medication, it is only a little unyielding.” He carefully looks over your face, “Speaking of, I would appreciate you being candid in not only the precise location you acquired such a potion but why in Kevva you deigned see fit to give it to me?”

He watches you chew on your words, “I relieved them from a man who sought to take from me, and I gave them to you to even my debt. You saved my life if I didn't give you one, I wouldn't have been able to save your arm.”

What a strange little thing, he thinks, so worried about balance, “Did you happen to also relieve this man of his life?” You stare into your cup and don't answer “Well if he sought to take from you, I'll assume it was just.”

You sit in silence as Ezra smoothly changes the subject and grabs a bar for you, spinning quite the tale as you eat. Not stopping for breath as you pull on your suits, boots and helmets, only pointing you towards the equipment you need to grab before opening the door and leading you back into waste.

Ezra hadn't given you back your thrower which you supposed was fair although he had left you your blade which you're sure he remembered you carried. Perhaps a little act of faith to gain your trust? It didn't hurt.

As you approach the site Ezra looks back at you, “Stay close little creature we wouldn't want you to get lost.” His voice is low and threatening and sends a shiver down your spine that isn't entirely fear. You nod slowly and he grins, wolf-like just as before, as if outside you the pod he is an entirely different beast to reckon with.

“I'll get in the pit and do the heavy lifting, you can treat and polish on the surface, we'll go for as long as we've got light and head back. It's gonna be a long day little bird”

The dig comes as a relief, the repetitive labour clears your head and Ezra seems to be filled to the brim with stories and anecdotes, although, you don't think you're actually learning much about him. The way he talks is open yet totally guarded, as if he has the compulsion to speak but the sense not to trust you. You aren't offended, it's not like you're exactly opening up to him either. The day passes quickly like this and as the sun dips too low to see well Ezra hauls himself out of the pit, tells you to pack up and you both head back to the pod to eat and sleep. You wake with his hand around your ankle again.

⧫⧫⧫

A couple of days in, the suns seem to be burning even hotter than before. The dig is gruelling and you’re grateful Ezra so far, hadn’t let you into the pit. You aren’t sure you could bear it in this heat. By the time you finish and return to the pod, taking off your helmet is a relief. You feel hot and sticky and bone tired so you plop yourself down into the cot in the main room still in your suit. Ezra chuckles, “You must be out of practice, else you'd still find these long days easy.”

Ah, so he is bringing it up. You raise your head to look at him, “I still kept up with you, didn't I?”

“True, true, although I am not functioning at full capacity at the present time.” He gestures to his arm.

You flop back and gaze at the ceiling, “Or I just survived a crash from space a few days ago and I'm still a bit worn out.”

That makes him laugh. It's a big warm noise, that makes you giggle too at the absurdity of it all.

“Are you confident you wish to slumber there?”

“Why? You afraid I'm going to make another break for it?”

His grin is just a little softer now, “A little. But if I were you, I'd be more concerned about the neighbours might pop by.”

“Shit, alright” you sit up and instantly yawn.

“Let's get some food in you and turn in, little bird. If I'm not careful I'll have to carry you into my burrow.”

Smiling back, you mock him a little, “With your arm? I'm not sure you'd be capable.”

At that he grins and you realise you've given him a challenge he won't back down from. Stalking up to you like a cat he seizes you under the arms and hauls you against his chest making you huff and giggle as you try to wriggle free. He carries you across the pod like you weigh nothing and plonks you down on the little work bench. Hovering too close for just a moment too long, his breath ghosting your cheek.

“Now how about you keep your smart comments to yourself, lest I have to keep proving you wrong?” he smiles at you, letting you see the crow’s feet by his eyes.

“I'll admit defeat this time I suppose, but you really should go easy on that arm!”

Ezra turns away from you, his heart pounding a little and reluctant to leave your embrace. Instead, he ignores the feeling urging him to clasp you close and grabs your food. As you slide off the bench and into a seat, he hands you a bowl. Neither of you attempt to meet the other's eye and both of you fail to see the flushed face of your companion.

Once again sleep comes easy, the hard work making your body crave rest to heal but even so in the dark you wake. There's no rush of panic this time instead you feel warm and sleepy as you glance at Ezra at the other end of the cupboard. He's not grasping your ankle instead his side is pressed against yours, leg to leg. It's cosy and in your half-awake state you don't think about how you had gone to sleep separated, and who had sought out whom in the black.

The next day goes much the same, you bicker before you head out deciding who should be in the pit and who shouldn't. Ezra concedes that he'll do the treating of the gems today if you keep alternating so neither of you gets too worn out. You agree though you point out yet again that he needs to go easy on his arm and he points out your bruises and gash on the head as hypocrisy. It's an argument with no malice and it feels refreshing to have a go at someone without worrying they'll get angry and shoot you. Although perhaps you should be more concerned by how at ease you are. If he was to see the scar on your arm, you doubt he'd be so understanding.

As the day ends Ezra offers you his hand to pull you out of the pit, his touch lingering in yours for just a second too long.

⧫⧫⧫

Working like this you form a sort of routine. Up early, dig till you can't see, talk, eat, sleep, press together in the night. Ezra is starting to reveal little details about himself, where he was born, how he got into prospecting, his favourite books. In a way it makes you feel guilty for staying guarded, only relinquishing the barest details about yourself, but if he notices he doesn't point it out.

A month passes like this and as you watch Ezra hop into the pit you wonder vaguely if he'll ever run out of things to talk about. He describes an incident where an amateur prospector managed to get his arm stuck in the pit resulting in its brutal amputation but your attention fails as you wait for the next potential gem and you look into the trees behind you.

An uneasy feeling claws at you so trusting your gut you tell Ezra to shut up and get down out of sight just as someone emerges. No one you recognise, thank Kevva, and not a settler either. They are carrying a rifle though. Bowing your head to your work so they can't see your mouth move, you quickly describe what's happening.

“I can only see one, he's armed. A prospector. You stay quiet unless I shout.”

“Right then birdie. I await your call.”

You look up at the man staying on your knees and gesture your radio setting.

“What's someone like you doing out here all alone?” You repress a shudder at his tone.

“Same as you, I expect, making my way in the universe.” He comes closer and you fight the urge to back away but you don't want to draw attention to Ezra. “I don't have much to offer you and I don't take kindly to thieves.”

“Big talk from someone unarmed.” Wishing Ezra had given back your thrower, you stand and decide an attempt to bargain will be the best option.

“What do you want then, we can trade.”

“I'm not looking to trade anymore, I'm stuck here. My team's dead.” He levels his gun at you. “If you take me to your ship, I'll let you live for a price. Protest too much and I'll shoot and have my way while you bleed out.”

You gulp and stand starting to back away. Even with the element of surprise Ezra will have to act quick and be lucky if you both want to live. Why would he though, he doesn't have much motivation to risk his life for yours, he'll just have to hitch another ride. The man keeps moving towards you as you reach the edge of the pit, eyes not leaving your face and presses the gun to your chest. You glance down for a moment, hoping he doesn't look too, and see wide brown eyes and a miniscule nod.

At the same moment Ezra reaches up, you drop back into the pit and land heavily on your back, winded. He slices across your assailants achilles tendon and grabs onto his leg pulling him in after you. Frozen in place, you watch the tussle, for the first time properly witnessing how formidable of a foe Ezra can be. His size and strength easily overpower the other man as he rolls on top, throwing down heavy blows that fill the air with the soft thuds of impact, like a heartbeat. A yell is cut off with a gurgle as Ezra shoves his blade into the man’s neck repeatedly, using his weight to hold the man down until he stills.

There's a moment before he turns, he lowers his head trying hard to calm his harsh breathing and sighs. “I do apologise little bird,” he turns to you scowl in place, eyes dark. “For my brutality, I'd rather you didn't have to bear witness.”

His voice is low and he's watching you carefully as you sit up. You feel lost for words at how far he'd gone to defend you, you wonder how close he got to becoming the man dead in front of you. Alone and cruel. All you can do is nod in response.

Ezra curses himself at how quiet you've become. Moving the body out of the pit had taken time and once done, as he watched you place a coin in his mouth, he'd announced that to continue the dig today would be futile with adrenaline running so high and at your nod you had gathered the equipment and headed back to the pod. He watches you carefully as you pull off your suit and decides that the fact you didn't just sprint for the trees after what he did was a good sign. But you continue to surprise him.

“Thank you,” you say softly, “For not letting him…”

“Nonsense, without the pleasure of your company I don't doubt my humanity would soon become as weathered as his own.” He frowns, “It was rather like being visited by the ghost of Christmas yet to come.” You tilt your head not really sure what that means but he shrugs. “Don't fret about it.”

Then there's silence as you watch each other. Lost in thought as you make your meal and eat.

Ezra ponders on the panic he felt deep in his chest at the waver in your voice. He wonders when saving you switched from utilitarian need to something more. He knows how stupid it is to get attached, how reckless. But your bright eyes and determination to stay alive were admirable and captivating and he craves to know more, what makes you laugh, how well you'd take him. He sighs and attempts to brush the lust aside. Even if you weren't terrified of him, he just knew you were concealing something.

The silence stretches out, both unwilling to break it, as you head into the burrow. For the first time, you sleep next to each other.

⧫⧫⧫

Ezra is wrapped around you when you wake, safe and warm and comforting. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, its steady rhythm relaxing you before your brain starts whirring. Then you feel guilty, like you're taking advantage of him. He doesn't realise how much you enjoy him holding you close and you certainly don't deserve it. The weight of your lies heavy on your shoulders you ease out of his arms, careful not to wake him, and leave the sanctuary of the burrow.

A wonderful dream slips away from him as he stirs. His little bird's weight in his arms, grounding him, giving him something to protect. Looking round for you and finding you gone, he swears and stumbles to his feet. Kevva, he hoped you hadn't left him alone.

He almost sighs with relief when he leaves his burrow just to spot you sitting by the window watching the suns rise, notebook in hand and mug beside you. You look up, a little wary of his wide eyes but shrug. “I couldn't sleep.”

“Me neither little creature, my dreams are haunted.” He picks up your mug and takes a sip, with a grimace he says “Can you truly enjoy something so acrimonious?”

You chuckle, “Habit I guess.”

“Well, it's certainly rousing” he smiles at you “What are you scribbling there?”

“I had a look round the ship, it's all the repairs I need to do.” You hesitate, “If we swing by the other crashed ship for a couple parts, we can be gone in two days.”

Ezra's eyes darken just a little, his voice low, “You wouldn't be trying to wiggle out of our agreement now? The dig isn't done and I demand satisfaction.”

He watches your mouth twist, “It's just I think our luck's run, the longer we stay the more trouble we're going to get like yesterday.”

“That cannot be helped, little creature. I'd like to live well for a while, and so, the dig must be completed.” You think to that other ship, there's immeasurable wealth on it but you can't tell him. Then he'd know what you were. So instead, you nod and start preparing for the day.

The change in your attitude has Ezra feeling nervous. He realises if he doesn't show a little faith, you won't feel safe and he'll lose you, and possibly himself. Just before opening the door to the waste, he turns to you, “Here.”

He's holding your pistol out to you, frowning slightly, you peer up at him “What?”

“If something like yesterday happens again I'd rather you be able to look after yourself,” you nod and reach for it but he keeps it in his grip for a moment, “Don't get any ideas” his voice is low and dangerous eyes hard on you. You swallow and nod shoving it into your holster.

To your relief the dig is quiet and Ezra has returned to chatting away to you from his perch outside the pit and eventually you're able to chat back making him laugh as the day passes.

There's a change between you, him trusting you to be armed has given you a chance to breathe, but, with that a new tension has come between you. One you're trying very hard to ignore. It’s crawled into your head and planted thoughts of closeness, of more, that you can ignore during the day but not at night.

After that day you'd formed a new routine. Going to sleep next to Ezra and waking up feeling secure in his arms before the guilt hits and you leave before he wakes. Not letting him know the comfort you've found there.

⧫⧫⧫

Apart from the locals coming to bang on your walls every few days, weeks pass incident free as you both perform this dance around each other. Ezra finds that his cold showers are doing less and less to quell his lust, and heart is another matter entirely. So, he ignores it, treats you a little coolly, tries not to scare you off, it's getting more difficult now nearly every night he dreams of you. Sometimes it's lewd, sometimes you're chatting together, the worst are when he dreams he's just holding you. He might think it was real if not for how when he wakes up you aren't there.

Until the morning he wakes first.

He's groggy, breathing deeply and so, so comfortable. It takes a moment to get his bearings. Shifting slightly, he realises how he's curled around you, hand on the strip of skin of your stomach where your shirt has rolled up, face pressing into the back of your neck and he has to fight the urge to kiss it. When you moan quietly, he props himself up on his arm looking down at you in the low light. For a moment he thinks you're having a nightmare but you flushed, breathing shallowly and he's certain you aren't. When you whimper, he shudders, such a pretty noise. He feels tempted to stay pressed against you, to touch you, to make you make more of those noises. He fights it off, and eases away from you stepping out of the warmth of his burrow.

He thinks, perhaps later he can talk to you, there's nothing wrong with getting some pleasure and easing some stress in each other’s arms. There isn't long left of the dig and then you'll go your separate ways, the thought stings a little. He leans back against the door. Kevva, he craves more, he wants to learn every inch of you intimately, to learn what makes you tick, to wake up with you in his arms. It aches deep in his chest, so many years spent in poor company. He hears you moan once more and groans himself, pushing off the door he trudges to the shower.

For the first time in ages, he runs it hot before stepping in and grasping his cock. He lets himself take his time, starting slow, increasing the pace till he feels like he could explode then slowing right back down again. He doesn't fight off the images of you that spring into his head now he knows what you can sound like. He imagines you making them with his tongue on you, fingers buried in you as he presses you down, how you'd whine his name, how you'd beg. Ezra grunts, staving off his orgasm once more his cock red and throbbing with his heartbeat. He pictures sinking into you, hot and wet with you pliable in his arms as he fucks you into the ground. He cums hard with a growl and a curse and then curses himself both for being loud and for allowing himself to yearn for you, then finally he begins to wash.

⧫⧫⧫

You wake with a start, panting. Your dream is vivid in your mind. Ezra grasping your hands so you couldn't move as he fucked you with his tongue moaning against you. He'd talked too, both eloquent and totally filthy as he got you exactly where he wanted you. You huff, now you were left frustrated and still pining for a man who must just see you as a utility, a way to get off this planet. Hell, he barely even knew anything about you, didn't know the most important thing. But you know you can't stay in this limbo for long now, the digs nearly done and after then what can you do. There are two options, tell him who you are and how you feel and hope for the best or just ignore it, get off the planet, take your money, and go live the quiet life you'd intended. You focus on this debate and instead of the wetness between your legs as you leave the cupboard.

You look around for Ezra and exhale as you hear the shower running, there's no way for him to know what you were dreaming of, right?

That's when you hear him, it's a low, erotic groan followed by a string of swear words and you flush as you became achingly aware of how wound tight you are. You turn away and try to ignore it, heating up water for both of your cafs as the shower stops.

As it brews the steel door swings open and Ezra emerges wrapped in a towel and glowering, you ignore his stare and the way droplets of water slide down his chest making you want to lick him as you hand him a mug.

Ezra watches you gnaw on your lip as you look him over and can't hold in the grin at how frustrated you seem. He can't help but tease.

“Did you have pleasant dreams little bird? You seemed unwilling to rise this delightful morning.”

His grin widens with your eyes as you look away “Err I don't remember… did you sleep ok?”

“Like I was in the welcoming arms of a lover” He doesn't miss your little inhale of breath, and he wonders how best to broach the topic of mutual pleasure with you. Perhaps it'll quell the urge to keep you safe in his arms.

The way Ezra is teasing you makes you think perhaps he can read your mind. As he goes to dress you make a decision, after the dig you'll explain how you really got here, explain how you don't want to leave him after the dig is done. And hopefully he'll be worn out enough that, should he decide you're too much of a liability, you can out run him.

As you head out an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, you tell Ezra as much but he just chuckles, “Perhaps you're still tired”

The morning goes smoothly, you're in the pit this time handing stuff out every so often to Ezra, his fingers brushing yours. Both of you work quickly, you puff, out of breath, as you stretch yourself up for yet another hand off. His ability to talk is once again surprising you. You laugh at his story despite the unease and the beat of the sun in your back and miss the delighted expression that crosses Ezra's face from your position in the pit.

Like a light switching, the energy shifts. You know there's trouble before Ezra mumbles through the comm “Little bird, stay down. Company approaches.”

Your blood runs cold when a voice responds, already on your frequency, a voice you know. “Greetings friend, we think you can help us out.”

Ezra eyes the pair in front of him, knowing you’d been made was adding a layer of worry to a tense situation, “I'll help if I can but, you're encroaching on my little territory you know how it is. I will be obliged to defend it”

You hear the pair step closer “Actually we're looking for someone,” your eyes slip closed as you stay stock-still, “See they greatly are responsible for our predicament. However,” the voice is clear like they already know you're here, crap, how long did they listen in? “If they were to help us find something we've lost. I can assure their punishment is… swift.”

You swallow as they step to the edge of the pit, Damon glares down at you “Hello darling, long time no see”

Ezra looks shockingly calm, still smiling as you glance at him, “Now then, that is not a polite way to address my partner.”

The other man scoffs, second in command Barlow, “Your partner? Back to your old ways I see.” He looks Ezra up and down. “You’re their type”

You think perhaps you see Ezra's jaw clench before he's grinning “It hardly seems fair for you to make off with my partner, does it? No, not without compensation which unless my ears deceive me, you can't give me without them.”

Before you can blink guns are drawn and you feel like a fish in a barrel, stuck in the pit without Ezra to pull you out.

“You don't know who we are, do you? I suppose in the suits you can't tell but I'd have thought with your… intimate relationship to our engineer you might have figured it out.”

Ezra’s gun doesn't waver for a second but his mind reels. The bandage on your arm, it couldn't be. Surely, he hadn't been so blinded by your company not to notice that. His eyes darken and he thinks, for a moment this man, Damon, realises he's going to die the split second before Ezra shoots.

Barlow’s slower, surprised at him for making the first move but despite his fumble this was a real stand-off. He meets Ezra's glare and they're frozen in time for a moment. Just as he watches the man start to squeeze the trigger and prepare to shoot, he flops sideways. Ezra swings his thrower round you see you, gun in one hand, body turned to the side, still poised from the shot neither of them had seen coming.

Ezra looks as surprised as you feel, even taking aim you hadn't been sure you should save him. But, in the second the men had forgotten about you, you'd let instinct take over and your instinct had chosen Ezra. You hoped it was correct.

Perhaps not. You watch as Ezra’s face darkens, his teeth bared as he levels his pistol at you. “Little bird” his voice makes you shiver despite the heat, “Be so kind as you toss your shooter up here. I think we will be having words.”

You can only nod, what can you do? He says he wants to talk so you'll talk, out of the pit. Where you can stand your ground. You swallow and throw your gun up to him. He gives you a curt nod picking it up and turning away. For a terrifying moment you think he's going to leave you here to die slowly but before you can beg him not to, he returns and tosses a pack down.

“Pack up your gear. We're leaving.” His tone leaves no room for argument so you pack away his equipment as quickly as you can and put it on as you wait and listen to him packing his own, wondering if the shots will draw more trouble.

After all the time spent getting used to his talking, his silence is terrifying. It allows you to think, to panic, to imagine the worst thing he can do. Probably leave you on this planet to rot or be torn to pieces by the locals. You squeeze your eyes shut at the thought.

“Come on now, your elevator awaits” You open them to see he's offering his hand down for you to grab. You do your best to ignore the pistol in the other as you grab a hold and scramble out of the hole you had been sure was going to become your grave. Ezra doesn't loosen his grip on your arm as he hauls you to your feet and strides away from the dig forcing you to trot behind him to keep up.

You stare up at him as he pulls you along trying to read his thoughts. He doesn't look at you scowling straight ahead, his grip vice like and bruising. You don't try to shake him off, you’re sure he's worked out who you are. Your former co-workers hadn't been subtle but you can't gage whether or not this is a walk to the noose.

⧫⧫⧫

Tugging you into the pod he releases your arm and turning to seal the door he finally speaks. “Take off your helmet” His tone sends goosebumps over prickling over your skin so you pull it off and go to set it down on the table. When you turn back, he's right in front of you glaring down eyes dark. It makes you feel tiny. “Show me your arm.”

His words are too concise, so abrupt you hesitate. It's like he's a different person, an enemy you aren't sure you should comply to. Ezra decides you're taking too long and seizes the top of your arms spinning you both around and pinning you against the pod's wall, knee hitched up between your legs keeping you in place. You squirm in a futile attempt to get away and gasp as he unzips the front of your suit and shoves it down to your waist. Ezra breathes heavily as he rakes his eyes up to your body to your face. Doing his best to swallow down his desire, he ignores your own heaving chest and grabs the back of your neck forcing you to look up at him.

“Little bird, take off that measly scrap of fabric and reveal the truth.” You gulp eyes wide fingering the knot of the bandage on your arm. Ezra gives you a little shake. “Do it now.”

So, you do, pulling apart the knot and unwinding it from your arm. You don't look at it, perhaps if you don't see it, it's not really there. Instead, you watch Ezra's face for his reaction, gleaning nothing as he releases your shoulder and grabs your wrist bringing it up for him to see clearly. His brow furrows as he inspects your forearm, a brand of three circles linked like a chain. Kevva, he'd hoped he'd been mistaken. You're frozen as his gaze returns to you, dark eyes furious he crowds around you, filling your senses, body pressing you against the wall. His leg shifts slightly between yours and you almost whimper.

“You've been dishonest, little bird, and I do not appreciate it.” Ezra feels at war, he's furious you lied but he understands why. He's fuming you had been running with a violent, malevolent group of pirates. He doesn't understand why you'd ran after the crash or why you'd turned to him. He wants to know what you have that your crew found so valuable. He wants to know how you're both so hard and so soft. All these thoughts rattle around in his head as he stares at you, your mouth slightly open and your lips wet, until he can only think about how good you feel pressed against him, how delicate you feel under the hand on your neck. How much, despite everything, he wants you. He doesn't notice how close he's gotten to you until he feels the puff of your breath on his face. And then you utterly surprise him.

You can almost hear him think as he stares down at you. You don't want to interrupt but his hold on you is drawing attention to his size, to how much strength and power he holds. It's like he's swirling all around you clouding your brain, filling it with him. So, you let yourself do what you want. You've got nothing to lose. Everything that's yours is in his hands and you can't bring yourself to care. He's leaning closer, bending so with his hand on your neck tilting your head up it's like you’re sharing breath. You close the gap and kiss him.

For a second, he freezes in surprise and then he's kissing you back. Harshly biting your lower lip before shoving his tongue into your mouth. It's desperate and rough and you lick into his mouth in response loving the low moan coming from deep in his chest. He releases your wrist and grasps your hip closing any distance left between you. He grinds into you, the leg between your thighs causing a delicious friction as you whimper into his mouth. He breaks the kiss and stares down at you for a second moving his hands to the bottom of your vest. At your nod he tugs it off and pounces back on you. He rubs his hands up your sides as he kisses you, loving the feeling of how big they are on your frame and how you gasp as he pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You wriggle against him trying to unfasten his suit and shove it down his arms. He obliges, stepping back he pushing it off and kicks it away leaving him in his underclothes, staring at you, pupils blown wide with lust as he takes you in. Then he's back on you, seizing your jaw and tilting your head up to look at him as his other hand tugs down the remainder of your suit taking your leggings with it.

Eyes look up and down your form, drinking it in as he reaches down to rub a finger over the wetness soaking your underwear. Your mouth drops open and Ezra seizes the opportunity to shove his thumb in your mouth, his grip adjusting to your chin. Smiling as you suck on it.

“Look at you” he coos dragging his nose into your cheek almost mockingly “On display for me, you look good enough to eat.” He punctuates this by biting your neck and pulling your thin underwear taut against your clit just enough you cry out and stand on tiptoe. He grins down at you as you bite down gently on his thumb and then pulls off your underwear letting you kick it aside before stroking his fingers across your slit so gently it makes you buck towards his hand. He moves his hand back to your hip, pinning you back to the wall as he pulls his thumb from your mouth and wraps his hand around your throat, not squeezing just resting there.

“I want you to stay still,” his voice is low and commanding so you nod. “Repeat it back to me, I want to hear you.”

You whimper, “I'll stay still” and he grins before bending to kiss and nip along your jaw above his hand as his other moves back down to your cunt. He circles your clit so gently it's like he isn't really touching you and just as he slightly increases the pressure he draws back. A needy whine falls from your throat but you stay still and he murmurs against your cheek.

“Good little bird, so wet for me. You're positively dripping,” and then just as slowly he eases a finger into. You cry out, so wound tight it's agonising, the contrast between how harshly he gripped you before against his irreverent touches now making you ache for him more than ever. “Sing for me little bird” he demands and then he's really moving, pressing his finger against that spot inside you that makes you see stars, thumb drawing circles over your clit making you moan so loudly it surprises you.

Ezra watches the flush spread over your skin as your eyes roll back, he doesn't know how he wants you first. Just as you’re getting close, he realises. He wants you begging.

He forces himself to pull his hand away from you and watches as you shudder with tension eyes opening to look up at him. “Ezra…” your voice is so soft he grins.

You watch him as he raises his hand to his face to lick your juice off it, sucking his finger with a pop. It's so erotic you can only whimper as he smirks down at you. You want to touch yourself, make yourself cum while he watches, but as you lower your hand down he grabs your wrist and moves it back to his shoulder. “Don't misbehave birdie, right now all your pleasure is mine.” You bite your lip.

Then he returns his hand to your pussy, this time shoving two fingers in pumping them as he rubs his thumb against your clit more firmly than before. Your body quivers but his hand against your neck keeps you in place as you moan desperately. As soon as you get close again, he slows down to a stop this time keeping you stuffed with his fingers as you try to get some friction. “Please Ezra,” the tone of your voice shocks you, you've never sounded so needy.

He moves his face away from biting your ear lobe to look at you, “Please Ezra what, little bird? You've got to be clear”

You can't stop the words tumbling out of you, “Please can I cum, please make me cum Ezra”

He smiles almost cruelly, “You sound so exquisite when you beg.” He starts working his thumb again, brushing his lips against yours. The hand on your neck finally starts to squeeze, turning you on more. “Do it again.”

You do, no power could stop you begging for him, saying his name like a prayer. And then you're cumming, your vision goes white as Ezra squeezes your throat firmly, cutting the blood from your brain dragging it out as he shoves a third finger into your wet pussy.

Ezra swears he's never witnessed anything so magnificent. Your eyes rolling back into your head, mouth open and lips wet, unable to make a sound. How you soak his hand, how you tighten around his fingers. Now all he wants is to find out how many times, how many ways, he can break you apart.

When you begin to squirm, he reluctantly pulls away, you look up only to find he's pulling off his shirt and trousers. Your eyes widen as his cock springs free. You'd known he carried himself like he had nothing to be insecure about but Kevva… he's packing. It's huge and beautiful, slightly curved, a striking vein runner down it. You feel a little more breathless at the sight.

Ezra catches you staring and grins, pressing back against you, grabbing your arse and lifting you against him. You wrap your legs around him as he pins you up against the wall. His cock feels even bigger pressed against your stomach. Ezra grinds against you sucking marks down your neck as he notches himself at your entrance. You whine and claw his shoulders, he's barely into you and you're sure you've never felt so full. “Ezra” your voice is thready “Ezra I don't think you're going to fit.”

He coos in response thrusting shallowly getting slightly further in and making a cry out as you feel yourself drip around his cock. “Don't fret little bird,” he thrusts again getting deeper, kissing you, relishing the feeling of your heat around him, “I know you can take me.”

He thrusts decisively, bottoming out and pushing the air from your lungs. It feels like he's breaking you open, splitting you in two with his cock and you love it. Love the ache as you adjust, love how you can almost feel him in your stomach, love how he has you pinned to the wall supported by those strong hands and his body and totally at his mercy.

You can barely register he's talking as he grinds his hips against your clit. “... squeezing so tight around me. Never in all my time have I gotten so close to Nirvana.”

He waits until you've started to writhe in his arms, just add he'd imagined, begging for him to move. Then he starts long deep thrusts, interspersed by him grinding against your clit making you whimper and moan as you feel his cock drag across your walls.

“Kevva plucked you out of my head and sent you here for me. You're divine, exquisite…” you can't focus on the words, in no time at all you're cumming again. Squeezing him so tight he chokes on his words and kisses you deeply. He doesn't slow down or speed up, keeping his devastating pace until your body starts to relax. Then he nips at your jaw, hooking his arms under your knees and around your back, spreading his palms wide. He steps away from the wall and, slightly afraid he'll drop you, you grab the back of his neck, but you needn't worry.

Now with you impaled on his cock suspended in the air by his arms, he truly begins to ruin you. Lifting you up and slamming you back he watches your cunt take him, watches how your breasts bounce, watches you throw your head back in a silent scream. He bites into your neck leaving a mark as he sets a brutal pace. Seeing you like this, feeling you like this, has stolen his vocabulary so he curses and growls as he watches, totally enraptured by how well you take him. He thinks maybe he tells you but he can't be sure.

Ezra’s still talking his sentences shorter but still as dirty, the way he praises you makes you moan and combined with his he is destroying you; you don't think you'll ever experience something this good again and then you don't think anything much at all. Just Ezra, his strength, his beautiful words, how perfectly he's fucking you.

Ezra knows he can't last much longer, not in this heaven but he's determined to make you cum again before he does just to feel it. So, he moves you slightly in his arms until he hits that bit which takes your cries even higher. He grins as you dig your nails into his shoulders, the slight pain both grounding him and making him lose his mind.

You feel so overwhelmed and overstimulated that when he adjusts his thrusting you can't help the few tears escaping as you wail. He just pulls you slightly closer and licks them up before staring down and watching how your pussy stretches to take him. You’re so close again you're sure you might explode if you don't cum, or if you do. And then you do, you can't even make a sound as your whole body goes rigid and Ezra doesn't stop pounding you. Instead, you hear him growl and curse and his thrusts get faster and shorter.

Ezra had never experienced anything hotter. The way you threw your head back and took it as he fucked you like a ragdoll. The feeling of you clenching around him. How you soaked him, the sound of your fucking would stay with him forever. And then he's cumming, he bites down on your shoulder groaning into your skin as he releases. His mind is wonderfully blank as he squeezes you against himself and fills you up with a dozen shallow thrusts.

He doesn't release you right away, just holds you to his chest as he turns to lean against the wall cock still in you. Blissful in the moments before his thoughts start buzzing again. When you can move you look up at Ezra, he meets your eyes, gaze totally unreadable. He reluctantly releases you with a groan and grabs his shirt as he kneels and begins to clean off your combined juices dripping down your legs. Seeing him on his knees taking care of you threatens to give you hope which you tamped down. He didn't know the truth yet and he had readily thrown you out once before. When he's done, he stands and tosses the shirt to the side, tugs on his soft under trousers as you pull on your own clothes. The silence feels like a giant pit between you and you glare at your feet unsure how to start this important conversation.

To your surprise Ezra gently pinches your chin and tilts your head up to look at him. “We've still got much to discuss, little bird.” At your nod he pulls your hand into his ignoring how small and delicate it feels and gently tugs you towards the burrow. He has to know the truth.

⧫⧫⧫

You sit next to each other, his back against the wall, you sitting forward nervously running your fingers over the brand on your arm. Ezra just watches you, waits for you to explain and hopes you aren't a threat he'll have to get rid of after you've shared such intimacy.

“I don't… I won't come off like a very good person or partner when I tell you this. So just listen… please?”

Ezra nods, “None of us can be considered a good person, our humanity is dependent on our survival” he sighs, “Spin your tale, I'll remain in silence until it's done and keep my judgement of our partnership till it's completion”

You swallow, “I fixed a ship, that's how this whole mess started. We were leaving a dig and something had gone wrong which would have forced us to land. But I suited up and fixed it in zero G. It was completely stupid and shouldn't have worked but it did and we made it back to the dock. It wasn't till we'd sold off all our gems and separated that I was cornered. Turns out the malfunction wasn't an accident and by fixing it I'd cost them a lot of money in what they would have stolen from us. They reckoned I owed them and… they aren't people you want to owe”

You close your eyes and Ezra watches you tense. He'd like nothing more than to pull you into his arms but as he reaches for you, he clenches his fist. He needs to hear you out.

“They went through the rest of my team to get to me…” oh, Ezra understands they'd totally isolated you. “Well, they worked out since I could fix their brakes, I could mess up the ships in ways that couldn't be fixed without an emergency landing. They branded me there and then. Didn't even tell me how long I'd have to work to balance what I owed; probably thought I'd be dead by then.” You look down at your arm and frown.

When you look back at Ezra, his eyes are sharp, watching you intensely. “That scars old, little bird, how long did you dutifully aid their robberies.” Robberies of prospectors, people like him, people who'd been like you.

You look away, jaw clenched, “Long enough for it to get easy.”

Ezra doesn't move behind you, doesn't speak. You can't look at him.

“And then I couldn't anymore, I saw what I'd become and I hated it.” Your nails dig into your arm. “No one's good out in the fringe. But I was worse. I can't make up for what I did… can't take it back, can't return lives, possessions any of that. But I could stop, bring my crew down too. We used a distress beacon to lure in the other ships and…” you laugh “This time as I boarded after dealing with the other ship. I dunno, I just snapped and blew our engine too.”

Your mouth twists at the memory, “The pilot saw and I… when I was done, I just thought one down. I didn't want to die myself, that’s the easy way out, so I did my best to pull the chutes, hoping I'd play dead and hitch a ride out. Well, you know the rest.”

You stare straight ahead as a tense silence follows not daring to see Ezra glare at you. You don't see his soft eyes looking you up and down, his mind reeling. Had he known this when you’d first met, he would have shot you without question and left you to rot, your presence nothing more than a risk to his survival. But now, you’d saved him, talked with him, he’d gotten to know you. How you drink your caf black saying you’re “sweet enough”, how you look in the morning, how you laugh, how you moan. He knows he can’t kill you now, but you are a threat. He doesn’t know what to do. “Why are they searching for you? What do you have that they want? Your friend mentioned something.”

You laugh humorlessly, “They don't know where the other ship crashed, I was in the pilot’s seat, so no one else could see it go down. Fat lot of good it'll do them wrecked here.”

There's a bang on the side of the pod, “Shite” Ezra mumbles, “Our quixotic friends have returned.”

⧫⧫⧫

The wait for them to leave seems to take hours, the silence making your heart pound and your thoughts race over what you can do now. Ezra will definitely want you gone, only a mad man would keep you around with your history. Perhaps back to the original plan, see if you can mend the other ships escape pod and get the hell off this planet.

By the time the locals have decided your pod is empty, your plan is set. You stand, not looking back at Ezra. “I'll get scarce, I know I'm a problem waiting to happen.”

You grab your bag feeling in the pocket for your ring, a memory of a home you can't return to, old gods you're no longer sure are there. You look down at it as you step out of the burrow not noticing Ezra follow. You shove it into your suit pocket.

He is stumped for words as he watches you grab your possessions that have become scattered around the pod. He sees how your lives have become enmeshed. Scraps from your notebook scattered around where you'd played hangman or left notes and reminders for each other, items of clothing he watches you fail to pack, that damn terrible caf on the workbench.

He's not sure that he'll ever get all the pieces of you out of the pod, out of himself. You're under his skin, the very smell of you making his heart beat with more determination. As you reach for your helmet, he grabs your hand and finally you look up at him.

“Don't leave, I don't want you to leave.”

It's so simple but it means so much more and he thinks you maybe realise as you look up at him tears in your eyes. “I don't want to go.”

And then he kisses you. It's slower than before but no less fierce sparking a deep need in your chest. Gently now, he pulls off your suit as if he's still persuading you to stay before running his hands up your arms and down your back and sides like he's memorising your shape. When he kisses you again it's hungry, intense, he's trying to put words he's afraid to speak into it and it totally wiped your mind as you let him pull you back into his burrow.

Then he's peeling all your clothes off you. His touch is irreverent like he's unwrapping a precious artifact. He tugs you to lie down and settles between your legs pulling off his own shirt. He balances his weight on his arm above your head to nip at your lips, you reach up to run your hands up his chest, feeling him shudder as you gently rake your nails over the skin.

His other hand is squeezing your breast and pinching your nipple before seizing your hip and pulling you flush against him. The friction of his trousers against you, combined with how he's surrounding you, invading all your senses, is overwhelming.

“You are something else entirely,” he's kissing his way down your body, sucking purple bruises as he goes, seeming determined to mark every inch of you. “I could travel the whole breadth of this hostile galaxy and never find a sight as breath-taking as you laid out before me, a divine meal worthy of gods”

His words turn you on more as his ministrations make their way down to your legs. He bites your inner thigh almost too hard, making you squeal and jerk away but he grabs your hips and pulls you back, laving his tongue over the slight indent left by his teeth. You don't know how he's done it, not hours ago he railed you into oblivion and somehow, he has wound you tight all over again. It's like he's playing an instrument, plucking your strings both hard and soft so you melt.

His eyes meet yours, dark and hungry and he holds your gaze as he licks up your slit, his tongue wide as flat. You moan softly as he smiles, “Straight from the source your essence is even more delectable.” He stares at your pussy, seemingly fascinated by how it's fluttering around nothing, totally rapt by a droplet of your arousal sliding its way down.

You whimper at him, and try to buck your hips in his grip, desperate for him to do anything other than stare. He chuckles at you, “So willing to give yourself to me,” then he spits on your cunt. You gasp, half from shock and half from how much it turned you on. He grins as you tense and dives in.

Ezra eats you out like water from a well after crossing a desert. It feels as if he's writing the words, you’re stopping him saying all over your clit as you cry his name. His eyes closed he reaches up and seizes your hands, pulling you closer and settling his elbows over your hips keeping you still and at his mercy as he moans against you. Your eyes close as you feel sparks travel up and down your spine as he shoves his tongue into you making you whine but then he pulls away. Rubbing his cheek on your thigh, his beard tickling you.

“I want you to look at me little bird.” You can't help but obey his command instantly opening your eyes to see his pupils blown wide as he smirks. “You'd do just about anything for me to let you cum, wouldn't you? Don't worry your pretty head. I want you to cum in my mouth.”

Then he's back on you, sucking your clit between his teeth, you gasp his name trying to squirm away. his eyes piercing you, his mouth on you, his hands covering yours, his arms holding you down. It fills your head with him totally overpowering you and then you cum.

You go totally rigid, you're still looking at Ezra but your vision has gone so white you can't see him, just feel him moan against your cunt as you soak his tongue. Even as you start attempting to twist away, he continues, switching between sucking and licking at you as his strong arms pin you down. You cry out at the overstimulation, shuddering from it, tears leaking from your eyes and in no time at all you're thrown over the edge again. Cumming so hard your mind is totally wiped of anything but Ezra.

This time he grants you a reprieve, sitting up he watches your chest heave as you slowly come back into your body. He's lost for words, seeing you like this is better than anything he'd ever imagined and he still wants more, wants to ring every drop of pleasure out of you. And when you smile up at him, totally blissed out and willing, he's sure he'd do almost anything to keep you.

He doesn't put it into words though. Instead, he crawls over you seizing your jaw “Open that pretty mouth little bird,” something about how you so readily obey him twists in his chest and makes his cock twitch. He ignores it and bends close spitting into your mouth. You can taste yourself in it and it sparks your desire all over again.

He can't hold in a groan as you swallow, still smiling, his head seems too empty so he kisses you. It's fiery, filled with lust as you kiss him back and wrap your legs around him reaching down to pull off his trousers, he pulls back to kick them away as his cock springs free, it's hot and red as you wrap you hand around it, not even able to meet finger and thumb and squeeze slightly making him growl and bite along your jawline. “Tell me little bird, what would you will me to do?”

You meet his gaze, “Fuck me.” he groans into your neck, “Please.”

He watches your face as he positions himself at you entrance, “Kevva,” it's like he's not really talking to you, “I've never borne witness to anything so magnificent as your perfect cunt soaking me,” he slowly pushes his way in. It makes you whimper and him growl and you watch the tension in his neck as he restrains himself from ruining you, “Fuck you're tight.” His language is getting simpler as he starts losing control. His soft eyes beg you to let him move as his jaw clenches and you can't help but give in.

“Please Ezra, move! fuck me”

The noise he makes is inhuman as he starts drilling into you. He shoves one of your knees up over his shoulder, deepening his thrusts making you cry out as he shreds against your walls. All he can think is how hot you are, how wet, how tight, how perfectly you take him. He's shoving up against your g shot with every thrust, coarse hairs grinding on your clit, you feel totally at his mercy to do nothing but take it and it may be the best sex you've ever experienced, ever will experience.

He looks beautiful, your juices still glistening on his face, brow furrowed and eyes half lidded but so piercing you might think he was furious if not for how in-between curses he's describing you, what he thinks of you. You aren't sure he even knows he's talking and the need in his words drives you higher and higher despite how spent you feel, how much you don't think you can cum again. And then you do. Kevva the way you clamp down on him clawing his back makes him lose his mind, he shoves both your knees up to your chest bending over you to bite you lower lip. The change in angle adds more friction, his thrusts get shorter, faster. Ezra cums so hard he can't think, you watch his eyes roll into his head, the groan he makes cuts off his own speech as he shoves himself as deep into you as he can get and releases.

Ezra’s ears are still ringing when he manages to roll himself off you. Both of you are panting, as you stare at the roof of the pod and try to muster the words. Naturally, Ezra succeeds first. “Little Bird, I didn't know experiences such as that could be bestowed upon men like me.” You can only make a little noise in reply as he takes your hand and silence falls again.

Finally, when your breath is caught and you can both think again, he pulls you to his chest and wraps his arms around you resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Little bird, I'm starting to agree our dig may be bust. Trouble is biting our ankles and I should have listened earlier. Let's pillage what we can to fix the pod and get going. The dig is almost done, even split it'll be a while before I need to pick up another job.” You feel a sting at how quickly Ezra had returned to talking business but you do your best to brush it off. There's nothing wrong with some shagging between friends and it's no reason for him to feel the same fluttering in his chest that you do in yours.

“Right then we should travel light, get everything we need and come back. The fix won't take long, we can be gone in two days.” Two days left with Ezra makes you feel a little sad, you suppose you'd just gotten used to his company.

Ezra smiles grimly, “If we're lucky.”

You turn and roll over enjoying how he follows, wrapping you in his arms, tangling your legs like he can't bear to be separate. “I do have a question for you if you don't mind?”

You shrug, “Depends what it is.”

“What is that strange ring you carry but don't put on.”

“It's… it was a gift when I left home. It's supposed to be my payment.”

Ezra's mind casts back to how you paid honour to the dead, even those he certainly didn't think deserved a boatman. Saving them from a potential purgatory. But you didn't wear yours.

“Little bird, forgive my bluntness but curiosity is driving me to ask. Why don't you wear it?”

You squeeze your eyes closed, forcing away images of your past, grounded in Ezra's warm grip. “It's,” you sigh, “It's just too heavy.”

Ezra can feel how tense you've become and fights off the heavy guilt threatening to settle in his chest. You think yourself deserving of the hundred-year wait wandering the shore, think the loneliness is just. He kisses the back of your neck. “We should let our dreams take us lest we attract more trouble. It is salient we are well rested.”

You sigh, relaxing against him despite yourself. Long since exhausted by the day and his attentions, you let yourself drift off. Faintly feeling a hand caress your cheek, but you could have imagined it.

⧫⧫⧫

Waking up with someone warm in his arms is something Ezra could get used to. He tells you as much but you brush it off, someone isn't necessarily you after all. Ezra talks as you pack but he avoids the subject of you, of you both. He didn't want to scare you off, he tells himself, his flighty little bird. But he knows he's lying to himself, just being a coward, afraid of your reaction. He avoids meeting your eye until, helmets on, you both stand by the door. Taking a moment of peace before heading into the waste. He takes your hand seeking reassurance as much as trying to give it. You meet his eyes looking a little afraid but determined. He squeezes it tight before letting go and opening the door.

The walk East is easy enough, a pretty straight shot over flat ground. The only real problem being navigating the increasingly dense petrified forest. Ezra talks continuously, but you're grateful, glad it isn't awkward between you and enjoying his descriptions of other worlds he's visited. Where instead of breathless death and grey, there's vivid greens and blues of plants and flowers. Where the beauty is just as dangerous as this blank world. And, slowly, you start to talk too. Really talk. You describe a world that, to you, had seemed to be entirely made up of a casino, and the trouble you had gotten into there.

“Too rich for my blood,” Ezra chuckles and you agree.

You don't tell him about your home, not yet. But being able to talk, to laugh about something you'd done, feels freeing. Like a weight has been lifted ever so slightly off your shoulders.

You’re both grateful the walk is uneventful but you can't relax as the looming silhouette of the other spaceship appears through the trees. It's still too early for hope.

As you approach you see that the crew had successfully pulled their parachutes, but too late. The side of the ship had caved in where it had skidded across the earth, giving you both a way in. When you stop Ezra’s looking at you, “Any chance of survivors, little bird?”

You just shrug. “I doubt it after this. They were running a skeleton crew.” You wince slightly at the double entendre, hoping you have the time to find their bodies and pay their dues.

Ezra raises an eyebrow at you. “On a ship this big? That is most peculiar.”

“I guess, I didn't get a chance to think about it at the time.”

You go over the list again, 5 items, 5 areas. All small enough to carry in your packs. To yourself you add another item, just in case you get the chance.

“We stick together, watch each other’s backs.” You nod in agreement and you both step into the ship.

⧫⧫⧫

There's a faint dripping noise, like a clock ticking. It sets off your nerves as you leave the light of the suns. Inside is cast in red, a good sign the electrics haven't been fried, but totally unsettling. It casts humanoid shadows across the grated walls seemingly flickering with every step. Ezra had gone totally silent but his presence behind you is reassuring. Together you pry open the first door.

Inside has the same red light but the weapons board flashes at you telling you it's still live which is strange. You mumble it to Ezra. “These things usually shut down first after a crash, they drain loads of power that's usually diverted out.”

He frowns at you. “Mayhaps a malfunction? It looks like a rough crash.”

“Yeah. Probably.” But it niggles at the back of your brain. All you can do right now is ignore it so you wrench the panel out from the wall to the side and stick your arm in. Feeling around, you brush your fingers up against the dotted cylinder you need. These old ships had a habit of hiding important components in baffling locations, apparently to protect them in a crash which you do suppose this has, but you suspect it's to confuse novice engineers and pillagers alike.

Ezra is keeping a sharp eye on the door but he can't help but enjoy watching you work, grumbling about what a stupid place this was for a fuse break and how it would have been harder to wreck their engine had it actually been where all the ships power came from. He grins at you and you smile back tugging the, whatever it was, out of the wall. He tosses his pack over to you.

“I'll get this one birdie,” making you roll your eyes but you gently place it in and hand it back.

“Take care of that.”

“I'll cradle it as if it were a new-born.” He says so sincerely you can't help but snort.

“Don't worry too much, ships like these are made hardy, they don't just fry things like your pod.” He scowls playfully at you as you head back to the corridor.

“I will not hear a negative word about her, we've been together for years.”

The ship groans around you as if it's a living creature as you head deeper in. The maze of corridors makes Ezra feel turned around but you seem to know where to go and he follows dutifully. The next stop is a storage closet smaller than his little burrow.

Inside is a collection of boxes from which you produce two tiny discs. You look at Ezra, “I doubt they'll mind me taking a spare, these things are expensive.” Still not being entirely sure what everything you're searching for is, he just shrugs,

The moment of ease sputters out when you enter comms. There's a buzzing that sets your teeth on edge, someone's been on the radio. Ezra clicks it off but the silence is suddenly oppressive. Trying hard to hear any sign of life you scan the dark corners of the space.

“We don't know how long this has been on.” Ezra’s voice is steady but there's an edge you know too well. You agree all the same, hurrying to rip the tubing out from under the console. The blinking lights shut off with a hum as Ezra takes it from you, looping it together and shoving it into his pack. You don't argue.

Two items left, you'd saved the cockpit and the engine till last, both at the opposite end of the ship.

The door to the cockpit is open. you look at Ezra, his jaw is set glaring into it. You head in first moving swiftly to the control panel to the side to start pulling the whole thing apart for one measly chip. He disappears into the shadows to search the room. It's too big, too many places to hide, he thinks to himself trying to picture the best place for an ambush.

He finds one body, curled in on itself as if tossed into the corner. The next is under a nav table, arms over its head. The final one is the hardest to look at, in the pilot seat, hand still grasping the parachute release. He swallows as he takes in this futile effort to survive, picturing the final moments as the ground rises to meet them, the hopelessness.

He spins when he hears your voice.

“Wait, wait!”

“You should have stayed away-“

Ezra doesn't even think, he just shoots and the man with a blade at your throat drops. He didn't even know he could draw that fast. He fights off the adrenaline, calming his breathing as he approaches you. Your eyes are wide with shock and you take a deep breath looking up at him.

“Thank you, Ezra.”

He just wants to pull you close, hold you against him, protect you with his body. With the suits and helmets, it would be uncomfortable so he grabs your hand and pulls it to his chest.

“Think nothing of it.”

“I didn't think there could be any survivors.” At that he examined the body. Shit, the suit, the emblem, the skull etched into the glass of his helmet.

“That, little bird, is because there aren't any. It appears that the locals are here.”

You squeeze his hand. “We've got to hurry.”

He nods, “Give me three coins.”

He’s found them. You'd already known they'd be dead but the confirmation sits heavily over you. You hand him the coins.

“You finish here, I'll take care of them. Don't worry.”

The kindness he's showing by doing it for you aches in your chest. You take the frustration out on the unsuspecting control panel. Tearing into it, pulling parts out, desperately trying to get a grip on your emotions and breathe a sigh of relief when you emerge, chip in hand. No one has ever extracted one so quickly you reckon. You shove it in your pack.

Heading to Ezra you take his hand, try to convey thanks through the touch alone. Thanks for saving you, thanks for not making you bear this burden solitarily, thanks for just being company after so long alone. You look up at him, he's chewing his words again but doesn't speak so you turn and lead him out.

In the engine room you seize a battery and yank it from the wall, grateful the lights stay on. Ezra takes it from you. “Don't argue birdie I'm bigger than you.”

He's cut off by a horn echoing through the ship. You swallow.

Taking his hand again, you both creep out of the room. Every sound is too loud, you curse your boots, the rattle of your tools, your own harsh breathing. You can't fail now, you're so close. At the sound of footsteps, you pull Ezra through a door into a room with bunks, closing the door as quietly as you can, you both hold your breath. As they pass the door his grip tightens on yours so much you feel the heat of his hand through your gloves. His eyes scan your face, like he's trying to memorise what you look like. You realise you’re doing the same to him.

When they pass you glance around the room as Ezra slumps against the door his eyes shut tightly. As you let go of him you see something in the corner of your eye. No fucking way. It's a gem case, unassuming on the outside but far bigger than the one Ezra carried. Item number six.

You shove it into your bag.

⧫⧫⧫

Neither of you seem to breath for the rest of your journey through the ship. Eyes and ears too peeled to do much else. The second you see the light outside you swallow. You say a prayer to yourself as you creep towards it.

The light blinds you as you step out. Something shoves you to the side, you hit the ground hard knocking the wind out of you as you try to see what hit you. The second your eyes adjust to the light you see Ezra trying to knock back one of the locals, trying to gain space to draw. You wrestle your pistol out of your holster and aim but you can't shoot. Their dance is too close and you're afraid to hit Ezra.

It all happens in slow motion. The stranger thrusts his spear into Ezra's stomach and pulls it out. He cries out stumbling back giving you a straight shot. You fire the same moment as the local brings his spear down on Ezra’s helmet.

You shoot too late.

Ezra drops back against the ship sliding to sit. Shattered glass glitters over the ground around you threatening to cut your knees as you crawl to him. His helmet is shattered.

“No no no no no” you press on the wound in his stomach tugging your pack off your back to get the med kit. “We've got to go, there's going to be more of them.”

He puts a hand over yours. “Little bird, I'm afraid my adventure has come to its conclusion”

You look at his face. “No Ezra! I can close this for now, we've got time. We can make it back.” His eyes are wide and sad, wet with the threat of tears. “Don't look at me like that!” There's desperation in your voice.

“You've got to go. Relieve yourself of my burden, you can repair the vessel and get away by yourself. You don't need me.”

“Shut up! I can't just leave you here.” You push his hands away and pull out a gun of sealing foam “Don't fucking argue with me, we've got so close you can't just give up.” Ignoring his arguments, you press the nozzle through his suit and fill his wound. He lets out a groan. As quick as you can, you pull your pack back on and stand seizing Ezra's arms and heaving him to his feet. He gives a short shout of pain but doesn't protest as you hook his arm over your shoulder for support.

You start to walk like this as the suns begin to dip. Keeping your pistol in your free hand you scan around you. The dead trees provide good cover but they also give any attackers the element of surprise so you do your best to listen out whilst you support Ezra.

It's a little difficult with his talking but you can't complain, not when it means he's still alive. But he's getting heavy, putting more weight on you, you don't know how long you can hold him up. Just as you're beginning to feel truly weak his topic of conversation changes.

“Little bird, it has been an exponential honour to be enclosed within your company. To have your trust if only a little. Kevva, the chance to learn your body the way I got to was a treasure worth more than any gem I could find. I only wish I could learn your mind just as intimately, to possess the knowledge of what makes you laugh, cry, your favourite food, favourite music. I'd cherish every drop of yourself you'd let me have until I could carry a vault of you with me”

“Ezra, don't…”

“The opportunity is being stolen from me, I both resent it and I'm so grateful for the time I've had. Little bird, don't let my soliloquy deceive you. I mean every word.”

You can't stop moving, but you grab onto him a little tighter. Letting yourself squeeze your eyes closed just for a moment to fight off the tears. There's no guarantee he'll survive, no hope yet, no point admitting feelings just to let him die. It would hurt too much.

You keep walking. Reminding Ezra to breath as slow as he can. Holding yourself together just to keep him upright.

Then you see it, your pod, through the trees, dark against the burning red sky.

There are two locals at the door. They turn.

Before you can think to react, Ezra pushes you aside as a spear careens where you'd just been stood. Drawing before you can blink, he fires twice. The locals fall. And then, so does he.

⧫⧫⧫

You aren't sure if you're saying his name out loud or just in your head. You roll him into his back and try to shake him awake. He doesn't even stir.

Instead, you seize the straps of his pack and use them to drag him towards your pod.

Your muscles are screaming after supporting him for so long but you don't let up, drawing strength from who knows where.

How did the pod seem so close minutes ago? Now it's miles away.

You don't know when you started crying.

You don't stop moving, can't stop until you've managed to pull him inside and seal the door. You yank off your helmet, tossing it aside and falling to your knees next to him pressing your ear to his chest, desperately trying to hear his heart through his suit.

It's dead silent.

That's when you scream. Tears streaming down your face you bring your fist down on his chest as hard as you can.

“Breath you bastard! Take a fucking breath!” You're sobbing now, “You can't just leave me here, leave me all alone. Not after all this. Not when we got so close.”

You curl over him pressing your face to his, your tears dripping onto him leaving tracks through the dust and blood on his skin. “You can't leave me alone,” it's barely a whisper. “Ezra.” You say his name over and over again like a prayer.

And then his chest moves.

You don't know whether you should laugh. You just keep bawling as you tear off his suit and grab his hand.

He doesn't wake up but it's enough, you squeeze his warm hand for another second before wiping at your face and getting your med kit. “Let's see what I can do about this wound hmm?”

⧫⧫⧫

Ezra hears someone calling his name. But they seem so far away. He tries to move towards the voice but it's like moving through syrup. He lets himself sink back.

⧫⧫⧫

The wound is deep and spurts with blood as you pull out the foam, painting your hands in the same red as the sky outside. Pursing your lips, you apologise to him, hoping he doesn’t feel the pain. Cleaning the wound takes time but as far as you can tell the spear managed to avoid all his organs so you seal it up as best you can. The lack of oxygen is what has you truly worried, who knows what damage could have been done in the time it took you to drag him to the pod. With your medication he might heal but you can’t be sure. You fight off the thoughts of what you’d have to do if he never did wake up. Would you be able to bury him?

You sleep curled to his side, a hand on his shoulder. It’s fitful, plagued by nightmares of waking up to find him cold. Every time you wake up crying, you watch his chest rise and fall and pray, he’ll make his way back to you.

⧫⧫⧫

The next thing he hears is a clang followed by a curse, then it's silent again

⧫⧫⧫

Ezra made it through the night. To distract yourself from worrying he might never wake, you wrap him up warm and begin to repair the pod. It’s slow work but its methodical movements help regulate your breathing. Until you hear a grunt. You drop whatever you were working on and swear to yourself as you kneel by him. But he’s no more present than before. Perhaps you had imagined it. Prayed so hard you’d began torturing yourself. You look over him, how could you go on without him. No one to make you laugh, or care what happens to you. It’s justice you suppose, just another thing for you to feel guilty about. You suppose you’ll go on just to keep feeling that guilt.

Again, you barely sleep.

⧫⧫⧫

And then, as if surfacing from a dive, Ezra opens his eyes. His back hurts. He works out why as, slowly, he identifies the ceiling above him. He's lying on the floor with nothing more than a pillow and a blanket that's been tucked all around him up to his neck. He wrestles his arms free, stretching them above his head and then prodding his stomach, it's tender but the wound is closed. Then he sits up with a grunt.

You're stretching up to try and pull a ration bar of the top shelf of your measly kitchen cupboard. You swear and turn to find something to climb on and then you see Ezra.

He's sitting up, grinning from ear to ear. You nearly jump a foot into the air and then you’re frozen to the spot. He chuckles to himself and clambers to his feet, it looks difficult but you aren't sure you can move to help so you stay put as he supports himself along the wall and approaches you.

“Little bird, you are the most incredible, fascinating, stubborn creature I have ever laid my eyes upon.” And then he's pulling you into his chest, wrapping you in such a grip it's a little difficult to breath but you don't mind. You just hug him back, if gently, very aware of how he'd recently been stabbed. He buries his nose in your hair. “How long was I out?”

“Three days, I managed to melt down some meds to inject you so you… well, so you actually healed. Oh, and then I fixed the pod but it didn't feel safe to take off what with you having a hole in you.”

He laughs, you can feel it rolling through his body and it makes you grin. It's so alive.

“May I also ask why I was on the floor?” That's your cue to laugh to.

“Do you honestly think I could lift you onto the cot?”

“Frankly little bird, I didn't think you could have got me to the pod. You are certainly a force to be reckoned with and not one to be underestimated.”

You close your eyes and breath him in. “I almost didn't make it.” He just shushes you running his hands up and down your sides.

“No point wondering what could have been birdie. You saved me.” You look up at him, his eyes are wet as he smiles down at you. “What I did to deserve it may evade my knowledge forever, but it must have been spectacular.”

You feed Ezra and then force him to stay still for the day. Even as he protests you don't really think he minds, finally getting an opportunity to finish reading ‘The Power’. You sleep curled into his side.

The next day you leave.

⧫⧫⧫

Two days floating in space before the station slings back to pick you up. The sense of relief is immense. Ezra is in the seat next to you, any other person telling such a graphic tale about a flight home wrong would've sprung anyone with nerves but you just grin. You made it, you both made it.

“Even split, little bird? Although, I can't say I find the idea of us separating particularly appealing.”

You grin, “Me neither, although I do maintain the even split, you save my arse, I save yours.”

He smirks, “I'll have your arse anytime” you smack his knee with what was formerly his copy of ‘Perfume’. He scowls playfully, tossing his own book aside and tugging you into his lap.

And then looks totally bemused as your mouth drops open, “Holy shit I can't believe I forgot!” You hop off him and he grumbles at you but watches curiously wondering what you'd forgotten that was so important. You kneel to open your pack, pulling out a gem case. A huge gem case.

“Where in that abhorrent hell did you manage to acquire that?”

“I think it was why I was told to bring down that ship, I picked it up in the bunk room.”

It's locked but you happily spend the next half an hour gently taking apart one screw at a time. Ezra watches you the whole time, not even thinking about your bounty, just enjoying how you hum to yourself and smile every time a screw comes loose, batting his hands away every time he grabs at you. It's domestic.

You meet his eye as the last screw comes loose and he joins you kneeling on the floor. “Let's not get our hopes up” you say, “We've got more than enough to last a while whatever happens.” He nods and you pull the case open.

His jaw drops. “That is remarkable.”

You meet his eye and laugh. You've never seen him look so surprised. There are three gems inside, each one about the size of your head.

He lets out a huff of laughter “I’m beginning to suspect there was nefarious business afoot on that ship…”

“Ezra?”

“Mmhm?”

“I think I'd like to go somewhere with a sea.”

“Little bird, I suspect that can be arranged” Then he kisses you, pulling you against him.

You wriggle back, “Even split?” He just grins and bites at your ear.

In no time at all you’re in his lap as you pull off each other’s clothes. He rubs his beard against your bare neck to make you giggle as he nibbles it, hands roaming all over you. You nip his collar bone making him groan, it flips a switch in him and seconds later he’s grabbing your hips to position you over his cock.

He lowers you down so slowly it makes you squirm and whimper and beg him to move.

He grins at you, catlike, “We’ve got all the time in the world, little bird. And I intend to use it”

⧫⧫⧫

Hours later you wake. Ezra is snoring quietly into your neck tempting you to rouse him. You’re thirsty though, so, reluctantly, you peel his arms off you to get a glass of water. As you return your toe catches on your suit where it lies on the floor. As you reach to move it your ring drops out of the pocket, clinking quiet onto the ground.

You bend to pick it up and look at Ezra, then back at the ring. Had you not gone through all those years in that gang of pirates, you’d never have found him, never got to save his arm or his life. You both might be dead. You had been right; you couldn’t change your past. But you’d never know what else might have happened. There’s still guilt, there always will be. But you feel a little lighter.

You put on the ring and return to Ezra. He pulls you against his chest without waking.

You smile.

~~~~~~~~

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

Text

Phantom Children [DP x Batman Crossover] Ch. 2

In which: Danny thinks, Talia is concerned, and we finally see Ra's al Ghul's pride an joy: the Lazarus pit

AO3 | Prologue | 1 | [ 2 ] | 3 |

---

DANNY COUNTS THE DAYS by the hours he is in the monitor room. One hour is all that he is allowed. One hour after a day of learning and fighting, of ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no sir’ and ‘stand up straighter, boy’ and ‘remember that you have feet.’ Of being handed a sword only to have it knocked out of his hand (pickitup-pickitup-pick-it-up). Of ‘here’s eight plants, only one of them is the antidote to the poison you just ingested, and you better hope you remember the difference because this is the life you live now, Danny.’ This is what you agreed to for some time in front of a few television screen.

One hour. Sixty minutes. Three thousand and six hundred measly fucking seconds was all he got to see his family before he’s ushered back to his room. Dark. Barren. Windowless.

God, when was the last time he saw the stars?

He spent his multitude of ‘one hours’ simply watching. That was all he could do, really. Watch and collect snatches of Amity—of Before. Like torn pieces of an antique photograph, unable to be restored but too precious to throw away.

Talia would call him too sentimental. Danny would love to remind Talia that if it wasn’t for her and her freaky older-than-dirt dad, Danny wouldn’t even need to be fucking sentimental.

Breathe in for four. Hold for seven. Breathe out for eight.

Repeat.

Repeat again.

One more time.

There’s a voice in Danny’s head that sounded too much like Jazz telling him that this kind of behavior was unhealthy. The Jazz in Danny’s head didn’t exactly know why, though they’re both pretty sure that constantly watching your family and friends move on after your death probably isn’t good for one’s sanity. Especially since Danny isn’t really dead.

Well.

Dead-er.

He isn’t—

(family-love-mememe-why aren’t they looking harder-don’t they care-they care-for their own good-what about-happy-no-me-them-me-them).

Truth be told, Danny isn’t angry that everyone in Amity seemed to be getting on with their lives. God, he’s seen how his suppsed-death affected them. He can’t—he won’t be responsible for holding them back from living when he can’t even be sure if he’ll ever be able to return to Amity again.

(He’s seen what happens when someone refuses to move on. Hell, the Zone is full of it. It’s either you obsess with grief…or you try to rip it out of yourself entirely.)

Danny wanted them to live on. Be happy. (With him.)The FentonWorks portal remained under constant vigilance, and since Pariah Dark, most ghosts recognized Amity as his haunt and tended to stay away. With any major threats he could only hope that Clockwork would step in somehow and at least keep it contained. Tucker and Sam were more than capable enough to handle most of his regular rogues gallery, especially if Red Huntress was backing them up too.

Amity…didn’t really need Danny anymore to protect it.

(Family-happy-protectprotectprotect-what?-safe-not safe-not needed).

For all that they tried to find out, Danny, Sam, and Tucker never did manage to figure out what his ghostly obsession was. Sam went out on a limb and said Heroism which…wasn’t quite right but fit the bill well enough.

And what was the point of heroes?

To build a world where they aren’t needed.

------

There was a noticeable shift in her son’s demeanor after he learned of the true nature of his parentage. Though it should be noted that while Talia showed a photograph of her beloved to Daniel, she did not disclose his true identity as to Ra’s al Ghul’s orders. Her father reasoned that it was more advantageous for Daniel to develop a closer connection with the maternal side of his family as opposed to the Waynes—a name that would be more familiar and thus better viewed than the strange people who kidnapped him.

No; ‘Recovered’ would be the most appropriate term. Daniel was her child. Would always be her child, no matter who raised him.

Daniel was…quieter. Somber. His eyes glazed yet sharp—blue eyes bloodshot despite maintaining a regular sleep schedule. Like pit madness with neither the madness nor the pit; simply the look of rage that bubbles beneath the skin, close to boiling over yet never there.

He continued to watch his false family obsessively. Yet…he had taken to watching Talia as well. Quietly. Unobtrusively. Small glances at the corner of his eye. Contemplative looks with furrowed brows whenever he presumed she did not notice. He had even taken to meticulously check his reflection in the mirror; pinching cheeks and turning his face this way and that, cataloguing his features as if to find what parts of him was from her—or perhaps if there was any part of him that ever resembled the paranormal scientists he once called parents.

Even if the physical similarities were not there, the DNA testing—regardless of the anomalies found in Daniel’s genes—was proof enough that he was her son.

“You have been keeping with your diet regimen, yes?” Asked one of the League’s physicians. He pressed his gloved fingers against Daniel’s skin, brushing the ridges of his ribcage. Marring her son’s skin was a large, faint scars. Fractals branching across his torso like the branches of a gruesome tree. “You are still too thin.”

“Fast metabolism,” Daniel mumbled. He is sat on an examination table in their medical wing, black shirt neatly folded beside him. His figure, though not skeletal, per se, was gaunt. His ribs poking from his pallor skin, stomach still concave for a boy who ate double the portions than any other member of the League of Assassins. “I’ve had it since the accident, but it’s never gotten this bad.”

The physician hummed, jotting his notes down along side the results of Danny’s vitals. The exact numbers were unknown to Talia, standing as she was by the door, though she could infer the results from previous physical examinations. (Low blood pressure and core body temperature. Faint pulse, slight tachycardia,) “Do you have any ideas why?”

Daniel’s lips thinned, eyes darting to the side as he always did whenever Phantom was related in anyway. His face was too open; Talia needed to train him out of that. “My…” He took a deep breath. “Ghosts aren’t supposed to stay very long in the Material world. It lacks the ectoplasmic energies that helps them ‘stay alive,’ so to speak. Usually they can supplement some of this by filtering some of the ambient energy in the atmosphere to strengthen themselves—it’s why Amity was such a hotspot for ghosts because of the large concentration of ectoplasm in the atmosphere—but it still isn’t a good long term solution.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Since I’m still somewhat human, I’m able to spend way more time in the Material world and can substitute spending days in the Zone by instead filtering ambient energy and eating.”

The physician made another noise, the tip of his pen tapping against the side of the clipboard. “So I take it then that, as your other half doesn’t have access to this ‘ambient energy’ as you call it, it is forced to take what energy it needs from the calories you’ve consumed, yes?”

“Basically.”

“What will happen if you do not have enough calories to supplement this energy?”

Danny shrugged, a rueful smile on his face. “Dunno. Maybe this time, death will stick.”

Talia narrowed her eyes.

Such a thing will not happen. She had been forced to give up on Daniel once, and then later on she lost her youngest to her beloved. Never again.

This child was hers.

------

“Father, did you not say that the anomalies found in Daniel’s DNA were similar in composition to the Lazarus pit?”

Ra’s al Ghul did not pause in pause in his reading to look up at Talia. The bird shaped magnifying glass held steady above the ancient manuscripts spread across his desk, eyes focused on the words and figures carefully inked onto the page. “Yes.” He set aside the magnifying glass and gently flipped the page. “It is what strengthened my belief of the connection between the Lazarus pit and these spirits.”

Talia straightened. “With your permission I would like to place Daniel into the pit.”

Her fathered looked up, curious. “You forget what the pit does to those who are in good health.”

She placed the results of Daniel’s most recent physical exam on to of his desk. Ra’s sat back in his chair and idly flipped through the folder, reading the contents as if no different to reading the newspaper instead of how his grandson is slowly being starved by his own biology. “Well, well. This would be a problem.”

He closed the folder, a wry grin curling at his lips. “Have him ready for tomorrow. I am curious as to how the pit would affect one already half-dead.”

------

Danny is awoken by Talia sometime the next day. “Come,” she said. “You do not need to change, so come quickly.”

He got off the bed with a silent groan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Where are we going?”

“Not far. Somewhere that will help you.”

He snorted. “Letting me go home would help me.”

Talia doesn’t answer, simply waiting for him at the door. Danny groaned, combing away as much of his bedhead with his fingers as he followed her.

For the first time since being dragged to Nanda Parbat, Danny is allowed to venture beyond his small section of the compound.

He didn’t really know what to expect.

Still didn’t stop everything from being so…anticlimactic.

Beyond the steel door, normally kept locked and guarded by two of his shadow guards, was a hallway. Endlessly long with a wide pathway, lit enough by the fluorescent lights overhead but not enough to banish the shadows that clung to the stone walls. The hallway looked empty. ‘Looked’ being the key word, here. Even if he couldn’t see them, Danny would bet on his half-life that the shadows were teeming with life.

Talia led the way through the maze of twists and turns (were they underground?), a couple of shadow guards quietly following behind them.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Talia looked at him from over her shoulder for a moment, then turned away. “Have you heard of the Lazarus pits?”

“Lazarus? Like the guy who came back to life?” Neither of his parents were really religious. His dad only really Baptist in name because he was born into a Baptist family that, too, wasn’t overly strict in their religion. The only reason why Danny knew of this Lazarus guy was because of Mr. Lancer’s unit on Greco-Roman and Christian allusions.

Talia nodded, turning a corner. “The Lazarus pits are natural pools with restorative properties, capable of rejuvenating the body, healing grievous injuries, and even bringing the dead back to life.”

Danny nearly tripped over his own feet. “What? That’s—” Impossible. He ran up to Talia, wildly gesticulating with his hands. “What’s dead is dead. Resurrecting the dead goes against the natural law of the universe!”

“Well, you seem to be doing fine.”

He frowned, crossing his arms. “That’s different. I’m still dead, even if my entire existence seems like the but end of a Schrodinger’s joke.”

“Be that as it may, what I speak is truth.” She stopped in front of a door and opened it. Then, stepping aside to usher Danny in first. “See of yourself.”

Danny stepped inside, Talia following behind him, and—

Oh.

Before he even saw the pit, he could feel it. A low and steady hum reminiscent of the ghost portal. But…different. Not necessarily fainter but garbled, like hearing someone speak underwater.

The room was a large, open space, with stone walls framed by red wooden pillars. It was dim, lit only by the green glow of the pit that consumed the majority of the space. A square pool of too-clear waters and toxic-looking steam rising from the surface.

The waters felt of the Zone but…not.

“Ah, Daniel.” He nearly jumped out of his own skin. Ra’s al Ghul stepped out of the shadows behind him, hands folded behind his back. The green glow highlighted the sharp contours of his face; the shadows that clung to him only making his visage harsher. “It is good to see you.”

Danny greeted the Demon’s Head with a League salute. “Grandfather.”

The word felt foreign on his tongue despite being in English. To formal for a boy who never really had the chance to interact with his own grandparents. But Danny was told to refer to Ra’s like this, and so he did. (He was only grateful Talia didn’t insist on calling her ‘mother.’)

Ra’s al Ghul was an enigma. Centuries old yet he looked only about a decade older than his mom and dad. (Jack and Maddie Fenton will always be his mom and dad. They raised him. Loved him, in their own eccentric, science-y way. No blood test or adoption or ninja-assassins could change that). Like Danny’s still-unnamed biological father, Ra’s carried himself with theatrical purpose. Comically villainous in his attire and grand gestures, though unlike Vlad, Ra’s had this overwhelmingly intimidating presence that engulfed whatever room he stepped in.

Ra’s was a man that commanded attention as opposed to demanding it. And now, at the focus of the man’s calculating gaze, Danny could not help but stand stiff at attention.

“You’re mother was right,” Ra’s said. Danny barely restrained himself from perking up at that word. “You are wasting away, Daniel.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

“Well, at least you still have that fire in you.”

Danny startled, slapping his hand over his mouth. Shit, he didn’t know he said that out loud. Out of the corner of his eye, Talia suppressed a small smile.

“You have that in common with the Detective,” Ra’s continue, circling Danny like a carrion that spotted its next meal. “That and the rather foolish notion on not properly reporting the extent of your injuries.”

“With all due respect, grandfather, I wasn’t expecting on staying here for this long.”

Ra’s gave him a knowing look. “But something is keeping you here, isn’t it?”

“Keeping my family and friends hostage is a pretty good motivator, apparently.” An insidious thought bubbled in Danny’s mind. But that isn’t all, is it?”

“I have consulted your mother and your physician as to the nature of your condition, and I have decided that the Lazarus pit would be a sufficient way to restore your health.” He gestured to the pool. “It appears that your DNA shares several similarities to the composition to the Lazarus pit.”

Danny crouched at the edge of the pit, hovering his hand above the water’s surface. “It’s because it contains ectoplasm. An impure kind, I think.”

“Will the impurities be harmful to you?”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t think so? My body can filter out the impurities just fine, it’s just that I’ve never encountered thistype of ectoplasm before. It’s so clear and—aqueous, I think is the word.”

There’s a strange glint in Ra’s eyes. Dare Danny say it, it even looked mischievous. It made him uneasy, and just as Danny made a move to step back, Ra’s al Ghul picked him up by the collar of his night shirt—

And threw Danny into the Lazarus Pit.

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #phantom children.txt

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astalavista4u · 3 years

Text

In another life - Nier: Replicant

Check out this awesome fanfic my friend wrote! Honestly I loved this story so much, so I convinced them to share it with the world.

Pairing: Emil/Nier (one-sided)

A/N: in Nier:Replicant one can change the character name. In my version he is called Llys. All the events described here take place in the second part of the game.

It rained all morning. Emil looked up into the sky wondering how long will it last. Kaine was dozing off nearby, her back against stiff and wet rock. Their campfire was long gone, the remaining embers washed away by the rain. Probably they need to find a new place, dry and comfortable but for some reason Emil was reluctant to move.

He thought about his body…Will the rains turn his skeleton-like limbs all rusty and then they will slowly start falling apart? Kaine and Llys are human, rain is no threat to them…but what about him? Surely the forces of nature will try to fight this disgusting body, will try to wipe him away from Earth. The crying seagulls on their way to Seafront distracted him a bit but this pain lingered in his mind. Instinctively he hugged himself with his long skeletal arms, a protection of sort from nature…And from voices in his head so full of self-hatred.

Kaine moved anxiously in her sleep. -She did not actually sleep during the night. – he thought. – So I won’t disturb her now…Maybe she is dreaming of something nice this time.

Should the likes of me even dream?

His eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of a silhouette approaching from the north-east of the plains – white messy hair, slim and tall figure, a giant broadsword behind his back. Emil thanked the gods again for letting him see all this without hurting anyone. Probably the only thing he really was thankful for.

The white circles he had for eyes were lifeless but in truth his real eyes devoured every last part of the figure trying to memorize every little detail: the length of his boots, his walking manner, every feature of his almost perfect face which was now visible from where he sat. Each time he saw Llys he drowned in that grey and blue eyes of his, confident and cold but somehow at the same time kind and understanding. Each time he saw Llys he brought up memories of how he lost his human body and how he felt and how Llys never rejected him but greeted him instead with calming words and opened arms.

I will never abandon you.

Do you really think that he cares about you?

He keeps you by his side because he thinks you are useful.

For now.

YOU’RE WRONG! – with this last cry the other whispering voices slowly retreated to the darkest places of his mind only to appear again later.

Emil gathered himself quickly and floated towards Llys. After all Kaine was still sleeping…Let her rest just a bit longer.

- Llys! – he said, voice as cheerful as always. – What’s up? How was that business of yours at Seafront?

- Fine, I guess. – Llys looked tired and wary after the journey. Exhausted, even. – The package was hard to deliver but the client paid handsomely. -Let it be the last time when we fulfill such foolish requests. – Grimmoire Weiss materialized behind Llys.

- Don’t push yourself too hard, please. – Emil placed his hand on Llys’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. The sensation was very nice, it sent electric impulses up to his spine. Emil suddenly imagined himself like a real human, a version of himself but five years older. Back then during their first encounter Kaine told him that he was a “cute little thing”, so probably after five years this cuteness will remain? Maybe Llys will also call him cute. He imagined a real hand touching the shoulder of his dear friend, a hand of flesh and blood. He imagined his own lilac eyes looking at Llys with warmth and care and not these horrible empty sockets. His own lips smiling cheerfully not this terrifying mouth twisted with everlasting monstrosity which no one ever will call a smile.

You are disgusting…

He is disgusted by your touch, can’t you see?

This sudden outburst of his imagination only lasted for a moment but with these thoughts Emil’s hand hastily left Llys’s side. Emil looked away ashamed of his actions. – You stupid piece of junk, you should have asked if he was okay with the touch, he probably felt…

- Emil, is everything okay? – Emil felt two strong hands grabbing his skeleton shoulders and felt Llys’s gaze on his face.

- Ha..ha-hah, y-yeah, sure! Why do you ask? – even if his face wasn’t capable of showing any emotion his voice still betrayed him.

- Are you sure? – Emil turned to face Llys only to find him several centimeters away. If he had a real body his cheeks would probably blush…

- Y-yeah, of course I’m sure…Just feeling a bit lonely, you know. Kaine is sleeping, didn’t get much sleep during the night and you were at Seafront, so…

- Emil…- Weiss stopped unable to find the right words.

Llys glanced quickly at their camping place – remnants of the fire, Kaine lying on hard wet rock, her swords and Emil’s scepter covered carefully by a piece of cloth. Something dire ran across his beautiful face…something like rage. Emil has already prepared himself for this talk they had had several times before: - No, Llys, everything is fine, really…We are used to sleeping outside. We feel perfectly comfortable and we don’t need anything, so don’t worry about us.

And then Llys leaned closer and hugged him. He pressed Emil’s head to his chest whispering: I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…Somehow among the countless rain droplets bombarding his head he made out one that was entirely different. And then another. And another. Hot tears poured from Llys’s eyes, small droplets traveling down to where Emil’s eyes and nose should be. All Emil could do was just to hug him back and try to wave away the thought of how he would like to sense the taste of these tears on his own lips.

He never realized that his and Kaine’s sleeping place was such a miserable sight. Never put much thought into it. His well-being never was much of a concern. Yet here he was, his dearest friend crying about his fate.

- Please, moment, never go away…Let me stand here hugging my friend for an eternity. Let the worlds collapse around us, just please don’t let go

Of course he knew the absurdity of this thought and he cursed himself for it. No happy life was possible without Kaine, without Weiss, without Yonah who is still out there, probably in grave danger. And yet…Please let me be selfish just once…

***

Sometime after the events in Façade

Kaine tossed some paper into their campfire. Emil cuddled near it watching the chaotic dance of flames.

- Kaine…I wanted to ask you something.

- Well, go ahead. – She leaned against the rock throwing the remaining paper into the fire. – What is it, Emil?

- Well, it’s about the king’s wedding…Or more about what I’ve said on that wedding.

- So? – Kaine raised an eyebrow. – What is it you said?

Emil would have licked his lips if he had those before starting this awkward conversation.

- Well…Just before the tragedy I spoke with Llys. I told him how I envied Fyra, how I wanted to be Fyra on this wedding. He told me that one day I will find a wonderful bride. But…

- It wasn’t the case, was it? – she asked.

Emil gasped. – W-wait! How did you even…

- I’m not fucking blind, you know. – she plainly looked at him, her gaze didn’t show any judgement, maybe a bit of concern.

- It’s just…I…Is something wrong with me? I really felt that way…I wanted to be on Fyra’s place and I would never say that to him of course, but I wanted Llys to be on king’s place.

Kaine kept silent, though somehow her gaze seemed encouraging. She wanted him to keep talking.

- I just…I imagined this ceremony…I, meaning my true self, will wear a white suit holding a great bouquet of lunar tears and Llys, he will be dressed in black and grey cause I think these colors look great on him. Everyone will be singing and dancing, eating tasty food, tossing flower petals over their heads. And…and you will be there too, Kaine. Cheering and laughing with others! No, don’t give me that look! I know that you will join us this time.

His imagination flowed onwards and onwards but he was so overwhelmed with these thoughts and ideas that he never wanted to stop. And Kaine didn’t seem to bother.

- Weiss will probably grumble again but he will end up sharing jokes with guests. Yonah will be there too, she will cook one of her special dishes! And Devola and Popola! I’ve heard that they have angelic voices and their singing is magnificent…And me and Llys, we will cheer with you. He will take my hand and lead me onwards…We will stand in front of everyone and someone will say: Now, you can seal your marriage with a kiss! And Llys he will…he will kiss me and then I…

His speech ended abruptly as his eyes accidentally caught a glimpse of a skeleton hand. He stared at it stupidly as if it wasn’t his, waiting for a real hand of flesh and bone to replace this monstrous limb. Realization stroke him like a lightning bolt. How could you forget something like this?

- No…No, what am I saying…O God…I am so sorry, I never really meant any of this, please don’t take it seriously. Just please, forget it, Kaine!

His body started to shake, he felt like he will burst into tears. But they never came. Another reminder to toss away these stupid dreams…He sobbed. Long skeleton limbs gathered around to protect him from the outside world. Only to be stopped by firm grip on his arm.

- Quit your whining, goddammit! – Kaine rarely raised her voice at him before. But now she was furious, flickers of red in her eyes. In a one harsh movement she pulled him up and looked directly at his face. There was no chance for Emil to avoid those eyes now. – Listen to me, Emil. And listen carefully. I don’t give a fuck about this romantic fluffy stuff you were babbling about. But here is what I know: if you love someone than fucking go for it, no whirling around. Trust me, we don’t have time for this bullshit.

- I know why you hesitate – “look at my body, I am so disgusting, I am a monster, no one will ever love me”. I am a monster too, Emil. And yet I had grandma who cared about me, protected me from those fuckers in the Aerie, who loved me. And then I found Llys. You found Llys. Did he treat you like you were a freak back then when you still haven’t lost your human form?

- N-no. – Emil managed to answer between his quiet sobs. – He was gentle, kind to me even if I was a total stranger.

- Did his attitude change when you transformed?

- No, no…When I realized that I had changed I started to cry. I hated myself so much…But still he hugged me. Told me that we will figure something out.

- That’s what I’m talking about. Our small group is a motherfucking freak show – stupid floating book, skeleton boy, possessed bitch. And yet he took us all in, accepted our sins and our souls. Don’t doubt him, Emil. He won’t abandon you.

- What I am trying to say is that you shoudn’t think for Llys. He has his own head on his shoulders and if you ever come up with confession he will answer without hurting your feelings. And well, if he won’t I’ll shove the stick right up his ass!

- Kaine! Don’t say things like that!

- Shut up and let me finish my thought. – Kaine let him go and Emil slowly retreated to his seat still sobbing. – I don’t know if the answer will be yes or no. What I DO know is that you, Emil, deserve love. Yes, you look like a skeleton but you are the kindest, the gentlest creature on this goddamn earth. You saved everyone in that village, you sacrificed your body to get me back. Such souls are so hard to find… like lunar tears. You. Deserve. Love. Never even try to tell me otherwise!

She breathed in heavily, tired from this improvised speech. Silence fell over their camp disturbed only by cracking of fire. Emil’s sobs died with Kaine’s words.

- The only thing to do is to tell him about your feelings. The sooner the better.

- I know that we don’t have much time. But the only thing Llys thinks of now is Yonah. And I…I don’t want to disturb his grief and add even more problems.

His voice still trembled from the crying but with each phrase spoken he seemed to become more confident.

- We all need to focus on Yonah’s rescue, so I’ll probably save my…my confession for later. I will tell him everything after we return from the Shadowlord’s castle.

***

That night Emil dreamt. He saw a mansion as big as the one where he had been locked up for his entire life but this one wasn’t so ominous. Sunrays knocked at the windows, green moss crawled up the walls, the front doors were wide open welcoming every traveler inside. Birds sang their praises to the sun hidden behind the branches of gigantic oak, a wild boar tamed by Llys rolled in circles on the grass. The waters of the nearby lake glistened invitingly, one gaze just enough to go swimming. Though Llys probably spent all his time fishing. Behind the mansion he saw a small garden with long rows of vegetables and entire flowerbeds vibrant with lunar tears. Wow, Llys has finally found a way to grow them…

On the second floor there was a library: books gathered from Seafront and Façade and from Llys’s village, books on languages long forgotten, scientific reports, treasure maps, musical scores…Everything was there for him to dig in, to reveal all the secrets the history of humanity has to offer. He heard the sounds of music from the first floor – someone was playing the piano and two angelic voices followed the tune. Popola entered the song after Devola and their voices intertwined beautifully when they reached the refrain.

Kaine was there, sitting casually on a chair, her terrifying blades nowhere to be seen. Yonah, her arms crossed on the chest, stood near Kaine, completely devoured by the song. Grimoire Weiss floated nearby trying to follow the rhythm. The young king of Façade and his wife Fyra were dancing gracefully in the center of the room and another pair of more clumsy dancers whirled around them – they both had red bags fastened on their shoulders.

Only then Emil turned his gaze to the piano. And stunned. An older version of himself, no more than nineteen years old, was playing the piano, his lilac eyes serious and focused, movements of his fingers precise and quick. He was not alone…Another pair of hands joined him, clumsily pressing on piano keys.

Llys was there…By his side.

When the song finally came to the end the dancers stopped catching their breaths. The red bag couple immediately started their usual argument – who stepped on whose foot and who was the first to lose rhythm during the dance. The king shouted praises to musicians, his wife nodding fiercely.

Kaine shrugged but he caught a glimpse of smile on her always emotionless face. Yonah clapped so hard that Weiss started to accuse her of creating additional vibrations making his floating more difficult. The twins laughed cheerfully at his grumbling.

Emil’s heart almost stopped when he looked again at the pair at the piano. Llys placed his hands around the waist of his older version, he saw himself blushing vividly at the touch. While everyone else was talking, clapping and laughing, Llys’s head rested on his shoulder, nose poking at the curve of his neck. With one lazy movement Llys cupped his blushing cheek and turned Emil, so he could see his face. There was a question on his lips, something unimportant, stupid even but it all died immediately when Llys covered Emil’s lips with his. Emil stumbled just for a second but then his lilac eyes closed and he eagerly returned the kiss placing his hands in a soft white mess of Llys’s hair.

- I want to stay here forever

***

In the Shadowlord’s castle

- Emil, no!

- Get back here! EMIL!

He could perfectly hear their shouts from here. His small sphere floated back dragged by Popola’s magic. There isn’t much time. The sphere containing his friends successfully reached the other side of the broken bridge and he sighed in relief casting a dispel.

They’ve made it. Good. They still have a chance to defeat the Shadowlord.

…

You are such a coward.

I didn’t have the strength to confess. I failed.

You lost your chance. I’m sorry.

…

The black void devoured him completely. Small cracks started to appear on the light-blue surface of the sphere looking like spider webs. Beautiful.

Llys…I…

I love you

I want to see you again.

I want to see all of you again.

I don’t want to die.

There is so much I wanted to tell you, Llys

Perhaps, in another life.

The sphere crushed under the pressure of the void. It continued to collapse until it reached the size of an apple. As hungrily and fiercely the void devoured everything on its way before as calmly and peacefully it turned into golden ashes carried away by the winds.

Emil’s scepter fell on the ground with an ominous ringing.

In another life.

#nier replicant #nier remaster #emil #emil nier #nier game #nier emil #nier spoilers #nier series

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acatpersonapparently · 3 years

Text

Jemtoria Angel AU: Part 1

Victoria hits earth crying for heaven. Wings crumpling like soda cans smashed under a child’s foot, Victoria meets earth with cruel impact. Victoria picks up her halo and puts it back on like someone will look down and see the mistake they made and bring her back home.

Her halo rests crooked and the white of the winter around her feels like a taunt.

ii.

Victoria loses her halo somewhere between a gas station and a cafe, long after her feet were raw and bleeding from walking. It slips off her head and rolls into a sewer grate. She stares at the metal bars between her and her divinity for hours before moving on (That’s what all her brothers and sisters always pointed out about the squirming humans writhing across the earth, their ability to carry on past tragedy)

She curls up under a tree in the park and waits for nature to whisper her a bedtime lullaby. The trees are silent and the flowers turn their back on her, every blade of grass turning away from the sinner/the once-angel/the silly mortal with an aching heart. There is nobody to look her way and no miracle to save her. So, Victoria cries out her loneliness under starlight, her tears boiling on her cheeks and dissipating into steam. So, this is what being alone means, Victoria thinks, having always been apart of the holy We. She reaches for the stars and they don't change the way they shine, not even a wink. So, this is being forsaken

iii.

Her feathers fall out in burning clumps: primaries, secondaries, coverts. Each handful telling her louder and louder about how the skies are now forbidden to her. Her pinions fall out, weeping blood., during a snowstorm. She stretches out the skeletal limbs they leave behind and Victoria can’t believe how small she feels without the glory of her wings on her back.

Victoria is trying to remember the sound of her family singing glory on high when she wanders into a bar. The chorus of voices sing to her loneliness and draw her in. She sits at the bar, worrying a feather and its fading holy between her hands.

Are you okay? Someone asks her. She thinks something wrong in her smile scares him away.

You’re in pain. Someone else tells her. Victoria supposes they’re right. They guide her into the pub's dilapidated bathroom. Her body burns as they gently begin washing the blood and half-smouldering ash from her skin, leaving the sink full of filthy brown water. She swears she can see Raphael’s silhouette around her stranger as they wrap her hands just like him when she was just a child trying to dance with supernovas or trying to hold white dwarfs in her hands to take home to her family.

Why? Victoria asks, mortal tongue twisting her jaw when she speaks.

Because you need kindness and I have some to spare. A large coat is dropped onto Victoria's shoulders. She wraps it tightly around herself and calls it a hug.

iv.

The stranger shows her eggs and bacon, early the next morning. She watches them watch her, waiting for her to eat. She's a splatter painting of purpling and yellowing bruises under dim fluorescent lighting.

Listen, if you’re in trouble, I can call someone. If someone is hurting you at home or anything, I’m sure I know someone who can help

I fell

I’ve heard that before

I fell and I have no home

Victoria digs into the food in front of her like it will fill the yawning emptiness that seems to be steadily growing inside her.

(Victoria flees the stranger's house that night, stealing as much clothes as it takes to feel warm and a pack of bacon)

Victoria moves, humanity hounding her and moving ever closer. She pets a dog, scalds her hands on hot water, runs through fields of tall grass that make her legs itch. She stares back at the people who stare at her when she walks down the street. She breaks into churches to steal from the offering plate (because the money is kind of meant for her anyways) and tears out pages from the hymnals in the pews.

She doesn’t make friends, or even talk really. The memory of heaven and its hosts make it hard to look at these little people and see them as anything more than the afterimages of something greater and much more divine.

Victoria picks up scraps of other people and stitches them into her own version of human. She copies the way the woman in the nice blazer waves, the fashion the old man with smile lines opens doors for others, the delicate manner that the woman with soft brown curls blows on her tea. She wanders the streets feeling like an imposter, lips still cracking when she tries to smile.

She looks for Uriel's flaming sword and the gate to salvation but heaven left no scent for her to track. Victoria learns the way that man with the stubble on his chin blasphemies, the man with yellow teeth curses someone out on his phone, the woman on the street corner who yells about the end times and her open defiance of God.

(When Victoria gives up on finding the Garden, she breaks into another church. She steals from the offering plate and tears up hymns. She stares at the statue of a man on the cross until something in her, gnawing and feral with humanity, decides she should tear it down. She destroys her Father's house, smashing pews and pouring out holy water. She curses him until her voice is raw and all she has left is nonsensical wailing. She leaves her Father's house, forsaking him the same way he did her.)

vi.

Victoria decides home is a town in the middle of nowhere where snow never falls. The people here are gentle and keep to themselves and that suits Victoria just fine. She grows a garden which is nothing like her Father’s, filling the spaces between flowers with the bones of roadkill she finds on the side of the highway when she wanders at night. The boys of the town come to her with wounded birds. Every single one is taken in without a word said between them. Their rapid little heartbeats singing into her palms when she takes them in. She mends their wings and whispers to them about her memories of being skybound and magnificent. She calls it purpose and living. She names their wings love and hope and keeps the feathers they leave for her close by. The ones who never stretch their wings wide again stay with her and they thank her by filling her garden with song.

(Victoria cries for the first time in a long time when she steps outside and they greet her with a rising chorus drenched in sunshine)

One of the boys, cradling a nightingale in his muddy hands under the pink-orange sky of dawn, staring at her with tears dripping off his chin and snot smeared across his cheeks, appears on her doorstep. You’ll help her? Please, you gotta help her.

Victoria smiles, cupping her hands around his, She just needs a little kindness. Don’t worry, I have plenty to spare.

#shhh no one knows what you're talking about #if i dont feel the immediate urge to delete this that will be impressivo #Victoria cats #this is technically Jemtoria/Softies content but in a very walkabout way #long post #cats the musical fanfic #how sweet a thing to be holy #angel au vic half

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mysteriouslyhopefulstranger · 3 years

Text

The Final Test

((My Secret Santa FanFic gift for @solitaria-fantasma. You asked for Lewis to undergo a sacrifice test in a forest, so I placed the crew into the universe of the horror indie game, “The Cursed Forest.”)) @msa-secretsanta-2020

“How are you holding up, Lew?” Arthur asked.

“Much better now that the deadbeats offered a few hands.” Lewis straightened his posture as he carried as much as the sacred stones he could. Not that they were heavy for him; it was just that his arms could only wrap around so much.

“I just hope that this stone doesn’t grate my prosthetic too much.” Arthur looked down at the stone he was holding and huffed. “But better the stone than the skeleton.” He cringed as he looked over at the deadbeats carrying parts of the child’s skeleton. “Son of a bitch. It was supposed to be a simple investigation! An exorcism is one thing, but a fetch quest?! And while avoiding her ‘impulses!’“

“Again, it’s not her fault.” Mystery reminded him. “Corrupted souls barely have control over themselves.”

“Anyway, we’re almost done, right?” Vivi piped up, also holding a stone.

“Yep.” Mystery nodded. “Now we just wait-”

The ground rumbled as the trees cracked and groaned. Vivi and Arthur nearly lost their balances as roots and vines burst from the ground to block the path in front of them. The trees around them shifted and moved to form a new path.

“Ah, there we go.” Vivi smiled. “Onward!”

With Mystery leading the way to keep an eye out for traps, the team headed down the newly formed path.

It only took them about five minutes to find the stone altar. It seemed as though it was made rather shoddily. Normally, altars were hand made; this one was just a giant flat boulder with imprints, possibly for the sacred stones. Vivi came closer to get a good look. “Oh! They have numbers etched into the slots! This should be easy!” She carefully placed her stone down to check the bottom. “Ok, mine’s #3, sooo...” She searched the slots for her assigned number.

Arthur checked his. “Seven.” He scanned the altar and saw that his stone was to be placed at the top center. He set it down. “Phew! OK, LeWAAUUGH!!!” He screamed as he fell back. Arthur had looked up to see a black cloud of a skirt and feet, leading up to more black and a pair of glowing white eyes. The little girl showed up again; the very child whose soul was corrupted by a ritual gone wrong; the very child who called them over by crashing the van; the very child who trapped them; the very child who ordered them to perform this exorcism;

The very child who had also tried to kill them while they searched for the pieces they needed to do so.

Vivi and Mystery backed away from the altar and got close to Arthur, ready to defend each other. Lewis looked stern.

“You’ve got everything?” A white streak appeared below the eyes of the cloud, and moved about as the girl’s voice echoed out of it.

“Yes.” Vivi said. “Now we just read what’s written in the paper, right?”

“Yeeesssss,” The ghost girl lilted with a smile. “but there’s one more thing that needs to be done.”

“Oh God!” Arthur groaned, looking like he was going to cry. “ Don’t tell me we missed something!”

“Nope!” The corrupted ghost’s smile got bigger. “This is just a liiiittle test!”

Mystery sighed, “Let me guess: we have to figure out which object is truly needed, or something like that. And if we pick wrong, we die. Yeah, already did this shit.”

“Nnnnnope! ~ Nothing like that!”

Arthur opens his mouth to ask, only to feel his next words being choked in his throat. Along with any air that was trapped along with it. In fact, when did the skin on his neck feel this...constricted?! He put his real hand up to his neck; there was a vine wrapped around it.

Mystery heard his restricted protest and turned to look at him. “Arthur, what-?”

CRMBLE CRMBLE SHK SHKKKKKKKK!!!

It happened so fast. Vines shot out of the ground, hoisting Vivi, Arthur, and Mystery off of the ground. They grabbed at their limbs, pulling them away from their bodies as if to rip them off of their sockets. Vines wrapped around their torsos, right where the ribs were. Mystery didn’t even have time to react and snap at the vines, for one had wrapped his muzzle tightly shut.

“NO!!” Lewis screamed, dropping the stones he was holding. In a flash of anger, his hands burst into flames. The deadbeats dropped their loads and prepared to attack. The corrupted ghost teleported in front of him, her finger wagging in front of his nose. “Ah, ah, ahhh! ~ You try anything, and I’ll kill them instantly.” She giggled and looked up at Mystery. “And if YOU try anything, I’ll rip your tails off!” Cue more vines shooting up from the ground and snagging each white tail. Mystery whined in pain.

Lewis shot his hand at the girl. She teleported out of range and cackled, “You must really want them to die! Well then, here goes!~”

Arthur let out a strangled cry as the vine around his neck tightened. Vivi screamed out as she felt the vine constrict her ribs and limbs, threatening to break bones. Mystery still could only whine as every limb he had was slowly being pulled apart.

“Stop, STOP!!! PLEASE!!!” Lewis begged. Their cries subsided as the vines slackened.

“Good boy!” The girl chirped. “Now, for the final test...you must choose which member of the team shall die!”

“Are you serious?!” Lewis roared, his hair glowing and whisping.

“Since when was this part of the ritual?!” Vivi grunted.

“Shut it, you!!” The ghost snarled, tightening the roots. Vivi squealed in pain.

“VIVI!!!” Lewis cried.

“Now pick!! Or I’ll kill them all! Ten, nine....” The roots slowly tightened again. Lewis panicked. Even the deadbeats were just flying around, screaming.

“...eight, seven, SIX....”

He can’t burn the roots without risking burning his loved ones, or without the risk of the spirit killing them by other means....

“...five, four, three....” Arthur’s face was turning purple, and Vivi and Mystery were tearing up as they continued to cry out.

....Wait. “a member of the team.” huh?

“TWO....”

“Myself!!” Lewis yelled.

The ghost stopped counting, looking surprised. “....What?”

“I choose myself!”

“Nnngggh, Lew...” Arthur gargled.

“Hey! I said..” The ghost started.

“That I should pick which member of the team should die. I’m a member! And in case you haven’t figured it out...” In a flash of fire, Lewis dropped his human façade, revealing his skeletal form, suit and all. “I’d like to see you try kill me, since I’m already dead!”

The ghost paused before smiling again. “I can just destroy your anchor!” She grew more roots, aiming at him.

Lewis flinched for a moment. But only for moment. “That would just make me disappear. You said that one of us had to die, not disappear.”

“B-but you...That doesn’t...!” The girl sputtered.

Lewis laughed, “Aren’t loopholes just fun?”

The corrupted ghost looked like she was about to explode. With an angry grunt, she slammed the rest of the team down onto the ground, releasing them from the roots. “Alright, alright! I’ll call it a pass!” She faded away. “You’re no fun!” Her voice echoed as she pouted.

Lewis and the deadbeats rushed over to the team. “Are you all ok?! Anything broken?!”

Arthur was too busy coughing and gasping to answer. Vivi on the other hand, “Owwww.” She moaned, rubbing her ribs and limbs. “I’m gonna have bruises for months!”

Mystery curled up and rubbed his muzzle with his paw. “This was humiliating.” He growled. “This exorcism better be super painful. Let’s get this over with before something else happens.”

Arthur finally caught his breath. “God dammit! If I get bruises too, Uncle’s gonna have a stroke and a hernia before I do!”

Lewis lit a flame near Arthur to investigate his throat. “Yeeeah, a bruise it already forming. But other than that, nothing broken?” He put his free hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur slowly stood up and moved his limbs around. Vivi and Mystery did the same.

“We can still move,” Vivi responded. “but it hurts a little.”

Lewis sighed, “Either way, the deadbeats and I will do the arrangement. You guys rest.”

“Fine, but I’m still reciting the words.” Vivi crossed her arms...and then winced since her arms rested on her ribcage.

“By the way,” Mystery laid back down, “that was some incredible quick thinking back there for someone of your attention span.”

“Ha.” Lewis rolled his eye sockets as he picked up the ritual stones one by one. “If there’s anything that I picked up from every horror movie I watched with Vivi involving deals with the devil, is that there is always a loophole in the contract based on certain word choices or in the fine print.”

“See?” Vivi turned to Mystery, smugly. “There ARE some accuracies in these stories!”

“But, what if she didn’t mix up the words or didn’t care about word choice. Would you have stood by your decision?” Arthur asked.

Lewis put down a stone in the assigned imprint. “...Yes.”

“But why would you-?!” Arthur started. Lewis turned around and glared at him. “Let me guess, you would’ve wanted me to pick you, right? Because you ‘deserve it.’ I’ve accepted that it wasn’t you back at the cave! Why can’t you?!”

Arthur lowered his head. “It...preyed on weakened feelings, right? So...if I had said something...”

“This was completely out of your control.” Mystery interrupted, sternly. “Hell, it took over me, remember? And I’m equivalent to that of a god!”

“And why should I pick someone that I love?” Lewis picked up another stone and put it down. “Why should I choose any of the ones that I love? Isn’t that obvious?”

Vivi smiled. “And you know that I would never, ever forgive if you did choose him.”

“That too.” Lewis chuckled. Arthur smiled as tears threatened to trickle down his face.

“If anything,” Mystery mumbled, “I should’ve-”

“Aaaaahhhhh!” Vivi pointed a finger at the kitsune. “Noooo! Don’t you dare go there, too! You’re my precious guardian pooch, and I’ll be damned if I lose you!” She scratched his ears. Mystery opened his mouth to protest her remarks, but succumbed to the blissful ear scritches and let it be.

“Aaaand done.” Lewis and his deadbeats floated back to examine their work. The little girl’s small skeleton laid in the center, surrounded by the ritual stones. Seeing her small frame made the team somber.

“God, looking at this now made me realize that I forgot this was just a kid who was dealt with the worst hand.” Arthur said.

“Yeah, poor thing.” Vivi sighed. “Lewis, you still got those instructions?”

Lewis fished out a piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Vivi. Vivi scanned through it until she found the proper incantation. She recited the words as carefully as possible, making sure she doesn’t mispronounce anything.

There was a crash of thunder and an ear-piercing shriek, as a black mist hovered over the skeleton. The team stumbled back and ducked. Winds howled as the clouds above them formed a vortex high above the altar. It sucked up the black mist, leaving a small, glowing white orb. The orb began to rise up into the sky, and the cloud vortex dissipated.

Silence.

Then rumbling from the ground and the cracking and creaking of the trees; they were moving again, clearing away the dead ends and opening a path to the way out.

Silence once more. The atmosphere felt lighter. Lighter enough to take a deep breath and savor it.

The curse has been lifted. The gang was free.

“....We did it. We did it!!!” Vivi laughed and hugged her boys.

“Oh thank God!” Arthur rolled his head back in relief.

“Now let’s scram. I’ve had enough of forests.” Mystery said.

The gang ran up the nearest path, with the living members fighting back the lingering pain in their legs, and they didn’t stop until they saw their bright orange van. They piled into it, collapsing into the back or onto the seats.

“Oh, vehicular transportation I’ve missed you!” Arthur almost cried, burying his face into the upholstery fabric.

“Another successful mission!” Vivi giggled.

“Alright, everyone settle, because I’m driving. You all still need to rest.” Lewis said.

“Ok daaaad.” Vivi teased before she leaned over from the back to give Lewis a kiss on the cheekbone. Arthur followed through after Vivi as he gave his keys to Lewis. Lewis blushed as he turned the ignition on.

As they started to drive away, a young voice echoed into their heads:

“Thank you.”

#solitaria-fantasma #msa-secretsanta-2020 #((I hope this suffices))#lewvithur #the cursed forest #msa

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partnersatfazbear · 3 years

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I’m... salty? Fazbear Frights: The Cliffs anaylsis

My initial thoughts about The Cliffs under the cut (contains spoilers):

The Cliffs - My favorite story of the bunch, but mostly because I really liked the main character. Not TOO much to write home about, but I will pick apart a few lines from this one. In my first set of similarities, the wife dies in childbirth. Not only is this a huge fear of mine (for my wife, in the future), but I wrote this happening in William’s backstory in RS. I generally loved the protagonist here, except when he didn’t realize the obvious: the Freddy was telling him not to kill himself, but where is son was. That doll got burned (yes, burned!), run over, and tossed off a cliff for nothing. I wouldn’t be surprised if that thing came back to kill them :V

Only thing that annoyed me was a few paragraphs wasted on a female co worker, because for some reason that was relevant. (No really, it wasn’t.) Why does this series insist on writing PAGES about useless love interests that do nothing for the plot, nothing for the MC, AGH. I know it’s a kids book series but Christ it’s annoying and I’ve been skipping this sort of stuff and the long action sequences.

The Breaking Wheel - This was the story I liked the least, but honestly, the one I’ll be writing the most about. I think it parallels William and Henry a little and I was a little irked how similar a specific part was to my Springtrap-springlock chapter in Resurrection Seeker.

So first, the story focuses mostly around two kids and they are rivals in a robotics class. One kid a huge douche (Julius) but competent and the other is struggling to put his ideas on paper (Reed). Then there’s Reed’s friend, Pickle, who is a genius.

I’m just gonna bullet point stuff I thought was relevant:

- Reed describes his relationship towards Pickle as: “He was so used to Pickle out performing everyone around him that praising him for doing something well was like praising him for breathing.” (This really reminded me of William’s admiration for Henry, although there isn’t any jealousy here.)

- Reed is described as having a “monkey face”. This reminded me of William, mostly because of the criticism from the fandom towards The Silver Eyes GN’s design. It could be a jab or coincidence.

- Julius’ robot is an exoskeleton (like the power loader from Aliens). When showing off, he becomes trapped in it:

- Reed leaves Julius to be trapped in the exo all night, including locking him in place so he can’t move. This is initially to get back at Julius for being a dick, but then the guilt starts eating away at Reed. Also, Julius getting locked in: “Julius jerked his arms, yanking to free them from the restrains of his skeletal suit....” Julius says: “Unlock me!” and “Do what I tell you! Unlock me!”

Reed tells him, “I’m going to leave you here in your suit overnight... so you can get an idea of what it feels like to... [be treated the way you treat others]. Maybe your robot can teach you a thing or two.”

Julius says, “Get back here you stupid ape! Do you know what you’ve done? I’m going to kill you! ... I’m going to tear you apart, limb from limb. Get back in here and unlock this! ... You can’t leave me in here like this!”

So, yeah. It reminds me a lot of Springtrap. As for the actual story... I was disappointed. The story starts off good (albiet with that poor kid trope this series LOVES) and reminded me early on of The Tell-Tale Heart. Then it defies stated logic to make a real, edgy ending that I didn’t care for. If the entire thing had been in Reed’s head it would’ve been better (more akin to Blackbird, which did the “in your head” trope poorly. If these stories were switched around, I think they’d work better.) So this story was meh. Such a promising start.

Another thing that annoyed me was a few paragraphs wasted describing Orey (fml I don’t care if I spell it wrong. Who the hell comes up with these names). He barely shows up in the story and is just a background character... story could’ve worked without him.

He Told Me Everything - If you love Goosebumps style stories, this ones for you. I really enjoyed it, but it had almost nothing to do with FNAF. The Chris name is obviously a giant troll (and to make matters worse his father’s name is Dave). The sister and wife don’t have any name parallels, although the wife reminded me a lot of my design for Mrs. Afton. The backstory of Chris’ family reminds me a lot of Afton’s backstory for Resurrection Seeker. Like. A lot. It’s spooky how close it is.

“The houses were small, identical little boxes, which had originally been built for workers at the steel mill...” “His dad... ...had gone on to vocational school to learn how to work on cars.”

Another thing to note about the Dad is his weight is specifically touched on several times. Seemed like a callback to the novels’ mention of an earlier version of William.

All in all, a solid entry into the books and some weird coincidences I can’t overlook.

The story did drag a little, but honestly, not nearly as bad as the others. It was good.

Now, for the epilogue.

I don’t know if I wanna fume or not. I’m DISAPPOINTED. Afton essentially dies in the end of it, only to have a piece of his soul in a female endoskeleton escape into the factory. Also, the fucking... the fucking PUPPET shows up (and is actually why Afton dies). [Note: I didn’t realize that Left-E isn’t shown burning in the FNAF 6 ending, which many people are using to justify this. Read below for how I feel about that.] I just. I don’t know. I mean, William always comes back, but... I don’t know how I feel about this. I have a HUGE suspicion that the female endoskeleton is what becomes Vanny. I definetly still see this sort of leading into Security Breach EXCEPT for the fact: The Puppet is still alive.

Okay, so those were my initial thoughts. Upon looking around / rereading people say the female endo is Eleanor (Baby). My wife pointed out I missed the long necked detail. Woops. I wonder if Eleanor/Baby MIGHT be our Vanny stand in in this universe, though. And yeah, still not happy.

Afton is pretty much dead outside of a small part of his soul existing in the endo that escaped (this is an assumption on my part, I don’t think it’s stated, so essentially he’s dead, dead). There are parts of this I liked (and William only had ONE line: “I am Agony.”) Like, no shit? I couldn’t tell! SMH

However, despite some of the parts I thought were interesting (we get a thorough description of AlmagAfton and when he dies its pretty pathetic and I had all the FEELS), I think overall I’m disappointed because we may be at the end of Afton’s story. I have a suspicion that Vanny will be replacing him and possibly even betraying him in Security Breach, if this is anything to go by. Another odd duck is that Jake, in the remnants of the Stichwraith (that everyone insists is the GF parallel) is still wandering around too. I’m assuming Puppet went down with the ship, quite literally, since he [William] falls apart into a lake. Thanks, Charlie. You continue to ruin my day.

My wife pointed out the lake reminded her of OMC’s lake and I’m like... Why are we backpeddling?! This entire epilogue is a fucking mess. Another thing that irritates me (and apparently quite a few people) is if this IS the way the story is heading, then it makes FFPS pretty much USELESS to the story, nullifies Henry’s sacrifice / wishes... and that sucks! ESPECIALLY the fact that the Puppet SURVIVED the FNAF 6 fire! I get she just wants William to pay for what he’s done to her and her father, but... Henry wanted her to rest. To move on. She didn’t do that. That’s shitty to me.

Also, apparently souls have a smell. So that’s canon now.

#the cliffs #fazbear frights #spoilers #security breach theory #william afton #almagafton #the puppet #vanny #stichwraith #henry emily #ffps #fnaf 6

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

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A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 6

<- Chapter 5 | Chapter 7 ->

Summary: First your mom’s a jerk. Then the Creature’s a jerk. You always try to be supportive and strong, because you know he was created in a lab 2 years ago and has never had any human contact except for physical beatings, but… You have your own emotional insecurities, too, and there’s only so much you can take.

The rooster crows, and you spring out of bed, rushing downstairs to do your chores with a vigor that alarmed, but pleased, your parents. Pulling on your coat in the frosty grey air, you hurry out to the barn before dawn breaks.

The dilapidated old structure looms like a ghost at the end of the pasture in the dark morning fog. The wooden door creaks as you push it open and slip inside. You discover the terrifying, ghoulish monster sleeping peacefully in the cow pen, curled up on the hay with Edelweiss and her newborn calf. A handful of barn cats have joined them, sharing the warmth.

A feeling builds up inside you like air filling a balloon, and escapes your mouth as a high-pitched squeal.

He jerks awake in an uncoordinated flailing of startled limbs, putting himself protectively between the calf and the noise. “S-sorry! You’re just so cute,” you gush, lowering your voice to a whisper. His eyes meet yours, the confusion leaves them, and he smiles.

As the previous night, he watches intently as you set about your chores. This time he asks you questions, and follows along with what you’re doing. You show him how to collect eggs, milk cows, distribute feed, and pull up water from the well—the latter he watches from a window, so he won’t be seen.

When finally you are done, you turn your attention to the creature. Your early start means there should be some extra time before you’ll be expected for breakfast, so you tend to his wound, and lay down in the hay with him. The animals graze peacefully outside in the purple-orange sunrise. He puts his arms around you, and you rest your head on his broad chest, watching them through the barn door, safe in the shadows.

“You are a gentle creature,” you yawn lazily, running your fingers through his hair, and tracing them over the uneven skin of his chest. For all he may look like a monster, he has the gentlest soul. But the comment makes his jaw clench, and shift uncomfortably.

“You don't know that,” he growls. “I am not. The power of death is in these hands.” He holds them out and turns them over. Each pale knuckle protrudes like the pommel of a dagger, attached to long, skeletal fingers. Like everything about him, they are macabre in appearance, but looking past that to the person they belong to, you can’t imagine them capable of any wrongdoing.

“No it's not—” you begin to protest, snatching his hands out of the air and clutching them to your chest. But then, you don’t really know anything about his past, and begin to wonder. “Have you...? Killed?”

He shakes his head, to your relief. “To take a life is to waste the most precious gift. But I have contemplated it, and I believe myself capable. Before we met, I was determined to wreak misery upon he who made me. Humanity hated and scorned me, and so I decided…” He trails off, breathing deeply. “I am certain, had you not found me, I would have committed unforgivable evils; such was the state I was in. I have already committed acts of destruction: I set fire to a cottage where my friends once lived. I destroyed out of spite that place where they abandoned me.”

“There’s no point worrying about what could have happened. You haven’t done anything wrong, that’s what matters. All you’ve done is... burn an empty cottage?” Wait, what? “I didn’t realize you had friends before. You always spoke as if you had been alone until now...” A dagger of jealousy pierces your heart. You push the feeling away, a pit of shame knotting your stomach—how dare you be upset you’re not his first and only friend?

His chest heaves a sharp laugh, but his eyes are sad. “I called them thus… In truth, I was their friend, but they were never mine” He tells you a story of how he took shelter in a low hovel attached to a cottage, from whence he could observe the lives of its occupants through the year, undetected. He learned to speak and read from watching them, and in return he secretly aided them however he could. They called him a good spirit, and he called them his protectors. The patriarch was a blind man, and after he had mastered speech, he sought to introduce himself when he was alone, that he might supplicate himself before him for aid, and earn his sympathy. “My plan nearly succeeded, but his family returned and drove me away. Despite all my efforts to help them, they could not stomach a ‘good spirit’ as hideous as I, and they fled in horror, never to return. Such is the fate of one wretched as I. In my life, only you have been able to tolerate me—I must assume by some anomaly in the shape of your skull which makes you immune to horror.”

His tale is just as sorrowful as you had expected, and you spent its telling squeezing and nuzzling him comfortingly. But there was one little thing that kept bothering you about it.

“Hang on—so you were spying on them for a whole year?! That’s kind of creepy, mon coeur.”

“What do you mean? I would be delighted to discover a secret friend had been watching over me this whole time.”

Your head hangs, shaking side to side. “Oh, my sweet innocent daemon.” You swivel around and squeeze both his cheeks between your hands. “Of course you would. All you’ve ever wanted is to not be alone. How could you understand what stalking means?”

“Stalking?”

“Most people find it disturbing—threatening—to be watched by a stranger without their knowledge. And for an entire year! They must have realized the mysterious spirit doing them favors was you the whole time! I’d have been creeped out too if that was how we met! They would have run away even if you were handsome as a prince!”

His face is a mask of confusion, frozen with mouth agape. After a moment of shocked silence, it falls in despair. “Then there is more than my appearance that drives my fellow-beings from me? I always believed, if not for my twisted form, I might be accepted—but there is more? My sensibilities, my utter ignorance of the simplest conventions of social existence will keep me from ever experiencing it!”

“Oh, no! Please don’t… I didn’t mean…!” Good job, you broke him. “That isn’t what I meant,” you plead, desperately stroking the side of his face, but his eyes are frozen in a faraway look, sinking under the weight of a new failure. “What I mean is, maybe it’s not as hopeless as you think! Maybe people aren’t afraid of you because of your immutable physical traits, but because of how you present yourself. And you can change that. I can teach you!”

His unfocused eyes refocus on you, silently curious about what you’re saying.

“So much of how we perceive others is based on presentation. Dress a man in rags and he will be suspected as a criminal, or in the finest silks and he is trusted as a gentleman, though he is the same man with the same soul.” You play with his hair, combing the tangles out of it with your fingers. “Perhaps if we can obtain clothing tailored to your size, if we can groom your hair to a gentlemanly fashion, and most importantly, find some way to introduce you which explains your odd figure… perhaps then, you would not arouse fear in those who see you.”

“Do you think so?” he asks, hopefully.

“We can try.”

He smiles, shaking off his melancholy. Two massive hands pull you firmly onto his lap. “You are all I want, anyway. I don’t care about anyone else.” His hand runs down the small of your back, and lower, teasing you. A heat rises in your core. Something in the way his eyes smile when they look at you… suddenly, you need him. You lean up to kiss him, pulling on his neck for support, and his lips lower to meet yours, merging with sudden fury. He pulls the back of your head toward him, deepening the kiss, while his other hand takes advantage of your hips lifting off his lap to slide between your thighs. He moans, muffled against your mouth. The sound of his arousal ignites your own, and you writhe your hips into the fingers exploring you there, directing them over your clothes to your heat. You could get lost in him.

Your mother’s shrill voice carries down to the barn, calling your name. The hens cluck a greeting, rushing to the fence to beg for food. She’s not just calling you in to breakfast, she’s coming to the barn!

You fall off him with a yelp, frantically righting your clothing and hair, while he scrambles to get out of sight, massive erection outlined clearly even through his thick cloak.

“What is taking you so long?” your mother scolds, charging into the barn. She’s in a foul mood, but at least is too wrapped up in her anger to notice anything amiss. She snatches up the milk pail by the door. “I’ve been waiting on this for breakfast!”

“Sorry. I got an early start so I could take my time this morning—it’s no later than user!”

“Don’t talk back to me, child,” she huffs. “I worried about you. I keep expecting you to disappear again.”

“Oh, mom…” you feel sorry for all you’ve put her through for a moment, but she doesn’t let you complete your thought.

“Do you know how this has been on me? Our family is the gossip of the town. But at least we had that nice service for you. How did you like the service?”

It wasn’t a real question. You open your mouth to answer, and she is already delivering a lengthy sermon on how lovely the hymns were, and how she had the best voice, because she wanted to be an opera singer when she was your age, you know.

“Anyway, I came to fetch you for breakfast, and after breakfast, I want you to go into town and apologize to that boy Ferdinand right away and get him to take you back.”

“What? I told you, I broke things off with him!”

“You can explain that the accident made you hysterical, and you weren’t thinking straight.”

“But I was thinking straight. I don’t love him!”

“You fool!” she raises her voice. “Can’t you see he’s your best prospect? Who else will have you? Do you want to grow old alone, a spinster?”

“Maybe I do!” You’ve had about enough of this. “There’s good money in textiles, and then I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone! You think I want to end up like you and dad?”

“HOW DARE YOU?” She slaps you across the face. It wasn’t a hard blow, but it stings like needles under your skin. An angry snarl emanates from where the creature is hiding. Your mother stands bolt upright. “What was that?”

“That was you hitting me,” you hiss between clenched teeth, playing dumb.

“Let us return to the house. Something unholy has fallen on this place.”

“No, I still have chores to finish.”

“Now! I will not leave my daughter alone to be preyed upon by a demonic spirit. Dear lord, what if the devil is following you? When you had your accident, you came too close to the gates of death, and now some devil has its claws in your soul… Come!”

“It was only a cow, you’re imagining things,” you plead, but she grabs you hard around the wrist and drags you back to the house.

*****

Something is wrong. You can tell the moment you enter the barn. After spending a long, miserable day under your mother’s supervision, you long for the comfort of your macabre companion’s arms, but he does not greet you at the door. It is silent. He could be asleep again, but it is not the warm, comfortable silence of rest. It is a cold feeling, as if something had sucked all sound from the air.

You climb up to the hay loft, a knot of dread rising in your stomach, and find him stewing in a shadowed corner facing the wall.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Who is Ferdinand?” he growls, not turning around.

The knot tightens.

He whips around and repeats his demand, this time a roar. “Who is Ferdinand?!” His eyes are dark. He may have been crying.

“The boy I was with when I tripped and fell in the river... the one who shot you.”

“And who is he to you, exactly?” He asks, attempting to seem indifferent to the answer, though his voice is strained and constricted in his throat.

“He was... we were courting. He comes from a wealthy family, and my parents pushed the match. Of course I ended all preludes the moment I awoke from the accident to learn what he had done to you. Then I went to find you.”

This explanation does nothing to satisfy him, or to relieve the tension in his shoulders and the heaving of his breath. He paces.

“You never told me.”

“I… I’m sorry; he’s in the past, it didn’t seem important…” But not even mentioning it was a deliberate oversight. It was to protect his feelings, you tell yourself. Or was it to protect yourself from your own shame? Girls in your town are taught to be faithful, to never rush between men. One must wait at least a year between suitors, to be proper. To do otherwise is to be called a whore. Not that you care about what is proper. Not that he ought to care.

“Did you lay with him?” he cringes. “And how many others before him?!”

“Th-that’s none of your business!”

“But you’re mine!” he roars. “I thought you were mine… I should have known you belonged to another!”

“I belong to nobody!” you cry indignantly, trying to convince yourself as much as him. The anger rising within you is overshadowed by a stronger feeling—guilt. You never lied exactly, but you omitted the truth to let him think you were better than you are. “I may have been with another in the past, but I chose to be with you now. Please...” Your appeal falls on unhearing ears as he continues to pace in a jerky, agitated manner.

“And you… you debase yourself with me! What madness would cause you to break with your own kind and seek companionship with a wretched fiend? You could be wife to a normal, handsome fellow-being, yet you debauch in the sordid embrace of monsters? You are a greater freak than I! Given the choice, I would take a normal life! You make an outcast of yourself willingly. What in the world could drive you to such self-destruction? I forbid it! Be not an adulteress to a corpse. Take my leave and rejoin your own!”

There are a million things you could tell him. You could shout at him for being cruel. For pushing you away again. You could calmly comfort him, explain to him why it’s all okay… Except you’re struggling to see how it can be okay. Your lip quivers. He’s right. A voice like a knife dipped in honey whispers in your ear, draining all your strength to fight back. You’re too much of a freak even for him. You’re an unfaithful whore jumping from man to man. Your knees go weak. You could never do the proper things a lady is supposed to do. You didn’t think he would notice? Everyone notices. Your mother is right—there’s a devil in you.

You turn to run, to escape the voice. Legs like lead, barn blurry with tears, you trip and stumble and feel your way to the ladder.

“Why are you crying?” he asks as you go, at first with cold curiosity, then softer, in a shaking voice. “Why are you crying?”

*****

You run into the woods, to your secret place to think and get away. It’s not far from home—a place you’ve come since you were a child—but hidden from view behind a few large boulders, standing out on the otherwise flat forest floor as if dropped from the sky. They are covered with moss, set in a tiny clearing where an old tree blew down years ago, letting just enough light in for a soft circle of grass to grow.

You scramble between the rocks, falling to your knees on the snow still hiding, like you, in the solace of shadows. Tears fall down hot against your cheeks, but you shiver, skin clammy with goosebumps.

It doesn’t take him long to find you.

“No, oh no…” he gasps, “what have I done?” He kneels beside you, and wraps himself around your shaking form. “No, no, no... Please no, don't cry,” he begins to sob. “I am sorry... I am a fiend! A wicked, villainous fiend to hurt you... Forgive me, please forgive me, I am sorry…”

It feels good to cry with him, the way a funeral feels good. Miserable, yet not alone. But you should be alone. When he knows the truth, he won’t want to stay. He’ll leave you alone with your lies.

“You’re right. You’re right about everything,” you sniff. “I didn’t tell you so many things I should have, because… this magical creature wandered out of the woods and thought the world of me. I didn’t want you to know. I’m a freak. I’m rotten. A disappointment. And I'm poor. I'm just a poor farmer. You think I am sacrificing my social standing by affiliating with you, yet in truth, I have no such standing. No merit. I am nothing. Even among the poor farmers of this town, I have never been accepted. Ha—and I said I could help you fit in! Who am I to teach anyone about social etiquette? Ferdinand was my only prospect; that's why mother is so worried that if he won't have me, no one will. But I thought I could at least seem normal in your eyes… but even a monster can see I am worthless.”

He flinches when you call him a monster, but it is only a blip against the look of horror and sadness in his eyes as you speak of yourself that way. “No. No, please forget those jealous words I spoke,” he croaks, voice breaking. He’s clinging to you like a drowning man, his weight against you crushing, but warm. He rubs heat back into your arms. “They were spoken in a fit of madness—vitriolic raving, fueled by envy, deprived of all logic or reason. Do not forgive me: hate me and curse my being, but do not allow my reckless malice to tarnish your own estimation of your worth. Here I speak the truth: You are everything. You are all I could ever want, and more than I dare ever hope for. You are kind, and wonderful, and strong. You are perfect, and I do not deserve to bask in your radiance. Destroy my wretched life now, if it will undo the harm I have done, and I shall submit myself to your revenge.”

It’s too late. The voice isn’t satisfied, and you can only helplessly parrot what it whispers to you. “I’m not any of those things. If you only looked normal, you would fit in better than I ever could. I wish I could trade bodies with you, so that you could be happy, and I could be the one hiding in the wilderness all alone.”

“I COULD NEVER BE HAPPY LIKE THAT!” he shouts, holding your gaze with such intensity it snaps you out of your fog. “Not without you beside me! I will never be content while you are miserable.”

“But you held me in such high esteem. I let you believe you were getting more than you were—that I was a prize of high station, with powers to lift you up in society. Aren't you disappointed?”

“I never overestimated your position. Though I am kept apart from it, I am not so ignorant of human society as to be blind to your place in its cruel hierarchy.”

“But you always say things like, I’m an angel, I’m noble, the barn is heaven, our food is lavish...”

“Compared against my own experiences, these are true. I have nothing, not even humanity. My life has been spent in wilderness, and you have been gracious in sharing what little you have. You are the noblest being I have encountered, yet it is plain in your residence, dress, and occupation that you are you are of the lower class. And to seek me out, unafraid… I easily inferred you were unusual amongst your peers. Your mere willingness to tolerate me is proof.”

“Oh.” You shake your head, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

He takes your hand, kneeling in front of you. “Did you believe I would think less of you? How could one so wonderful as you ever put value on the opinion of a wretch such as I? Could it truly be that you feel wretched, too, at times?” His eyes widen with realization. “That is why my words hurt you. You have borne the pain of rejection; you share, to an extent, my feeling of isolation. From my vantage, you seem so grand, like the walls of a castle that I am merely the wind howling against. I could not imagine myself capable of damaging you.”

“Do you really think I don’t care? I am not a castle. I’m not above you, or your reprobations. You really hurt me this time...”

“I know,” he says, voice cracking with agonizing understanding. He is certain you are leaving him. “I know.”

You breathe out a long sigh. Brushing a strand of loose hair from his despairing face, you give a lopsided smile. “You know... You're cute when you're sad.”

“I am never cute,” he says, staring severely at the ground. “I am hideous.”

“Stop it, you're even cuter when you're self-pitying!”

He looks up from his stupor, and sees the teasing glimmer in your eyes. “You... are forgiving me?”

“Do you forgive me about Ferdinand? You don’t think I’m a harlot?”

“I don’t care about that anymore. It is far worse to see you in pain because of my foolish jealousy. You may bed a different man each night, and I will count myself fortunate to have you return home to me. Just return to me. I cannot bear the thought of losing you.”

Your lips crash against his, catching him off balance. You pull him down into you, practically hanging on the back of his neck.

“Well,” you break the kiss, breathless, “I’m not going to abandon you. But I… hope this gets easier. I don’t want us to fight all the time. You lash out at me like you can’t trust me. But you're only two years old, I suppose, so tantrums must be expected; and you’ve never had anyone else to talk to.”

He buries you in his chest with a sob, protectively scooping you off the frozen ground. He feels so warm, with his cloak draped over you, rocking back and forth. Everything is okay now.

“I am so sorry. I swear to you, I will never hurt you again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you whisper. “Just keep getting better. We’ll both just keep getting better, together.”

His mess of hair nods against your cheek, still gripping you tight.

*****

At length, you rise, finally ready to return. He takes off his wool cloak and wraps it around your shoulders. The storm between you is over.

You walk back to the barn to do the evening chores. Though it’s an unheated barn, it’s amazing how much warmer it feels compared to the chilling wind outside. The creature helps you with a few of the tasks you showed him earlier. He is slow and unsure, and must rest frequently for his shoulder, but he tries hard to be useful, pushing past the pain, as if helping with this will make up for everything earlier.

He sets a milk pail by the door, ready for you to bring back to the house for the dinner. His eyes linger over the spot balefully, where you had argued with your mother that morning.

“I should have protected you when you returned, after the way that woman struck you, I should have been there to lessen your strife…”

“You growled so loud, you nearly gave us away!” you laugh, throwing grains into the mule’s trough, eager to change the subject. “It’s a lucky thing father makes sport of dismissing mother’s fears as feeble-minded superstition.”

“How awful.”

“She’s awful.”

“But they are married. Do they not love each other, as my dear Felix and Safie?”

You snort at his naivete. “Marriage has nothing to do with love. It didn’t for my parents, and it wouldn’t if I had married Ferdinand.” You secure the lid back on the store of feed. “I have no money in my own name. The only way out of this farm is to wait until my parents die, or take a husband. That’s the choice all women here must make.”

“I never understood these laws of men, which seem contrived to force those under them to live in misery. One should not have to spend their life with another they do not love. It seems better to break with civilization entirely, if only it were not so bitterly lonely…”

“Well… I agree with you there. If it were possible, I’d run away into the forest and never look back. Except I would starve to death, or freeze. If I was like you… we could just disappear together.”

He smiles at you, wiping your hands off on your dress now that chores are finished, a strange look on his face. “I dreamed of that once. Having a companion who was like me, and spending our lives in the remote jungles of South America.”

“That sounds nice.”

You sit down with him against the barn wall. A small calico pads over and rubs her head against the both of you with a purr, before rushing off to hunt mice.

“It was my greatest hope… but then I met you. Now all of my dreams are of you. I would live anywhere, do anything, to be with you. I am so eager to devote my life to you… I am ashamed that I am equally eager to believe you would betray me…”

He’s never going to forgive himself for that. You sigh, and shake your head. “It's funny... Others look at you and see a monster. They run away or hurt you thinking you’ll attack them, or eat their skin, or steal the souls from their goats or something!” You laugh quietly. He stares at you a little horrified. When did you get so morbid? “What I mean is—If only they knew your most monstrous quality is a mundane, human thing like jealousy.”

He breathes out a single, silent laugh, and hangs his head.

“You know, thanks for saying you don’t care who else I’m with, but… The moment I laid eyes on you, it was over with Ferdinand. From that moment, you were all I could think about. You were all I wanted, even before we met.”

He picks his head up. “You really chose me? You could have had that handsome boy, but you chose me?” This time, his voice is full of wonder, not fear. A victorious smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

“I did.”

He takes your hand and holds it to his thin lips, each word a kiss against your knuckles. “It is incomprehensible that any rational being would make such a selection, but… it makes me unimaginably happy.”

#frankenstein #Frankenstein's Monster #monster x human #monster x reader #the creature x reader #my writing #angst angst angst

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Familial Ties (And How To Break Them) 9/14

Soft Mature, this chapter. Deals are made. ~

Beetlejuice didn't sleep. He held Pate and listened to her breathing, and felt her twitch and saw her eyelids flutter occasionally as she dreamed. He wondered what she dreamed of, and if she knew the level of trust it took to sleep pressed against a demon willingly.

Her warmth did lull him into drifting in the soft twilight between consciousness and unconsciousness. He never worried about losing feeling in a limb, so he was able to keep her close.

It crossed his mind to kiss her awake, and even more dirtily to stroke her pussy lightly till she noticed--which of course led to other activities in his mind; demons didn't have to wait like human men to get it up again--but he knew she was going to want to get started on their day.

So even as the sunlight shone around the edges of the curtains, they stayed wrapped in the cocoon of blankets, and he waited quietly until she came awake on her own.

Pate slept deeply despite the strange dreams. Beetlejuice’s cool body pressed against hers translated into a comforting presence in her subconscious, soothing and steadfast. A voice was whispering in a language she didn’t speak but somehow understood:

“Rijl Jauzah al Yusrā”, “Algebar”, “the left foot of the great one . . . ”

Pate sighed through her nose, trying to wriggle her way deeper into the calming presence beside her. But she was becoming increasingly aware of a peculiar feeling.

It was like . . . indigestion but with pressure instead of pain, as though a force were pressing firmly on her breastbone and between her shoulder blades at the same time. It was enough to finally drag her from the succor of sleep, moaning against Beetlejuice’s chest:

”He’s coming . . .”

She felt him brush loose falls of hair out of her face, tucking them behind her ear.

“Who’s coming, baby?” He murmured back with a smile.

She moaned again and stretched languorously, smiling back at him.

“I dunno,” she admitted. “It just . . . came out?”

Beetlejuice chuckled at that, his fingers idly stroking her bare arm.

“Just a dream.”

She hummed in agreement and leaned in, pressing a sweet lingering kiss to his lips. From the direction of the door behind him there was a voice:

“Let me stop you before this gets anymore disgustingly saccharine.”

He'd recognize that smarmy voice anywhere, and Beetlejuice started up, half out of the bed as soon as he registered who was in the room.

“Rigel!" he spat.

His younger brother, looking as put together as always, grimaced. “For the love of hell, Lawrence! Can you cover that up?”

With an inarticulate roar, without a care he was nude, without thinking, Beetlejuice rushed their uninvited guest. Tentacles erupted from the ether around him, and they'd grabbed Rigel. He bodily slammed his half brother into the wall with a resounding "crack". His hands and tentacles both wrapped around his smooth neck, but instead of fighting back, Rigel grinned.

"Let's rethink this, Lawrence," he suggested smoothly, and cocked his head, looking over Beetlejuice's shoulder towards the bed.

"Beej--!" Pate whispered, her voice tight with fear.

Beetlejuice twisted to look at her. Dziban, both of it, had her flanked. The skeletal hellhounds looked more nightmarish in the modern aesthetics of a hotel room.

"She doesn't have a religious icon to help her now," Rigel told him. "Let's not make it messy in here and lose your deposit."

With another snarl, Beetlejuice released him and backed away. Rigel tugged the hem of his suit jacket to straighten it again.

"You really are pathetic. Sleeping with a breather but leaving her alive? How desperate are you? I'll admit she's pretty, but they're nothing. Something nice to have around and play with, but not something to get attached to."

So many things happened in such quick succession that Pate was left feeling dizzy. Seemingly out of nowhere, Rigel himself had materialized in the room. Before she had time to move, to do anything other than sit bolt upright with a horrified gasp, Beetlejuice had practically thrown himself across the space with an inhuman snarl that made her shiver, the shadow tentacles writhing around him as he grabbed his calmly smiling sibling and pinned him to the wall hard enough to rattle the fixtures.

Pate gathered the sheet with shaking hands, wrapping it around herself, lowering a leg to the floor to . . . do something, anything other than sit there like a terrified animal, jerking her leg back onto the mattress with a harsh yelp when she saw the hellhounds, Dziban, stalking toward her with its hanging jowls and huge luminous eyes, low growls emanating from deep in its shriveled chests.

Retreating until her shoulders met the headboard, Pate could do nothing but call Beej's name, meeting his enraged eyes with a fearful gaze. He turned, seething, back to Rigel and withdrew, the tentacles likewise coiling away from the taller demon. At Rigel's spiteful taunting, Pate could see Beeltejuice's hands, already clenched into angry fists, tighten even more until the tendons stood in sharp relief.

"What do you want?" she demanded from the relative sanctuary of the bed, proud when her voice didn't waver despite her fear.

Rigel turned a withering eye at her, then sighed deeply as though bored to tears.

"Well, little cocksleeve," he sneered. "I'm here to make a deal. Not that I don't enjoy our reunions, Lawrence, but I've got much grander aspirations. Something I don't expect you to understand."

Beetlejuice snarled again, a bestial sound.

"I've come for the other half of the book."

"And why the fuck would we give it to you, you apocalyptic shitstain?" Beetlejuice spat venomously.

Leveling his brother with a long-suffering look, Rigel snapped his fingers and one of the hellhounds leapt onto the bed with startling agility and Pate recoiled with an involuntary shriek.

"This game is amusing but, as I said, I have bigger plans. And for those plans, I need that book. Once I have it, I have no more need to torment either of you. You can scurry off into the sunset together to live or die or fuck to your hearts' content. Otherwise I will have to use . . . . persuasion."

Dziban snapped at her, not close enough to do any damage, but enough to pry another cry from her throat.

"Think it over," Rigel said congenially, as though this were a perfectly normal conversation. "When you make up your minds, throw on some clothes --" He paused to give Beetlejuice a very distinctly unimpressed once over, "--and meet me at the Waldorf Astoria. They'll send you right up."

Snapping his fingers again, both the hellhounds suddenly vanished.

"Tsk, tsk, Lawrence," he said, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Shacked up with a mortal. You're going to break your mother's heart."

Chuckling darkly he too disappeared, leaving nothing behind but a faint plume of acrid smoke.

Still clutching the bed covers like they were a shield, in a shaking voice Pate asked, “What does he mean?”

Beetlejuice shook himself and ran a hand through his hair. His tentacles evaporated like dark vapor and he felt more exposed than before. The burst of adrenaline that coursed through him left him shaking and his shoulder, which he had forgotten about as he went for his brother, ached to remind him he wasn’t completely healed as he turned back to her.

“Nothing. He knows mother doesn’t have a heart.”

It took her a moment to process his reply, then she gave him a withering look. “Seriously, Bug.”

He managed a weak smile and came back to the bed, although now he was too jittery to slip back under the sheets with her. If it was possible, he hated Rigel that much more, for breaking the mood and preventing him from getting laid this morning. “You okay, baby?”

She nodded, but looked pale as milk and trembled too.

“Good thing you had the idea not to keep the book here,” he complimented, hoping to make her feel better.

She nodded again without a word, and he didn’t like that she was starting to look a little vacant, like the events unfolding in the past several days of her life were catching up to her. He sat down on the mattress beside her and pulled her into a hug. Into her hair he whispered that she’d done well, that she was holding up, they were going to get that half of the book and send Rigel right back to where he belonged.

At least she clutched at him while nodding this time.

Finally he told her to take a hot shower while he ordered breakfast for her, then they’d see about heading over to the fucking Waldorf Astoria for a proper meeting with his younger brother.

Her hands were shaking as she brushed her hair after showering. Once again, this whole crazy adventure had pulled the rug out from under her just as she thought she’d found her footing. For Rigel himself to appear in their room, it had changed the whole tone of their operation, perhaps reminded her once and for all what she was risking.

And then there was the new development with her bizarre dream, as if some part of her had known what was about to happen. What had that been? Pate was finding herself with more questions than answers as she and Beetlejuice took to the street, slipping easily into the flow of foot traffic to walk the two and a half blocks to the hotel where Rigel had apparently taken up residence.

From the moment they left the room he hadn’t stopped touching her: a hand on the small of her back as she led the way into the elevator, his chest pressed to her back as they waited at a crosswalk, his fingers laced with hers as they stopped in front of the imposing tower of glass, soaring hundreds of feet over their heads. She squeezed his hand in hers, unspeakably grateful for his solid, supportive presence.

“Ritzy,” she commented offhandedly. He scoffed darkly beside her.

“Naturally,” he growled.

Giving each other one last long look, Pate and Beetlejuice walked through the heavy glass doors into the lobby.

After last night, he didn't seem able to keep his hands off her. Pate didn't complain, and squeezed his hand occasionally too.

This lobby didn't excite him like the Flamingo had. He let Pate go to the desk and do the talking, while he looked for signs of his half brother, because it would be just like him to have laid an ambush here. Who knew what other lesser demons he'd called up?

But Pate returned to his side and led him to a bank of elevators. She herded him into one with no buttons, only a slot for a key. Without saying anything, she put the key she'd gotten from the clerk into it, gave it a twist, and they started the long ride up to the top floor.

Pate wasn't quite sure what to say or ask the concierge behind the gleaming front desk of black marble. She felt distinctly out of place here, where all around her the décor dripped opulence. Rigel had given them the impression that they'd be expected and sure enough, as soon as she walked to the sleek check in counter the smartly dressed man nodded in greeting and passed her a single bright brass key.

"Mr. Venandi is expecting you," the man said flatly.

She frowned. Something about him seemed . . . off. His voice was so empty, his eyes faintly glazed and he wasn't quite looking at her, more in the general direction of her. Saying nothing, Pate took the key from him and he motioned to the elevators.

Hurrying back to Beetlejuice, she steered him in the direction indicated by the strange concierge. There was a keyhole inside the elevator, so she slid the key in and gave it a turn. Embossed above it was the word "Penthouse".

Being trapped in this box was nothing like riding in the car. In the vehicle he could see outside and Pate played music loudly; this elegant lift was more like a tomb. He'd been in enough of those.

He tried to smile at Pate, but it came across as sickly. He did not let her hand go.

The air of foreboding increased to an actual heaviness in the atmosphere as the elevator neared its destination. There was also an unpleasant underlying scent of roses, and he saw Pate wrinkle her nose.

"Roses herald the dead," he told her simply. "Despite the Armani suits, sometimes Rigel likes to honor the old ways."

Just before the doors slid open, Beetlejuice told her, "I'm going first," in a voice that brooked no disagreement.

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse. Like the rest of the place, it was ornate and opulent and dripping with what was supposed to be sophistication, but it was trying too hard.

"Lawrence!" his younger brother called from across the room, standing in front of the floor to ceiling windows. His voice dropped to a more friendly tone with, "And Pate. Please, come in. Have a drink."

Never taking his eyes off the silhouette, Beetlejuice led the way, keeping tight hold on Pate. Immediately from the corners of the room Dziban flanked them, herding the two of them towards its master.

The cloying, sickly sweet floral smell reminded her of funeral homes and Pate leaned in against Beej's side, her hand gripping his more tightly as she subconsciously wound the other arm through his. He felt like her anchor in this troubling and unfamiliar place, as if she might drift away and be lost forever if he let go. He insisted on entering the penthouse first and she gave him no argument.

In different circumstances, the room might be a nice one. It was like something off of a TV show, it didn't seem real. But Rigel, ironically haloed in bright sunlight at the large windows and Dziban, slinking out of the shadows to drive them like sheep toward the hungry alpha wolf at the other side of the room were horribly real.

Rigel was polite, even gentlemanly when he addressed her and Pate visibly recoiled, hugging Beetlejuice's arm against her chest as if Rigel might try to physically pull her away from the silently stewing demon at her side. He had crossed to a small wrought iron and rich mahogany side table laden with glittering glass decanters, glasses and a bucket of ice. She watched him like a hawk as he casually poured a measure of dark red liquid that might be wine or blood into a glass. Turning to face them, ice cubes clinking faintly as he gently twirled the glass, he raised it to her in a toast.

Rigel's carmine eyes stayed intent upon her as he raised the glass to his lips, and Pate fought not to squirm under his impassive scrutiny. He lowered the glass, a faint reddish tinge on his smiling lips that made it look even more like he'd just been drinking blood, chuckling at the look of revulsion on her face.

"Now that I get a good look at you," he said, setting the glass back on the side table, never taking his eyes off her. "You are a tasty morsel, aren't you?"

The way he said it, soft and inviting, beckoning her as if she were a little lamb he meant to slaughter made her shiver, her blood running cold.

Beetlejuice's arm, which she was still clinging to for dear life, tensed at Rigel's words.

The taller demon must have noticed, because he flashed his brother a wicked sneer.

"I'm afraid your taste in companionship is questionable, my dear," he went on conversationally. "Though in all fairness, you're only human, mistakes are inevitable."

Clasping his arms loosely at his back Rigel paced casually closer, his eyes only for her even as Beetlejuice tugged her a bit further behind him with a warning growl. His forearm felt like spun steel under her fingers.

Rigel stopped short, giving the bristling demon an evaluating look and appearing less than impressed, tilting his head to peer around him and catch Pate's eye again. "If you ever find yourself in want of a higher class of company, do keep me in mind, won't you?"

Was he actually hitting on her? Is that what was happening?

Beetlejuice's silent, steely fury seemed proof enough and he ground out through his teeth, "Let's get this over with."

With an air of disdain, Rigel’s eyes flicked back to his brother’s.

“I was merely making conversation, Lawrence. Complimenting a pretty lady, and offering her alternatives. Humans sometimes don’t realize what’s available to them, do they, or what actually may be on the table?”

It was a dig at the fact it was a well-known secret he wanted nothing more than to hear his name and be summoned to this plane, and had gone to great, sometimes stupid, lengths to make that happen repeatedly. Beetlejuice lowered his head.

“That’s neither here nor there, Rigel,” he said in a low voice.

He took a step forward too, but growls from Dziban on either side of them, and one of the hellhounds slinking forward too, its skinless head low, halted his progress.

“Like I said, let’s get this over with,” he repeated.

Rigel nodded and clapped his hands like a proper host, and turned to pour more three drinks from the same decanter, as he replied, “Of course!”

He handed the drinks all around: the highball glass containing the deep red and viscous fluid to his brother, and a champagne flute filled with bubbly to Pate. The demon tutted at her look of surprise that hers was different than theirs.

“After everything you’ve witnessed and experienced, this little parlor trick astounds you?” he admonished, but sweetly, like he was terribly amused by her. He lifted his glass in a toast. “Here’s to the upper world, and bargains to be made.”

Rigel ignored the hardened stare from his brother and the wide-eyed expression on Pate, and took a sip of his drink with a smile.

“Now. Pate. Let’s talk.”

He looked directly into her eyes and smiled again, showing too many teeth. Even with the bright morning sunlight blazing through the windows, the room took on a darker cast, and Dziban at their sides made a noise more like giggling, like spectral hyenas. Rigel’s voice dropped an octave.

“I want the rest of that book.”

Pate mechanically raised the flute to her lips and gave the golden liquid inside a distrustful sniff. It smelled like real champagne, so she steeled herself and took a sip. It also tasted like the real thing, the carbonation burning pleasantly down her throat, tingling on her tongue and in her nose. She swallowed, feeling the burn go all the way down and tried not to recoil under Rigel's penetrative gaze and predatory smile.

"We have it," she told him truthfully, she and Beetlejuice had agreed at least on that much, that there was no point pretending when he clearly knew it was in their possession. "It's in a safe place, but if we can come to an agreement here we can get it for you."

Rigel smiled and nodded, letting go of his highball glass only for it to float in place as though resting on an invisible table.

"Yes, of course," he went on conversationally. "I wouldn't ask for something for nothing, so what is it I can offer you in exchange?"

"Pretty simple," she said. "Just leave us alone. No more sending Scooby and Scrappy after us, no more showing up out of nowhere. No more--!" She cut herself off, unsure, shooting Beetlejuice a furtive sideways glance. She hadn't mentioned this to him, had been too afraid of what it might mean and what he might say about it. "Whatever you . . . did to me, to my head, the dreams? That stops, too."

Rigel nodded along as she spoke, seemingly agreeing to her terms.

"I can see you've given this due consideration," he said with a smile. "I must confess, it's simpler than I expected! You give me the missing half of the Infernalia and in return, I leave you and my beloved brother Lawrence to your own devices. Very well then, my dear, shall we shake on it?"

He extended his right hand to her, his face suddenly eclipsed in shadow that made his red eyes stand out. Or perhaps they were glowing.

Pate raised her hand from her side, hardly daring to believe she was going through with this, and reached forward to accept his handshake.

"Whoa! Fucking -- no, Pate!" Beetlejuice erupted, body checking her away from Rigel's hand before she had a chance to touch it.

Pate let out a yelp of surprise, staggering from the unexpected attack as Beetlejuice physically interceded between her and his brother. Rigel glowered, his lip curling back to reveal teeth that had become a touch too sharp for a human mouth.

"Beej, what the hell?"

Rigel's snarl made Beetlejuice automatically snarl back, and the air gained mass around him as tentacles nosed through the ether. Dziban's laughter dissolved to open-mouthed growls as well, and the low-frequency thrum of it made the glass in the room vibrate.

With effort, Beetlejuice strong-armed his reaction back down, and his shadow mass faded. He kept an eye on his brother, but spoke to Pate. It would've been better to have some privacy, but that wasn't anything they were going to be afforded.

"Pate, baby--do not touch him. He's a liar and you haven't thought this through--"

Rigel laughed in his face. "Lawrence, please remind the pretty lady that you're a liar too. And it seems to me she's done some fair thinking about this, so don't interrupt. You have no claim over her, no matter how much come you may have pumped into her last night. If anything, you're hers."

The taller demon paused to take a drink, before addressing Pate again directly.

"You, my dear, hold all the cards. Don't let this pathetic excuse of a specter try and tell you what to do. You're beautiful, and more than that, smart. You don't need him trying to mansplain this. You've got it under control."

"Pate," Beetlejuice pleaded, grabbing her hand, "listen to me--"

At Beetlejuice’s urgent words of warning Pate unconsciously tucked her hand against her chest as though Rigel’s baleful gaze had burnt her. She couldn’t help coloring at his not-so-subtle dig at their carnal activity the night before, and his words of flattery were compelling. She had given a great deal of thought at how best to phrase their arrangement, and she couldn’t ignore the things he said about the demon standing beside her, giving her a look of such earnestness that it made her chest clench.

As if reading her uncertainty in her eyes Beetlejuice took her hand in his, entreating with her while Rigel rolled his eyes in disgust at the emotional display. In the insanely short length of time she’d known him, Beetlejuice had never lied to her, not directly at least, and she felt sure that when he had misled her it was more from fear that she’d send him away. He had followed her across the country, protected her from his half brother and the snarling hellhounds that still flanked them.

Even when her mistakes and misjudgments hurt him or caused him pain he hadn’t left. He wouldn’t hurt her, he wouldn’t say or do anything that might do her harm. Pate gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand, turning back to Rigel with a cool look. She didn’t drop Beetlejuice’s hand as she said,

“No, I think he's got a point. There's still a lot to consider, so you might want a pen and paper.”

The taller demon bristled in silence for a beat, sending a positively incendiary glare at his elder brother before composing himself and snapping his fingers, producing a long quill pen made from a jet black feather and a sheaf of parchment.

"Very well, then," he simpered, visibly galled but putting on a convincing show of deference. "Name your terms."

He'd have laughed about this minor triumph over his mother's favorite offspring, but he was still filled with a mixture of anger and fear. He chewed his thumbnail as Pate laid out her terms again, interrupting to add,

"Neutral ground. We're not bringing the book here, where you've possessed the staff."

Rigel scowled at that, even as his quill scratched it onto the parchment. When Pate mentioned taking away her dreams of him again, he smiled broadly while Beetlejuice went back to worrying his nail.

"Now that, beautiful, is something else entirely," Rigel said, in faux sympathy. "My disgraced brother hasn't kept you up to speed, has he? I just told you about him, didn't I? Omissions are still lies."

Over their protests, he continued more loudly. "You've read from the book. You've fucked a demon--albeit a poor excuse for one. You're tainted, dearest. Your experiences have stretched your simple human mind, and that worrisome little problem, of bad dreams and foreboding? That's not going away."

Before he could continue, Beetlejuice shook his head. "That's not true, Pate. None of what you're experiencing has to do with that book, or me. Why would I want people to be able to sense me? I'm a bio-exorcist; how could I help get breathers out of a house if they knew about me? It's Rigel's fault--his forcing you to read his name and his trick of crawling out of you left a residue behind."

Pate looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to determine which may be more accurate. The quill hung in the air, waiting.

"Well, dearest?" Rigel asked. "I can understand how this can be confusing. How about this? Either way it's adhered to you, I promise to make it go away. We'll write it in the contract, hmm? I've enough power to grant that boon for you: that you'll not be bothered by pesky premonitions or dreams again. But because it's extra, and a little tricky, I'll need a kiss to seal that part of the deal."

"Absolutely fucking not!" Beetlejuice exploded, his hair flaming red, and this time tentacles did appear fully.

Dziban slipped forward, and he immediately grappled both of it, not even giving the hellhounds a chance to retaliate or even a second thought as he took large steps towards his brother. He'd almost made it to him, too, almost had his hands around the smug bastard's throat, when he felt a tug on his jacket.

Pate.

She was saying something he couldn't hear over the ringing in his ears from the rage coursing through him. The expression on her face, however--pleading, worry, fear--made him pause. She pulled back on him, and he reluctantly went with her, falling back to her side. He didn't release Dziban, strangling it both until Rigel's expression changed from the feral joy of anticipation of a fight to slight pain. Something in that dawned on him, and he released the 'hounds just as they went limp but before he actually crushed the life from them.

"You're not touching her," he said in a low voice.

Rigel waved the whole thing off, as if it was nothing, even as he straightened his jacket by the hem. "F-fine. She'll be plagued, then."

The stutter didn't go unnoticed, and his hunch was right: in calling the Dziban, his brother had somehow bound himself to it. When they were seriously injured, he hurt too. That explained why they disappeared during the attack outside the church.

Beetlejuice nodded. "Finish this contract so we can get the book and be fucking done with you."

It was alarming, seeing him like this: his upswept hair an angry red, the shadowy tentacles erupting from out of thin air to ensnare Dziban even as they moved on him in his blind spots. Beetlejuice paid them no mind, his eyes and his rage were only for his brother. For her, Pate realized. Rigel's suggestion, honestly not the worst he could have made by her estimation, had thoroughly pushed Beetlejuice over the edge.

Things were going to get out of hand. With no thought other than breaking the two apart she hastily stepped forward and caught him by the first thing she could reach; his jacket, and giving it a tug.

"It's okay, Beej," she said when he turned to her, his face still twisted in fury. "We'll just forget about that part, okay?"

Slowly he calmed down, still glaring daggers at Rigel even as the tentacles withdrew and his normal green crept back into his hair. He begrudgingly fell back at her insistence, growling his ultimatum once more at his brother.

The suave and debonair Rigel, now looking more ruffled and peevish than she'd ever seen him, straightened. He deftly rolled up the parchment and clapped it smartly between his hands. The scroll burst at once into blue flames that danced around his right hand, which he once again proffered to her.

"If all parties are satisfied, then?" he prompted.

Pate glanced to Beetlejuice to find him already watching her intently and they shared a long look. The terms had been set: they would choose a place to meet to give Rigel the book, which would buy them time to set their trap. That was all they really needed.

She could live with the strange dreams. Thanks to Beetlejuice's intercession, it felt as secure as a pact with a demon was likely to. So she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, reached out and grasped Rigel's hand. The blue spectral fire licked up her fingers, over the back of her hand, curling up her wrist, but there was no pain. It felt cold, in fact, causing goosebumps to break out up her arm.

Rigel's grin was too wide, his teeth too sharp and too numerous. "It's a deal."

It was said and done. He didn't like it, and would have much preferred to deal with Rigel on his own, but her safety was important and there was no way he could have guaranteed his half-brother would leave her be otherwise.

He led Pate back out, accidentally on purpose kicking the still weakened Dziban on their way back to the elevator, just to see the taller demon wince a little. On the way back to the ground level, he examined her hand, arm and wrist.

"He's marked you," he told her quietly, running his thumb over the blue figure on the inside of her wrist. He read the infernal language easily, and since it'd been brought to her attention he omitted information sometimes, he explained it quietly to her. "It's his initial, babe. It's not as binding as a kiss, thank gods. It's just so other inhabitants of the Netherworld know that you're his. We'll find a way to get it off."

He didn't like that she'd become slightly withdrawn again, but that was just the after effects of signing a deal with a demon.

He kept a hand on her as he led her outside into the bright sunlight again. Squinting, he took her down the Strip back towards the hotel she'd booked. As they went, a small chapel caught his eye. He elbowed her.

"Pate, baby . . . that church didn't have real holy water, but what do you think about that place? Can't hurt to try, right? And I bet they'd be more than willing to sell it to us, compared to that asshole priest."

And that was how they ended up getting back to their hotel with a gallon of the stuff. Was it real? They didn't know. But just having the plastic jug of it somehow made it feel like they could actually do what needed to be done.

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x OC #rp #Beetlejuice based on blumjuice

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