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angry-geese · 3 years

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Naoya Zenin x Reader

Warnings: nsfw/mdni. shameless smut. mildly dubious consent. naoya kind of needs his own warning. pegging, shibari, fingering, face riding (fem receiving), degradation, dom!reader. afab reader.

summary: the reader pegging naoya that's it that's the fic

a/n: if this reads like a drunk person wrote it, im sorry, they did

Word Count: 3.2k

Not a single man angers you more than Zenin Naoya.

Though you are no Zenin, you’ve spent much time working with the clan. Personally, you couldn’t care less about the politics that follow the jujutsu world. But the pay was good.

His pride is far too inflated for his own good. A man like him isn't used to not getting his way. Rarely has he been told no. The world is built for people like him. His pride is far too inflated for his own good. He could stand to be knocked down a peg. Or several.

Your personalities clash in the worst way possible. Your strength rivals his in a way he can't stand. You’re loud, and outspoken when it comes to him. Not many people are. There are very few things you let him get away with. At first glance, you’re far from compatible. Behind closed doors he was just as intolerable. In private he was the same. But you brought out a different side of him. You wouldn't go as far as to call it good, or even better than normal. It was just different.

People talked. They always do. The way he acted around you had not gone unnoticed. You seemed to be the only person who bothered him.

He's not really sure how he got here.

His embarrassment of your request is only lessened by the look of hunger in your eyes.

Shock, and agitation fill him.

He remembers your conversation in the hall; an argument. He needed something from you, but he doesn't remember what. Naoya's eyes are glued to you, glued to every dip and curve of your body. He's flushed from his forehead to his chest, blush dusting the tips of his nose and ears, visible under the collar of his shirt.

The bed dips under his weight as he sits. You look at him like he's prey. It's not a look many have given him. There's an all-consuming hunger in your eyes.

Your hand moves to cup his hot cheek, your thumb running across his glossy bottom lip. Your skin is flushed, your pupils shrunk down to pinpricks. The look in your eyes alone is enough to make him freeze. He’s never seen anything quite like it. No matter the situation, you were always composed. Naoya always admired your ability to keep a level head. Though he would never say it, your strength—not even as a sorcerer, but overall—was admirable. Unspoken admiration is the best you are going to get out of him.

The slightest bit of panic flashes across his eyes. He lets out a small grunt of pain as you twist his arm behind his back. The side of his face presses into the sheets. They’re cool against his hot skin.

“We’re getting three things out of the way first,” you say, “one: just because I don't like you, it doesn't mean I'm going to do something to you that you don't want.

“Two: you can stop this at any time. Stoplight method: green means continue, yellow to proceed with caution, red to get me to stop.

“Three: you’re not fucking me. I’m fucking you. Got it?”

He quickly nods. Internally he cringes; his reaction was a bit too eager for his tastes.

“Good.” You lean down to nip at his ear. Your breath is warm against his cheek. “Color?”

“Green.” Naoya’s voice is weak. His throat feels dry.

It takes no effort to grab his other arm, looping the ropes around his wrists, finishing them off with a fancy knot. You make sure you’re able to slide a few fingers between the ropes and his skin; you don't want them to be too tight. As much as you don’t like the guy, you have no plans on hurting him. Not in that way at least. He can struggle all he wants, but the knot is far too complicated for him to undo while unable to see it.

Your thigh grinds against his growing erection. As if by instinct he parts his thighs a bit, giving you room to sit between them.

Your hands work to undo the buttons of his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders. It gets caught on the ropes. His chest is rather toned- not as toned as another Zenin, but toned. Your hands travel up his body, admiring the hard planes of muscle.

His pants are the next to come off. Your fingers press under the waistband, tugging them down his hips. He has to lift his hips a bit to allow you to slide them—along with his boxers—completely off. His half hardened cock springs free, leaking precum onto his bare thighs. The movement is awkward. In the process he falls on his back, seemingly unable to maneuver back into a sitting position.

You take the opportunity to straddle him, sitting on his stomach, effectively pinning him to the bed. There’s no hiding the way his face heats up.

You trail wet, open mouth kisses down his neck. He lets out a soft gasp as you suck a dark mark into a particularly sensitive spot.

Once you deem his neck thoroughly marked up, you move on to his chest. By now he’s achingly hard, his cock begging to be touched. It's a real shame such a nice cock belongs to a human being like him. It’s a bit above average in length, not too thick, and pretty, like a pornstar’s. You eye it a bit longer than you should.

You roll a nipple in between your teeth, though not hard enough to hurt, eliciting a sharp inhale. Your fingers prod and pinch at the other one, working it into a stiff peak. This elicits a moan from him, one he tries to stifle by biting his tongue. Naoya doesn't want to allow you the satisfaction of knowing he liked it.

“Oh?” The pure, dark joy in your voice is palpable. “Is that sensitive?”

He nods weakly, followed by a sharp wine as you pinch at it harshly. An evil sounding giggle leaves you. The look of sheer, malicious glee in your eyes is alarming. You're genuinely enjoying yourself. Naoya brings out a sadistic streak not seen often in yourself.

You nip at his skin hard. A choked moan spills past his lips, followed by a soft “you bitch!”

You pull away from him, an audible pop echoing through the room as your lips release his skin. Hickeys litter his chest and neck- some he won't be able to cover with a shirt. If he has a problem with it, then he does little to protest.

Your hands drift lower, admiring the hard planes of muscle,

Naoya whines as you pull away. The absence of your touch leaves him aching, and needy for more.

You sit back on your knees, eyeing his half-naked form. Blush dusts every surface of his skin, from his perfectly kissable collarbone, to the tips of his ears.

As if you’ve suddenly changed your mind, you slide off the bed.

“What are you-” Though he can't see what you have in your hands, he doesn't have a good feeling about it. Something jingles. It sounds like keys. He cranes his neck to look. There’s the sound of something soft—like clothes—being dropped. A whole new wave of heat goes right to his cheeks.

He hates this. He hates that this is the first time he’s seen you naked. He hates how he can't tear his eyes away from your body.

The black lace panties you wear cling low to your hips, leaving little to the imagination. His gaze lingers on your form, admiring every soft curve of your body. This isn't quite how he thought things would go.

In your hands you carry something dark, and long, resembling rope.

“You better not-”

His breath catches in his throat as you slide the collar around his neck. It's tight. Not as tight as to cut off air, but tight enough he can never get used to the feeling of it. Still, you press two fingers under the leather, making sure you aren't choking him too hard.

"You're a real bitch, you know that," he says, as if he's suddenly come to his senses.

“If you hate this so much, then why is your dick twitching like a bitch in heat?” You ask.

His face burns.

“Fuck you,”

“Yeah, keep talking,” You say, “that’s all you’re good for.”

You straddle his waist, your knees on either side of his body.

“I should gag you,” you say, though it’s directed more at yourself, than it is at him. “Color?”

“Green.”

His gaze refuses to meet yours. You lean down to lick a stripe up his cheek. The feeling of your hot tongue is strange, and sends a shock straight up his spine. His skin feels feverish, and hypersensitive.

"Bark for me, bitch." You say.

It takes very little effort to flip him onto his stomach. He’s a lot lighter than he looks. You lift his hips just enough to shove a pillow under his stomach. There’s few things quite as humiliating as the position he’s stuck in now. His head presses down into the mattress, his ass up, his hardened cock leaking into the sheets. A rather indignant sounding whimper leaves him. Your hand comes down hard on his ass. The resounding slap echoes through the room. You smooth your hand over it to quell the sting. A hand-shaped red mark soon appears, marring his skin.

“How would the others react if they knew you were walking around with my handprint bruised into your ass?” You lean down to nip at his ear. He shudders.

He shudders as the cold lube flows over your fingers, down between his legs. You should have warmed it up against your skin a bit, but it's too late for that now. It doesn't bother you enough to give it a second thought.

“The hell are you-”

The sudden intrusion of your fingers makes him gasp. It takes you a moment of fumbling to figure out just how to work him up.

“It’s not my fault your g-spot is in your ass.” You say.

“Stop.” He says, although he really doesn't want you to stop. If he wanted you to stop, he’d make you.

"Then call me master,” you say, “maybe I’ll stop.”

“Fuck you-”

You give the leash a hard pull, lifting his head off the sheets. The angle cuts off quite a bit of his air. “Be a good boy, Naoya.”

That seems to shut him up, if only momentarily. His cock twitches at the name. Maybe he likes being called a good boy more than he wants to admit.

Your fingers card through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. The action is uncharacteristically soft.

The fingers of your other hand curl, hitting something sensitive. Naoya’s eyes screw shut. The feeling is foreign, but not outright unpleasant. A shock of pleasure travels right down his spine. A choked moan threatens to spill past his lips. That's quickly followed by your name, and a few choice curses. Goosebumps rise along his skin.

“Oh,” a soft gasp leaves you, “does that feel good? Are you going to be a good boy for me?”

He nods weakly, swallowing hard. His throat has gone dry.

The stretch of your second finger takes him a moment to get used to. Not wanting to push him too hard, you give him time to adjust. Your fingers pump in and out of him in steady movements. He finds himself growing closer and closer to his release. Once you deem him relaxed enough, you pull away.

An empty feeling overwhelms him as you remove your fingers. The action sends an aching pulse right to his cock, wrought with need. You sit back on your knees, half sprawled out across the other side of the bed. The light of the room reflects off your skin in such a beautiful way, accentuating every angle of your body.

You tug your panties down your hips. He averts his eyes momentarily. It feels wrong to stare, but at this point he has no shame. You notice how his gaze lingers on your form, and decide to give him a show. He hates how they stick to your cunt with your slick. He hates how wet you’re getting. The sick satisfaction you’re getting from this is genuine, and he doesn't know if he should fear, or admire you for it. You ball the fabric up in your hand.

You grip his chin, tilting his head so his gaze meets yours. The look in his eyes is hazy with lust. He tries to avert his eyes, maybe save himself some shame, but it doesn't work. The kiss you pull him into is uncharacteristically soft. Your gentle touch is in stark contrast to earlier.

He’s given in entirely. There’s no fight left in him.

You nip at his bottom lip until he allows your tongue to enter his mouth. Your scent, combined with the way you taste, makes him feel drunk. You’re slow, and skilled with your movements, leaving him aching for more.

A line of saliva connects your lips as you pull away. His pupils have shrunk down to pinpricks. His lips are bitten pink, and swollen. He’s rather cute when desperate like this. Not many people have the luxury of seeing Zenin Naoya in such a state.

Not many can leave him so strung-out.

To you, he’s all bark and no bite; a pretty bitch to lead around on a leash.

“Open wide.” There’s an evil glint to your eyes.

With two fingers you stuff your panties into his mouth, gagging him. He can taste it- he can taste you. The taste of your cunt sends a throb straight to his cock. A muffled sounding moan leaves him. You’re not sure his face could get more red.

“I never said not to make any noise.” You lean down to press a soft kiss to his jaw.

He’s not sure when you put it on. Time seems to no longer work as a constant. At this moment, only the two of you exist. You slip it over your legs, one by one, adjusting the straps so it fits snugly around your hips. The straps pinch into the soft flesh of your hips, leaving dimples that he can't seem to tear his eyes away from.

He stiffens at the sudden intrusion. The head of the strap presses into him, slowly at first. With a groan you sink completely into him. The dildo seems to curve in a way your fingers never did. Maybe it's because it's just bigger. His eyes shut tight, his face buries further into the sheets.

You give him a moment to adjust to your size. Your fingers card through his hair. Your nails are getting long, and feel nice against his scalp. Naoya relaxes a bit at your touch. He’s not sure how to ask you to keep doing it.

You roll your hips against his, mostly testing to see how well he takes you. With all the prep, the strap sinks right into him.

Your thrusts are achingly slow. He wants nothing more than to spit out his gag and beg you to go harder. Drool collects around the corners of his mouth, running down his chin. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes from the mix of pain and pleasure. Eyeliner runs down his face in streams. You lick a stripe up his cheek, the salty taste of tears mixing with the not-to pleasant taste of eyeliner.

Your free hand palms at his hardened cock. Broken moans leave him, hardly muffled by the gag. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoes through the room. You pick up your pace, slamming your hips against his in relentless thrusts. The familiar sensation of an orgasm creeps up on him far sooner than he wants.

The sensation of your teeth sinking into his shoulder is what sends him over the edge. He sports a crescent-shaped bruise in the junction of flesh where his neck meets his shoulder. When he cums, he cums hard. Hot ropes of his cum spill into your hand, flowing out between your fingers. Your name leaves his lips in a broken moan.

It's another moment before you pull out. You lean down to press a wet, open mouth kiss to his shoulder, right over the bite mark. Exhaustion sinks in. His limbs are sore, his joints ache. The ropes have rubbed his wrists and arms raw.

He hardly notices how the ropes loosen.

Naoya rolls onto his back, his chest heaving. Naoya works the stiffness out of his limbs. You move so you’re straddling his hips, your knees on either side of him. Your hands smoothe over the red indents left by the rope, kneading the soreness out of them.

Your expression can only be described as smug.

“What?” He asks. “I don't like the look on your face.”

“If you came and I didnt,” you say, “then that means I fucked the hell out of you.”

His eye twitches.

He pulls you to lay against him, your head resting against his chest. He smells faintly of sweat. The warmth of your skin spreads to his. Your fingers drag lazily against his skin.

“Ride my face,” he says.

You loop the leash around your fist, tugging hard.

“What’s that?” A smug grin splits your face.

“Please,” he swallows hard, “master.”

His hands plant on your hips, partially to guide you, partially to grope at your ass. He’s not had a proper chance to admire your body yet. Naoya lavishes your inner thighs with kisses, marking your skin up the same way you did his.

The taste of your cunt is almost enough to make him want another round. His tongue dips into your fold, swirling around your clit. You’re soaked, your slick dripping down your thighs, down his chin and neck.

A familiar heat builds in your stomach. It's one thing to just fuck him. You’re left wet, and with an aching need to be touched yourself.

It's not out of a want for your pleasure, as it is to prove something to himself. Still, he’s not terrible at it. His spite is what makes it half decent. It makes you wonder if he’s just as good with his cock as all the women say.

Tension builds in your stomach like a coil being wound tight. You grind down against his face, content to chase your own release. He eats pussy like a man starved for weeks, finally put in front of a plate of his favorite food. His need to make you feel good is primarily for selfish reasons, but you’ll take what you can get.

Your hands bury in his hair, tugging gently. With each skilled flick of his tongue he works you closer to orgasm.

The tension in your stomach snaps. His name leaves your lips in a broken moan, followed by much softer praise; calling him a good boy, saying he’s his master’s good boy. And he does little to fight the names. For just this one time he’ll relent. He’ll be your good boy.

He guides you to lay on top of him, your head resting against his chest. As the sleepy, syrupy post-orgasm haze sets in, you find yourself being pulled off to sleep. The soft rise and fall of his chest acts as a lullaby. In a minute, you’re going to have to get up. You two have been gone for a while. People are going to get suspicious. For now, you can relish in the moment.

#jjk x reader #naoya zenin x reader #zenin naoya x reader #naoya x reader #naoya smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #not osha compliant #naoya zenin

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cinnonym · 3 years

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The Dark One’s Choice

As announced, I finally polished (and finished) my Dark One smut fic, sooo if you’re one of @swanqueensalad‘s horny followers (aren’t we all) or otherwise inclined to read the closest thing to smut I’ve ever written, here goes:

~5k

rating: m

mildly dubious consent, sub/dom hints, choking, restraints, power play, angst, canon-compliant

don’t like don’t read ^^

The great grandfather clock in the hallway shows half past 1 at night when Regina passes it, finally on her way to bed after a long day. Her thoughts have kept her alert until now, the risk of Emma, now as the Dark One, turning up at her doorstep to demand to have Henry too high to let her relax properly. And then there is the gaping hole in her memories, a condition she's familiar with but which still annoys her in no small measure. One moment the gates of Camelot swing open for her, the dagger pressing to her side in the warm promise of Emma's trust, then the next second she's flat on the floor of Granny's Diner, faced with Emma in full Dark One apparel, mercilessly glaring down at her. Accusing and dangerous and assuring to punish them all, though her cold eyes were on Regina only, sending a shiver down her spine that consisted of trepidation and arousal in equal measures.

Regina shudders just remembering the low purr of the Dark One's voice, the radiated dominance so different from the kind of nervous excitement that usually accompanies Emma's talks with Regina. Different, yes, but not necessarily worse, Regina thinks, the naughty admission painting an unexpected smirk on her lips, and she permits a silent chuckle before calling herself back to order. She mustn't enjoy nor underestimate the saviour's dark side. Quite the contrary, to save Emma from herself, and the rest of town from Emma, it is crucial that Regina stays alert and focuses on figuring out a way to get rid of darkness once and for all. So, no unnecessary risks. Constant vigilance.

Right on cue, the doorbell rings and startles Regina back into reality. She throws a glance at the clock. 1:40, not exactly a reasonable time for visitors, even in this tense situation. Besides, Snow, or David, and even the pirate, would have rather called to talk than walked through nightly Storybrooke with a new Dark One on the loose. No, Regina decides, it has to be Emma herself who's on her porch, now pressing the bell again.

Regina swears under her breath; if she doesn't put an end to this, Emma will wake up Henry. On the other hand, opening the door would violate the very set of rules she has just established. There's just no easy way out of this.

Emma ends up making the decision for her when suddenly greyish smoke forms right in front of Regina, vanishing to reveal the familiar frame of the saviour. Her lips set in a thin straight line, the green eyes as expressionless as earlier, she stands and looks at Regina. Just takes her in. Regina feels her skin starting to tingle when a flash of hunger crosses Emma's features, and she's suddenly all too aware of the red velvet dress she's still wearing, clinging to her curves.

"What are you doing here?" She asks when Emma still hasn't moved to talk after several seconds. Her voice is calm, only the slightest hitch in her throat betraying her racing heart. Emma is close, far too close, the aura of power that surrounds her enclosing Regina as well. She's always had a weakness for great wizardry she supposes, the mixture of envy and admiration an exhilarating drug running through her veins, and she welcomes it like an old friend.

"After weeks of sleeping wall to wall with my parents," Emma finally answers, her tone as cool and indifferent as if she were talking about the weather, "I now have the opportunity to take what I want." And she steps even closer, now bare inches separating their bodies.

A sudden fright befalls Regina, her heart fluttering weakly in her chest, colibri-like. She almost doesn't dare to ask for clarification. What if Emma has changed her mind somewhere along the way, realizing that sacrificing herself for Regina has been a mistake after all? What if she's here to make Regina pay for that mistake? What if this is revenge?

"Which is what?" Regina still whispers, hoping against all odds for a, what, fourth chance by now? But no such luck this time; Emma's eyes harden and she raises her chin. Her voice is but a whisper, her lips carefully forming the word:

"You."

Regina closes her eyes for just a second, absorbing the impact without allowing Emma to witness the emotions flickering through her mind. A second is all Emma should need to finish matters once and for all, but it passes without either of them moving and when Regina glances up at Emma again she's surprised to find a tiny glint of amusement in the depths of her eyes. And then that glint changes, grows darker, twisted, and funnily enough, heated, burning with an intensity that makes Regina automatically lower her gaze.

A throaty chuckle vibrates through Emma's body. She waves her hand, and the next thing Regina feels is the cool tapestry of the wall against her back and Emma's grip tight around her wrists, pinning her down. A hot breath tickles her earlobe when the blonde leans forward in the same movement, teeth grazing Regina's skin.

"Control is mine now. Is that understood?" Emma whispers huskily, fleetingly biting down on the sensitive flesh right under Regina's ear.

Regina can barely stifle a moan and she feels her knees grow weak. It would be so easy to give in, the fulfilling of late night dreams and poorly repressed fantasies right in front of her - but she can't. This, what's happening, is the Dark One's choice, not Emma's. And while the darkness might be prevailing in Emma's mind right now, it doesn't mean Emma isn't still in there somewhere, fighting and protesting. And when she returns and the darkness is extinguished - an act Regina will accomplish and if it so takes years - Emma will have to face regrets enough. A nightly adventure with the Queen doesn't have to be among them.

So Regina summons her strengths, and resists. Pulling away from Emma's touch as much as possible in the confined space at her disposal, she shakes her head and squares her shoulders.

"I don't think so, no."

The rage wells up in Emma immediately, her hands clenching around Regina's wrists until it hurts but Regina neither flinches nor backs down. She can tell that Emma didn't expect defiance from the way her eyes widen a fracture before darkening to a near black.

"What?"

The whisper is deadly, a promise of pain if Regina were to repeat her words. Well, Regina can handle pain, if something greater is at stake. And so she raises her chin and holds Emma's glance, proudly and with all the indifference she doesn't really feel.

"I said no, I won't defer to you. Magic doesn't make you my leader and I refuse to - "

"I am the Dark One," Emma roars and Regina once again thinks of Henry asleep upstairs. She prays he won't wake up and choose to see what's causing the commotion, or she will lose some serious ground to Emma. Maybe playing up hasn't been the best plan after all, but she can't revise her strategy now.

"I see that," Regina consequently bites right back, hoping that if she only appears strong enough, Emma will step back eventually. "But it doesn't change the fact that I won't yield to you."

It's only when the expression in Emma's changes again, turning almost playful, that Regina realizes the mistake she's made by counting on Emma's rationality. Magic is based on emotions, and since the Dark One's powers are still relatively new to Emma, she is bound to act unpredictably. Well, this brings a whole new danger to this nightly encounter. Regina's suddenly glad that her provocation didn't fuel Emma's anger. In fact, Emma is eyeing her almost fondly, leisurely letting her eyes take in every tiny aspect of Regina's complexion. The scrutiny inadvertently brings the colour to Regina's cheeks and a smirk on Emma's face.

"You don't really mean that."

And then, without another word of warning, Emma surges forward again and captures Regina's lips with hers before the mayor can dodge her. A yelp of surprise escapes Regina. She tries to jerk back, except she can't, Emma has her trapped against the wall, pressing down on her with the full length of her body. A shudder passes through Regina upon that realization, making her skin tingle and setting her nerves aflame. Never would she have thought that Emma's touch could have such an effect on her. And the kiss, the saviour's lips moving on Regina's almost feverishly. They are dry and slightly chapped under the crimson lipstick and Regina finds herself sinking into them, answering Emma's harsh bites with tentative nibbles on her own part.

But no, she must not delight in this. She has to keep a clear head, because while she is kissing Emma's lips and inhaling Emma's perfume, she has to remember that it's not Emma's mind who's in control here. And so, although a long, leather-covered leg is slowly wedging itself between Regina's, making her feel all kinds of things, including a very dominant throbbing at her core, Regina uses a momentary distraction on Emma's part to push against the arms confining her and turn her head away.

"Stop," she says, intending to sound firm, but it comes out as a strangled moan instead. Miraculously, Emma still seems to have heard her, because she pulls back slightly to look at Regina. Her eyes are darker than Regina has ever seen them and for a moment she feels her resolve weaken, but she masterfully ignores the dryness in her throat and pushes against Emma's shoulders again.

"Let me go," she demands when Emma doesn't budge, instead watching her with the faintest annoyance in the tilt of her head. Regina pushes again, a petulant move rather than a well-considered one. She should have known better than to provoke the Dark One further, but her skin is burning, and she just needs Emma to back off before she'll commit a whole different folly. And who would have known it would be just this little extra push that makes Emma snap.

But it is and the angry flashing of familiar green eyes is all the warning Regina gets before a hand wraps around her throat, constricting her airways.

"Why do you keep resisting?" Emma growls, her voice inhuman, feral. "I can see how you want this," she wriggles her leg slightly and Regina gasps when it rubs against her hot centre. It takes all her self control not to thrust her hips forward to grind against the leather, and maybe the desperation shows a little in her eyes, because Emma smirks and applies more pressure on Regina's throat.

"So why don't you take it?" She hisses and curls her index finger, the sharp nail scratching against Regina's skin, "Take it."

Suppressing a whimper, Regina feels her body react, a new gush of wetness slowly trickling down the inside of her thighs. She has to put an end to this soon or so help her.

"This is not you talking," she brings out, varying somewhere between a moan and a gasp, the limited access to oxygen finally making her feel light headed and breathless. "The darkness has lowered your inhibitions."

Emma chuckles and brings up her other hand, drawing a slow trail down Regina's stomach. When she feels muscles tensing beneath her touch, she releases a delighted laugh. It's scary how fast her emotions seem to change.

"Oh but dear," she replies, almost conversationally now, her eyes twinkling with some wicked amusement, "that is exactly why it's me talking. The darkness is simply giving me the courage to do what I've been wanting to do for a very long time."

Regina's teeth clench at the easy, un-Emma-like admission, and of course the Dark One notices.

"You don't believe me?" She snarls, suddenly furious again, "Let me prove it."

And not giving Regina a chance to react, Emma's long slender fingers press against Regina's core, cupping her through the velvety fabric of her dress. A strangled moan escapes Regina but before her body can betray her by rolling against the tantalizing touch, she summons her magic and poofs out of Emma's grasp.

Mastering magic in an emotionally turmoiled state is difficult, but Regina has perfected the technique during her long years as the Evil Queen. She materializes on the exact spot she had in mind, several metres away from where Emma had held her, an armchair in front of her, which she grabs on to in need of support. Taking a deep breath and revelling in the feeling of the air streaming in her lungs freely again, she lifts her eyes, fully expecting to see Emma leaning against the wall still. The room is empty though, without a trace of the Dark One.

Regina furrows her brow. Would Emma just leave like that? And let Regina win? It seems highly unlikely, and yet the deserted scene she's presented with suggests it. Disappointment pulses through Regina, but before she can analyse and revoke the feeling, grey smoke envelopes her. It's only due to her marvellous reflexes that Regina manages to jerk away in order to avoid being trapped again when Emma makes her appearance. An infuriating smirk is playing on her lips, which, as Regina shamefully notices while consciously pursing her own mouth, are now devoid of crimson lipstick.

"Missed me?" Emma mouths, a knowing glint in her eyes that only intensifies when Regina attempts to scoff. "Don't forget that I know when you're lying."

This comment throws Regina off balance though she refuses to let it show. It reminds her of Emma, the real Emma, untainted with darkness yet not free of pain. Emma, who through the course of her life has learned to read people to protect herself from getting hurt. Emma, whose superpower may not be perfect, despite all efforts, but with Regina it always is. Emma, who knows her.

For a moment, Regina misses her so much, the loss feels like a sharp knife twisting in her gut. And a moment is all the Dark One needs to bridge the short distance between them and cradle Regina's face in her hands. The touch is almost gentle, Emma's thumbs tracing the line of Regina's cheekbones, and when Regina looks up, she's surprised to notice the tender expression in those green eyes.

"I am still Emma you know," Emma whispers, tugging at a strand of Regina's hair, then placing it delicately behind her ear. "Still me." And then, leaning in with a wicked grin spreading on her lips she adds: "Just look at my powers like an extra gift. Something to give matters some kick..."

Regina swallows, tantalizing images penetrating her mind, colliding and overlapping with those of Emma, the real Emma, with her jutting jaw and hideous leather jackets. She shakes her head to get rid of them, refusing to let the Dark One play with her emotions any longer. It's time the Queen regains some command. For Emma's sake.

"Embracing the darkness doesn't seem very Emma-like," she counters tentatively, testing the waters by also taking a step back. Dark eyes follow her, thin lips drop into a frown, but for now Emma lets her have the distance. She just shrugs.

"Didn't want to waste the potential."

Regina takes another small step back, sees Emma's eyes dart down to her legs, freezes - but still nothing happens. Good. The gap between their bodies allows Regina to gather her wits and think of how she'll handle the situation. Hitherto, it has been Emma who set the pace, hardly giving Regina time to react. This will have to change if the mayor wants to stand any chance against the Dark One. She needs a plan to distract Emma from trying to seduce her, distract her from Henry sleeping upstairs, distract her from using her magic against Regina. And what distraction could be better than a midnight snack?

"Are you hungry? Or did the darkness extinguish this trait too?" She asks as casually as she can muster.

Emma cocks her head, an amused smile flashing over her complexion. Her eyes darken.

"On the contrary. I'm almost insatiable these days."

Regina is sure her cheeks burn brightly pink but she ignores the feeling and clears her throat.

"I meant food."

"Oh, I know what you meant," Emma smirks, disappearing and reemerging a foot closer to Regina in the blink of an eye. The mist has not yet cleared away when she repeats the trick, now standing behind Regina. Their noses are almost touching. "I also know that I'm tired of this chitchat. Why don't you put that mouth to better use elsewhere?"

A groan escapes Regina when Emma's lips once again press against hers. Still she focuses and flicks her hand to escape the Dark One's grip, reappearing on the other side of the armchair. Emma follows her before she can even breathe, pins her down to the chair, effectively demobilising Regina's wrists with her knees.

"Two can play this game," she murmurs against Regina's ear, then sits up. "Your move."

Regina's whole body seems to buzz with nerves, her skin is aflame where Emma's touching her, still she forces herself to think. Emma's magic works faster than hers, but she's inexperienced. She might be more powerful but she lacks self-discipline. If Regina managed to lure her into poofing repeatedly, unnecessarily, maybe she could tire the Dark One while saving her own strength, until eventually she would have the upper hand again.

The heat pulsing through her body is put to good use as Regina channels the energy to her palms, letting them warm up to the point where, if she were to flick her hand, she could conjure a fireball. Then she twists them, reaching for Emma's thighs.

The Dark One jerks back for only a split second, but that is sufficient for Regina who's been awaiting it. She draws her hands free and sends a magic blow at Emma. Just like she predicted, the blonde is sent flying but disappears mid air and grey mist once again embraces Regina. However, she is prepared; jumping up from the chair she creates a shield around where Emma is materializing. A hiss escapes the Dark One, then she throws her head back and laughs, short and hard. Regina's eyes dart to the staircase, to Henry, but fortunately Emma doesn't seem to notice.

"You see, there are advantages to being the Dark One," her voice comes out of nowhere as she breaks free from her cage by poofing a ridiculous amount of seven times until she's facing Regina again. "I love this form of transport."

Regina only smiles tightly, hands already up again. This is her game now. She risks wasting some of her magical energy to create a soundproof spell in the living room, then makes a swooping gesture that hurls the armchair Emma's way. Instead of stopping it, like any sensible user of magic would have, the blonde turns into swirling smoke again, and then again when Regina lets the footrest follow, and even to avoid the decorative tablecloth. It's quite ridiculous really, she's bound to get tired in the matter of minutes, and Regina allows herself a tiny self-satisfied smile. Not many can claim to have tricked the Dark One.

Except her victory only lasts seconds, when suddenly Emma's slender fingers encircle Regina's wrists once more and she's slammed against the wall.

"Oh Regina," Emma purrs in a low voice that seems to buzz through Regina's entire body. "Do you honestly think I don't know what you're trying to do?" Her free hand delivers a soft, almost gentle blow to Regina's cheek. Regina quivers, not from the sting but from the unexpected flash of pleasure that burns through her veins. Who would have thought that Emma harbours sides like this.

Not Emma but the Dark One, Regina tells herself as she stares up at her opponent, who in her turn is eyeing her appreciatively.

"What am I trying to do then?" She utters defiantly, wriggling her hands until Emma is forced to let her go. Without granting herself a second of triumph, Regina snaps her fingers and shiny black metal starts growing around Emma's wrist, holding it effectively in place above her head.

"You think you can exhaust me," Emma smirks, not at all bothered by the constraint, "You think you can lure me into wasting my power until it's drained." Another click of fingers and a chain sprouts from the first cuff, enclosing Emma's other hand and pulling it up too. Still the Dark One doesn't move, doesn't fight it. Regina is beginning to feel a bit uncertain about her plan to bind Emma's wrists. It should render her helpless, incapable of using her magic, so why doesn't she look the least bit concerned? Why is she smiling still?

"This is kinky," Emma mentions, almost conversationally. Regina cocks her head.

"Usually I'm the dominant one," she says, in spite of her instincts' warning not to trust her victory yet. A grave mistake.

"I am the Dark One!" Emma suddenly roars, and never in her life has Regina been so glad about the existence of soundproof spells. At least Henry's safe, she thinks, as she's hurled backwards into the couch. Emma, inexplicably, has freed herself from the handcuffs. Her face is contorted with rage as she attacks Regina with blasts and blasts of magic.

"How can you think my power would be finite?" She screams and wrecks the couch on top of Regina who barely has time to roll away.

"How can you think you could shackle me? Dominate me?" She screeches and the iron chains turn into snakes at her feet and lunge at Regina.

"Why won't you let me take you?" She cries and yes, she's crying now, and as they fall, her tears become ice spears that are aiming at Regina.

"After everything I've done for you!" And at this Emma breaks down, collapses into a small heap on the floor that's shaken by sobs. With her deflate the snakes, until they're just iron again, curled around Regina's legs. It is very silent all of a sudden, and Regina stands in the middle of her demolished living room, watching her friend cry.

"Emma," she says cautiously after a while, because the woman before her is Emma now, Emma in all her broken glory, Emma the abused saviour, Emma, still breathing under her cloak of darkness.

Emma, who is now lifting her head, face stained with too much mascara. It looks like the darkness is bleeding out of her with every black tear that's rolling down her cheeks, but Regina knows this is not the case, unfortunately. Darkness doesn't yield to grief, quite contrary. It consumes it, forges it into yet another weapon, feeds on it until it's strong enough to take over control. Which means, Regina has to play on this break now, has to use it to talk to Emma before the woman she likes, loves as she realizes now, becomes captive to the Dark One again.

"Emma," she says again, stepping out of the chains and hurrying to the shaking heap. She hesitates briefly, before reaching out to gingerly wrap her arms around Emma. A sigh shudders through them both as Emma accepts the embrace and leans into Regina.

"I just wanted..." Emma begins but Regina shushes her before she can finish her sentence.

"You don't have to explain yourself," she murmurs into Emma's hair and god, why didn't they hug before? Why did it have to come to a catastrophe for her to realize how much she'd yearned for this?

"But I want to explain," Emma protests, muffled against Regina's shoulder, still weak but already defiant again. Regina smiles and releases her reluctantly. Emma's hair is still the Dark One's, her face still greyish white, but her eyes look at Regina the same way they've always had. Or, not exactly the same, because when they were reserved and secretive before, they now shine with a brutal honesty that makes Regina squirm under their gaze. Emma Swan has let her walls down.

"I meant what I said earlier," Emma says at the same time as Regina blurts out: "Don't tell me things you'll regret later."

Emma frowns. "Stop interrupting me, Regina." Her voice rings with a newfound authority that has Regina look at her in alarm, certain that the darkness has regained control. But Emma's eyes remain soft and full of emotion, and her lips form a smile instead of a sneer. Regina relaxes a bit.

"As I was saying," Emma then continues as if nothing happened, "I meant what I said, about me still being me and the darkness simply giving me courage." She takes a deep breath. "I've meant every word I said and I've meant every move I made. I see the way you look at me, Regina, I know that you want me. Yet you're acting as if you hate me. Why?" Her eyes search Regina's and first now does Regina notice how tired Emma looks. How worn, how sad, how, yes, broken. And Regina realizes, she can't lie to her.

"Because," she therefore begins, her voice feeling scratchy in her throat as she fights her own terror about admitting her thoughts. "Because I like you, Emma, very much. And I can't let the Dark One ruin your life even more by sleeping with me without your consent. I can't let the darkness abuse you. I'm not gonna lie, I was tempted. It's your body I desire, but it's your mind I love and I can't do this to you." Regina's voice breaks and she realizes she's crying too now. "I can't do this to you," she repeats weakly and prays, for the sake of both of them, that the Dark One won't choose this moment to return.

"But Regina, don't you see?" Emma whispers, her hands reaching for Regina's. "I am the Dark One." She says it differently now, softer, soothing. "I am consenting. This is me acting, all me, body and mind and heart if you so will, and everything is striving after you."

And Regina is shaking her head, not believing, never believing, although she absorbs every single word Emma is saying.

"Regina, listen!" Emma says, sharper now. Regina is listening, but she wishes she wasn't, wishes she didn't have to hear the words that are too good to be true.

"Didn't I become the Dark One for you?" Emma inquires, "Didn't I give you the dagger as a token of my trust?"

"And yet you erased our memories from Camelot," Regina counters, her mind clinging to this one sane thought in a desperate attempt to withstand the madness Emma's offering.

"To protect you!" Emma says, louder, as if she feels that she's losing Regina. "Camelot was a disaster. A broken kingdom with a corrupt king. Arthur, he didn't help us to find Merlin - he sabotaged all our plans. Everything, this whole mission to Camelot failed, and in the end, bringing us back to Storybrooke was the only thing I could do to save us... Taking your memories was a necessity in the process, but believe me, I'll only keep them until I've sorted out the dangers that are still present."

"What dangers?" Regina whispers when Emma doesn't continue. Her thoughts are racing to keep up with Emma's tale. In a horrible way it all makes sense, matches up with what few memories Regina has of Camelot and its leader. The shrewd look Arthur gave them when they first arrived to the kingdom, the scheming in his glance, the triumphant smile. "What dangers?" She repeats, urgently now, afraid.

"I can't tell you," Emma says, not meeting Regina's eyes. She sounds apologetic but also stubborn, a faint trace of the original Emma in her voice and Regina's heart would warm if it weren't so frustrating.

"Emma," she sighs and the woman before her crumples.

"I'm sorry." Barely a whisper.

"Why did you come here?" Regina asks, equally low. Her heart is still pounding and her skin crawls where Emma has touched her and while she's glad they're talking now, a tiny part of her wishes they could go back to kissing. A tiny part that Regina deliberately chooses to ignore.

"I needed to see someone," Emma murmurs, still evading Regina's gaze. "To know what I'm fighting for."

"But why me?"

A frown settles on Emma's brow, her lips forming a pout and for a second she looks so much like Emma that Regina almost jerks away, the proximity suddenly overwhelming her. She doesn't have the right to be here, cradling Emma's face, not while all they are is friends and both of them have a boyfriend waiting. And yet Emma doesn't move away, doesn't tell her no. Only looks at her in this intoxicating defiance.

"Because I made a mistake. And I will fix it but I needed to be sure first."

"Sure of what?" Regina breathes, although she already has an inkling what Emma is going to say. And indeed:

"Your feelings," Emma affirms her suspicions, and for the first time tonight the blonde looks nervous. "You do have feelings for me, right?"

Regina closes her eyes. Her head is swimming, the late hour and extensive display of magic at last taking its toll.

"Emma..."

"Please." The word is carefully enunciated, every letter pronounced with a purpose that lets Regina know just how much it costs Emma to say it. "I promise I will sort this out, I promise I can. I just need to have something that I can come back to. I need you to be there when I do. I... need you."

"And I need you," Regina whispers, because what else is there to say? What point is there in resistance when all the walls have been torn down anyway, when her heart lies bare and hurting amidst the ruins? When Emma has already seen it in its truest state, what use is there in lying? "I need you, Emma," she therefore repeats, her hands still cupping Emma's cheeks, her eyes mapping every inch of Emma's face. "I need you to come back. If I let you go now - promise you will come back."

"As long as you'll have me," Emma says, "I will always come back."

And she snaps before Regina can say anything else, dissolving into grey smoke between Regina's fingers.

#swanqueen #swanqueen fanfiction #sq fanfic #my writing #dark swan #uhhhhhhhhhhh so yeah this got out of hand at some parts whoops #come get yall some dark swan smut hehe #okay its not real smut #but close enough #also this is partly very old (like from a few years back) so dont judge past-zoes writing too much pls #thank u #anyhoo time to wrap up the tag rant #zoe out #sq

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happy-whumper · 3 years

Text

Food Poisoning

Is this..actual content? Damn who would have thought that would happen again 💀🤣

For a bit of context, this is set before Olivia came to Nicolas, actually her last 'owner' before him.

psh psh @darklyria, come simp for the Evil bastard Man~

CW: Poisoning/Drugging, Starvation, Vomiting, begging, creepy/intimate whumper, noncon touching (non sexual), pet whump (if I forgot anything, please let me know and I will add it!)

5 days. It had been 5 days since Olivia had last eaten.

She was laying on her back on the wooden floor, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the aching emptiness in her stomach, another wave of nausea washing over her, causing her to tightly close her eyes.

Deep breaths.

Easier said than done, considering the just slightly too tight collar around her neck. Not quite tight enough to fully cut off her airflow but enough to cause her breathing to be labored and shaking lightly. She tried to swallow but her mouth was completely dried out, leaving an almost stale taste behind.

At the door stood two people, a man and a woman.Olivia didn’t need to turn her head to know that they were there. She didn’t know their names or maybe she had known them at some point and just forgotten.

Either way it didn’t matter, they never did anything to help her anyways. Just stood there, watching. Making sure she didn’t try anything stupid.

These times were still the closest she came to having some peace, the closest she came to being alone. But they never lasted long.

As if on command she heard awfully familiar footsteps approaching. Confident, determined and almost..relaxed in a way.

Olivia shivered, both from the dreadful anticipation as well as the almost numbing cold she had been feeling for the past days.

She tried to somehow prepare herself for what was about to come, knowing full well it wouldn’t have any use anyways.

As the door opened and a tall, blond man in a casually expensive looking white shirt walked in, Olivia had just managed to at least half sit up, still mainly leaning on her hand and elbow. Something about the man caused all the attention to immediately shift towards him, something he was clearly very aware of.

He was grinning, there was something smug about it, that made Olivia want to punch him, but since that wasn’t exactly possible she instead resorted to glaring dagger at him, only causing his smile to only get even more amused.

“Aw, well someone doesn’t look happy to see me…”

Clenching her jaw Olivia tried to push herself up a bit more, but failed because of the weakness in her muscles. “Yeah I wonder why.”

Nathan just laughed at that, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “What’s wrong Princess, not in a good mood today?” The ‘nickname’ made her skin crawl and she wasn’t sure if the next wave of nausea came from hunger or pure disgust by the man looking down on her.

She didn’t bother responding, which he didn’t seem to care about too much. He stepped a bit closer, crouching down in front of her and firmly grabbing her chin, causing her to instinctively pull away. “Ah, ah, ah, what did I say about pulling away from me, hm?” His voice was still calm but she didn’t miss the warning undertone in it causing her to immediately freeze.

He chuckled lightly to himself, lightly brushing his thumb over her chin, causing a feeling of discomfort and disgust to send a shiver down her spine. “That’s what I thought,” he made a gesture to the man standing at the door, causing him to move out of Olivia’s view, leaving her a bit uneasy as Nathan started talking again, “Well, I actually have something that might cheer you up a bit Princess~”.

She felt her heart drop, her eyes immediately going wider. That never meant anything good…

A few seconds later the broader man appeared again, handing Nathan something she instantly recognised, only increasing the feeling of unease in her chest and causing the hairs on her arms to stand up.

“No! Get that..fucking thing away from me!” Rapidly shaking her head and almost crawling backwards, she stared at the short, black leash in his hand. The man in front of her just smirked at her reaction, a hint of impatience.

“Hm, I see someone’s decided to be… difficult today, hm pet?”, he leaned back a bit, lightly tapping has chin as if he was considering something, looking towards the man next to him, “I am not sure if such an ungrateful pet deserves to eat after all…”

At his last words Olivia's head immediately snapped up, a sudden feeling of desperation taking over her, still awfully aware of her empty stomach. “No, please I’m sorry I-”, his head turned towards her, lightly raising an eyebrow with an expectant grin on his face. For a moment she stayed silent, her mouth feeling even more dried out than before, swallowing hard and as a result feeling the tight collar press into her throat. She knew exactly what he wanted to hear and even though a part of her wanted anything but to give in to him, the bigger, more present and louder part was desperate, willing to do anything to just get something to eat.

“P-please Sir...I’m sorry I…”, she closed her eyes for a moment, almost forcing the words out, “I’ll be good Sir, I promise, please!” Her cheeks burned from embarrassment and humiliation but as she opened her eyes again and saw the satisfied smile on his face, she knew that it had been convincing enough.

“Hm, I love hearing you beg like this… So desperate, aren’t you princess?” Olivia bit the inside of her lip so hard that the faint taste of blood filled her mouth but she nodded, her eyes glued to the ground. “Y-yes Sir…”

“Good pet.”

About 45 minutes later, Olivia could finally remember what it was like to not feel hungry again, almost allowing her to relax a bit.

She lightly glanced up to Nathan who was sitting in a chair at the head of a conference room-like table, calmly listening to the other Man around the table talking and discussing. Despite the fact that she was kneeling next to him, the humiliation burning through her, she almost felt...grateful.

As if it hadn’t been Nathan who had starved her in the first place.

Suddenly a wave of dizziness came over her, prompting her to close her eyes for a moment, trying to fight the dazed feeling, not thinking too much of it.

The sudden feeling of a hand in her hair made her flinch, her eyes instinctively flying open, from the corner of her eye noticing the light smirk on the Man’s face.

She let out a breath, trying her best to just ignore it and focus on something else.

Only a few minutes later she once again started feeling light-headed, more severe than the first time, causing her to suck in a sharp breath, catching Nathan’s attention again.

“Everything alright dear?” His voice sounded almost concerned, if Olivia’s mind hadn’t been so woozy she would have picked up on the fake sincerity behind it. As it was though, she just nodded slowly, suddenly feeling nauseous, her eyes going wide, shifting on her knees.

Nathan chuckled lightly to himself, tightening the grip in her hair lightly, but she barely even registered it over the sudden stabbing pain in her stomach, letting out a pained gasp.

She quickly shut her eyes again, the nausea and dizziness getting worse by the second. It felt like the whole room was spinning, the floor underneath her shifting and turning, leaving her dazed and disoriented.

What the hell…

What she couldn’t see was the cruel smile spreading across Nathan's face as he leaned back in his chair, watching Olivia. More to himself, not loud enough for Olivia to hear, he chuckled lightly “Well that worked faster than I expected… “. He gestured to one of his ‘assistants’, signaling him to walk over to him.

"Yeah, Boss?" Nathan didn't even so much as turn his head, his eyes fixated on his pet, who's gaze was getting more glossy and distant. "Take my pet back to my room, I'll be there as soon as this here is done. Until then you stay with her and watch her. Wouldn't want to risk any...more permanent damage."

The man Paused for a Moment, getting a mildly confused look on his face, frowning lightly. "Uh… With all due respect Sir, you want me to play Babysitter?".

At that Nathan turned to him, raising an eyebrow "Is there a Problem? James, isn't it?", as the other nodded he continued talking, "Now I understand it that you're new here, so let me explain something to you. If I say something, you do it, you don't question me, you don't give any comments on it, you simply Follow the Order. I pay you enough for you to simply do that, don't you Think?" His voice had gotten colder now, a clear warning to not test his patience any further.

James nodded quickly, clearly a bit more intimidated now. "Oh yes of course Boss. Sorry." He lightly cleared bis throat and Nathan just nodded swiftly, turning his attention back to the men at the Table whose conversation had fallen quiet, the attention turned towards the Man sitting at the head of the Table. "Excuse me Gentlemen, just something small I had to take care of, please continue".

As the conversation slowly started again, the taller Man, James, Walked around the Chair, harshly grabbing Olivia's arm and pulling her up. The sudden motion combined with the nearly overwhelming dizziness caused her to stumble and almost fall, reflexively reaching out to the nearest surface, in that case the armrest of Nathan's chair, grabbing onto it as though her life was dependent on it.

Without turning around, Nathan put a Hand on Olivia's back, something that would have normally made her skin crawl but she was almost grateful for now.

"Careful. I would hate for you to damage my property."

By the time they were back in the bedroom, Olivia was sure that she was dying.

Every part of her body was taken over by an aching, hot pain, making her feel like she was burning from the inside out.

Her stomach felt like it was being cut open from the inside by a thousand tiny knives, leaving her almost breathless. In Addition to that she felt a burning fire build up behind her eyes, Lifting her arms up with a groan and pressing her Hands against her temples, granting a short Relief of the burning heat.

That Relief only lasted until the overwhelming nausea caused her to empty the insides of her stomach into the Toilet in front of her.

She couldn't remember how she even got to the bathroom floor but at that Moment she also didn't have the energy to Think about it, as the bitter taste of bile made her gag again, despite her stomach being completely emptied out.

Hot tears were running down her face, a ragged sob shaking up her whole body. She let herself drop to the cold floor, savouring the short alleviation of the cold, pulling her knees up to her chest, hoping for any sort of relief to the pain. But it never came. If anything, it just got worse the more time passed, making her feel like her insides were twisting and turning in cruel agony.

As a sudden, almost stabbing feeling went through her she wanted to scream, but her body was too worn out to bring up the energy, only managing a broken whimper. Olivia once again screwed her eyes shut, hoping that she might at least pass out so the pain would stop.

While she collapsed on the floor, James was standing in the doorway, his back turned away from her, frowning in annoyance. He hadn’t been paying too much attention to what exactly she was doing, still irritated about the fact that he had to ‘babysit’ now.

He scoffed, shaking his head lightly and crossed his arms in front of his chest, half glaring at the door across the room.

If I had known that this was part of the job I would have thought twice before taking it…

At the sound of a broken sob he turned around, narrowing his eyes but instantly freezing at the sight before him.

The girl, or 'pet' as his Boss referred to her, was lying on the stone tiles curled up in a fetal position, her breathing unsteady and interrupted by muffled sobs, her whole body trembling and shaking.

He felt his stomach drop, a sickening feeling spreading throughout his body. From the others he had heard about how his new Boss treated his ‘pets’, that it was just to be ignored, but this was the first time he had witnessed it first hand.

James didn’t even know her name and yet he felt awful seeing her lying there, her pale face almost matching the colour of the tiles her head was resting on and the pained whimpers escaping her throat.

But he knew that there wasn’t anything he could do to help her, no matter how much he wanted to. The others had warned him about that too, it would easily cost him his job if not worse and at the end of the day, it would only make things worse for her as well.

So all he did was stand there, watching her with an almost overwhelming feeling of helplessness.

About 10 minutes later, the bedroom door opened and the tall blond Man stepped through, a relaxed smile on his face. James had turned around again, not bearing the sight of the girl suffering any longer.

As Nathan walked towards him, his smile only seemed to widen, causing James to feel sick. How could he seem so...happy while another person was clearly in misery? He shivered lightly, keeping his gaze on the wall across from him.

Nathan glanced at him lightly from the side, smirking. “Now, was ‘babysitting’ really so bad?” James didn’t respond but the other Man clearly didn’t really look for an answer anyways, walking past him and crouching down in front of the girl who was still trembling violently.

If he hadn't known better, James would have thought that the way Nathan looked down on her was almost… caring. But that was only until he saw the sadistic amusement in his eyes, as he brushed a strand of hair that was sticking to the sweat drenching her forehead, to the side.

"You can leave now." He didn't turn around as he gave the command and James didn't hesitate to leave the room, not turning back once.

Olivia could feel the light touch, too exhausted even so much as flinch. She heard him chuckle lightly but it felt as though the Sound was muffled through a thick veil.

"Please…", her voice was barely above a whisper, shaking and unsteady, "Please, Sir I-i'm sorry, I-i-i..i'll be good, I promise!".

Another Wave of pain shot through her, forcing out a broken sob. "Please...please just m-make it s-stop...It hurts…"

Nathan just watched her with increasing satisfaction, fully enjoying seeing her broken down like that. "Oh you're so pretty begging and crying for me like this princess…"

Chuckling lightly to himself, he tilted his head to the side a bit. "Let's get you somewhere a bit more comfortable, hm?"

The last thing Olivia became aware of, was the feeling of someone picking her up, instinctively grabbing onto Nathan's shoulder for support to fight the new wave of lightheadedness before closing her eyes again, the darkness finally taking over and letting her escape into the temporary safety of unconsciousness.

Taglist: @starnight-whump, @jordanstrophe, @froggywhumpy, @whumpasaurus101, @as-a-matter-of-whump, @jojothepanwithoutaplan, @myst-in-the-mirror, @whumpsweetwhump, @darklyria

#is this what I actually wanted to work on?#not exactly #am I mad about it though? also not really kasjdhsj #anywho meet the newest Bastard Man: Nathan~#i'll probably post the picrew sometime later today #whump #pet whump #tw poison #starved whumpee #tw starvation #tw begging #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #tw vomit mention #my writing #my ocs #Olivia #Nathan #defiant whumpee

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

Text

Hey wouldn’t it be funny if I wrote a crossover between canon and the roleswap AU.

So I did <3. There’s no reason for this to exist, I was just bored and self-indulgent and amused myself by thinking about how fucking insane the Space Cadet team has to be in comparison to canon. This takes place at S4 Canon!Jon’s time, and basically between chapters 2 and 3 of solitaire. It is not canon. Do not think too hard about it. Enjoy. Story under the cut.

“Yes, in almost every way.” Jon wiped his mouth with a napkin, balling it up and dropping it on the table. “Jonathan Sims, thirty one years old, Aquarius. Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute. The Archivist.” He paused a beat, uncertain of how to broach this. “I think Helen may have deposited me in an alternate dimension? Best case scenario.”

Everybody stared at him blankly.

“Well,” Basira said finally, “sounds like the kind of bullshit you get yourself wrapped up in, Jon.”

“I knew it!” Sasha cried, before deflating. “I mean, I didn’t, really, not at all, but that’s fascinating! Will you answer some questions? Who’s the Queen in your universe?”

“I’m back from the dead for a week and my life’s already stupid again,” Tim said blankly.

“Two Jons?” Martin asked, far too excitedly.

“Can I leave you alone,” Melanie gritted out, between clenched teeth, “for five minutes?”

Jon woke up at his desk, which was so common that it was somewhat pathetic.

Not that a lot of things weren’t pathetic about Jon, but seeing as he no longer technically had anywhere to live he’d give himself a pass. Or was it pathetic to be homeless too? Jon felt strongly as if it was, but he was working on the judgemental thing. Martin had always -

Martin. Jon blinked blearily at his empty desk, scrubbing a little at the sleep that had accumulated in the corner of his eyes. Right. Speaking of pathetic. Jon didn’t like admitting that Martin was the first thing he thought about when he woke up and the last thing he thought about before he went to bed, but he was working on being more honest with himself. Denial about the situation didn’t do anyone any favors. Denial was what made him start stalking and hunting people like - like some sort of awful predator. No more denial. Jon knew who he was, and he knew what he was, and he was going to try and be as good a person as he can be despite it. It was the least he could do.

Wait. Why was his desk empty?

It wasn’t completely empty. There was a laptop on the center of it, and some assorted papers stuck haphazardly underneath. The usual recorder was tucked into the corner, clicked off. He swiped his hand over the trackpad of his laptop, quickly logging in, and instead of seeing his usual research or theory maps, he saw...a video game?

Jon squinted at the video game. What was The Sims?

He looked around his office, well-lit with the harsh fluorescent lights. It was his office, complete with the couch on the far wall that Daisy had taken to napping on and the two walls of metal shelving that held filling boxes and collections of tapes. Several filing cabinets were lined up behind Jon, holding his favorite statements. Organized by Entity. He was quite proud of it.

But the Statements seemed to be gone. Some loose papers were always scattered around, slipping out of boxes or sitting in haphazard piles weighed down by tape recorders. None of them were there. Basira must have taken them. Jon stood up, moving around the desk to pull out a box and peer inside. Empty.

Some part of Jon’s brain, growing louder every day, wailed and gnashed its teeth that someone had stolen his Statements, his knowledge. Most of Jon was just worried over what Basira could possibly be doing with them.

Unconsciously, Jon’s hand drifted down to his stomach. It was purely a habit, of course - the hunger never gave him stomach pains. He was so hungry all the time, he could barely feel it anymore.

The Statements were all gone.

Was Basira trying to starve him out…?

Jon shook himself. She wouldn’t - well, she wouldn’t go behind his back to do it. She knew that he’d just start preying on people -

His life had gotten so pathetic.

A loud crash and a yell echoed from the other side of the door, and Jon recognized Melanie’s voice. He winced, and decided to stay in his office for the time being. Best to stay out of her way. She always reacted somewhat explosively to him -

Then the faint, muffled tones of Martin’s voice echoed through the door, and Jon forgot all hesitation as he burst out of his office.

The bullpen was just slightly different from where Jon had seen it last - the desks arranged differently, different detritus scattered around, no sleeping bags or hair dryers - but he wasn’t paying attention to any of that. He was only paying attention to Martin, who was sitting at his desk as easy as you please. He was smiling.

Jon hadn’t seen Martin smile in so long.

He also hadn’t seen Martin wear those adorable little sweatervests in so long, but that wasn’t important right now. Jon cried out softly, like he had been punched - he did feel as if he had been punched, it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation - and Martin turned slightly in his chair to look at him. He smiled when he saw Jon, so kind and happy and Martin, and Jon felt like he was dying at the sight of Martin just smiling, just looking at him.

“Look, you don’t need to worry about me,” Martin was saying, to an unamused and remarkably composed Melanie. He held up a large combat knife, the metal glinting off the fluorescent lights. “Jon likes it.”

“See, it’s not you I’m worried about,” Melanie said, arms crossed. She was dressed - in her jeans and green flannel, like she used to. Her hair looked clean. The crop top, cut-off shorts, and fishnets, that Jon hadn’t seen her take off in the last month, where - “It’s poor Jon. He’s too desperate for affection to stand up for himself.”

“Jon, you okay?” Tim asked, sitting behind Martin and sipping a margarita. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That was when Jon - hungry, tired, hallucinating - felt his legs give out. It was just in time, too. He collapsed to the ground just as Martin threw the knife, sending it whistling where his head had been half a second ago.

Then he hit his head on the floor, and blissfully fainted.

****

“ - she’s not his mother, it’s not Georgie’s job to make sure he eats.”

“It’s because Daisy isn’t here.” That was Basira’s voice, almost mournful. “Daisy always used to remind him to eat.”

“How did this guy make it to thirty again?” An unfamiliar voice asked.

“If it wasn’t for this ragtag bunch of lesbians, I would have killed him months ago,” Tim said, then paused a beat. “What? I’m owning up to my mistakes.”

“Remind me to give you a sticker later,” Melanie said dryly.

Jon opened his eyes, to see five faces crowded in front of him. They were all bending over him, identical expressions of mild intrigue on their faces as they bickered with each other. Martin looked very, very mildly concerned, as Melanie and Basira just looked exasperated. Tim - and the woman - who was the woman?

Instinctually, Jon reached out with his mind and sought the answer. But it was as if he was reaching with a limb that had been cut off. No, a limb that had never existed. Dazed, Jon lifted his real hand, if only to make sure that he could still move - and found himself staring at an unmarred, smooth, healthy hand.

“Martin didn’t cut it off,” the woman said helpfully. She had a thick mane of curly brown hair, and brown skin a similar shade to his. She was holding a granola bar, and she easily stuffed it in his outstretched hand. “If that was a concern or anything. When’s the last time you ate, Jon?”

The question spent a spike of anxiety through him, Jon instantly interpreting it as an accusation. The granola bar wasn’t going to do anything. Of course he was hungry, he’s always hungry -

Jon wasn’t hungry.

Jon sat up, letting the assorted people, both alive and dead, step away. He mechanically unwrapped the granola bar and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing lethargically. It didn’t taste like sawdust and cement. It tasted like salt, and nuts.

He swallowed the granola bar, forming a hypothesis. He looked at Basira, who at least was the most familiar here. It galled him even having to ask, not just knowing, but - “What year is it?”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “If you hit your head we’re taking you to C&E. We can’t afford for you to get any stupider, Jon.”

“Your concern is noted,” Jon said, strained.

“Don’t make fun of him, he’s a concussion victim,” Melanie scolded. She smiled at Jon - hideously novel. “It’s 2018. I’m calling Georgie and getting you home, you’re useless to us with a brain injury.”

He no longer had a hypothesis. Jon shook his head mutely. The last person Jon wanted to field questions from was Georgie. “I’m fine,” Jon said hoarsely. “I think I just need to - lie down a bit.” And not look at Tim. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and was still slurping his margarita obnoxiously. He was leaning against a desk, somewhat heavily. “I’ll be fine.”

Everybody looked at each other, then shrugged. Melanie reached down and helped him up, gently pushing him towards the couch set up in the corner of the bullpen, and he found himself stumbling towards it and lying down. Martin loudly offered to nurse him back to health, which incentivized Basira and Melanie to quickly push him inside the recording room and lock the door for...some reason. Jon wanted to go talk to Martin, figure everything out with him. But he didn’t - paralyzed, or maybe just frightened, or maybe just very tired.

The knife he had thrown was still lying on the floor, somehow innocently. The woman picked it up, inspecting it closely, and sighed.

“There is something off about that guy.”

“None of them are ever going to believe you, Sash,” Tim said dully, flipping through a brightly colored magazine on his desk. Jon’s breath caught in his throat. “Melanie thinks it’s freakier if you haven’t stabbed anyone.”

This was it. This was when Tim would say, ‘Everybody wants to stab Jon’, or something. It’d be fair. If this was a dream, a fantasy of dead friends, then that’s what he would say. But he didn’t. Tim - strangely small, strangely gaunt, with hollow cheeks that reminded Jon a little of Daisy - didn’t look up at Sasha, flipping through his magazine, and Sasha avoided eye contact with him. She looked at Jon instead, from where he was lying on the couch, and gave him a strained smile.

Jon found the courage to speak to her. It should have felt familiar, like Sasha, but nothing about her was familiar. He had listened to her tapes a dozen times, any scrap of her voice he could find, but - well, everybody sounded different on the tapes. “Sasha. Can you get me my phone? And a...Statement?”

Sasha brightened enthusiastically. “You want a Statement? Say no more, Jon, I’ll hook you up. Nice to see somebody taking an interest. Let’s keep this between you and me, okay?”

“What…?”

But she had already disappeared into his office, and the faint sounds of banging echoed throughout the room. Melanie and Basira were standing in the kitchenette, chatting lowly, Basira occasionally laughing at something Melanie said.

Jon wondered where Daisy was, and instinctively tried to reach again before hitting that wall. He gritted his teeth, head still swimming.

The most important thing was figuring out if this place was dangerous or not. Wherever he was, whatever was going on, he had to discern if it was a danger. Could this have anything to do with an unknown ritual? No, how could it? Elias? He wouldn’t put any of this past Elias.

With a twist in his gut Jon remembered the cannibal priest’s Statement. Any suspicion of unreality, any feeling as if things were not as they should be...or was this a pleasant, Lotus Eater’s dream instead? If that was true, would Martin be throwing knives at him?

“Here you go! First one I saw on your desk.”

Jon sat up, mutely taking the paper and phone Sasha held out to him. It wasn’t his mobile - it was much nicer and sleeker than his own battered thing - but he had to assume it was Jon’s. He took the Statement too, scanning it quickly.

Of course, of course. It was Anya Villete’s. Jon thought about this one frequently, captured by the prospect of multiple realities. Not worth the danger of exploring, but there was an intoxicating element of danger. Maybe the Jon that these people thought they were talking to had been reading it, and accidentally triggered something -

“What did I say!”

Before Jon could react, the paper was unceremoniously ripped from his hands. Jon cried out helplessly, only to see Melanie standing in front of him with an unamused expression and his lifeline in her uncaring fists.

“We’ve been over this,” Melanie scolded - scolded? “No statements, they’re bad for your tummy.” She frowned at Sasha, who didn’t seem very guilty. “And I told you to stop enabling him. He’s already sick, and you know these things upset him.”

“I’m gathering data,” Sasha said cheerfully. “Something weird was happening in his eyes when he was reading that Statement. Give it back, I need to record it.”

“Can I have that back, please?” Jon asked planatively. “I need it.”

“You do not.” Melanie folded up the statement tightly, shoving it in her jeans and ignoring Jon’s cry of despair. “If you’re feeling under-stimulated, go play knife monopoly with Martin. Otherwise relax and make sure you aren’t going to faint again.”

“I’m not going to -”

“I will call Georgie,” Melanie threatened, and Jon clicked his mouth shut. Melanie nodded, satisfied in having won the argument. If it was even an argument. “Sasha, if you let Jon find another Statement I will be locking the library and giving the key to Martin.”

“Yes, boss,” Sasha said, depressed.

“Tim, you’re with me, we need to design our plan of attack for chasing down Daisy,” Melanie barked, and Tim straightened in his seat. Jon saw for the first time that there was a folded up cane on his desk. “I need your dumb fear demon powers.”

“That’s not how they -” Tim started, but at Melanie’s look he quailed. “Yeah, boss.”

“Great.” Melanie folded her arms, frowning down at Jon, and at the receiving end of the look Jon found himself quailing too. “If you leave the Archives to do anything other than go to the bathroom the rest of the day, I will tell Georgie that you were exerting yourself while sick again. And she will call you a poor little dear and give you lots of hugs and lots of soup. You will hate it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, boss,” Jon said, depressed.

“Good. I need to go psychologically torment more people, I’ll be in the library. Tim!” She snapped her fingers, and strode off to the library as Tim scrambled up and limped after her.

Jon watched her go dazedly as the library door clicked shut behind her. Sasha sighed and went back to her desk, cracking open the thick books on the top and relaxing. They weren’t even research books, just nonfiction about the Mayflower. Basira was back at her desk too, this time with her chin resting on her arms folded on the desk as she watched a...movie. Was that a romcom?

This was dangerous. The situation was dangerous, doubtless the plot of some force or another that hated Jon personally and wanted him to suffer. He had to do some research, find out what was going on, track down Elias and find his power and dig into that source of infinite knowledge lying dormant in his mind, uproot every terrifying thing that hated him and shake them down for answers.

But he was more scared of Melanie. Just because she didn’t seem to have any knives on her didn’t mean that it was the case. Unless Martin had them all. So Jon lay back on the couch, rotely pressed in the passcode to his phone, and idly opened up the internet browser in complete comfort and relaxation.

The couch was so comfortable and soft, in fact, that Jon soon fell asleep. Easy and smooth, as if he really was still a human, who needed sleep at all.

And when Jon dreamed, he dreamed of blissful and restful nothing.

******

He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder, and Jon screamed himself awake as his eyes flew open.

But it wasn’t anybody dangerous, or anything willing to hurt him. It was just - Basira. Just Basira. Jon exhaled in relief, ignoring Basira’s incredulous expression.

“It’s five, we’re heading out. You feeling well enough for pub night, mate?”

They were going home. The strangeness registered first, the fact that Sasha was shrugging on a jacket and Melanie was stuffing a laptop in a backpack, before Jon remembered where he was. Or where he wasn’t. He mustered a faint smile for Basira, but judging from her frown it came out closer to a grimace.

Pub night. They were going out for drinks, then going to their own flats. Eating dinner. Sleeping. Waking up the next morning, then heading off to work. The mundanity boggled.

Maybe it was a Lotus Eater, Jon thought, dazed. A world where there were no Entities, no fears or harm. Where everybody was human, and happy.

Maybe. He hadn’t actually been allowed to look at any of the Statements, so he didn’t actually know. He couldn’t imagine that this group would be so casual if the Statements really were true.

Part of him wanted to beg off, curl up and sleep in document storage so he wouldn’t have to interact with these people for any longer. He was out of practice: these days he rarely had long conversations with anybody who wasn’t Daisy, and he hadn’t seen Daisy all day. Basira exchanged a few curt sentences with him each day. Melanie...cried and screamed, a lot. Not exactly conducive to social skills.

Sasha’s face was buried in a book, not even looking up as she navigated the desks. Tim was talking a patient Melanie’s ear off about Nietzche.

“I think I can make it,” Jon found himself saying. “Just a pint.”

Besides, he had the feeling that if he curled up in document storage Georgie would...be mad at him. Or something. They were flatmates? Or something?

They walked out the door in a herd, talking and laughing. Jon found himself hanging in the back of the group, next to Sasha. She wasn’t looking up from her book, so Jon felt safe in staring unabashedly at Tim. He was using a cane, just like Daisy had for two or so weeks right out of the coffin. He even used it in the same way: not favoring one leg or the other, using it for strength instead of balance. Muscle weakness. He was just as emancipated as Daisy had been too, in that particular corpse-like way that made him look like a zombie. His hair was long and lanky, brittle strands reaching to his chin instead of his normal lush and gelled look.

The faces in the lobby were the same - Sabrina behind the desk, Roy playing security guard - even as the decorations were different. No portrait of Jonah Magnus, or of the other directors. They broke out into the London street, as smoggy and crowded as ever, and Jon found himself trailing behind the others in a direct route to their usual pub. The same one he, Basira, Melanie, and Daisy go drinking at sometimes. Only sometimes. They went without him more often, but Jon didn’t blame them, really -

“Something on my face, mate?”

Tim’s wry voice startled Jon out of his reverie, and he flushed. Tim smiled at him, thinly and without humor, and gestured him forward as he dropped behind Melanie. Jon stepped forward, tucking his hands into his jacket, fighting the rising swell in his throat.

“You’ve been staring. I’m not that much uglier, am I?” Tim asked lightly, a parody of his old good humor. That, at least, was familiar - Tim’s fragile and brittle humor, tightly leashing rage.

“You...you look good,” Jon said. He buried his hands deeper in his jacket pockets, fighting the lump in his throat. He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “It’s good to see you again.”

It was probably a strange thing for Jon to say - but Tim just smiled, even more bitter than the last. “You’ve always been too nice for your own good, Sims.” First time that’s been said about him. “You forgive too easy.”

“Grudges...aren’t worth it, in my experience.” Jon exhaled slowly, watching Melanie’s red hair glint in the sunlight in front of him. “Life’s too short and all.”

“Really? Thought you people loved grudges.” Tim blinked a second, before clearly remembering something. “We love grudges, right. Still, Jon, I never really…” He trailed off awkwardly. “You know.”

He did not. “Right,” Jon said.

“Apologized,” Tim said hurriedly, when it became clear that Jon wasn’t about to say anything committal. “For trying to kill you all those times. Uh, and trying to get you arrested. And helping frame you for murder. And that whole kidnapping incident -”

Something began to occur to Jon. A rational thought seeped into his brain.

“In the woods,” Jon said slowly. “Because you thought I was a monster.”

Tim winced, confirming Jon’s suspicion. “Right. Trust me, I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I know I was wrong. I’ve turned over a new leaf and everything.” He brightened. “Did you hear I’m bisexual now?”

“Everybody heard you were bisexual now,” Basira said, bored. “Ten times.”

“Good for you,” Jon said, as sincerely as he could. “That’s...great. Bi rights.”

Tim beamed. “Bi rights!” He clapped Jon’s shoulder supportively with his other hand as Melanie held open the door to the pub for them, ducking inside. “Man, I never thought I’d see the inside of a pub again. I only got to go a few times with you guys before everything. Can Martin still hustle the room at pool?”

“One way to find out,” Martin said serenely.

“Please don’t start a pub brawl,” Melanie said, pained. “We’ve been kicked out of three places already, I don’t fancy making it a fourth.”

But when Jon looked backwards, he saw Sasha looking up from her book, staring directly at him, blinking owlishly.

They crowded into a corner booth, squishing up against each other and all talking at once. Jon wanted to drift towards Martin, get him alone and ask what was going on, but after one look at him eyeing up the pool cues speculatively he changed his mind. Only Basira was acting even remotely normal, so he settled for sliding in between her and Sasha. He was dizzy with the noise and the clamor of the familiar pub, overwhelmed by the familiar-unfamiliar tide of voices, and it was taking all of his energy not to spend hours just staring at Sasha, memorizing every line and crease of her face.

The first thing he did was order every single crummy, greasy, soggy serving of pub food he found on the menu, ignoring the way his Assistants laughed at him, before settling in the corner of the booth and pulling out his phone. Jon wasn’t even hungry - he wasn’t hungry - but he was shoving every soggy chip into his mouth until he puked. A human body was a drastically underrated thing.

Out of curiosity, Jon turned on the front camera of his phone and scrutinized his reflection. He had noticed that his hair was shorter, tied back in a puffed bun instead of his customary ragged ponytail, but beyond that he hadn’t checked.

He looked...good. No longer gaunt and malnourished, he was a healthy weight. No bags under his eyes. Well kept fade and modest, well trimmed facial hair. No scar over his throat, no circular worm scars. That was less of a surprise - Tim, Martin, and Sasha were all missing the worm scars.

His eyes were brown. Just brown. No electrifying green, no spinning iris, no churning wheel of knowledge. Just his normal, boring brown.

He hadn’t known how much he missed it.

As the others started arguing passionately about...vlogs? Or something?...Jon pulled out his wallet. Money had the same old Queen on it, along with his old collection of take-out receipts that had all started disappearing when he stopped eating. A photocopy of a picture of his parents, heavily worn and creased. Still an orphan, then. Jon missed the days when that was his biggest problem.

His driver’s license was the same as ever too. Same name - Jonathan Andrew Sims. Same birthday - February 14th, which he had always considered life’s practical joke on him. The United Kingdom still existed, which was either a good or a bad thing.

He replaced his wallet, ignoring Sasha’s curious stare, and pulled out his phone. He had only gone so far as making sure that major world events were the same before passing out. This time, he pressed his text messages, and scrolled down his most recents. As usual, it was only a few people - almost all of which were at this table - but there were a few other people too.

Georgie was the obvious one, and the most recent. He clicked on that conversation, unsurprised to see an immediate photograph of the Admiral looking angelic as he rolled around in some grass in a patch of sun.

Georgie: Baby at the park soaking in some rays!!! <3 <3 <3. I caught him terrorizing a stray dog. Naughty baby!!

Jon blinked at the message. The Admiral did seem a little...more evil, than he once did. Why were his eyes green? Underneath was Jon’s own text, sent twenty minutes before he had woken up that afternoon.

Jon: He’s committing atrocities and you’re laughing. You’re laughing.

Jon couldn’t fight a smile. He missed Georgie.

He switched over to the text conversation just underneath. He squinted at the contact name. That couldn’t be right.

Gerry: can u pick up milk from aldis? and scented candles

Gerry: for necromancy reasons

Jon: Can you raise the dead tomorrow? Helen said she wants to talk to me so I may be home late. If you don’t hear from me in five hours she’s likely kidnapped me. As a heads up.

Gerry: OH, SO LONG AS I HAVE THE HEADS UP?

Gerry: I’m making Georgie give Melanie the money to buy that toddler leash she’s always threatening to get for u. If u die im not resurrecting u.

Jon: Have fun with one less person to share the rent

Gerry: we dont PAY RENT

Gerard Keay. Jon blinked at the phone. That conversation raised as many questions as it answered. Gerard Keay was alive? He was Jon’s flatmate? He practiced necromancy? None of it seemed very relevant right now, but it made Jon wonder who else was resurrected from the dead. Was necromancy common in this universe, like knitting?

Still, Helen explained quite a bit. It also suggested what Jon was already wondering: that the supernatural was far from foreign. If Helen was supernatural, and not just...a jerk.

If Tim was an Avatar of the Hunt...if he had been in the coffin...and Daisy’s been hard to track down…

Jon was interrupted in his increasingly coherent train of thought by his food arriving, and all thoughts were thrown out the window. His basket of fish and chips slid in front of him, and he wasted absolutely no time in cramming the fries into his mouth three at a time, not wasting time salting or putting vinegar on them. They were dripping with crease, soggy and burning his tongue.

They were perfect.

The waiter, looking somewhat intimidated, slid his bacon butty on the table too, and Jon took barely a moment to swallow before stuffing that in his face too. Bacon, butter, brown sauce - it exploded on his tongue, a cavalcade of salt and seasoning. Increasingly terrified, the waiter put his pie and mash on the table and quickly fled, as Jon finished cramming the sandwich into his mouth before moving back to the fish. It was hot, crackling on his tongue, strong and fishy and perfect.

Jon looked up from his food long enough to grab a glass of water and gulp half of it down. It wasn’t until he put his glass down that he saw the looks on the faces of his Assistants. All of whom ranged from frightened to terrified.

Everybody except Martin, whose chin was propped on his hand and was sighing dreamily. “It’s really hot how you can pack it all away, Jon. Do you want to come over to my flat and let me cook for you? I’d make a lot of food. ”

Jon choked on his fish.

That was it for Sasha. She slammed her book down, expression intent, and jabbed a finger at a now wheezing Jon. “Jon would never choke at Martin’s creepy flirting! That isn’t Jonathan Sims!”

Jon stole Tim’s glass of water, ignoring his squawk, and downed that too.

Now everybody really was staring at him, and Jon felt heat rise to his cheeks. As the kids say, busted. He should probably stop eating and make his escape while he still could, before Tim decided to change his mind on his ‘murdering Jon’ stance.

But outside did not have pub food. Inside had pub food. Jon made his decision with the knowledge that, if his Assistants reacted from a reasonable place of Imposter-based trauma and killed him for pretending to be Jonathan Sims, he’d deserve it. He was not moving from this spot until his food was gone or his Assistants killed him.

Jon finished off Tim’s water, dropping it back on the lacquered table, and hoarsely said, “I’ve been having a very strange day.”

Nobody leaped for his throat or pointed a gun at him, which was always nice. It was more than Jon had been expecting. Instead, everybody looked at Melanie, who narrowed her eyes. Jon realized, a second too late, that they were waiting for her. Whatever happened to him, Melanie would decide.

...why Melanie?

Melanie rested her elbows on the table, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth. She locked eyes with Jon, breaking him down like a judge at a dog show, and Jon tried to shovel mash in his mouth as innocently as possible.

“Sasha. What’s your evidence?”

“He’s been acting weird all day,” Sasha said promptly, as if she’d been expecting the question. She shifted her arm purposefully, and Jon realized with a start that she was concealed carrying. Was that legal? “Jon never asks me for Statements outright, he always just sneaks them behind Melanie’s back. If he really fainted because he was hungry, he would have eaten his lunch too, instead of just my granola bar. And he hasn’t talked to Martin since he fainted - he isn’t even sitting next to him.” Sasha drew herself up triumphantly. “And, he looked actually scared when Martin threw that knife at him. He’s never scared of Martin. He normally just role-plays the fear bit.”

“Which I appreciate,” Martin said supportively, making Jon blanch. That elicited more suspicious looks from everyone, which Jon couldn’t even begin to parse. “But he has been acting strange today, hasn’t he?”

“Tim?” Melanie asked sharply.

Tim sniffed loudly, wrinkling his nose a little. “Smells like him.” At Melanie’s intense look, he grudgingly added, “No sawdust or plastic. Flesh and blood, boss.”

Jon began stuffing forkfuls of pastry and meat crumb from the pie in his mouth as Melanie went back to squinting at Jon. Not glaring - just an intense, sidelong look, fingers steepled in front of her. “You aren’t denying it, Jon.”

Jon mumbled something.

“Swallow your food.”

Jon carefully swallowed his mouthful of dough. “I have not eaten human food,” Jon said delicately, “in five months. I will answer your questions momentarily.”

And then Jon cleaned all three of his plates, to the dumbfounded looks of his Assistants.

Finally, after everybody else’s drinks had arrived - including Jon’s pint, which he reached for so quickly that Martin stole it away from him and refused to give it back - and Jon had cleaned all three of his plates, he felt ready to talk. He thumped on his chest, burping a little, and leaned back in his plush seat. Melanie was nursing her pint, sipping from it slowly, as Basira gave him her usual ‘I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you’ look.

“Okay,” Jon said finally. “I apologize for not - ah, clarifying before. I thought I was dreaming. To be honest, I worry that I’m still dreaming.” He looked down at his empty basket and plates. “I dearly hope that wasn’t human flesh or something horrid like that.”

Sasha perked up. “Like in the cannibal priest statement? That’s fascinating -”

“Shut up about cannibal priests,” Melanie groaned, and Sasha guiltily shut up. Oddly rude, but nobody seemed surprised. “You are Jon, right?”

Everybody stared at him blankly.

“Well,” Basira said finally, “sounds like the kind of bullshit you get yourself wrapped up in, Jon.”

“I knew it!” Sasha cried, before deflating. “I mean, I didn’t, really, not at all, but that’s fascinating! Will you answer some questions? Who’s the Queen in your universe?”

“I’m back from the dead for a week and my life’s already stupid again,” Tim said blankly.

“Two Jons?” Martin asked, far too excitedly.

“Can I leave you alone,” Melanie gritted out, between clenched teeth, “for five minutes?”

Then everybody was talking over each other, arguing and exclaiming and yelling, and Jon frantically drank his pint. They were so loud.

Finally, Melanie chopped a hand through the buzz, and everyone quieted. She pursed her lips, looking Jon up and down, and he anxiously let himself get looked at. “How did you know it was an alternate universe? What’s the difference?”

“Martin threw a knife at me and Tim and Sasha are alive,” Jon said instantly.

“I’m not actually dead in your universe,” Tim said quickly, “just trapped in an infernal demon hell coffin. If you can get me out, I’d be really thankful -”

“No, you’re quite dead,” Jon said apologetically. “That happened to Daisy in my universe, though. A - a lot of what you did here, I think, Daisy did.” He looked at Basira, frowning. “Where is Daisy? She’s not…”

“She’s fine,” Basira said curtly, folding her arms and leaning back. “Having lots of fun ditching us and having fun at her little secretary desk. It’s fine. I don’t care. She can do what she wants, she’s an adult.”

“Basira’s been pining tragically ever since Daisy ran off to go work for Peter Lukas,” Melanie said sympathetically.

Jon felt a little called out. “Ah. That’s - that’s very unfortunate.” He slowly turned to Martin, who still seemed caught up in the ‘two Jons’ aspect of this. “And you’re...you would define yourself as full of rage?”

“At all times, all the time, without cessation,” Martin agreed affably. “Why? That’s not weird to you, is it?”

“Uh huh.” Jon slowly turned to Sasha. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to insult you, but...did you happen to once work as a Constable for the Met?”

Everybody winced. Sasha sighed. “I regret all of my actions and I’m very sorry that I was once a pig and I’ll never do it again because I value due process now.”

“Word, sister,” Tim said, raising his pint.

“Hm,” Jon said, far too much coming together. But that left a big question, one thing that didn’t make sense. “What about me? Do I - eat trauma?”

Basira stared at him blankly. “You try, sometimes, but we usually just spray water at you until you stop.”

“That explains it,” said Jon, despite the fact that it didn’t explain anything.

“Your questions are pointless, and this is a waste of time.” Melanie clapped her hands sharply, making everyone straighten to attention. She stood up from her seat, everybody scrambling to protect their glasses as Melanie clambered on top of the table. “Helen! Get out here!”

“She’s not - she’s not Beetlejuice, you can’t just call her name and make her appear,” Jon said blankly. “How’s she even supposed to hear -”

“She can hear me just fine,” Melanie called, “because she’s been sitting at the bar this whole time.”

Everybody’s heads craned around to look at the bar. Through the stream of people, carrying drinks and laughing, Jon could faintly make out a tall, willowy figure with a large afro sitting on a barstool at the bar, tapping the rim of one elegant martini with a long, manicured fingernail.

Then she swiveled around, and Helen grinned broadly at all of them. She waved cheekily with one hand, fingers waving and rippling strangely in the dim pub lights. “Hello! You rang?”

Melanie jabbed a finger at the table pointedly. “Michael’s too young to be here too, Helen!”

“They’re eighteen, they’re a big non-Euclidean concept!” Helen tittered, as she hopped of the stool. Jon’s draw dropped as a much smaller, slight figure next to her hopped off too. They were a teenager, with a curly mop of blonde hair and big, watery blue eyes that seemed just a little strange. Everything about them was on the edge of familiar, and not in the usual way of the Spiral.

“She was waiting for us to figure it out,” Basira murmured, catching Jon’s attention. “It’s definitely funny to her.”

“Helen defined schadenfreude, I’m afraid,” Jon said, depressed, as Helen and her tagalong popped up at the edge of their table. Melanie had said Michael - and the kid did look like Michael, younger and alive and wide-eyed. Their watery eyes caught on Jon, and they tilted their head curiously. The sight of them hurt Jon’s head more than the Spiral usually did - a testament to the human body he was borrowing.

Human. That was no defense. He was vulnerable, and judging from the angle of Helen’s smile she knew it.

“Enjoying your vacation, Archivist?” Helen tittered, folding her hands girlishly as Melanie hopped off the table and back in her seat. “I’ve been having so much fun in this universe I thought I ought to bring a friend! Buy one plane ticket get one free, you know. I have this coupon for a great spa around here -”

“Helen,” Melanie intoned dangerously.

Helen tittered a nervous laugh. Was she...scared of Melanie? “Don’t worry! Your darling little Jon’s perfectly safe. He’s having a great time in one of my favorite dimensions, this wonderful post-apocalyptic adventure with a werewolf -

“Helen,” Melanie said slowly, danger building with every word, “we talked about what happens when you remove Jons from their native ecosystems.”

“They get sick,” Michael said somberly, nodding their head. “An’ wilt.”

“It is very stressful for the Jon, Helen. You know what we don’t like?”

“A stressed Jon?” Michael volunteered.

“Yes, Michael.” Melanie smiled pleasantly at Helen, who blanched. “A stressed Jon. Because when Jon gets stressed, my girlfriend gets stressed. And when my girlfriend gets stressed, I get stressed. And when I get stressed, everybody is about to have a very bad time. Get it? Helen?”

“Completely understood, very sympathetic, I see your point completely,” Helen said hurriedly. “Really, you can say that I did my dear Archivist a favor! He hasn’t had a human body in almost half a year, the poor dear was so sad about it. It’s a break, really!”

Tim squinted at Jon. “You’re really full on fear demon, then?”

Jon squirmed guiltily, ashamed. “I prefer the term Avatar. But...yes, I’m an amoral monster distant from humanity, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melanie said impatiently. “You’re about as far from humanity as I am. Having stupid superpowers or cramming shitty food into your mouth doesn’t make you inhuman, it just means you hang out with the wrong crowd. Go back to your own universe and get some rest, I bet you’re stressing out all your friends.”

“I’m really not,” Jon said weakly. “I - I really only have one friend.”

“No wonder you look so tragic all the time,” Sasha said thoughtfully. “Jon gets all mopey without affection. Like an unwatered plant.”

“I eat trauma,” Jon said, bewildered at the perception of harmlessness.

“You and half of the YouTube vlogging community.” Melanie clapped her hands again sharply, pulling everyone to attention. “Helen. Put Jon back where he came from or so help me.”

“Ruining all my fun,” Helen pouted, but at Melanie’s glare she sighed. She held up one hand, and static rippled through the air. The hand elongated, twisted, and turned into Helen’s signature lengthy claw. Michael eyed it with interest, before holding up their own hand and doing the same. “Fun while it lasted, Archivist! Now hold still. I wouldn’t want to lobotomize the wrong lobe.”

“Nice meeting you,” Sasha said politely, to a very freaked out Jon. “Don’t come back, though.”

“Come back if you want,” Basira yawned. “My life’s boring, spice it up a little.”

“Sorry I’m dead in your universe or whatever,” Tim said, waving a hand. “Life and death is meaningless anyway, so I’m sure it’s for the best.”

“I want my Jon back,” Martin complained. “Go on and get out, then.”

“Tell your friends what we told you,” Melanie said. “Don’t they know that you get all tragic when you’re lonely?”

And Jon didn’t know how to say it - that they didn’t know, or if they did then they didn’t care, because they had so many bigger problems than if Jon was sad or not. With Elias’ strange plans, with Jon’s encroaching monsterhood and his slow and steady starvation, with Martin’s loneliness and Basira’s desperation and Melanie’s instability, Jon’s feelings were the least important thing in the world.

Did it matter, to anybody but Jon, that he thought of Martin first thing in the morning and last thing as he went to bed at night?

“Hold still and look straight at me!” Helen said, and Jon had to be thankful - because that let him look at Sasha and Tim, eyes wide and intrigued, as Helen speared her finger through Jon’s forehead.

Jon blacked out, but the images of Sasha and Tim stayed burned behind his eyelids. He dreamed calm dreams, of him and Martin and Sasha and Tim, laughing together, as the world faded away.

****

When Jon woke up, it was with a crick in his neck, and he knew immediately he had fallen asleep on the battered old couch in his office again.

There was a heavy weight on his chest, and when he pried his eyes open he saw the top of Daisy’s head in front of him. Dusty blonde hair pooled on his chest as Daisy snored, deep asleep, arm stretched over his torso.

The taste of salt and grease was on his tongue, and Jon let himself go back to sleep. The dreams would be terrifying and desolate, but at least in them he was never hungry.

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #im also doing an UNBELIEVABLY self-indulgent tim character study but im not sure if i should post it because tim's not funny #melanie king #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #slaughter!martin #basira hussain #sasha james #helen richardson #michael shelley

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nanoland · 3 years

Text

new chapter (lucifer fic)

Ponder on the Narrow House, part 6

Mazikeen/Eve/Michael

(Whole thing can be read on AO3.)

Fuck the next bounty.

After thinking about it for ten seconds, Mazikeen turned them around and started driving straight for Los Angeles.

Eve can talk to him. Not me. He needs to talk to someone, and Eve will do.

Barely half a mile later, Amenadiel dropped out of the sky and landed in the middle of the road, just far enough away for her to bring the car to a screeching halt before it would otherwise have slammed into him like wet clay into a steel wall.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said, looking exhausted.

She snorted and pointed skyward. “Yeah. This? Not gonna lie, I was expecting something like this. But I thought it would take, like, at least a month.”

Wincing, Amenadiel said, “No, that’s… that’s a different problem and Chloe’s promised to discuss it with him. Maze, we need you back at Lux. Now.”

“Hi, Amenadiel!” Eve called, waving.

He succeeded in smiling at her without even glancing at Michael, despite his younger brother sitting right at her side, glaring fixedly.

“Why?” demanded Mazikeen, tensely drumming her fingers on the wheel. (Inner voice hissing, Shouldn’t have left him alone, you dumb bitch, you’ve been doing this for centuries and you know what he’s like when you leave him alone for more than five minutes.) “Seriously – what could he possibly need me for? He’s God.”

Sighing, Amenadiel put his wings away. “Mazikeen, we’re all well aware that Lucy often… has difficulty focusing. To put it mildly. There’s a lot more for him to focus on now than ever before. He’s trying to undo climate change. To that end, he started refreezing all the melted ice in the Arctic. But he did it too quickly and, resultantly, there are several hundred trapped ships we need to save and several thousand dead penguins to resurrect and, to be honest, he hasn’t really got the hang of resurrection yet – you remember what Dan looked like for the first few hours after Lucifer brought him back to life…”

“Eurgh. Yeah. Yuck. Totes not the kinda shit you’d wanna see in Happy Feet.”

Michael was snickering.

“Right. And then there are all the changes he’s been making locally,” Amenadiel went on. “The expansion of Lux, the overnight disappearance of all Los Angeles’ firearms, his deciding that the city’s white supremacist population should grow a third ear so they can be easily identified, and, well, it turns out that a lot of Chloe’s colleagues at the police station-…”

“I get it, I get it. Chaos everywhere. As usual. What, exactly, is the problem he wants me to fix?”

Amenadiel exhaled heavily. “The demons. The ones you brought from Hell to help us defeat Michael.”

“Oh, so you do remember I exist,” Michael muttered.

Stonily ignoring him, Amenadiel said, “They’re still on Earth and they’re causing trouble. The one called Dromos, in particular. He’s gathered followers and they’ve surrounded Lux.”

Her brother’s face – his real face, not the human puppet he wore – flashed through her mind’s eye; a memory from when they were unruly children and had raced through Hell together, using the stone pillars that they’d not yet known were cells as an obstacle course. She’d been faster; he, more athletic. Together with a few cousins, they’d made a fearsome team, and not even their meanest older siblings had bullied them.

She folded her arms and looked away. “They’re demons. Lucifer can deal with them. Snap his fingers and turn them into rats or whatever. Make them explode.”

“Mazikeen,” Eve murmured, soft and low, touching her shoulder. “You don’t want that. They’re your family.”

Amenadiel blinked, as though that hadn’t occurred to him. “Er… yes, there’s that. There’s also the fact that Lucifer doesn’t want all of humanity to see him as the type of God who casually annihilates his enemies; a harsh, vindictive God. He wants to be liked. To be loved.”

“Fine. So why don’t you and the other angels sort it out?”

“Come now, Maze. A bunch of angels and a bunch of demons waging war in the midst of a bustling city? Humans will die. But you’re the Queen of Hell now and, by extension, the Queen of Demons. If you command Dromos to stand down, he will. This can all be resolved peacefully.”

Eve’s fingertips were cool against her skin.

Mazikeen looked back at the sky. The cloud letters were starting to dissolve. “What does he want?”

“Who?”

“Dromos. He doesn’t act on instinct. He’s a planner. He wants something.”

Shrugging, Amenadiel said, “He shouted at me about demanding an audience with the king. I didn’t ask for details. I don’t really care. Dromos isn’t someone I’m inclined to listen to at the best of times. The last time the wretch showed his face on Earth, he kidnapped my son.”

“Mmm. Kinda like your sister was gonna do. Kinda like you were gonna do, now that I think about it.”

“Maze!” he gasped, sounding shocked and hurt. “You can’t compared poor Remiel’s misguided actions to-…”

“I’ll do it,” she interrupted. “Take me to Lux. Now.”

“Excuse me? What about us?” snapped Michael.

Mazikeen met Eve’s gentle gaze. “You don’t need to be involved in this. My family drama, it – it’s not pretty.”

“My son killed my son,” said Eve, taking her hand. “My husband loved another woman. I’m used to drama.”

Swallowing, Mazikeen glanced at Michael. “And you, wimp?”

Feigning disinterest – feigning it badly – he said, “You showed up to my last domestic dispute. Guess this’ll make us square.”

“I’ve only got two arms. I can’t carry all of you,” Amenadiel pointed out.

Mazikeen rubbed her chin. “No… but you can carry the car, right?”

He didn’t have time for this. There was so much to do.

“World hunger,” he recited as he bounced from one laptop to the next, all twenty-three of them displaying a different article or video by a leading scientific or sociological mind, “wealth inequality, pollution, cancer, droughts, racism, elderly abuse, housing shortages, cruelty to animals…”

“Lucifer,” said Linda patiently, sitting on his best couch with her legs crossed, a cup of coffee and a laptop of her own beside her. “You said you wanted my advice as to how you should manage this whole ‘being God’ business.”

“I do, doctor! Very much. Your input is invaluable. Blast, where did I put that map of Alaska? I’m thinking of making it bigger; slotting it in alongside the Arctic to help stabilise all that new ice.”

“Right. Thanks. So here – here is what I’m suggesting now; slow down. Seriously. Take a breath, step back, and think your next move through.”

He scoffed. “‘Slow down’? Doctor, I need to work at least three times faster if I’m to keep up with everything. There are people suffering everywhere, millions of them! There are sinners in need of punishment! I’m seriously considering asking Chloe to be my Deputy God. I never imagined omnipotence would entail so much paperwork and she’s always been better at that than me.”

Outside the penthouse, many stories below, the chanting grew louder. None of the human police officers, journalists, and gawkers who’d gathered to watch could understand it; it was in Lilim.

Cursing, Lucifer strode to the balcony and shouted down, “For the last time, would you all kindly piss off? I’m trying to fix an entire planet here!”

He heard the elevator open and moaned. “Detective, not now. Please. I’m very sorry I haven’t returned your calls – I swear I’m not avoiding you – it’s just that I’ve got a lot on my plate today and we did already agree to meet for supper at-…”

“Lucifer,” said Linda, sounding terrified.

“Lucifer,” said someone else, sounding irritable.

Now that he was God, rage didn’t turn his eyes red anymore. It turned them gold and blindingly bright, like spotlights. Fists clenched, he turned to see Dromos step into the penthouse, once again clad in the flesh of the late Father Kinley and wearing a leather jacket.

“Nice trick, making all the doors disappear. Finally decided to climb up the side of the building with a sledgehammer and burrow my way through into the elevator shaft,” said the demon, hands in his pockets and concrete dust coating his beard and his bald head. “I want to talk to you, sire.”

Storming across the room while Linda remained frozen, white-faced, on the couch, Lucifer snarled, “You! You have the nerve to come here, to stand before me, after what you did to my nephew?”

He took Dromos by the neck and lifted him off the ground, his wings opening in fury (he had six of them now).

Stoical even as he choked, Dromos said, “I need. To talk. I will leave immediately afterwards.”

“Oh, you’ll leave, alright! You’ll be lucky if I don’t throw you into an active volcano, you accursed traitor!”

Dromos’ stolen skin began to sizzle beneath his fingers. He waited until the demon’s face was wrinkled with pain before throwing him to the floor hard enough to crack the wood and make a crater.

“I will leave,” Dromos gasped, coughing up blood, “when I have spoken.”

“What could you possibly have to say for yourself? Kidnapper. Child-thief.”

Still on the couch, Linda said tremulously, “Lucifer, you’re… you’re hurting him. Stop it. Please.”

“Let us stay!” shouted Dromos, and coughed again before dragging himself up onto his knees. “On Earth. That’s what I came to say. Let your erstwhile subjects stay on Earth if they choose – at least, those who served you in the battle against Michael. Don’t force them to return to Hell. Let them, let us choose where we live, going forward. That’s my request, your Majesty. My only request.”

Lucifer boggled at him. “Is that a joke? Demons? On Earth, indefinitely, unsupervised? Are you out of your tiny mind, Dromos?”

Baring teeth, Dromos said, “Why not? What does it matter to you now? You’ve got everything you could possibly want. Everything anyone could possibly want! All we’re asking is the freedom to come and go as we please.”

“No.”

He spoke the word bluntly, and then he stepped back, adjusting his cuffs. Regaining his composure. “Never. You’re dangerous and untrustworthy. This world is for humans, not you. Good grief, haven’t I got enough to preoccupy my mind, without the added stress of demons rampaging around town?”

“We won’t rampage. We just-…”

“Why are you even coming to me with this? Mazikeen’s the new Queen of Hell. Didn’t you get the memo?”

Dromos wiped blood from his lips. “I don’t know if my sister and I are on speaking terms right now. And she may be Queen, but you’re God; I assumed you would be tasked with such decisions. After all, there’s never been a demon in charge of Hell before. We were told – we were always told – that only angels could rule us. I don’t doubt Mazikeen’s competence, but I…”

He seemed to run out of steam, spreading his hands and finishing weakly, “Lucifer, you’re the king. You’ve been the king for millions of years. For my entire life. Look, if you really don’t want us leaving Hell, then can you at least use your newfound power to improve it? Let us have the things mortals enjoy? Pianos, dogs, blankets, weekends, all that stuff?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “That would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? Hell is supposed to be a place of punishment. The ultimate consequence awaiting sinners. I need a carrot and a stick, Dromos. How else am I supposed to convince people to behave if I don’t? Imagine a rapist arriving in Hell and being confronted with demons playing pianos and walking their dogs. Wouldn’t have quite the desired effect, would it?”

Dromos was quiet for a moment, then said without inflection, “Perhaps you could find somewhere else to put rapists. Somewhere other than our home.”

Throwing up his arms, Lucifer said, “More demands! Don’t you see how selfish you’re being? Here I am, doing my best to end all suffering, and you’re complaining about babysitting a few evil-doers – which, might I remind you, is your job. Nay, your very reason for existence. Always has been. Why’re you getting stroppy about it now?”

“I think,” Linda began, taking a tentative step forward before stopping and clearing her throat. “Excuse me. May I interrupt? Um. Okay, so I think that maybe Dromos has a point here, Lucifer.”

“Doctor! This is the creature that stole your baby!”

“Yes, I know. And I’m not saying I forgive him for that, but…”

“I wasn’t going to eat the brat,” Dromos grumbled. “I was going to make him a king.”

“You took him away from his mother!” Lucifer shouted.

“Gentlemen!” said Linda, sharply. “Please! Let’s try to talk this through like adults.”

Overcome with frustration, and only vaguely aware that he’d not been sleeping well lately, Lucifer kicked the nearest chair. “I can’t believe you’re siding with him, doctor.”

“I’m not siding with anyone. I-…”

“You don’t know these people like I do. You didn’t spend millions of years in Hell alongside them. The only demon you’ve ever gotten acquainted with is Maze, and she’s not like the others; even without a soul, she’s learned how to behave like a more-or-less civilised adult, barring the occasional tantrum. But your average, baseline demon has nothing to them besides wrath and cruelty. Lilith made them to be weapons and that’s all they really are. I mean – just imagine, for a moment, how hard it was for me. To go from the Silver City, the most beautiful place ever created, to a lightless nightmare realm full of these bloodthirsty animals. To be surrounded by them, for endless eons, while they nattered mindlessly on and on about how much they love torture and pain and…”

He trailed off. Linda and Dromos were both looking past him.

To the elevator. Where – oh – Mazikeen was standing.

Where Mazikeen was crying.

No sobs, not like when Dan had died. No expression at all, really. Just open eyes, motionless muscles, and steady tears.

Before Lucifer could say a word, she pressed the button to close the elevator doors.

“Wait!” he yelped, sprinting over to stop them.

He needn’t have bothered. Now that he was God, objects did whatever he told them to do. The doors stilled, half-open.

“That sounded wrong,” he acknowledged, clasping her shoulders in apology. “You completely missed the context. What I was trying to say was-…”

“Don’t touch me.”

It was a phrase he’d heard many times before from mortal lovers to whom he had accidentally revealed his Devil Face. Some of them said it in horror. Some of them, the religious ones, said it in anger.

Mazikeen looked neither horrified nor angry. She looked sick. As though the very sight of him turned her stomach.

Lumbering over, Dromos stepped into the elevator alongside her and pointedly pressed the button again. With no idea what to do or say, Lucifer allowed the machinery to work.

The elevator closed.

“What have I done?” he asked Linda.

Nothing I didn’t know.

“Maze?” called Eve, waiting by the car with the others as Mazikeen stepped out of Lux’s front door and into the sunlight.

The door hadn’t been there when they’d arrived. She’d been forced to use Dromos’ route. Lucifer must have decided to put it back. He could do that now. Just decide things. Didn’t need servants, nor followers, nor anyone. Sure didn’t need a ‘more-or-less civilised adult’ whose kin were animals.

“Maze! Wait!”

Mazikeen didn’t know where she was going, only that she was walking very quickly and felt that she’d die if she stopped. She heard Eve’s heels patter on the pavement and heard her say her name a third time, quiet and worried, and that was what stilled her feet.

“What happened?” murmured Eve, cupping her face.

The fifty or so demons who’d been standing around outside Lux when Amenadiel had set the car and its passengers down were still there. Instead of chanting to get their king’s attention, they were now looking at her.

Michael and Amenadiel stood among them, the latter having been trying to convince them to stop blocking traffic.

Which was what she should have been doing. It was what he’d brought her here to do. But she’d been gripped by a sudden, violent need to see Lucifer, to check on him, just quickly, before tending to her siblings. Once a bodyguard, always a bodyguard.

Except that wasn’t what I was. Not to him. To him, I was a Rottweiler on a leash.

“Are you alright?” asked Amenadiel, his eyes overflowing with concern.

That was what cracked her.

To him. Not to everyone. Not to Eve, or Amenadiel, or Linda. It’s not that I’m incapable of earning love and respect.

I’m just incapable of earning his.

Her legs gave out. She crumpled against Lux’s outside wall and started to weep properly, loud and bitter.

Eve immediately dropped down beside her, holding her tight. Michael shuffled closer, rubbing his shoulder while his mouth opened and shut, testing out sentences that were never spoken.

Then Dromos was there, kneeling, his face sad and tired.

“We did what we were told,” she said to him in Lilim, through sniffles. “We obeyed. We were loyal. We… we…”

“We are alone, sister,” he replied. “But I think we always were.”

“We obeyed!”

“We obeyed Lilith and she left. We obeyed Lucifer and he left. No one wants us, Mazikeen. It’s just the truth.”

She took a shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes shut. “No. I want us.”

Seizing his jacket’s shoulder, she hauled herself to her feet and addressed the crowd, her voice raw: “I want you! You’re my family and I want you! And I swear I will be the queen you deserve, for as long as you’ll have me!”

Her human skin fell away, the left side of her face turning cold, bony, and brittle.

Stepping back to join their siblings, Dromos asked hesitantly, “What would you have us do, then, my queen? What are your orders?”

Hurriedly drying her eyes, she studied them one by one. “Whoever wants to can stay here. But I’m going home. Hell is going to be ours, Dromos. No more damned souls. No more angels. It’s ours now and we’re going to make it into something we can love.”

She turned to face Eve and Michael, her heart pounding. “You’ll come with me, yeah? You’ll stand with me?”

“Always,” said Eve, closing in to kiss her.

“Whatever,” Michael muttered, clearly just relieved that the crying part was over.

Amenadiel sighed, shaking his head gravely. “Mazikeen, are you sure this is what you want? You won’t be able to leave Hell on your own – you’ll need to contact me.”

“Yeah. At least until this one grows his feathers back,” she said, gesturing at Michael. “That’s okay. You’ll always come when I call, right?”

“Of course. You’re my friend, Maze. I’m sorry if I haven’t said that often enough.”

Fuck it. Cringing on the inside, Mazikeen drew Amenadiel into a quick, gruff hug. “You too, idiot.”

#lucifer #mazikeen #lucifer morningstar #eve #amenadiel #michael #michael demiurgos #dromos #fanfic #my fic

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anistarrose · 3 years

Link

Chapter Summary: Barry gets a job offer. Kravitz sees a new side of the moon. Taako has a long-overdue chat with his umbrella.

Characters: Kravitz, Taako, Barry Bluejeans, Angus McDonald, Magnus Burnsides, Merle Highchurch, Noelle | No-3113, The Raven Queen, The Director | Lucretia, misc. BoB cameos, Julia Burnsides, Garyl

Relationships: Taakitz, Angus McDonald & Taako, Barry Bluejeans & Kravitz, Kravitz & Angus McDonald

Lately, I’ve been thinking of this fic as a story told in two acts. They’re not necessarily going to be equal in length, but this chapter is definitely the end of Act One.

***

“That’s basically the whole story, Your Majesty,” Kravitz concluded, after several minutes of talking at speeds that no being who needed to breathe could hope to match. Barry and Noelle stood on either side of him, mustering the most innocent expressions he’d ever seen on the faces of a lich or a robot, respectively. “Not that I’d blame you for having follow-up questions, because… well, holy shit.”

Holy shit, indeed, the Raven Queen agreed. A projected image of her visage was floating above a circle of five perfect raven feathers, having been carefully arranged on the cave floor by Kravitz. Istus said we were approaching unprecedented times, but…

She sighed. Well, I must admit that with the apparent exception of Istus, we gods hardly think about what lies outside our planar system. It’s… inconvenient, uncomfortable, how we hold so much power in this world yet understand so little about what’s beyond it. This threat, this Hunger, is news even to me — but didn’t you already know that, Barry, from all the Celestial Planes you’ve seen invaded before?

Barry nodded. “Yeah. I never saw stuff like that directly, of course, but Merle’s a cleric, so… he had his ways of knowing it was never a pretty picture.”

The Raven Queen let out a sigh, like wind escaping from beneath a whole flock’s wings. Then I have more important things to do than reconcile your undeath with the laws of this world, and you have more important things to do than defend yourself to me. Barry, Noelle, you are free to go at least until the apocalypse is averted — but if we get through that, and only then, I’d like you to start thinking about accepting jobs in the Astral Plane. Whatever state the world is in after the Hunger arrives, Kravitz and I will probably need your help.

Barry went dead silent, while Noelle’s whole display lit up with excitement.

“Are we talking afterlife office jobs,” she asked, “or something more along the lines of what Kravitz does?”

“We’ve got plenty of open positions, honestly,” Kravitz explained. “You could probably pick either.”

“Huh,” Barry finally muttered, so soft that Kravitz could’ve missed it. “I — I appreciate the offer, but — I gotta know one thing before I even consider it. Will I have to — to bring in any of my family? Anyone from the Starblaster?”

I’d like to speak with them all eventually, and I may ask you to facilitate that, the Raven Queen replied, but they won’t be punished.

Barry nodded. “Okay. That’s… that’s something I’m willing to consider, then.”

I hope you find out what happened to Lup. Her location is concealed from even me, but I know she’s never entered my domain, so I believe you’ll find her out there somewhere.

Barry’s eyes flickered, shedding drops of light that ran down his face for a few seconds before they coalesced back together. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

It’s the least I could do. From here, my priority shall be to warn the rest of the pantheon, but we’ll be in touch. The Raven Queen’s visage disappeared with a clap of thunder and a gust of wind that lifted the feathers into the air, carrying them back to Kravitz’s waiting hands as her voice boomed throughout the cave one last time. Good luck, my children.

“That went well, right?” Noelle asked when the echoes faded. “That felt pretty good for a conversation with the death goddess.”

“She’s a lot more reasonable than most gods, I think you’ll find,” Kravitz concurred. “But what’s the plan now? Because other than heading up to the moon, and bringing the boys back down for you to tell them what little you can, I haven’t got a lot of ideas.”

“I dunno either. I don’t like keeping them in the dark either, but it’s very little we can tell them aside from —” Barry paused. “Wait. You can go on the moonbase?”

“Yes? At least, no one’s tried to stop me. I guess I can see why you wouldn’t be allowed up there, but —”

“It’s more than a ban and a wanted poster keeping me off! It’s an anti-undeath ward —” Electricity crackled inside Barry’s silhouette, and he let out a laugh that could’ve woken the not-yet-reanimated dead. “But you, Kravitz, apparently possess enough celestial energy to balance out the undead elements of your soul — which is perfect! It changes everything!”

“Uh,” Kravitz began, reflexively taking a step back, “I think I’m missing some context here —”

“That ward’s the only thing stopping Barry from sneaking onto the moonbase and stealing the ichor he needs to inoculate his family!” Noelle explained, totally unperturbed by Barry’s mad scientist laugh. “I couldn’t steal it for him because the same ward keeps me from leaving my fuse for very long, and this robot body’s not exactly stealthy — but you can decorporealize for as long as you want on the moon, right?”

“I’m not sure I’ve actually tried,” Kravitz replied, rubbing his chin as the puzzle pieces fell into place, “but I’ve never had issues getting through anti-undead wards before, corporeally or otherwise!”

Barry rubbed his hands together, smoke and sparks pouring out from between them — but for the first time, Kravitz was sure he saw a glint of a smile flash on Barry’s face.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Barry asked. “Let’s head back to my place and plan a heist!”

***

“So what do we do now, Fantasy Columbo?” Taako asked, staring at the Umbra Staff in his hands. “I didn’t hear any jingles start playing for solving some sick higher power’s umbrella lich puzzle — how does this help us? What does it change?”

This should have been a revelation, Taako knew. This should have changed everything. But his mind was lagging behind his racing heart, struggling to fit together puzzle pieces that he knew should connect. Struggling to understand why he cared so fiercely about an evil ghost of an evil wizard being trapped in the arcane focus he’d looted her corpse for.

“I… I guess we should try to communicate with her?” Angus suggested. “She’s a Red Robe, so she must have something to do with —” He gestured wildly from his notepad, to Taako’s head, to the incinerated coffee table. “With all of this. Right?”

He removed his glasses, wiping off drops of sweat, and Taako realized that Angus, the smartest person he knew, had ran into an uncomfortable mental wall of his own — and after just a split second of looking at Angus’s pained expression, Taako made a decision.

“Hey, kid. I need your arguably expert opinion real quick — Magnus and Merle aren’t smart enough to be memory-wiping masterminds, right?”

“Oh, absolutely not, sir. We both know they’re no good at keeping their lies straight.”

“Could you check in on them for me? And try to bring ‘em back here — but, uh, only if you can do it without Lucretia or Davenport spotting you, and I need you to really focus on looking out for them. I don’t know who else I can trust with this —”

With a huge, determined smile on his face, Angus saluted. “I won’t let you down, sir!” He looked far less pained as he slunk out of the room, and Taako breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay. Kid’s gonna be alright with his mind off of this, and now we can have some peace and quiet, Lup.” His mouth lingered on the name Lup but his mind didn’t, giving no thought to the affection he instinctively voiced. “So… let’s chat?”

***

Lucretia’s office looked just as Barry had described, and not all that different from the Reclaimer’s dorms in terms of architecture. The sole occupant was not the Director herself, but a mustached gnome man who sat at the oversized desk, focusing intently on a game of solitaire. He didn’t even look up as Kravitz’ soul drifted past, steering clear of the desk and floating right through a heavy, closed door.

Kravitz kept inside the left wall of the corridor — Barry may not have reported any traps in this stretch, but the puzzle that Barry had reported was nowhere to be seen, and Kravitz knew a suspiciously empty-looking hallway when he saw one. He phased through a second door at the end of the chamber, ignoring the computer that looked even more foreign to him than his Stone of Farspeech, and recorporealized inside a second office.

This close to the source of the ward, a spinning disk imbued with radiant energy, Kravitz could finally feel its influence — a faint burn and refreshing cold that coexisted, an antipathy towards his undead body and a resonance with the Raven Queen’s blessing. Tempted as he was to knock down the disk and short-circuit the ward, it wasn’t poised do much besides mildly distract him, and he was making this visit with a much different goal — one that he’d expose, if he ended up dramatically trashing someone else’s holy symbol.

At the far end of the office sat a murky tank, and above that tank, an alarm was ringing. A few feet to the alarm’s left, a needle punched holes in a steadily scrolling paper, recording what Kravitz inferred to be times and intensities — and there was a lot of information to infer from, because the paper output had not just reached the floor, but piled up to almost waist height.

A massive volume of alarms had clearly been accumulating, and someone — presumably Lucretia — was far too busy to check on every message. Ever since he’d died, Kravitz had been notoriously bad at keeping track of dates, but a quick comparison with the dates at the bottom of the pile and the dates of the current output revealed that the alarms had started trickling in last night, before a massive influx took shape only about an hour ago.

This was all very interesting to the part of Kravitz that loved a good mystery, but his pragmatic side won out, knowing this alarm could attract unwelcome attention at any moment. He switched his attention to the contents of the tank — which appeared just like Barry had said it would, but was still plenty fascinating. A jellyfish floated in murky ichor, illuminated from within by a dark purple nebula pattern, and recoiling away from Kravitz as he rested a hand atop the tank.

“Now, now. It’s alright,” Kravitz murmured, in the same tone he might use to calm a distressed soul. “No need to be scared…”

The baby Voidfish hummed two chords, far lower and louder than Kravitz had expected from such a tiny creature — but music, at least, was something Kravitz knew he could work with. He summoned his scythe in the form of a lute, plucking out a peaceful melody he’d been fond of for hundreds of years… and only a few bars in, the Voidfish began to echo him, humming along with increasing volume.

“I’m just here to do my friends a favor,” Kravitz promised. “It won’t take long at all.”

The Voidfish seemed to relax, so Kravitz let go of his lute, allowing it to float at his side with a faint blue aura suspending it in air. He pulled a canteen from beneath his cloak, slowly submerging it in the tank until it was full to the brim with ichor — probably a slight excess, but he’d rather have too much than not enough.

“See? All done,” he whispered, reattaching the canteen’s cap. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The Voidfish hummed the refrain of his song once more as he reformed his scythe, and as if to say farewell, waved a tentacle in his direction as he stepped through the portal off the moonbase.

Just a moment later, the very second Kravitz’s feet hit solid subterranean ground, Barry was at his side with a barrage of questions. “How did it go? Have you got the ichor? Did anyone see you?”

“Good, yes, and no in that order,” Kravitz replied, handing Barry the canteen. “The only thing I’m worried about is… well, you’ve seen how Lucretia has an alarm system in her office, right? It’s going a little haywire right now — and has been since last night.”

Barry’s relief morphed into frustration mid-relieved sigh. “I was hoping we could avoid that, since the boys haven’t had a run-in with me in a couple days — but I guess someone’s still trying to remember something, and it won’t be long ‘til Lucretia picks up on it. We gotta get a move on.”

“I did talk to Taako about the stars disappearing last night, come to think of it,” Kravitz recalled. “I hope he’s not still hung up on that, but it sounds like he might be.”

“Shoot, that coulda done it. No fault of your own, obviously.” Barry sighed again, picking up a couple of scrolls from his desk and placing them on a much more neatly organized bookshelf. “Sorry for the mess, by the way. You and Noelle have been my only visitors so far this whole decade.”

Kravitz had seen Barry’s home before he left for his heist on the moon, and it had already been pretty respectable as secret lairs went. Aside from the stalactites and the dubiously legal cloning pod, it had looked more like a disheveled academic’s study than a necromancer’s dungeon — but in Kravitz’s absence, Barry had apparently gotten up to some spring cleaning. He’d draped a sheet over the pod, which was still glowing bright green and far from innocuous, and somehow gotten his hands on a decent-quality couch, either from a pocket dimension or a conjuration spell or gods knew what else.

“Before you got involved, my plan never involved the boys coming in here while they could remember me,” Barry admitted. “They’d still be far from seeing me at my worst, but — well, I dunno if I can make this place look welcoming, exactly, but I’d rather not make them worry about me ‘cause of it.”

“If it helps, this is easily the nicest cave I’ve ever seen a lich holed up in,” Kravitz said, which got a quiet laugh out of Barry.

“Yeah, I bet it is.” He opened the canteen, pouring a modest sample of the ichor into a glass vial. “Hard to believe this is happening so suddenly, but… I think now’s the time. Lucretia could catch on at any minute, and I — I’ll be ready by the time you get back, I think.”

“Good luck remodeling,” Kravitz told him with a nod, and tore open a portal back to the moon.

***

“So… let’s chat?” Taako suggested. He didn’t know what kind of reply he was expecting, but he had to admit it stung when the Umbra Staff didn’t move an inch.

“Okay, what you do isn’t exactly chatting. That one’s on me. Can you just give me a sign, a little poltergeisting or something, if you’re listening?”

Still nothing, which continued to hurt more than it should have.

“Are you mad at me? I thought you smacked me in the face today to get my attention! ‘Cause you wanted to talk, but…” He glanced away from the umbrella in his lap. “I guess you really hate Kravitz, don’t you? And I was helping him hunt you, even before we started dating…”

He sighed. “And you’re only here because I stole from your grave! What was I even thinking? Of course you hate me, and maybe I half-deserve it —”

The Umbra Staff twitched in his hands, subtly yet so abruptly that he jumped to his feet with a yelp and dropped it onto the floor. It spun over ninety degrees as it fell, landing to point at the shelf of seldom-used spell components that Taako and Merle shared.

“You… want me to cast something?” Taako knelt on the rug, gently wrapping a hand around the handle but not raising the umbrella from the floor. He didn’t feel even the slightest movement. “Hey, if you’re not mad at me, then… do something. Do anything.”

He thought the handle might’ve trembled slightly, but wasn’t sure — it could’ve just been wishful thinking. “Okay, flip side. Do something if you are mad at me.”

This time, he was certain there was no response. “Okay, I’ve narrowed it down to either ‘you’re not mad’ or ‘you don’t want to talk to me,’ but I don’t get why you’re being so subtle about this. I mean, I’m not asking you to cast Sunbeam on my boyfriend again, but I know you could be giving me more obvious signs than —”

He happened to glace back at the component shelf, noticing the chest of spare wands he’d stockpiled — arcane foci, just like the ones the Umbra Staff consumed — then just like that, it clicked, and there was finally one quirk of his rogue umbrella that Taako had an inkling of an explanation for.

“Unless… you can’t give me a bigger sign because I haven’t beaten a magic user in a while!” he gasped. “You’re not trying to ignore me — you’re running out of power!”

He unlatched the little chest, grabbing two cheap wooden wands and snapping them both — and sure enough, the Umbra Staff inverted with more vigor than Taako had seen from it all day, swallowing them whole.

“Better?” Taako asked, and a tiny pink flame sparked to life at the tip of the umbrella. Lup must’ve summoned it with a variant of Prestidigitation, because it smelled less like smoke and more like comforting home cooking.

“Now I know why you chose me instead of Merle at the cave! You’re an adoring fan of Sizzle it Up!” Taako teased, and the Umbra Staff bonked him on the head. “Okay, fine, maybe not. Gods know that’s not the only thing I’ve got going for me over Merle.”

He glanced around the room, rubbing his chin. “I was going to say you could turn that flame on and off real fast, send me a message in Fantasy Morse Code, but then I remembered I don’t actually know Fantasy Morse that well. Maybe you could, like, burn something into the wall —”

The flame atop the Umbra Staff intensified, excited.

“But I guess we’d run out of space real fast — never mind explaining it to Lucretia, yikes! We’d be toast… just like the walls.”

The flame died down, replaced with a disembodied, glowing red Mage Hand. With an upturned palm, it made a motion that Taako guessed was meant to convey a shrug and a then what?

“Oh, you didn’t tell me you could do Mage Hand from in there too! I can work with that!”

He made a beeline for the dorm kitchen, ripping open a fresh bag of flour and dumping it directly onto the counter. “I really don’t wanna leave written evidence, so you write stuff in this, and I’ll erase it when you’re done. Sound good?”

Lup squeezed his shoulder, then traced four words in the flour.

I’ve never hated you

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Taako muttered, pretending he couldn’t feel his whole chest seizing up. With a bare hand, he wiped the flour flat, and only sent a little flying onto the floor accidentally. “I… I wanna let you out. Because this is a really inconvenient way to talk, but — but also ‘cause I know you didn’t mean to get trapped in there, and living inside your arcane focus sounds like it’s the pits. Is there a way I can free you?”

yes but not right now

“Why not?”

no liches on the moon

“Oh, have they got wards to block you off or something? I guess we wouldn’t be able to talk at all if I freed you, and that… that wouldn’t be great.”

I’d miss you :(

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Taako replied, and he said it before he meant it. The figure of speech slipped out right away, ingrained after years of overwhelmingly insincere conversations, but his emotions caught up to him more slowly — starting with the loneliness and the longing, before they ate away at him and left an emptiness behind, a dread of never being whole again and a temptation to tear the whole world apart, because what would he have left to lose?

It ended with a throbbing skull, with static clouding the peripheries of his vision, with a mind that couldn’t fathom why missing someone would hit so close to a home that should have never existed. The last year notwithstanding, he couldn’t remember a time where he’d be caught dead missing someone’s company… but now all he could think, all he could feel, was I’m not losing you again.

“There’s gotta be a workaround — right, Lup?” he managed. “Like, is there a way I could take the wards down?”

maybe, but

Lucretia would notice

“I’m gonna go out on a limb, and assume… she wouldn’t be too thrilled to know you’re here.”

Lup took longer to reply than usual, erasing the first few letters of her response to start over several times.

it’s so complicated

don’t think I can explain

“Right. Of course. ‘Cause of the Voidfish.” Taako rubbed his cheek, expecting to wipe away stray splotches of flour — but instead, he felt his fingers grow damp with tears that he knew weren’t just from the pain of his headache.

“I — I don’t know what to do, Lup. I want to help you, but Kravitz is probably in danger because of me so I have to make sure he’s okay, and I know he won’t like me helping you — then there’s Angus and Magnus and Merle, too, I have no clue if any of them are in as much trouble as us. And I just… I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this. That the worst of all the bombshells still hasn’t dropped, and I’m about to lose all you while I still don’t know who I am, or who I can trust besides —”

The fingers of Lup’s Mage Hand interlocked with his, and it was a strange sensation — fuzzy and only about half-tangible, as simple magic constructs were expected to be, but warm like a living hand despite the lack of flesh and blood. Taako couldn’t say how long he was silent, just focusing on just that warmth and the inexplicable nostalgia that accompanied it, before he finally asked: “What do you think I should do?”

Lup withdrew her hand slowly, but didn’t hesitate nor erase as she traced four new words:

find Barry

trust Barry

“…I’m glad I’ve got you, Lup, ‘cause I never woulda come up with that on my own,” Taako muttered, chuckling in spite of himself. He didn’t doubt for a second that Lup’s advice was worth following, but he had to admit it was ridiculous how every time a problem came up in his life, someone insisted it could be solved by tracking down a denim-clad lich. “Do you know any of his favorite hangouts, or —”

As Lup’s Mage Hand zipped back into the Umbra Staff, Taako didn’t quite notice the scythe rending space behind him, but he whirled around at the sound of feet hitting the ground and an incredulous voice speaking up.

“Uh, Taako?”

Kravitz carried himself with considerably less poise than usual, wearing a tattered suit that had presumably once seen better days, but he appeared otherwise unscathed, and Taako’s heart jumped for joy.

“I — I — I’m sorry?” Kravitz’s words sounded less like an apology, and more like a sincere question of whether or not he should be sorry for intruding. “I should’ve just portalled to the hallway and knocked. I didn’t mean to walk in on — on whatever this is —”

Before he could stammer another adorably confused word, Taako rushed in for a hug — never mind how crazy he knew he looked, covered in flour and inexplicably teary-eyed over an umbrella.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe — I was so worried about you. I thought for sure you were in trouble and it was all my fault — it was all because —”

Kravitz slipped a cool, but unusually not cold hand under Taako’s hat, mussing up his hair to match the rest of his appearance. “I won’t lie, Taako — there were moments today where I was worried for me. But it turned out to all be a misunderstanding, which is always a pleasant surprise in my line of work — and even better, if you can believe it, one of my new friends knows what’s up with those deaths you can’t remember!”

Kravitz was beaming, but Taako’s blood ran cold like he was the dead man walking. Just when he’d been so sure, so relieved, that he hadn’t dragged Kravitz into the Voidfish conspiracy after all, it turned out that Kravitz had sleuthed his way right to its very center.

No wonder he gets along so well with Angus, Taako thought wryly. Two constantly endangered nerds of a feather.

“This friend can explain it much better than I can, so we’ll visit him by portal — but Magnus and Merle need to hear the truth, too,” Kravitz went on, still seeing no reason not to be enthusiastic. “Are they available?”

“Oh, those clowns? They’re off playing kickball with Angus or something — should be back soon.” Taako knew how Kravitz thought, and knew that Kravitz believed he was doing the right thing by digging up these secrets. He was fulfilling an oath to his goddess and helping Taako get some closure, which should have been great news as far as Kravitz knew — but now he was on the moon, speaking openly about truths a Voidfish had suppressed…

And Taako was conspiring with a lich, soon to be two liches, behind Kravitz’s back. He wasn’t expecting to like the truth behind his eight deaths, if he could even wrap his mind around it — and he had a feeling that when it came time to be judged by the Raven Queen, Kravitz would like the truth and its consequences even less, regardless of whether Taako could think clearly enough to defend himself.

So he withdrew from the hug, wiping the flour — and the incriminating mention of Barry — off the counter with a swoop of his hand. “Oh, drat! Did not mean to do that, ‘cause now I’ll have to mop the whole floor —”

“Okay, Taako. What’s wrong?” Kravitz asked firmly — and Taako didn’t know why he’d thought he’d be able to stall for time, given how Kravitz knew him pretty well, too. “You’re not in trouble with the Queen — I mean, we’ll probably have to invent and then fill out an entirely new form of paperwork about you and your pals, but I told her everything and she’s not mad, I can say that much. Same goes for Magnus, Merle, and — uh, forgive me, just Magnus and Merle. It’s been a long day.”

“Okay, that’s the second piece of good bird news you’ve dropped on me in like twenty-four hours, and I appreciate that,” Taako sighed. “But — okay, listen. We’ve got to be quiet about this, for both of our safety, but I think — I know I’m dealing with more than just memory loss here. I’ll try jumping through your portal and talking to your friend, but I really don’t think I’ll be able to understand —”

“Oh!” Kravitz gasped. “I think I know what you’re talking about — I ran into it with Angus earlier, and we should definitely have a way around it.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “My, uh, my new friend didn’t know if you could understand that there was a second Voidfish — but you heard that, right? It wasn’t garbled?”

Taako nodded frantically. “Yeah, and we’ve gotta get off the moon. If Lucretia finds out we know, I — I’ve got no idea how far she’ll go to keep this under wraps, and that’s the worst part. She’s already suspicious of me, and I —”

He felt a tug from his umbrella, and he cast Message as quickly and subtly as he could, hoping the Umbra Staff’s propensity to absorb magic like a sinkhole would somehow pull his unspoken words to Lup.

I’m not going to tell him about you. Not until I get more information.

Her reply must’ve hardly escaped from the umbrella, being little more than a distorted whisper — Be careful. Love you — but Taako’s legs almost gave out beneath him when he heard her voice, and Kravitz winced.

“We’ve really got to get you out of here, don’t we?” he murmured, taking Taako’s hand — and Kravitz’s skin was definitely warmer than usual, because of course this frankly adorable development would happen when Taako had a million other things on his mind. “You said the other boys will be back soon?”

“I hope.” Taako led the way into the living room, giving a wide berth to the remains of the coffee table. “I sent Angus to go find —”

On cue, the rattle of a doorknob and the sound of Angus’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Sir? We’re back! Could you unlock the door?”

The next sound was the telltale thump of a small child being affectionately shoved aside, followed by Magnus exclaiming: “Hey, I’ve got thieves’ tools now! Gimme a shot at picking it!”

Kravitz pursed his lips. “Don’t Magnus and Merle have their own keys?” he muttered under his breath.

“Of course they do,” Taako sighed, and the door swung open with a snap of his fingers and a Knock spell.

“Magnus, look!” Merle cheered. “You did it!”

While Magnus and Merle high-fived, Angus’s eyes lit up at the sight of Kravitz half-alive and well.

“You’re okay! I’m sorry I didn’t end up finding Noelle, but Taako said he was worried about you, so I started worrying too — did you have a nasty fight with a necromancer or something?”

“…Yes and no,” Kravitz responded after a moment of hesitation, “but I can explain that whole incident later. Right now, I need you all to come with me to —”

“A cool skeleton rave!” Taako butted in. “And… there’s also supposed to be skeleton dogs there! So you guys will definitely wanna get in on it!”

“Yes, exactly!” Kravitz corroborated without missing a beat. “It’s one of those, you know, very rare skeleton raves that receives the Raven Queen’s approval. Once in a century opportunity, so you won’t want to miss it!”

Magnus rubbed his chin. “I dunno about this. How do you pet a skeleton dog?”

“Only one way to find out!” Taako told him, then breathed a sigh of relief when it got an approving nod from Magnus.

“Fair enough! I’m sold!”

Angus narrowed his eyes, so Taako grinned and winked, hoping it came across as equal parts conspiratorial and don’t you dare blow this for me. It must’ve worked, because after a few seconds of surely intense mental calculations, Angus plastered on a convincing innocent smile and gave Taako a thumbs-up.

“Thanks for inviting me on this fun diversion, sir! I’m sure you could’ve come up with a more convincing lie if it was a trap or a prank, so I’m all in!”

Smiling awkwardly, Kravitz turned to the the lie’s final mark. “Merle, my bud, how about you?”

“Are we buds now?” Merle grinned. “You know what, sure! Anything for my bud!”

“Then away we go!” Kravitz tore open a rift and immediately stepped through, beckoning for the others to follow with the single arm that remained on their side of the portal. Magnus leapt through almost immediately, Merle hot on his heels, while Angus approached the rift more skeptically.

“Well, sir,” he announced softly once Magnus and Merle disappeared, “you and Kravitz owe me an explanation… but I trust the both of you.” He took Taako’s hand, and the two of them stepped through the portal together, emerging in a cold, dimly lit cave.

And Taako thought he’d been “moving fast” through a lot of things, lately — through worldview-shattering realizations, into a romantic relationship, into unofficially and semi-accidentally adopting a boy detective — but nothing could’ve prepared him for how fast everything moved in the next minute.

Kravitz faced Noelle and a now-familiar disembodied robe, very obviously struggling to suppress a mood-inappropriate laugh. “Can you believe I was planning to lie to Magnus about skeleton dogs, but then Taako interrupted and independently came up with the same fib?”

“That’s love, baby!” Taako exclaimed, in the moment before the absurdity of the situation dawned on him. “Wait. Why’s Barold here?”

As the rift fizzled and disappeared, Magnus drew Railsplitter, only to whirl around on himself with no idea who to aim at or threaten. “Hey, did we just get kidnapped? ‘Cause I’ve gotta say, this is the last combination of people in the world I expected to team up and kidnap us.”

“It’s not a kidnapping,” Kravitz began, “it’s just —”

“Did you kidnap a child, Kravitz?” Barry interrupted, gesturing at Angus. “When was that ever a part of the plan?! We didn’t need to involve —”

“With all due respect, Mister Bluejeans,” Angus butted in, “Kravitz didn’t technically kidnap me! I knew perfectly well that he was bullshitting, but I decided to come along with him anyway, out of my own free will!” He turned to face Kravitz, adjusting his glasses. “That said, he did deceive and therefore truly kidnap Magnus, Merle, and maybe even Taako by the sound of things — so if he could go ahead and explain his presumably very good reason for doing so, that would be just dandy!”

Barry sighed. “Real smartass kid you’ve dragged into the fate of the universe, huh, boys?”

“He was already involved enough in things that he deserves to know. We’re bringing him up to speed too,” Kravitz declared, and Barry shrugged.

“Alright, sure — but why the hell was there a child on the moon in the first place?!”

“He’s the world’s greatest detective,” Noelle spoke up, and Angus beamed. “I told you about him, remember? He’s the one who figured out that you were amnesiac when you were alive —”

“Oh, I do remember that, though I don’t remember you mentioning his age — so I guess it’s my bad, then, for assuming a secret lunar society would give a flying fuck about child labor laws!”

Kravitz ignored them both. “Merle, Magnus — I’m so sorry for the deception, and Taako, I’m sorry for not saying that Barry was my new contact. I didn’t want anyone eavesdropping on us on the moonbase, and I swear, I will explain myself as soon as I physically can —”

“Hey, hey, it’s cool!” Taako’s words were intended not just for Kravitz, but for Lup within the Umbra Staff, which had started trembling at the sound of Barry’s voice. “I would love an explanation, but I needed Barold’s help anyway, sooo… doesn’t this work out pretty great?”

“Needing Barry’s help is a new one, sir,” Angus commented, but no one in the room looked more incredulous than Kravitz and Barry themselves, who both froze in place.

“Um, that’s — that’s news to me too?” Barry stammered. “But if — if you don’t need any convincing, then…”

He floated a little taller, robe a little less ragged, voice a little more hopeful. “Let’s get you inoculated, bud.”

A glass vial appeared in Taako’s hand, and he sipped the dark liquid inside without a second thought, even though he gagged while passing the vial on to an apprehensive Magnus. No memories rushed back to him like he’d braced himself for, but he thought he felt the nature of his headache change — less like the roar of static, and more like the pressure on a dam about to burst.

“You should really sit down for this,” Barry told him, resting a cold hand on Taako’s shoulder. “Take it as slow as possible. You obviously figured out a lot, more than I thought you would, but you still won’t be ready for —”

“Relax, it hasn’t even hit me yet!” Taako interrupted. “So in the meantime, I can catch you up on this whole funny story about… my… umbrella…”

The metaphorical floodgates shattered, and the deluge of memories swept him off his feet.

Growing up bouncing between relative to relative, growing skilled as chefs and wizards on the road. The IPRE entrance exams, the best day ever, the Hanging Arcaneum, “back soon” —

His head burned as the static was expunged from his mind, displaced by visions of days and months and cycles that just kept hitting him. He was dimly aware of someone, two someones, clutching his arms and lowering him to his knees on the cool cave floor —

“Stay with us, Taako!” Kravitz pleaded, holding Taako’s left hand. “Listen to Barry —”

“I’ll walk you through everything,” Barry — the animal kingdom, learning to swim, “what if she’s just gone?” — promised from his right, clinging to the same arm with which Taako held the Umbra Staff. “Just don’t think ahead. I’ve been through this before, and I can get you through it now, as long as —”

“B-but — but Lup!” Taako cried. “How could I forget —”

“I know, bud,” Barry whispered. “I forgot too. I understand —”

“You fucking don’t understand!” Tears fell from his eyes, but his mouth twisted into a cautious, still half-disbelieving smile. “Barry, she’s right here!”

“What?!” The cave was plunged into red and black, blinding lights and impenetrable shadows, as the lich at its center seemed to fall apart and come together all at once. “WHERE?!”

Taako closed his eyes, and with a strength he didn’t know he had, snapped the Umbra Staff over his knee.

#taz #taz balance #taakitz #kravitz taz #taako taaco #barry bluejeans #lup taaco #angus mcdonald #taz balance spoilers #fic: ftrala #rosalia writes fic

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reddeaddamnation · 5 years

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Imagine: Being Jacob’s lover and Jack the Ripper abducting you [part 2]

Warning: I delved pretty deep into depicting Jack as the ruthless psychopath he is in this part. Expect smut moments, a lot of angst and mildly Stockholm syndrome

You didn’t know how many days had passed since Jack the Ripper abducted you. Was it even days? Could it be weeks? Months? All you knew was that you were in this mess...deep at that. There was no way you could escape without your weapons and Jack always watched over you like a hawk. Another problem was that you weren’t going anywhere without Jacob. Because if you escaped, you were sure Jacob was going to die. If that wasn’t the case, you wouldn’t be caught dead helping one of the cruelest men in history scheme to bring down your lover’s sister - Evie.

The least he did for you was stop tying you up when he was sure your spirit was broken and you weren’t going to try anything on him anymore. Of course, you fought. The first days of your capture you fought and cursed him, but without weapons you couldn’t do anything in such a weakened state. He never fought you back. He never laid a hand on you even when the foulest of words rolled off your tongue and the last of your strength was gathered to bury your nails in his skin and inflict as much pain as possible. He was very patient with you and that was what scared you the most. If you had to be honest, you would have preferred him torturing you. At least then, his intentions would be clear - he meant you ill. But like this you didn’t know what to think. When he felt in a more “generous” mood, as you liked to think, he would take you with him to see Jacob and prove that he was still alive.

Sometimes he was conscious...sometimes he wasn’t. When he was, you could hear him barely murmur your name painfully and ever so quietly say “I’m sorry”, which always brought tears to your face, but you were determined to never give Jack the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You would walk up to your lover and gently wrap your arms around him, hugging him close and whispering your love for him and that everything was going to be okay. You were going to make sure of that.

Every day, Jack visited you and brought you food and water. He would then proceed to watch you with a smirk on his scarred lips, which made your stomach turn. He would also ask you questions about various topics to engage conversation and you would give half-hearted answers. Eventually you got used to his company. Being locked up could get lonely and sometimes you craved a companion, even in the face of your abductor. Because above all you were afraid of being left alone with your thoughts. The loneliness caused you to debate whether he has treated you badly or not. Sure he abducted you, but... he hasn’t shown any sign of evil intention towards you... He never hurt you... He promised he had some sort of feelings for you even...

Of course, you never forgot about your love for Jacob. You weren’t going to leave him here alone. But as for what you felt for Jack was what puzzled you and had you conflicted in the worst ways. You remembered the way his lips felt on yours the first time he kissed you. He still kissed you after that. And his kisses were intense, passionate and as much as you didn’t want to admit it, left your knees weak. No words could express the confusion you felt. You hated him, but needed his presence near you. You were desperate for someone to remind you that you were alive, to show you more than these four walls you were trapped behind and keep you from losing your sanity from the loneliness you felt, as time went by painfully slow. Was time even running anymore? And was the comfort of your sanity just an illusion of insanity?

“You look so beautiful...“ Jack’s deep voice purred as he eyed you in the dress he had brought you several minutes ago. It was a rich burgundy color ornamented with black lace sleeves that cascaded down your arms and the back of them almost touched the floor beneath you. The lace continued to your chest and up your neck, showing just enough skin, but was far from crude. The material was soft but heavy. Velvet perhaps, or maybe plush. The corset with a heart shaped decolletage complimented your figure, as you had tightened the ties in the back. The skirt flowed freely down to the ground like a waterfall in an elegant heap, shining softly in the dim candle light that brought some life to the dark room. You didn’t know how he came in possession of something that looked as expensive as this dress and you were afraid to ask.

He presented the cloth to you nonchalantly and told you to put it on. You mentally thanked him for the decency to leave the room while you undressed and even though you didn’t intend to please him in any way, you found yourself loving the newly obtained garment and invited it as a much needed change after your previous clothes were so worn out and dirty. You missed being able to spoil yourself in fancier clothes. But all those feelings disappeared when he reentered the room. You felt his eyes bore into you and you felt filthy to your very soul. You refused to look at him. You were disgusted by him and yourself and all your attraction to the dress disappeared. You hated it. It was just as disgusting.

“Look at me.“ he spoke again. You refused, continuing to stare at the floor, fidgeting with your hands. You heard heavy footsteps coming closer to you. Jack was now in front of you, so close, but you couldn’t feel any body heat radiating from him. It was like he wasn’t even alive... His hand reached up and touched your chin, making you shiver. He didn’t repeat his request, but you knew better than to test his patience. You gathered all your courage to look into his eyes and saw hunger in them. His other hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. He leaned in closer to your face until his lips were on yours in a familiar heated kiss. Your mind went blank as you kissed back.

“May I?“ he tugged slightly at the ties of your corset. You could only nod your head slightly, regretting it to the marrow of your bones. I’m sorry, Jacob... you thought, as Jack slowly untied the laces one by one, tantalizingly slow. His lips returned to yours, tongue sliding into your mouth. Soon, your back was left bare and his hands ghosted up your spine, sending another shiver through your body. The velvet slid off your body minutes after, leaving your body naked for him and all of time and space stopped existing for you.

You loved the feeling of the cold floor against your back, his hands roaming your body, sending wave after wave of pleasure throughout your entire being, his lips against your skin... His movements somewhat reminded you of Jacob and that gave you a form of comfort. You tried your best to imagine him in Jack’s place. You heard him groan your name as he slid his length into you, stretching you to your limit. As much as you tried to suppress the moans, you couldn’t hold back any more. You dug your nails in his back and buried your face in the crook of his neck, moaning quietly, tears streaming down your face.

Jack kept a steady pace, not too rough, but not slow either. Soon enough, you found yourself reaching your peak and came all over his member, walls tightening around him. He groaned low in his throat, running his hand through your hair. You felt him grow thicker inside of your sensitive body, making you wince. His other hand pressed you against his chest, making your breasts rub against him. His movements caused a friction between your clit and his pelvis, making you whine from the overstimulation.

Not long after, he pulled out of you and released his seed all over your hips and belly. You looked away, the feeling of disgust returning, heavy in your chest. You lay there on the floor, tainted and filthy, the only sign of life being the heaving of your chest from the heavy breathing. Jack stood up, dressing himself, but his eyes never left you. “Evie Frye will arrive soon.” he spoke with a smirk “When you are ready, we will discuss the plans.”

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed syndicate #assassin's creed jacob frye #older Jacob #jacob frye #jacob x reader #jacob frye imagine #jacob frye x reader imagine #assassin's creed Jack the Ripper #jack the ripper #jack the ripper x reader #jack the ripper imagine #jack the ripper x reader imagine #jack the ripper dlc

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celticfeather · 4 years

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Chapter 1: Dawn

Chapter 6 Below

-Uchiha Itachi-

"Itachi, wake up."

"Itachi."

Itachi opened his eyes and regarded his partner calmly. The first thing he saw was Kisame retracting a guilty hand, and a bluish eyebrow twitched. "Did you have trouble sleeping?"

Apparently he had overslept.

"The nights in this country are short," Itachi said.

Kisame looked over at the rising sun over the waves. It was already two hours high. But the mist-ninja said nothing.

Gulls wheeled as the pair trekked along the sand. They walked in the wetness where their footprints were quickly erased by the swiping glasslike waves.

"Finally!" A voice behind them said.

The disturbance's whining tone signaled no threat and dually annoyed Itachi. Zetsu had risen from the dunegrass, grains of white quartzite sand rivuletting down the creases in his leafed crest. Itachi did not particularly like Zetsu: it was some kind of association that the plant-ninja always brought bad news.

"About time we found you two!" the white half exclaimed. "I can't see or hear well through the ocean."

Zetsu could not spy as efficiently underwater or at beaches. Itachi filed the information for later use.

"Pain requests you meet at a cave on the eastern bank of Rido Lake, in the Land of Rivers, five days from today,' he said matter of factly.

Itachi and Kisame looked at each other.

Zetsu continued excitedly. "It's a doosie, the whole gang is invited! Well, I'll give you a hint. We're going on a Tailed Beast Hunt!"

Kisame raised an eyebrow. "Tailed Beast Hunt?"

"Yes! Don't be late! Five days, Rido Lake, at noon!"

The plant-ninja seeped back into the earth. Itachi always found Zetsu's rare locomotion an anomaly. But Itachi supposed even his own powers, logical to him, looked enviously strange from the outside.

"Know anything about tailed beasts?" Kisame asked.

"The Nine Tailed Fox attacked my village when I was five. It destroyed the Uchiha complex and killed the Hokage...They sealed it in a child."

"The Mist's Tailed Beast has been missing since the death of the Mizukage."

"Hm," Itachi said. The hunt must be no small feat if the other teams were enlisted for the same task. At least, according to Zetsu, they had some days for themselves before they needed to report. Itachi was mildly curious of the mission, but not enthusiastic.

"Do we need to do anything before then?" Kisame asked.

Like say goodbye to friends and family? With a silent glance at the eastern sun, Itachi discerned their orientation, and led them in the direction of the Land of Rivers, a several days' walk away.

"It would be faster if we cut across the gulf."

"I can neither run nor swim a gulf."

"I'm not convinced you can swim at all."

The two ninja traveled a quiet day through the small countries. It was the custom of outlaws to make their routes through the disorganized and impoverished ring of states outside the great nations. These strapped militias did not track killers so long as they wandered peaceably.

As they walked along a path, the bisected village was freshly burned. A miasma of death, fine as silt and equally pervasive, clogged the air. A battlefield passed them by, and narrow flags streamed from spear points embedded in earth and armor.

"Looks like a civil war."

"Or a blood feud."

Hopping crows scattered before the two rogues. Most of the corpses wore old fashioned layered armor and carried swords. Like the Uchiha and Senju, he thought. But he doubted any were above genin in this battle.

He turned one of the soldiers over. It rolled too light in its iron shell, a woman, or a boy. A boy. Itachi searched him, but found only copper, and he left it. He did this to three other corpses, but found no food, only money.

"You check for threats. I'll search for anything useful," Itachi said, and Kisame disappeared.

Itachi stole suspicious and warily into the hamlet, a habit he could not shake despite the lack of threat. The thatch from the houses was half burned, and the village's inhabitants were dead or fled. He pushed open a garden gate.

Twisted in old rebellion against the dry summer grasses, gnarled black tree trunks reached towards the sky. His eyes flitted hopefully through the ravaged orchard like a songbird. Too high for even the lightest village children, a few orange persimmon fruits dotted the canopy.

With a flighting leap he landed on a tree's fork, picked the ripest fruit, and with his watchful eyes flashing left and right, he sank his teeth into the water-soft flesh. Persimmons were sweet and fibrous and very healthy. Life with Kisame had him eating a lot of meat. A hooded crow alighted on a nearby branch to observe him. He considered offering the bird a slice, before realizing it had ample preferable options.

The hamlet appeared abandoned from his vantage, and Kisame had made himself invisible. Itachi continued to explore the hamlet, but found little in the way of life or clues. The little crow followed him. An emaciated pig lay dead in a nearby pen. Kisame would like that. The patient crow watched him open the carcass and a squawk summoned her friends.

He walked into the mostly-intact adjacent hut with the pork balanced gingerly between his hands. The abandoned one-room house displayed a traditional kitchen: a pile of coals inset in a square hole in the center of the tatami floor. He might not be better at catching fish than Kisame, -no he was still probably better at fishing than Kisame- but he was definitely a better cook. With the pork fillet, soy sauce, peppercorns and herbs he found around the property, he practiced his art over a dead family's hearth. Kisame stepped through the threshold some time later.

"No one is here but some corpse robbers, who are hiding from us about a quarter kilometer away."

"How respectful of them," Itachi noted.

Kisame grunted. Itachi gestured for Kisame to sit opposite him as he continued to cook. Kisame's eyes traced out the window at the carnage, and he released an abandoned laugh.

"Reminds me of my teenage years.

Itachi followed his gaze. "Indeed."

The oppressive silence of dead men blanketed them. As the coal-fire stoked, the hut they sat in was empty from any laughter it had days ago. The universe had conspired to put two ruthless killers into a village that now offered no one to kill. The Akatsuki had always killed and left. Now Itachi would see what he created.

No. He spared the Leaf from this.

"The Eye of the Moon will end this excess," Kisame said soberly from across the coals.

"We'll find no satisfaction in illusion."

Kisame twitched his lip in a tight smile, unexpected to have lured Itachi to finally spar.

"How can you be sure that your belief that reality is superior to fiction, is itself not false?" Kisame's posed.

"Because I weave fiction."

Itachi had authored his ideal life once, right before he killed his clan.

He had cast Tsukuyomi on his… what was she? Izumi. He wove them a fiction of their life together, of having children, growing old and dying. And he remembered, for a few seconds that lasted her seventy years, she was happy. But through the whole thing he'd felt the unimaginable sense of dread that came with knowing he was in a dream. A few seconds later, Izumi's flesh was as broken as her mind was. And Itachi was broken in a new way too.

"I can show you," Itachi said. He hadn't meant it to be a threat but maybe it sounded like one. "What the Tsukuyomi is like."

A pause. "Don't."

Itachi let the conversation end. Kisame seemed most purposed in his whole life serving the Akatsuki. But to Itachi, his hunted years spent under red clouds was no life. He remembered no moments in the last four years where he was not either fleeing, hungry, hurt, exhausted, or lonely.

Or maybe this was normal and just came with being his age. He read that people his age needed more food and sleep. He had no one to ask. He looked at Kisame, but he decided not to.

The sweet, peppery scent of shogayaki goaded his hunger. His eyes flickered to Kisame; it probably smelled even better to him. Quietly proud of his wartime creation, he began to serve Kisame a proportionally larger serving to his own.

Kisame's fingertips interrupted his offering. "You eat it."

Itachi narrowed his eyes. For two days now he had not seen Kisame eat, on their lifestyle which burned tens of thousands of calories daily.

"There is an entire boar, already dead," Itachi reiterated.

"You're scrawny and should eat more."

He had never been spoken to that way. Silent in his irritation, Itachi ate. Kisame was an adult and a soldier, and would not die by starving himself.

Itachi's annoyance soured the food, and he had prepared enough for two Kisames. It was impossible for a single person his size to consume, and Itachi never liked overeating, especially in hostile territory.

"I can't eat all of this."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Do as you like."

He heard a small exhale from Kisame.

"Pork, it tastes too much like…" Kisame shook his head.

Perhaps he should have expected this. Itachi was suddenly uneasy with Kisame's candidness, when Itachi had been willing to bury the other day's incident. He worried he had been rude. He set his knife on the wood and stood. "Come with me."

Hesitant, Kisame followed him. Itachi halted before the orchard, the black-barked and scarcely-leafed persimmon trees stretching like dead fingers to the sky.

"I didn't think you ate fruit." Itachi explained the omittance. It seemed a ridiculous assumption now.

Itachi watched his partner's back as he walked forward, lit by the pink ash-hazed sun. He tried to focus on Kisame, or on the sunset, for if his gaze wandered, he would see the distance was fecund with death.

"Yo!"

Their eyes locked on the noise. Like a monkey from a tree branch, Tobi hung upside down from a permission limb. He completed his flip and landed sprightly on the earth to trot towards the two men.

Itachi and Kisame had the senses of beasts. No human could sneak up on them while they were awake. It was like the man had materialized from ash and smoke.

"Hi Kisame! Itachi! I thought of you, you know, and I knew I had to find you! Come see, Tachi! I found this toad that totally looks like you!"

Tobi had taken Itachi's arm and started pulling him in some direction. Itachi looked back at Kisame for something, —-he didn't know— for explanation, for sympathy, for help.

Itachi felt himself being sucked in somewhere, transported somewhere dark, then moved again back to the human world. Kisame and the ash were gone. Itachi and the spiral-masked man faced each other in a grassy plain.

The red eye through the mask was narrow, the aura menacing.

"I let slide your insubordination at the brothel. But discrediting the Eye of the Moon to Kisame is a new level of idiocy."

Fear's icy brine chilled Itachi's veins. Lowering his act even slightly to Kisame had been a deadly mistake.

"Kisame is still in full support of the Eye of the Moon," Itachi said.

The lie to shield his partner flowed smooth as silk before Madara. But he realized then its plausibility. In mentioning the Eye of the Moon, Kisame had baited and strung Itachi as deftly as he would a catfish, and thrown him to an even bigger beast.

Madara made a dismissive, subvocal noise. "Do you remember our agreement from that long night?"

"You kill the Uchiha police force and don't harm the Leaf. I help you in the Akatsuki."

"It's a pact you'll only escape when one of us is dead. Too bad for you and the Leaf, you'll die first."

Itachi lit Amaterasu then. The inferno feasted on Madara's clothes, he smelled it roast his skin, and the elder Uchiha screamed and cursed, and he disappeared in a swirl. Itachi did not know what the retreat meant, but he did not think the incident was over, so he fled for the forest.

Moments later Madara appeared on a tree branch in front of him, unflamed. Itachi kept running. This was not Itachi's first dance with a teleporter— and he knew to deal with them better than most.

The bait untaken, Madara disappeared again.

Then Madara phased centimeters in front of him. Itachi should have crashed into him, but there was no collision, rather Itachi suddenly found himself cut around the waist by a chain. Madara viced it taught around him and smashed Itachi to a tree trunk.

"Pain was never the one you needed to worry about."

Terrified and adrenalized, Itachi zapped him again with the Amaterasu. Madara swore and disappeared. Exhausted and half blind, Itachi's trembling fingers started to untie himself.

Madara returned and kicked the chained man in the stomach. "That again?"

Itachi recovered and stared at him wrathfully. Madara's only eye was shadowed by the mask, and Itachi could not establish the contact he needed for Tsukuyomi.

"Each user of the Mangekyou has one ability for each eye. Yours are the black flames, Amaterasu, and the nightmare realm, Tsukuyomi, right?"

"Take your mask off," Itachi breathed.

"I've been meaning to teach you something for a while. You buried the knowledge of Indra's clan when you killed them. They were weak, but the eldest Uchiha knew the old paths, even if they could not climb them. And orphaned, you now need instruction in using our highest gifts." Madara's voice had adopted a helpful tone.

"I want none of the knowledge that has poisoned you."

Itachi said it, but he wasn't sure he was so noble. Beneath his fear was the instinct to collect advantages. He had learned long ago to enact what sin justice demanded.

"There's a third ability that everyone with two mangekyou has. You have the eyes, but there's a nose. How's your knowledge of religion, Itachi?"

"Very well."

"Good. Then you know already what we call him."

Their eyes locked. A hypnotic heartbeat passed in synchrony.

The air cracked with chakra and the space around Madara hazed cobalt blue. Itachi's lips parted in disbelief. A huge skeleton formed around Madara, which lengthened as it became threaded with corded muscles, skin, and at last armor. A huge blue, astral samurai.

Madara spoke. "Amaterasu emerges through grief. Tsukuyomi through fear. Susanoo is a wrathful god, and his likeness is unlocked by hate."

Quick as a whip, the Susanoo lifted Itachi, its hand covered his eyes and twisted his neck like a bird, and the other crushed him until his ribs cracked. Itachi screamed, and his lungs filled with blood, and he felt his spine compressing, and he knew he would soon die. But above the pain, above it all, he hated the man before him. He wanted Madara dead. He wanted to flay the skin off him. He wanted to rend him full of nightmares, stab him through the tsukuyomi, and burn his corpse. Because if Madara didn't control the fox, he would not be in the Akatsuki, the scorned Uchiha would not have revolted, and everyone he had loved would be alive.

And at last Itachi's cracking ribs ceased. His body was wracked with pain, but he could breathe. The air tasted ozone and electric. He could just barely see that red bars of chakra, like a ribcage, had formed around his own body in protection. Madara's susanoo released him.

"I need you alive for something, for now. This ethical streak, however... I'll rub that out soon enough."

He dared the hateful glare of a man who could not stand at Madara. "I'll soak the earth with your guts."

A laugh. "Good progress."

The blur shaped like Madara admired the fallen Uchiha a moment more; in Itachi's imagination he was smug. Madara disappeared in a silent vortex from his right eye. Maybe Itachi had played into Madara's hands, but they both had what they wanted. Itachi had knowledge, and he was not dead. Itachi's fiery ribs extinguished with the threat, and he collapsed to bleed his life unto the ungrateful earth.

Author's Note:

Apologies for the wait on this one, folks. Thanks very much to beta SilverLion for her help!

See you next time,

Kelto

#campfires #celticfeather #itachi #Kisame #Kisaita #itakisa #akatsuki #fanfiction #keltodier

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graciebirdie · 5 years

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omg steter weeeeeek!

Day one- creature Stiles! Nöck to be specific ;) (this is almost 13.5k so here’s the ao3 link....)

Stiles had been running for so long he couldn't even remember what it felt like to stop.

But he thought he finally could.

The pond wasn't a lake but it had a good amount of fish in it and it was in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

He hadn't seen any houses or even hiking trails for miles and miles.

The only sign of humans at all was an old dock but it was overgrown with thick phragmite, the weed growing so tall it almost completely covered the wood planks.

Stiles carefully slipped into the shallows before ducking his head under the water to make sure the pond wasn't already occupied.

It would be his terrible luck that he would finally find the perfect body of water only for it to already have someone living in it. And the pond was small enough that if someone was living in it they probably wouldn't want to share.

He couldn't see any signs of creatures bigger than bass but that was in the shallows, if this was someone's home they would be living in the deepest part of the pond.

He sat up in the water and pulled his shoes off with disgust. He hated shoes. If he didn't have to wear them again for the rest of his life he'd be happy. He tossed the shoes over his shoulder and onto the shore before pulling off his now wet socks with a grimace. Socks were a little bit more tolerable than shoes but not by much.

Once he could feel the cool water on his feet he realized that it would feel terrible to try to swim with wet jeans on so he pulled those off too and then pulled of his over shirt and t-shirt for good measure.

It was immensely freeing to be naked and in water again. He'd missed it terribly.

He slid fully into the pond and swam through the pondweeds that grew along the bottom of it.

The aquatic life of the pond scattered as he swam past them and excitement filled him at how much there was for him to eat. The amount of fish and craw fish, turtles and frogs was a very good sign that there were no large predators inside the pond.

He swam deeper, fighting not to catch the fish that flashed past him. He reached the deepest part of the pond quickly and was mildly disappointed that it was only about ten feet, he could still see sunlight through the weeds.

But it was good enough. Almost perfect in fact. Just it being so far away from humans made up for its lack of depth.

And Stiles was so tired. He was so homesick, the pond would make a wonderful home for him. Just for Stiles and Stiles alone.

***

As plentiful as the pond was Stiles had been taught to be careful not to disrupt the ecosystem too much. He didn't want to overeat and run out of food. This was his new home and he was going to have to make sure he'd be able to live in it for years to come.

His magic was a faint little flash of a spark under his fingertips and he had to make sure that no matter how long it took for it to grow back into its full strength that he would be able to survive. His mother would be so disappointed in him if he didn't.

For the first few days in his new home Stiles just ate and slept. He'd been running so long it felt wonderful to just do... nothing.

But of course he got bored quickly.

And without his magic there really wasn't much he could do in the middle of a pond in the middle of nowhere.

So he settled in the shallows, blending in with the reeds and waiting for prey to come by. Like a crocodile. Or a sniper, he thought in amusement.

It took hours of even more boredom for a deer to come by. He held his breath as it got closer to the edge of the pond. It leaned it's great head down to the surface of the water and Stiles shot up and out of the water, headed right towards the deer... and missed it completely.

He landed hard on the rocky shore of the pond and watched the deer run off. He sighed deeply and slipped back into the water. He really wasn't made for physical hunting outside the water and it showed.

He sulkily curled back up in the reeds and took a nap because he could .

***

The weather got cold and Stiles' magic still didn't work correctly. He fought back tears of frustration as he struggled to figure out what to do for the winter.

There were plenty of fish and amphibians, even reptiles, that he would be able to eat but he had no idea what he would do if the pond froze over. He could, and did, live in cold water but he had no idea if he could live in ice cold water.

Winter had been the only time he and his mother had lived full time inside his father's lake house. Winter had been Stiles' favorite season, the three of them would curl up in front of the fireplace, each of them with their own book, occasional breaking the silence to read a passage out loud or tell a joke.

Stiles' heart ached terribly at the memories. He pushed them away to curl up at the bottom of the pond.

He thought about leaving the pond for the winter and finding somewhere human to stay but he had no idea how far he was from the nearest town, he only knew it was far enough that humans didn't bother to come all the way out to his pond. He didn't have any clothes, he didn't even have any shoes to protect him from the falling snow. Everything he'd been wearing when he first found the pond has rotted away in the water.

He cursed his non-functioning magic. If his magic would only work he wouldn't need to freeze inside his pond he could just go to his home.

A sharp intense pain hit him as he realized he couldn't even go home anymore. His mother had made their home underwater and his father had made their home on land.

He missed his mother.

***

The winter had been hard. Every time Stiles had fallen asleep he'd been terrified he wouldn't wake up again. The population of the pond had dropped considerably because the top of the pond had frozen over and Stiles hadn't been able to generate enough force under the water to break it, even with a rock. Before the water had frozen Stiles had been able to supplement his diet by catching the little animals that came to the pond to drink in snares but stuck under the water he'd only been able to eat fish. He couldn't even eat frogs because they were all hibernating on the pond shore.

By the time the weather had warmed enough for the ice to crack Stiles was terrified that there wouldn't have been enough fish to repopulate in the spring.

Stiles finally broke through the ice and pulled himself onto the shore, shaking in the cold air but reveling in the sense of freedom just having the choice to leave his pond brought.

He went about setting out more traps on the shore line before he curled back up in the reeds at the edge of the freezing water. Now that he was out he was going to make damn sure he didn't get stuck back under the ice.

***

Spring came around and Stiles' magic still didn't work the way it should have and he was starting to suspect what the problem was.

Stiles' kind didn't need to eat humans to live but humans gave them the most energy.

Stiles' desire for human's wasn't as strong as his mothers' and he wasn't exactly sure why, maybe it had something to do with his father being a human himself. Stiles had never been able to see a difference between himself and his mother despite his mixed blood but maybe that was it.

Well, Stiles wasn't going to be leaving his pond to go hunt humans down, so he would just have to keep living as he had been and wait for his magic to come back on it's own.

***

By the time a human came to Stiles' pond it was getting very close to summer and Stiles' magic was still so weak that Stiles was actually starting to get a little desperate.

He stared at the human through the reeds, watched as it pulled a backpack off and pulled something out of the pack.

It scooped up water from the edge of the pond and ran it through whatever it was holding, pumping a nozzle into a water bottle and Stiles realized it was a water purifier.

He was shocked at the thought he was so far from a town that a human wouldn't be able to carry enough water.

He quickly shook away that thought and silently swam closer to the human. He got closer and closer and the human still didn't notice him. As he moved he realized he hadn't had a conversation with, well, anyone in a very long time. He decided that maybe he should try and talk to the human a little first. Maybe they were a good conversationalist, good enough to alleviate Stiles' boredom for a while.

Finally he got close enough that he could say "Hi!" but... only sounds come out of his mouth.

The human shrieked and threw the water purifier at Stiles.

Stiles was so surprised at not being able to speak that he didn't manage to dodge the object and it hit him hard in the head.

Through the pain and blood he watched as the human ran away, back into the woods.

Stiles sniffled in frustration and hunger.

He washed the blood off of his face and glared in the direction the human had gone. That had been even more humiliating than the time he'd tried to catch a deer.

At least the human had forgotten it's backpack. Maybe there would be something interesting in that.

He pulled himself up onto the shore and slid up the rocks until he reached the pack. He fumbled at the zippers, struggling to remember how to open them for a moment, before he figured it out. He reached inside and inspected each item as he came across it.

There were clothes and a blanket that he set off to the side, away from the water so save for later, just in case he needed them for...some reason or another.

He pulled out several things that were familiar but he couldn't remember what they were and to his surprise he realized he was starting to cry.

Had he really been gone so long that he'd forgotten the basics of being around humans?

His mother had never gone out of her way to learn about humans, only becoming interested when she met his father.

His father, who had taught her and then Stiles about the human world.

Stiles had once known so much about humans that his father had told him he could live among them and Stiles had even thought about doing that.

But that had been before his father had been murdered by humans.

Now the only thing Stiles wanted from humans was to make them meals.

***

Stiles could feel himself getting weaker.

The fish had barely spawned enough offspring to feed Stiles through fall and he had no idea what he was going to eat through the winter.

His magic didn't even tingle at his fingers anymore.

No wonder no one had been living in the pond, there wasn't enough life to support someone that only ate aquatic life.

The day was hot, so hot that Stiles was just listlessly floating along the surface of the water, trying not to think about what he would do if he had to leave his pond in winter.

He heard a strange sound from the tree line and rolled his head to look, unable to understand it for a long moment.

And then out of the trees burst a whole gaggle of children.

Stiles instantly slipped back under the water, excitement filling him at the thought of being able to catch one of them.

He peeked out of the water to check where the children were and saw that they'd been joined by several adults.

He cursed silently before he remembered that a human adult had more meat on their bones than a human child.

They all seemed to be gathered around one side of the pond so Stiles slipped over to the edge, sliding through the reeds on the edges of the water until he was close enough he could grab one of them quickly but far enough away that they wouldn't notice him.

He watched, and waited for an adult to come into the water far enough that Stiles would be able to catch it.

Finally one of the larger of the adults swam out enough that Stiles could slip under it and wrap his hand around it's ankle, dragging it down before it could realize what was going on.

But then, to his immense surprise, instead of struggling or kicking at Stiles it curled forward and it's eyes' started glowing.

Stiles gasped in shock and his grip loosened enough that the human managed to pull away.

Stiles floated, watching the human swim away, baffled over what had just happened.

Human's eyes couldn't do that, it must have just been a trick of the watery sunlight.

He gathered himself together and shot after the human, determined not to let his meal escape.

He easily caught up despite the human's head start and he slipped around to it's front to wrap his arms around the human's chest without having to leave the water.

Again the human surprised him, instead of just struggling it stopped swimming to reach it's hands down to push at Stiles' shoulders. And then it's hand went for his neck. He leaned away from the movement and caught sight of the hand.

It had claws .

And Stiles' realized that this was not a human.

Stiles instantly let go. He pulled his head out of the water and started trying to apologize for trying to drown the being but like the time he'd tried to talk to a human only sounds and chirps came out of his mouth.

The being was treading water in front of him, shock clear on their face and Stiles saw that their face looked odd, not at all like a human's would.

Stiles had no idea why he hadn't noticed before. He also had no idea what sort of being they were. Stiles knew the most about beings that lived in water and only knew the very basics about land beings.

He heard shouting from the shore and turned to see that all the children had gotten out of the water while several of the adults had gotten in, all of them wading towards Stiles and shouting.

Stiles felt tears spring up as he realized he couldn't understand what they were saying.

He started so slide back into the water, to sink back to his little spot of weeds at the bottom of the pond, when his would-be pray caught his arm.

Stiles just floated there because after almost killing them, Stiles figured the being could do what they wanted to Stiles.

The being started to swim to the shore without letting go of Stiles' arm so Stiles just... let them pull him along.

Once they reached the shallows the being stood up but Stiles didn't even try. If he couldn't talk he knew he wouldn't be able to walk on dry land.

As if realizing this the being bend down and carefully picked Stiles up, one arm under his legs and the other around his back.

Stiles let them. He was surrounded by the beings now, and he was so hungry that he'd never be able to kill one of them, let alone the whole group of them.

The being holding him spoke and Stiles still couldn't understand the words but he could feel the rumble of them through their chest.

It was... strangely nice. The being was radiating heat like the sun and after how cool the pond always was Stiles didn't mind being so close to a bit of warmth.

The being stopped just at the edge of the pond and then they abruptly sat down, with Stiles sitting in their lap.

One of the other beings held out a big strip of fabric that Stiles thought he used to know the name of.

Stiles' being took the fabric and draped it over his lap for some reason.

The being was speaking again and Stiles decided their voice was actually very nice.

Stiles could see the children off to the side, far from the water and watching Stiles with huge eyes. Some of them had glowing golden eyes and faces like his being had.

He felt horrible at the thought that he could have eaten one of them without knowing they weren't human. He was so glad his being had showed him before anything really bad could happen.

Stiles' mother had drilled it into his head from a very young age that it was terribly rude to eat a being that wasn't an animal or human.

"There aren't enough of us as it is Mieczyslaw, we can't go around making us even less." she would say.

Suddenly a hand was on Stiles' chin, his being tipping Stiles' head up to look at them.

Stiles blinked, watching the way their mouth moved but it was only sounds to him, they didn't make any sense.

It could almost be a relief his father was dead if Stiles wouldn't even be able to talk to him anymore.

Fresh tears started to fall at that terrible thought.

Stiles pulled away from the being's hand and buried his face in their chest as he sobbed. Their hand came up and started to gently stroke up and down his back comfortingly. Stiles cried harder and let himself pretend he was being hugged by someone who actually knew him.

***

Peter hadn’t really wanted to spend the day at the lake but it was hot outside, in the 90s hot and all the kids were miserable so when Cora had asked very loudly if they could go out to the lake all the kids had instantly started shrieking.

But when Peter had started to sneak off Talia had sent him a very knowing smirk and made him start packing up lunch for everyone.

At least she hadn't made him wrangle the kids.

The hike out to the lake took about an hour and a half but the trees offered shelter from the sun so no one complained too much. Except for Peter who'd ended up having to carry Sydney on his back because she twisted her ankle but refused to be taken home.

They got to the lake and the kids almost instantly jumped in while the rest of the pack set up blankets to lay out on the grass.

Peter watched the kids for several minutes before he decided that it was hot enough and they were already at the lake, he might as well just get in too.

The kids went nuts the second he stepped into the water, all of them shrieking and asking him to throw them into the water. He gave a huge sigh but agreed.

Cora got to him first and he picked her up under her arms before gently tossing her underhand into the deeper parts of the lake.

She came up and instantly started swimming back, already yelling for him to do it again.

He spent almost half an hour throwing the kids around before they finally let him go. He slipped into the deeper parts, not that the lake was really that deep. It was barely the size of a public pool but the Hales had called it a lake for as long as any of them could remember.

He started to swim laps when he felt something wrap around his ankle.

For a second he thought it was just pondweed but then it y anked and he was being pulled under the water.

He forced himself not to panic because what was happening was not normal and he needed to know what the hell was going on.

He looked down into the water under him and thought for a moment he'd found a dead body, it was so pale, but then it looked up at him and-

It wasn't a body.

It was the most beautiful boy he'd ever seen in his life.

He was pale and his eyes were so wide and shining and there was something almost ethereal about them.

And then Peter realized if he didn't get some air he was going to drown.

The boy was still staring at him, slack jawed so Peter gave his leg a little lug and the boy let go instantly.

Peter pulled himself to the surface and he suddenly realized that the boy was very much not human and the kids should get out of the lake, just in case.

"Out of the water!" He roared, taking off for them to drag them out if he had to.

Luckily all the kids knew what his 'Danger' voice sounded like and they all almost instantly got out of the lake.

The rest of the pack looked out at him and several got up, no doubt to ask what the hell was going on, when he felt the boy wrap his arms around his chest.

He reacted without thinking, his claws sliding out to rake at the boy who was trying to pull him back under the water. He felt his shift coming over him at the sudden fear of drowning.

And then he was being let go of and the boy's head popped up in front of him.

The boy stared at him with those huge beautiful eyes and started making soft little chirping noises that sounded a little like an otter, which was strange to hear coming from someone that looked human but clearly wasn't .

The pack was yelling questions at him and even getting into the water themselves to come see what was happening.

The boy turned his head a little to look at the pack but instead of instantly disappearing back into the water he started crying and Peter... had no idea what he should do.

Then the boy seemed to just droop, and he started to sink into the water like he weighed a thousand pounds.

And, well, Peter was having none of that.

The boy was far too interesting for Peter to just let him disappear while Peter had so many questions .

So he reached out and curled his hand around the closest part of the boy he could get, which turned out to be his wrist, and just gently pulled him closer to the edge of the lake so Peter wouldn't have to worry about accidentally, or on purpose, drowning. And so the pack would stop scaring the kids.

The boy let Peter pull him to shore and Peter had no idea how he was supposed to take that.

He reached the shallow water and stood up in relief. He looked down, ready to help the boy stand up too, assuming he could. He had legs but he lived in water, he might not be able to walk at all.

But the boy was just sort of flouting there in the shallows. It was extremely disconcerting to see him lying face down like that, looking like a dead body so Peter moved without really thinking. And to stop the pack from descending on the boy like, well, like a pack of wolves.

He scooped the boy up into his arms and curled a little over him so the pack would have to go through Peter to get to him.

The pack was staring at him and the boy in shock.

"He has a heartbeat." Talia said, eyes wide as she took in the sight of the boy.

"He's not human." Peter said.

The pack instantly backed away from them and Peter rolled his eyes. He swore they were all idiots.

He looked down at the boy to make sure he could actually breath outside of water like Peter thought he could. The boy was looking around the pack with big sad eyes but he was breathing completely fine so Peter walked further up along the shore.

The pack moved around him and once he was far enough from the water he wouldn't be able to drown but close enough the boy would be able to slip right back in he sat down, settling the boy in his lap so he could look him over.

His hair wasn't very long, barely at his shoulders but it was dark and had a cute wave to it. And a lot of pondweed.

He had the strangest urge to pull it out but didn't, just in case it was actually a part of the boy.

Peter was struggling to think of exactly what the boy was when Talia stepped up next to him and held out a towel.

Peter rolled his eyes at her but took it to hide the boy's nakedness from the kids, not that any of them would actually care.

He carefully draped the towel over the boy and he looked up at him with those eyes. They were big and ethereal and full of a sadness that Peter couldn't describe.

"Are you alright little one?" he asked. He couldn't help it, not when he was being looked at like that .

But the boy didn't answer him. Instead he looked over to where the kids were standing and watching everything in amazement. No doubt they were only just being held back from rushing forward and asking a thousand questions.

"Well? What are you doing out here?" Talia asked, leaning over to try and look at the boy's face. The boy didn't even seem to notice her.

"Little one?" he asked gently, slowly and carefully tipping the boy's head up to look at Peter. "Can you understand me?"

But the boy just looked up at him in confusion, a completely lost expression on his face. Tears welled up in his eyes and he started crying softly.

And Peter had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do. Not even the kids came to him crying. The boy leaned against Peter's chest and started to full on sob against him and Peter was lost.

He had no idea what was wrong with the boy and he obviously didn't understand what Peter was saying so he just went with his first instinct. He gently stroked the boy's back and looked up at Talia to see if she had any ideas.

She looked as baffled as he felt but she pulled herself together quickly.

"It looked like he wanted to eat you and if he eats humans we can't just leave him here, not when he can breathe outside of water." she said reasonably. While Peter hadn't heard anything about people disappearing around the lake or even in the woods that didn't mean that that couldn't start happening.

"He can stay in the pond until we can figure out how to ask him not to eat humans on our land." she said and Peter felt himself start to relax.

The pond next to the house was smaller than the lake and had less fish but Peter could go buy more at the nearest pet shop. Or fish market.

The pond had been his mother's project and she'd build it brick by brick herself. She'd even dug it out herself. All seven feet deep, ten feet long of it. His mother had been a very 'go big or go home' type of person and it had taken her almost a year to dig the whole thing out.

But she'd been determined to have as huge a handmade pond as she could.

It was full to bursting with aquatic plants and a nice little waterfall that made sure the fish got enough oxygenated water.

It was breathtaking year round and Peter found himself weirdly hopeful that this strange, little water dwelling boy would like it.

***

Peter walked a bit away from the pack, the boy held carefully in his arms. No one else had offered to carry him but Peter had the uncomfortable thought that even if they had he wouldn't have given them the boy.

He was feeling strangely attached and he wasn't sure he liked it. But the boy was skin and bones, skin so paper thin that his veins stood out sharply and made him look delicate and breakable. He obviously hadn't been eating enough and it pulled at Peter in ways he'd never felt before.

He didn't really like it but the only way he could think to stop it was to make Talia deal with the boy and that felt even worse. So he'd just deal with wanting to feed the boy and then hopefully once he did that would be the end of it.

The boy was alternating between watching the trees as they passed and watching the kids as one by one they snuck away from the pack to drift closer to Peter and stare at the boy.

Peter rolled his eyes at the rest of the adults in the pack being so oblivious that they didn't notice all the kids disappearing but he didn't do anything to stop their game.

Peter had been thinking over the whole time they'd been in the lake and he'd realized the boy had had every opportunity to take any one of the kids but he hadn't. Peter was pragmatic enough to know that he still could but as long as Peter was around to keep an eye on everyone Peter would allow the kids to be curious. It would probably be a good learning exercise.

By the time they got home every one of the kids was walking next to Peter and the boy had started to softly chitter at them.

Cora seemed especially excited by the sounds he was making. She jumped up and down and tried to mimic the sounds but it only made the boy giggle at her.

The rest of the kids tried the sounds out and once they broke through the tree line onto the lawn they were all running around yelling and chasing each other. They were ridiculous and Peter had no idea where they got all that energy from.

Peter walked around the side of the house, the kids following him like ducks instead of wolves, while the rest of the pack went back into the house, but knowing them, they were no doubt spying on Peter through the windows. Or at least Talia would be.

He tried not to be too annoyed that even Talia had seemed to leave him in care of both the boy and the kids.

He stepped up to the side of the pond and looked down at the boy.

The boy didn't seem to be paying attention. He was staring up at the house in obvious interest. Peter could understand that, the house was huge. Big enough to house a whole pack of werewolves.

He careful sat down on one of the large rocks at the edge of the pond and set the boy on his lap, making sure his feet slipped into the water.

That got the boy's attention. He looked down at the pond and gasped softly. He looked up at Peter, shock on his face.

Peter gently pet his back again and pulled the towel away from him. He dropped it off to the side before he very slowly and carefully pushed the boy into the pond.

He slipped in without any protests and when he was fully in the water he looked up at Peter and gave him a soft shy little smile. Peter couldn't help but smile back.

Then the boy shot under the water and popped back up with a koi in his hands. He stared at the fish, eyes huge and hungry and he looked up at Peter questioningly.

Peter nodded and the boy grinned at him. It was like he lit up from the inside. And it was breathtaking.

His teeth were sharp little points and he dug them into the fish with gusto. Blood dripped down his hands and smeared over his mouth and Peter found he might be a tiny bit in love.

***

The boy, who everyone seemed to be convinced was some kind of mermaid, seemed to adore the pond, the kids, the koi, Peter .

It was strange how easily he seemed to adjust to living with the pack.

Well, as much as he could live with the pack when he never left the pond.

The children spent hours every day playing as many games as they could think of that didn't have rules that needed to be explained and twice a week Peter brought more live fish for him to chase around the pond.

And when Peter wasn't bringing him fish he sat down on the large stone bench his mother used to sit on and read out loud to the boy, the way his mother had when Peter had been very young.

The boy alternated between floating around the pond on his back and curling up in Peter's lap, listening to Peter speak with an intensity no one had ever showed him before.

The boy looked like he was content, the kids were happy, and Peter felt surprisingly good but the rest of the pack seemed a little unnerved by the boy.

Laura especially didn't seem to like him. "He's so creepy !" she complained constantly. "He doesn't even speak English!"

Luckily the rest of the pack didn't listen to her and while they didn't spend time with him they also didn't complain that they'd seemed to have accidentally stumbled upon a babysitter that they could pay in fish.

Fall came and all the kids were old enough to be in school. The boy spend the days pouting that they were gone and then spent the nights pouting that the sun set so quickly.

One evening, in about mid November, when it was starting to get actually cold, a burglar broke into the house.

Peter was the only one home, other than the boy. If Talia had been there she would have detained the foolish little human and have called the police. But she wasn't home and the full moon was coming up.

Peter caught the burglar going through the kitchen cabinets and he dug his claws into him, cutting him deeply.

He watched the fool bleed out on the tiles for a few minutes before sighing in disappointment.

That hadn't been satisfying in the least and now he had to clean blood up.

He pulled open the back door and dragged the mostly dead burglar out onto the pouch and down to back lawn. He'd take it further into the woods and bury it after he cleaned the blood up.

He was about to step back onto the pouch when he heard the familiar soft chirping sounds of the boy.

He turned around and saw the boy start to pull himself out of the pond and onto the grass. This was the first time Peter had ever seen the boy do that.

The boy pulled himself up on long wobbly legs and stumbled towards the body.

Peter was moving before he was even really thinking about it. He wrapped his arms around the boy and carefully helped him walk across the lawn.

The boy looked down at the body, eyes huge and mouth open.

Suddenly he dropped out of Peter's grip and... oh.

He clawed open the shirt the burglar was wearing and he dug his teeth into his chest, pulling a large chuck of flesh off.

He looked up at Peter as he chewed, an almost blissful look of happiness on his face. And suddenly it made sense why he never seemed to gain any weight no matter how many fish Peter fed him.

He didn't just eat fish .

Peter had never felt more like an idiot.

They had met because the boy had tried to eat Peter . Of course he didn't just eat fish.

It must have been the kids that threw him off. The boy never tried to eat any of the kids no matter how annoying they were and it had made Peter forget that the boy was a predator.

"Oh, little one, I'm so sorry." he said quietly, honestly disappointed with himself for not thinking about it sooner.

The boy looked up at him and for a moment there was fear on his face, like he thought Peter would be upset with him but then it cleared and turned into the sweet pleased look he gave Peter every time he brought him fish.

Which gave Peter an idea.

He reached down and grabbed the body's arm and dragged it over to the pond. He pushed it into the water and turned to look back at the boy, who was staring at him, eyes wide with shock and glowing in the moonlight.

In just a few strides he reached the boy and scooped him up in his arms, and like he did every time Peter had to carry him around the boy curled into his chest and looked up at him with his beautiful eyes.

Peter carefully lowered the boy into the pond, but before could let go the boy rubbed his cheek against Peter's.

Peter went still in shock.

He'd scent-marked him.

He'd never done that before.

The boy chittered in his ear for a moment before he slipped off into the pond, dragging the body down with him.

Peter stared after him and started making plans on how to make sure his boy never went hungry again.

***

Sometimes Stiles thought he'd died under the ice and gone to heaven.

The only reason he was pretty sure that wasn't what had happened was that his magic still didn't work right.

And his parents weren't there.

But other than those two things Stiles' life was pretty amazing.

He had a never ending amount of fish to eat, a beautiful pond to live, the children, and his Wolf.

That's who had found him, wolves. He had seen them changing shapes in the moonlight and it had been beautiful.

His mother had never told him about beings that could change into wolves, just about beings that could change into sharks.

The wolves all lived together in a huge house in the middle of the woods and Stiles got to live next to them.

The new pond was smaller than the last pond which had been smaller than his lake but he didn't have to worry about food because his Wolf brought him fish, so often in fact that Stiles didn't even eat the smaller ones. He let them live with him in the pond so that they could spawn even more fish for the spring.

There was a human word for what he was doing but he couldn't remember it and he didn't think it actually mattered that much.

Even if Stiles ate every fish in the pond his Wolf would just bring him more.

His Wolf was amazing.

He was big and strong and beautiful. And he was the only one other than the children that came anywhere near the pond.

It hurt Stiles' feelings a little that the other wolves didn't like him very much but they didn't stop him from playing with the children so he tried not to let it bother him too much.

His Wolf gave him all the attention he needed.

He liked to sit next to the pond and read to Stiles. And sometimes he let Stiles curl up on his lap and listen to the way the words rumbled out of his chest.

Stiles was getting a little better with words but not by much. He was spending so much time around others that he was starting to think it had something to do with his magic and not his brain.

That made him feel a tiny bit better about the whole thing.

But it also made him more frustrated because if he could just make his magic work he might be able to talk to his Wolf or at least figure out what his name was.

And figure out what he called Stiles. Because he did call Stiles something, he could tell by the repeated sounds he made when looking at him.

The children called him something too but the other wolves didn't seem to call him anything at all.

Stiles was content up until the kids suddenly stopped coming to see him during the day, only coming to play with him in the evening and only staying until the sun started to set.

It was so boring without them.

At least his Wolf still came to talk to him every day.

The days were getting shorter and the weather was getting colder and Stiles was starting to get a little afraid that he would have to live in the pond under the ice again.

At least this time there would be someone to break the ice for him from the outside. And bring him food. It wouldn't be as bad as the last winter.

Still, he couldn't help but look longingly up at the big house. Maybe his Wolf would let him in, if he could only figure out how to ask.

One day when only his Wolf was in the big house a strange person went into the house through the back door.

It hadn't noticed Stiles so he just watched it sneak into the house. He wasn't worried about his Wolf, he knew he could take care of himself. His wolf was so strong after all.

He watched in interest as his Wolf crept up behind the human and-

Stiles actually gasped in surprise as his Wolf dug his claws into the humans.

Stiles thought for a moment that his Wolf would eat it, or carve it up even more but he just let it slump to the ground.

Stiles tried not to cry over the thought of such fresh meat going to waste.

His Wolf wouldn't be so cruel as to tease Stiles with so much food and then not eat it would he?

And then his Wolf was bringing the meat outside and Stiles was moving before he really thought it through.

He hadn't been out of his pond in months and he could barely remember how to move his legs to stumble through the grass towards the feast his Wolf had brought.

And then his Wolf was coming towards him, helping Stiles walk towards the meat and Stiles couldn't help but coo at him in pleasure.

His wolf was wonderful .

Stiles practically fell on top of the meat and, before he fully thought about what he was doing, pulled it's shirt open so he could get at the sweet meat of its chest.

He dug into the meat and almost fell over at the taste after so long.

He savored the flavor for a few moments before he remembered his Wolf.

He looked up, struggling to think of a way to ask if his Wolf wanted any when he realized that his Wolf was just standing next to him watching with a look on his face that Stiles couldn't really figure out.

What if his Wolf didn't eat humans like Stiles did? What if he was disgusted? Stiles had no idea what he would do if he lost his new home and his Wolf.

And then his Wolf started pulling his meat away and Stiles fought back a wave of disappointment.

He watched dejectedly as his Wolf took away his meal, no doubt taking it to the woods so the other animals that lived there could have it instead.

Stiles hoped that his Wolf would at least not be mad that Stiles hadn't known he couldn't eat humans in front of him. Especially after Stiles had been so good about not eating any of the children, not even the ones who weren't wolves. He wasn't even planning on taking any of them home with him when he got his magic back.

And then to Stiles' shock his Wolf pushed the meat into Stiles' pond.

And that could only mean that his Wolf didn't mind if Stiles ate humans but he didn't want to watch. And if all Stiles had to do to have his food and his home was to eat under the water where none of the wolves could see him then that wasn't any sort of price to pay at all.

His Wolf came back to Stiles and lifted Stiles up the way he did when he wanted Stiles to sit on his lap and Stiles wrapped his arms around his Wolf's neck and hung on for the short walk back to the pond.

His Wolf truly was perfect.

This must have been what his mother had felt when his father had helped her out of his steel fishing net all those years ago.

Stiles missed them both terribly but he had his Wolf now, and the children, and he didn't feel quite as alone as he had.

His Wolf tried to set Stiles down into his pond but Stiles refused to let go so he could do the thing he'd seen the other wolves do. The thing that none of them except the children did to his Wolf.

Stiles didn't know if any of the other wolves noticed but he knew his Wolf did. And Stiles, he noticed.

Stiles rubbed his cheek against his Wolf's in the wolf sign of affection. He had no idea why it was a sign of affection but he didn't mind doing it.

When he finally pulled away his Wolf was so shocked that Stiles decided he was going to have to do that as often as he could.

***

The pond had frozen over and Stiles had curled against the bottom and cried at being trapped under the ice again.

He had no idea how long he floated in the freezing water before he heard a loud crack and when he looked up he saw a hole had been broken in the ice.

He pushed off the bottom of the pond and practically jumped through the hole and into his Wolf's arms.

He clung to his Wolf, shaking at how warm he was and refusing to let go.

His Wolf talked soothingly at him and to Stiles amazement walked into the big house with Stiles in his arms.

He stared around the big house, amazed that it managed to be both huge and cozy at the same time. It didn't look anything like his lake house but it felt like his lake house and he loved it instantly.

His Wolf walked up a long flight of stairs and then another flight of stairs and then a third flight of stairs before he finally opened a door and walked into a large bedroom. He walked through the bedroom and into a huge bathroom.

He carefully set Stiles onto his feet before he leaned oven an enormous bathtub and turned on the taps for it.

Stiles was amazed at its size. It was at least three sizes bigger than the tub they'd had in the lake house and he and his mother had spent most of the winter in their tub.

This one would have been able to hold all three of them comfortably.

His Wolf straightened back up and motioned for Stiles to come over to the tub.

He stepped up next to his Wolf and dipped his hand under the faucet to check the temperature of the water.

He yelped as the water almost scalded his skin. He quickly turned the knobs to make the temperature cooler.

After he was satisfied that the water wouldn't be too cold or too hot he realized that... he knew how bathtubs worked.

He was pretty sure he hadn't know how bath tubs worked the day before.

He turned to look at his Wolf in excitement and found him looking as surprised as Stiles felt.

Stiles jumped forward and hugged his Wolf hard, so happy that he was remembering human things again.

And that his Wolf had taken him out of the ice.

Stiles pulled back and carefully climbed into the tub. He sighed at how wonderful the water felt after the freezing water of the pond.

Once he was safely balanced on his knees he turned to his Wolf and tugged gently at his shirt, trying to tell him that he wanted him to get in with him.

He looked up at him with pleading eyes and hoped his Wolf wasn't afraid that Stiles would try to drown him again. Because Stiles would never. His Wolf was too wonderful to ever eat.

His Wolf looked down at him, a soft sort of smile on his face and Stiles might have blushed a little at the look. He didn't think that anyone had ever looked at him like that. Not that there had ever been anyone around besides his parents.

He tugged harder on his Wolf's shirt and he laughed quietly and he started to pull his shirt off so Stiles let go of it.

Stiles watched his Wolf undress and was reminded that his Wolf was very lovely. His shoulders were so wide...

Stiles slid out of the way so his Wolf could climb into the tub and the moment he was settled Stiles instantly climbed into his lap, pressing his back up against his Wolf's chest.

His Wolf rumbled loudly and wrapped his arms around Stiles chest. Stiles wrapped his own arms around one of his Wolf's arms in return, cuddling it against his chest and nuzzled his cheek against his large hand.

His other hand came up and he started to gently run his fingers through Stiles' hair, very very carefully pulling pieces of pondweed out of it. Stiles let him. He knew it was just going to die now that he wasn't in the pond anymore and he didn't really want it dying in his hair.

Eventually his Wolf picked up a bottle and held it out for Stiles to look at. He frowned at it in thought. He knew it was a kind of soap, the kind you were supposed to put in your hair but he couldn't remember the name of it.

He reached out and took the bottle, and carefully upended it over his Wolf's free hand.

His Wolf caught the glob of soap and once Stiles thought he had enough he put the bottle back on the side of the tub and pulled his Wolf's hand back to his hair.

The soap was cold against his warm skin and he shivered at the feel of it before he sighed happily at the feeling of his Wolf's hand massaging his scalp.

He melted back against his Wolf's chest and felt completely satisfied with the way the winter was shaping up.

***

His boy had spent the last few weeks testing every ounce of Peter's control.

He could have handled shared baths although they might have killed him with the way his boy went limp under his hands. And the sounds he made were almost too much.

But then on top of the baths his boy wanted to walk about the house and seemed to have decided that he should probably wear clothes when he was doing that so he'd taken to wearing Peter's clothes. The first time he'd walked in on his boy struggling to button up one of Peter's very expensive dress shirts it had taken every ounce of his control not to jump him. He was only wearing the shirt, completely relaxed. And then he'd noticed Peter and smiled brightly at him, stepping up close to Peter with his eyes so pleading. Peter didn't hesitate to help him button the shirt for him.

His boy leaned even closer to him, his scent so deep and clean and content as he nuzzled his face against Peter's neck in thanks.

He slid past Peter out of the closet and Peter was helpless to follow him.

He might have been able to live with his boy wearing his clothes and pulling Peter in a bath as often as he could get away with, but he had one habit that made Peter want in a way he never wanted before.

His boy liked to flow Peter around the house when the kids weren't home, seemingly just content to spend time with Peter.

He spent most of his day in his office, working at his desk. His office doubled as the pack library so there were plenty of chairs and couches his boy could sit on. But instead he loved to curl up under Peter's desk, somehow managing to stuff blankets and pillows into the space while still leaving enough room for Peter's legs.

The first time he'd done it he hadn't brought any blankets, he'd just leaned against Peter's legs and napped with his head on Peter's knee.

It had left Peter reeling. Obviously his boy had no idea what sort of implications sitting at someone's feet could have and the innuendo of being under Peter's desk could be. The thought made his mouth go dry.

But even that he might have been able to handle if the boy hadn't insisted on sleeping in his bed, curled up under Peter's arm, completely defenseless and wonderfully soft under his hands.

His boy was going to be the death of him, he was sure of it.

***

His boy took to living in the house like he'd always lived in one and maybe he had. Peter certainly suspected he'd used to. Although that didn't explain why he couldn't seem to speak any sort of language Peter could recognize.

He’d certainly taken over the kitchen in a way that said he knew all about cooking food beyond fish.

He was able to read cook books without a problem but as soon as he had to measure anything out he had no idea what to do and he'd somehow managed to rope Peter into helping him.

It was amazing to him how well they were able to communicate without words, working seamlessly to accomplish their shared goal.

Peter had never had that with anyone before.

It made his heart do strange things in his chest that he wasn't sure how to handle.

The rest of the pack had seemed to divide into three sections: the kids, who loved their little Pond Prince, the ones who had realized that his boy was basically just a spoiled kitten, and the ones who were just waiting for him to attack someone.

Peter had very pointedly not told anyone about his boy's dietary preferences and he knew his boy was smart enough not to make it obvious either.

At least the enthusiasm that he had in taking care of the kids and making sure they had plenty of food lulled all of the pack into a sense of security around him.

As long as the pack continued to think he was harmless everything would be fine.

***

His boy lived in the house all through the winter, the pack slowly getting more and more used to him.

So used to him that most of them even adopted the kid's name for him, calling him Prince so much that he started to react to it.

Peter thought the name was fitting, he certainly acted like Peter giving him everything he wanted was his due. It was sort of adorable, and the adults in the pack seemed to have realized that Peter was completely wrapped around his boy's finger.

Peter couldn't even help it, his boy looked at him like he'd hung the moon, smiled at him like seeing Peter was the best part of his day.

No one had ever looked at Peter like that and he might go above and beyond to make sure his boy always looked at him like that.

Peter had worried about how he was going to supplement his boy's diet right up until he and his boy had taken a casual stroll in the woods only for them to come aross a feral omega wolf. Peter had his claws into it the moment the thought that it could hurt his boy crossed his mind. His boy had practically thrown himself on the body in excitement and hunger.

Luckily they were far enough into the woods that none of the pack would notice anything happening while his boy ate.

His boy didn't seem to need to eat human or, rather, sentient beings very often. He'd seemed perfectly happy to eat the food in the house for at least three months straight.

That helped Peter's planing. If the time came for his boy to have a special meal and there won't be any malicious supernatural creatures running around Peter would be able to find some unsavory human in town that no one would miss.

It was a relief that he wouldn't have to rely on only humans because while Beacon Hills wasn't as small as it sometimes seemed if there was suddenly a rash of missing person surly someone would notice. But now he had a back up plan and that helped.

He pulled out his handkerchief and started to rub the blood off of his boys face, trying not to laugh at how indignant he looked.

Once he'd made sure his boy was clean of blood they walked back to the house where the boy went inside and Peter went to get a tarp so he could drag the rest of the body out of the woods and drop it into the pond for his boy to finish eating later.

It was well past dinner time so he knew no one would have noticed either of them leaving or coming back.

Once everything was cleaned up he went back into the house and found his boy in the kitchen, a mug cupped in his hands and a second mug sitting on the counter in front of him.

Peter didn't even try not to smile at him as he went into the laundry room to pull off his clothes that he may or may not have gotten blood on them.

Once the washing machine was started and Peter was dressed in some clean clothes he'd found he walked back into the kitchen to stand next to his boy.

His boy didn't hesitate to hand him the second mug and as he pressed it into Peter's hand he rubbed his cheek against Peter's.

Even though they'd spent months sharing scents it still made Peter's heart do strange things when his boy deliberately scent marked him.

Peter rumbled his approval at the gesture and pulled his boy closer to nuzzle into his neck.

He was surprised at how relieved he felt at having found an alternate food source for his boy. He hadn't even realized how much trying to figure out how to become a serial killer had weighed on him.

Not that he would have minded all that much, it was more the amount of time, effort, and planing he would have had to do to make sure he didn't attract the notice of humans or the pack.

He was positive that if the pack had noticed Talia would have killed both of them, if only because Peter wouldn't have stood by and let her kill his boy.

His boy was humming softly, something Peter didn't recognize. He started to sway gently and Peter chuckled.

He looked up at Peter with a pout and Peter sighed before he set his mug down on the counter and gently took his boy's mug too.

While he was sure his boy was the epitome of grace in the water, outside of it he tended to stumble like a newborn deer.

Once the mugs were safely out of the way Peter wrapped his arms more fully around his boy and the two of them swayed around the kitchen to his humming.

This wasn't anything like what Peter had been expecting to happen in his life.

He had somehow managed to find a being that not only accepted his violent streak but embraced it, who chose him above all of the pack, even the kids, and even if they couldn't speak to each other they still understood each other in ways that no one had ever understood him before.

For the first time Peter felt fully content with his life.

***

When the snow melted and the weather started to warm Stiles should have gone back to his pond.

His mother would have. She couldn't stand living in the lake house when she could have been home.

Stiles hadn't minded spending more time with his father outside the lake but that had just been one of the differences between Stiles and his mother.

While Stiles would occasionally spend the day out in the pond the baths he convinced his Wolf to take with him seemed to satisfy any desire he had to be in the water.

After his Wolf had given Stiles another wolf to eat Stiles' magic had started to come back with a vengeance and he was almost vibrating with his excitement.

Soon he would be able to go home and he couldn't wait to show his Wolf.

He knew the trust they'd created between them was strong enough that his Wolf would follow him into the water without fear.

And hopefully by the time he was strong enough he'd be able to explain what was going on. His abilities with words was coming back too.

He could finally say simple sentences and he had to fight back laughter every time he did because the wolves were always so shocked that he could actually understand words.

It was almost disgusting the way they seemed to think of him as almost an animal despite the way he took care of the children.

At least the children were happy with him being able to speak.

They asked questions almost constantly and badgered him nonstop for stories from the water.

He indulge them. His mother had taught him the stories and he could teach the children, even if none of them where technically his he felt like they belonged to him in the same way his Wolf felt like he belonged to him.

The first time Stiles had managed a full sentence his Wolf had picked him up spun him around like they were in one of those ridiculous movies his father had liked. Not that Stiles could bring himself to actually mind.

His Wolf's name was Peter but Stiles only called him that when he was talking to someone else. The rest of the time he just called him Wolf. And his Wolf didn't seem to mind, he rarely called Stiles by his name, preferring to call him Little One, which Stiles would have been offended by if he hadn't said it with such gentle affection.

Spring came in full force and his Wolf never even hinted at Stiles going back to live in his pond. In fact he tended to go out to the pond and bring Stiles inside if he was still outside in the dark.

His father had never once done that with his mother and while Stiles' could understand why, when his Wolf did it it made happiness seem to burst out of his chest.

He didn't think his life could get any better than it was.

***

Stiles was curled up in the bed he shared with his Wolf, his Wolf who had his arm over his side and up his back like he always did when they slept.

Stiles groaned and pushed the blankets off of him, the warmth of the house was too much with the heat his Wolf put off.

The air felt strangely heavy and he realized it was hard to breath.

For a long moment his brain was muddled with heat and sleep and he couldn't think.

And then the combination of sensations hit him and he was yelling, pulling at his Wolf urgently.

His Wolf was sluggish, like he could barely move. His eyes were glassy and he struggled hard to pull himself out of bed.

The scent of smoke seemed to wake him up a tiny bit because he told Stiles with slurred words to get the children out of the house while he got the rest of the wolves.

Stiles desperately didn't want to leave him when he could barely keep himself standing but his Wolf flashed his eyes at him and Stiles knew he was serious.

So he woke up the children.

They were all obviously being affected by the smoke and he had to carry both Cora and Daniel down the stairs because they weren't waking up at all.

He could feel heat coming from the kitchen so he pushed all of them out the front door and onto the porch.

The ones that could walk by themselves tried to run off the porch out onto the lawn and Stiles watched in horror as some of them bounced off of an invisible wall.

Stiles felt his magic sparking in his fingertips and touched the wall but it was like he had touched fire.

The children on the lawn were crying hard, having no idea what was going on.

Stiles tried to sooth them as much as he could but he didn't know what was going one either and his Wolf was still in the house.

Suddenly there were people stepping out from the tree line and Stiles heard the crack of gunshots.

The children all screamed and rushed back onto the porch.

Dread pulled in Stiles' stomach.

Someone had set his house on fire.

And then they had dared to shoot at his children.

Determination filled Stiles and he carefully set Cora and Daniel down so that the other children could look after them, huddled down on the porch where the people with guns couldn't see them and the smoke wasn't as strong, while Stiles did what he had to do.

"Stay here." he said as firmly as he could.

The children cried and begged him to stay but he had to go back in.

If they couldn't leave the house than he was just going to have to go make sure they didn't have to leave.

The porch was a wrap around and Stiles was able to walk all the way to the back of the house.

With his magic at his fingertips he felt water start to flow out of his hands. It ran under his feet, flowed in waves out of his pond and up onto the porch.

He slipped open the back door, almost fainting in both relief that he could open it and from the wall of heat that hit him.

Water rushed past him and over the flames.

Slowly, so slowly the flames started to shrink.

He moved carefully inside the house and water started to run from the tap in the kitchen sink.

He could hear the hiss of steam from the laundry room, no doubt water was coming from the sink in there too.

Water started to rise around him, moving higher and higher as he walked through the downstairs of the house, flooding the rooms but extinguishing the flames.

Finally the wolves started to stumble down the stairs, leaning against each other and some carrying others, and they all stopped before they reached the water, staring at him in amazement.

The children all came back in from the porch, no doubt terrified of the people outside.

Finally his Wolf came down, his sister wolf over his shoulder.

He looked around at the water and practically shoved his sister at one of the others.

He slipped down the stairs and curled over Stiles protectively.

"What the hell are you still doing in here?" he hissed, but Stiles knew he was afraid, not angry.

"There are people outside and a barrier around the house." Stiles explained.

His Wolf snarled and gently cupped Stiles' cheek in his hand. "Watch out for the kids while I take care of this."

"They have guns." Stiles said helpfully but that only made his Wolf snarl louder.

He turned to look at one of the not wolves and together they waded through the water and out the front door.

The air crackled and Stiles felt like his ears had popped. The wolves all relaxed though, so he thought that the barrier must have been broken.

He heard his Wolf roar and his breath caught.

There was no way he wasn't going to watch his Wolf defend every one, especially not when he knew his Wolf would be giving Stiles at least one of the ones who had tried to kill all of them.

He felt his magic running over his fingers and an idea hit him.

"Stay here." he ordered the children and breathed a sigh of relief when none of them followed him out the door.

Stiles rushed past the other wolf on the porch and yelled "I have an idea!"

His Wolf paused where he had one of the humans under his claws.

Stiles felt water flow out of the house and across the lawn with him, sliding over the humans he could see, and farther still, past the tree line, searching for the humans that had tried to run.

Stiles knelt down in the shallow puddle of water and pressed his hands into it.

He hadn't been home is so long he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to open the door anymore.

But then he felt it. He gasped and almost cried at the familiar feeling of his home under his hands.

And the door swung open.

And out of the door stepped his mother.

Stiles grinned at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him and said, "Well it took you long enough."

Stiles fainted, the amount of power it had taken to put the flames out and summon the door home finally catching up with him.

***

The hunter Peter was in the middle of eviscerating slid out of his grip and seemed to shrink into the water under them.

Peter didn't really care.

His boy had fallen over, no doubt because he'd done... whatever it was he had done to put the fire out.

Peter really cared more about how his boy was lying helpless in front of a stranger.

Peter stepped past the strange woman and pulled his boy up into his arms protectively.

The woman frowned at him. She looked him up and down and then seemed to dismiss him entirely.

There was something familiar about her, something that reminded him of his boy.

It was the combination of hair, pale skin, and large assortment of beauty marks that told Peter that this woman and his boy might be related.

"Who are you?" he asked, although he suspected who she was.

After his boy had started talking in full sentences he'd told Peter a tiny bit of how he'd ended up in the lake in the woods. Part of the story had been about his father dying in a house fire that hunters had set and how his mother and he had ran for almost a year before hunters had found them and tried to kill his mother.

She sneered at him, looking pointedly at his boy in his arms. "Who are you?"

Peter said the only thing he could think of that might mean something to her. "His Wolf."

She scoffed but she also seemed to relax a little bit.

Before either of them could say anything else Talia stumbled towards them, movements still a little jerky because of the wolfsbane the hunters had burned.

"Is the prince alright?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned much to Peter's surprise.

"I think he will be, he must have used up a lot of his recesses to put the fire out." he told her.

She nodded and looked at the strange woman, then at his boy, and then back to the strange woman before she shook her head. "I called the sheriff."

Peter tried not to sneer. He hadn't met the interim sheriff yet but he did know the man knew about the supernatural so it wasn't as bad as it could be, but it still annoyed him to call in civilians.

"What did you go and do that for?"

She smirked at him. "We'll need a police report for the insurance company. The little prince made quite the mess." she said the last bit with an actually fond look on her face.

Peter felt something loosen in his chest.

Talia was finally accepting his boy as a member of the pack.

The strange woman huffed and said "He has a name you know."

Talia drew herself up and frowned hard at the woman. "The children named him that."

The woman's eyebrows shot up. "Children?"

But before any of them could keep talking a police cruiser pulled up and the new sheriff got out.

Next to him the woman gasped. "John?" she whispered and then she was sprinting across the lawn and flinging herself at the sheriff.

He heard the sheriff shout "Claudia!" before he buried his face in her neck and said, voice muffled, "I thought you were dead."

She gave a watery laugh and said "You thought I was dead? I thought you were dead."

And... oh.

Amazement curled through him and he looked down at his boy.

He was completely out cold but when he woke up he would be in for quite the surprise.

He looked up at the embracing couple and smiled when they tipped over, laughing and crying at the same time.

Peter watched them and his heart aching in the best of ways.

***

Stiles refused to think that he had died and gone to heaven because that would just be ridiculous at this point.

After all, both of his father's explanation on how he was still alive made complete sense to him.

Firefighters had pulled his father out of the burning lake house with moderate burns. After he got out of the hospital his father had spent the last two and half years searching everywhere for his wife and son and had finally heard a story about a strange human living in a lake in Beacon Hills.

It had been a complete long shot for him but he'd had to see if the story was true. But by the time he'd found the lake Stiles had already been taken in by the wolves and his father had been so tired. And very broke so he decided to go back into law enforcement after his temporary retirement.

It was just luck that Beacon Hills had been looking for an interim sheriff and once his Wolf's sister-who was apparently the mayor? Stiles had had no idea about that despite living in the same house as her- had found out that his father knew about the supernatural she'd hired him practically on the spot.

His mother on the other hand had gotten stuck in his home because it wasn't her home and she couldn't open the door from the inside so she'd just waited for Stiles to open the door for her.

At least time hadn't passed for her and she wasn't mad at him for not being able to use his magic for so long.

His parents had tried to convince him to go with them back to his father's new house and Stiles had ached to go with them, terrified that if they left his sight they'd disappear again, but he'd almost lost his Wolf to hunters, he'd almost lost all of his wolves and his children and he desperately needed to be with his Wolf.

His parents seemed to understand, if the knowing look they exchanged meant anything.

Stiles let them leave, trying hard not to think about what they would be doing with each other after thinking the other was dead for so long.

He turned to look for his Wolf, who had left him alone to talk to his parents while he checked the damage done to the house.

Stiles found him in the library, staring at the completely untouched room.

Stiles pressed up against his back and wrapped his arms around his chest.

"I like the library." he muttered into his Wolf's back.

His Wolf was quite for a few minutes, probably thinking over everything that had happened during the night.

"You didn't go with your parents?" he finally asked.

Stiles nuzzled into his Wolf's back and said "They're going to be really busy for a while and I'd rather not see or hear that."

His Wolf chuckled and finally started to relax.

"The pack's going to stay at a hotel for until the house gets fixed up." he said.

Stiles hummed in acknowledgment.

He didn't care where they stayed as long as they were together.

"I don't want to go to a hotel though." his Wolf said and Stiles pouted.

"I don't want to stay here." he said petulantly.

His Wolf huffed softly and said "I won't make you stay here little one. I meant we should go to the cabin."

Stiles had never been to the cabin but his Wolf had told him about it before. "Okay." he said easily.

He and his Wolf went with the rest of the wolves to the hotel long enough to make sure everyone was really alright and settling into their rooms and then they climbed into his Wolf's car and he drove them out into the woods, stopping only to buy some food, before going deeper than the big house was.

It took them awhile to get there but when they did Stiles smiled at the sigh of the tiny little cabin.

It was raw wood, probably only one room with a tiny bathroom. It looked wonderful after the terrible, shocking night they'd had.

He and his Wolf pulled their bags out of the car and went into the cabin.

His wolf set about checking that the place was all intact and putting fresh sheets and blankets on the bed while Stiles plugged in the little refrigerator and put away the food they brought.

Once everything had been put away and they'd both changed into pajamas they climbed into bed and his Wolf wrapped himself around Stiles.

He nuzzled into Stiles' hair and whispered "I could have lost you tonight."

Stiles tipped his head back to brush their noses together. "Like I would ever let anything ever happen to either of us."

His Wolf rumbled softly and Stiles tried not to shiver at the sound.

And then his mouth was on Stiles' and oh... no wonder he hadn't wanted to stay at a hotel with the rest of the wolves.

Stiles melted into the kiss even though it was his first and he felt a little awkward.

His Wolf pulled back only to move his mouth onto Stiles' neck.

He could feel the little pinpricks of fangs which told him his Wolf was on the edge of losing control.

The only time his Wolf lost control was when he was bringing Stiles his special dinner.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought and moaned at the feeling of his Wolf's teeth worrying his skin hard enough to bruise.

His Wolf rolled them and caught Stiles under his body, pinning him down to the mattress firmly.

"My beautiful boy." he whispered against Stiles' skin and he gasped at the words, shivering at the way they made his stomach twist.

"My Wolf." he whispered back and his Wolf laughed.

"That's right." he said, pulling back to smile at Stiles. "We belong to each other, don't we?

#my shit #my fics #steter #steter week

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clonerightsenthusiast · 5 years

Text

Connecting with the Youth

[Campaign Skyjacks, gen, 5k words]

“Do you think they forgot about us?”

Jonnit’s voice has gotten progressively more anxious over the last day. Really, Travis can hardly blame him; to a boy as young as he is, a few days of uncertainty must feel like a lifetime. It’s funny, though, so he takes his time responding, leisurely stretching his arms upwards and linking his fingers behind his head. “Forget us? No,” he says with a dismissive sniff. “They could never forget us.”

Jonnit nods quickly a few times and mumbles affirmations to himself, clearly taking heart. Travis waits for the newly resolved hope to grow for a few more moments.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Jonnit says louder. “They wouldn’t—”

“Now, leave us behind on purpose? I wouldn’t throw that one out of the equation.”

Jonnit’s face contorts into an expression of fear and betrayal. Travis throws his head back and laughs. The kid’s just so expressive; everything he feels shows so clearly on his face, every tiny change in mood. It makes playing with his head so fun.

Being stranded, he thinks, may not be so bad.

As long as they get picked up before it starts to lose its shine.

(continue on ao3)

“I’m hungry.”

Jonnit is drumming his heels against the rock face, and Travis would reach up and flip him off the top of the boulder to hear him squawk and sputter in the snow at the base, but ever since he did it the first time, whenever he makes any move upwards the boy snatches his legs in and just keeps talking.

“We didn’t bring enough food to just sit here forever and wait for them,” he says, hugging his knees close and peering down at Travis. “What are we gonna do, Travis?”

“Die, maybe,” Travis says, shrugging. He eyes the base of the boulder disdainfully: clearing away enough snow to be able to sit comfortably without getting wet would take too much time and effort to be able to do with dignity, and he isn’t quite desperate enough to stoop to sharing the top bit with the boy.

“Travis, I’m serious!”

“So am I.”

“You’re never serious.”

“I’m always serious.” Travis gives him a withering look, which Jonnit returns with every ounce of teenage stubbornness in his body. “Really, Jonnit, think logically. We’re lost in the mountains with very little food and no known settlements in traveling distance by foot. Either the Uhuru will come get us, or we’ll die. That’s really all there is to it.”

“We’re not lost,” Jonnit grumbles. “I know exactly where we are.”

“Oh, good. You’ll be able to pinpoint our graves precisely on a map.”

“That’s not funny, Travis.” Jonnit is full-on scowling, now. He must be more upset than Travis thought; it’s usually impossible to rid him of his normal sunny demeanor.

“On the contrary, I’m hilarious.” When his quip fails to procure any more than a huff, Travis gives a put-upon sigh and swans over to lean artfully against the boulder. He gives the side of Jonnit’s boot a flick with one finger. “Oh, come now, Jonnit. There’s no need to be a little bitch about the situation.”

“I’m not being--I’m not!” Jonnit snapped, his hands flailing as if he was attempting to take off and fly back to the Uhuru on the power of his frustration alone. “Just because you can’t die—”

“I never said that,” Travis says mildly.

“Well--well, can you?” Jonnit asks, blinking down at him. Travis applauds himself for momentarily distracting him from what was shaping up to be a real tirade.

Travis shrugs. “You can do anything if you believe in yourself.”

“Travis—”

“Jonnit.”

Travis drops his voice, cutting Jonnit off and leaving no room for argument. The boy stops, hugging his knees to his chest once again and looking down at him with wide, owlish eyes.

Travis takes a deep breath and puts a hand solidly on his boot. “Jonnit, who is in charge of the ship?”

Jonnit blinks, the gears in his head nearly audibly grinding as he tries to follow the abrupt change in topic. It’s always entertaining to watch the boy think; he’s certainly clever enough, and applies himself so thoroughly to any question asked of him that you can see him working through it. He uses his whole body to think, forehead scrunching up and hands fiddling with the laces of his boots.

“Uh, well,” he says, frowning, “I guess technically that’s Captain Orimar, but since he’s dead and all it would be whoever tells the captain what to do, so I guess it’s… Dref?”

Travis snorts. “God, please, no. Be serious. With the two of us off the ship, who’s really making the decisions on board?”

Jonnit blinks. “I mean, lots of people make the decisions--I mean, there’s… there’s Spit, and Wasp, she makes the decisions about food and stuff, and—”

Travis pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Connecting with the youth is such a tiresome endeavor. “Gable, Jonnit. Gable is in charge of the Uhuru right now.”

“Oooh,” Jonnit says, nodding to himself. “Yeah, that makes sense. I should’ve guessed that one.”

Through heroic effort, Travis does not roll his eyes. With exaggerated patience, he squeezes Jonnit’s boot to get his attention back. “And if Gable is in charge of the ship, do you really think they’ll let them just sail off without us?” he asks.

Jonnit lets out a long, blustering breath. He nods, his head bobbing faster as he seems to convince himself. “Yeah,” he says, and then brighter, “Yeah! Gable’ll come get us for sure! They're probably just… a little lost, or something.”

“Sure,” Travis says, patting his foot. “So stop complaining. Everything'll be fine.”

“Yeah!” Jonnit says. “It'll all be fine. Thanks, Travis.”

“Oh, no problem,” Travis says magnanimously, waving one airy hand. “Oh, and Jonnit?”

“Yeah?” It takes all of Travis's discipline not to snicker at the wide-eyed trust in the look the boy directs at him.

He closes his hand around Jonnit's boot and flips him off the boulder, sending him tumbling into the soft snow below with a satisfying yelp.

“You're in my seat.”

—

After two days of waiting, the boy is miserable. To his credit, he does an admirable job of hiding his discomfort, but it doesn’t take someone as astute as Travis to notice the way he shivers and curls into himself when he thinks no one’s watching. Summer be damned, it’s cold up here, and their clothes are soaked through from the snow. Travis had dug out little burrows where the snow is deepest for them to sleep in, but they were far too cramped to stay in during the day—especially for a pair of skyjacks.

So instead here they are, crouched in the lee of the boulder to shelter from the wind, Jonnit chattering away about some inane story or other to cover the sounds of their empty stomachs. It’s not the first time they’ve missed a few meals, especially considering those lean months following Orimar’s death, but rarely have they gone a full day without food and even then it was never for quite so… open-ended a timeframe. There is no upcoming port here to restock at, no leads on jobs to follow up on for the promise of fuller coffers. No light at the end of the tunnel. All they can do is sit, and wait, and freeze.

Of course, Travis isn’t worried; cold and hunger simply do not work fast enough to hurt him in any permanent way. He’s terribly uncomfortable, of course, and he does wish Gable would hurry up and just come get them already, but he’s fine.

The boy, on the other hand, will not be. Jonnit has proven himself time and again to possess greater fortitude than would be reasonably expected of a child his age, but he is still so terribly mortal. Travis watches him shiver in his wet coat (and, okay, maybe dunking the child in snow several times wasn’t the best survival practice, but it’s not like he’s ever claimed to be a good babysitter) and pictures life on a ship with Gable and Spit if he returns to them with a dead Jonnit.

And then he considers life on a ship with a Jonnit who is, even more than he already is, laboring under the delusion that he cares.

He weighs it for a while.

Eventually he sighs inwardly and gets up, cutting Jonnit off mid-sentence. Travis stretches luxuriously and in one smooth motion pulls off his coat and dumps it on the boy. "Well, I'm going to go find a better vantage point and see if I can spot the ship. You stay here. If I don't come back, just assume I've run off or something."

Without looking at Jonnit sputtering as he extricates himself from the heavy fabric dropped on his head, Travis strides off up the slope. It really is worse without his coat to break the wind, and for a moment he considers going back and retrieving it after all, but… well. It's such a shame to spoil a dramatic exit.

—

The pile of rocks is absurdly precarious, but it is also very tall. Climbing it gives Travis something to do, and if he does get a better vantage point to spot the Uhuru, then he can't be accused of leaving just to avoid Jonnit. Besides, even if he does fall, so long as he doesn't just die outright, he'll be fine. He rubs his hands together and gets to work.

It takes a certain amount of dexterity to be a skyjack, regardless of official position, so Travis makes it a fair way up the rocks before gravity finally (some might say inevitably) gets the best of him. His boot loses traction on a patch of nearly invisible ice and he can't catch a good handhold before he's tumbling off his perch.

He lands hard and his leg gives way beneath him with an unsettling snap. Travis lets out a yelp, and then a much louder series of curses that would make even Gable frown.

"Travis?!"

Travis jumps at the yell, sending a shock of new pain down his leg, and then turns his eyes skyward. If he doesn't look, maybe it'll turn out to just be his imagination.

"Travis, are you okay?! Hold on, I'm coming!"

At that, Travis gives up on hope and cranes his neck to see, clambering up the rocks at the base of the pile, Jonnit. Wearing Travis's too-big coat with the collar pulled up against the wind, and decidedly not where he had left him.

"Jonnit, what are you doing here?" Travis demands, shifting to what he hopes is a more dignified position and wincing as it moves his injured leg.

"I came to help!" Jonnit calls up, nimbly scaling another boulder. "I'm really good at spotting stuff! Plus you, uh, you forgot your coat."

Travis does not pinch the bridge of his nose, but he feels he should be recognized for the heroic effort it takes. Jonnit is making remarkably good time up the rocks—he's a nimble little kid, and has more practice than Travis does swinging about in the ship's rigging.

"Jonnit, I don't need help looking at open air," he says.

"But apparently you did need help climbing these rocks," Jonnit shoots back stubbornly. "I mean, these things are dangerous—oh!"

Travis sighs as Jonnit slips on some more damn ice and falls—a much shorter distance, to be sure, but he still lets out a sound like a kicked dog and doesn't immediately get up.

"Jonnit," he drawls, with exaggerated patience. "Did you hurt yourself?"

There's a significant pause, then another yelp and finally a sheepish, "Maybe."

Travis sighs again, louder this time to make sure the boy hears him. "You know, for a very clever boy, you are really remarkably dumb sometimes."

"Hey!" Jonnit snaps back indignantly. "You hurt yourself too! I was just trying to help!"

Travis finally looks down so Jonnit can see his full disdain. "Jonnit," he says slowly. "My bones turn to goop, remember?"

Jonnit opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it and sits there with a really extraordinary expression caught between embarrassment and teenage mulishness.

Travis takes a moment to enjoy it before breaking the silence with, "Well now I suppose we just wait until nightfall and then find a way to get you back down the mountain."

Jonnit deflates, retreating back further into Travis's coat. "I really was trying to help," he mutters, just barely audible over the wind.

Travis sighs and tries to get comfortable against the rocks. It's going to be a long few hours to sunset.

"Do you really think I'm smart?"

"Don't fish for compliments, Jonnit. It's unbecoming."

—

By the time the sun finally sets, Travis feels more like an icicle than a man. The familiar agony of his transformation is almost a relief when he at least gets four functioning legs and some fur out of the deal.

Climbing back down the rocks is no easier than getting up, especially when he's now considerably smaller and lacks thumbs, but the white coyote eventually makes it down to where Jonnit is curled up miserably.

"All right, now what's wrong with you?" Travis asks, sniffing at him. He doesn't smell blood, which is probably a good sign. He wonders idly how cold it has to be for blood to freeze.

"Just my ankle," Jonnit says, shifting to show him. His ankle is a sight to see, crooked and swollen and an unseemly color.

"Gross," Travis says eloquently.

"I dunno how well I can walk," Jonnit adds as if he hadn't spoken, moving his foot and wincing. "I don't think it's broken, though."

"Well you'll have to, because I can't carry you," Travis says. "And even if I could—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Jonnit snaps. "Okay, maybe I can just sort of… shimmy my way back to the ground…"

It's undignified, but Jonnit does manage to slide his way down the rocks using his three remaining limbs. Travis picks his way down a fair bit quicker and looks at him expectantly as Jonnit stands braced against the rocks at the bottom.

"How fast can you crawl?" he asks, tail wagging slightly in amusement at the mental image.

Jonnit makes a face. "That'd take all night to get back to the rendezvous point," he says. "Maybe I can just…"

He lets go of the rock and takes a hesitant step forward with his bad foot and... immediately falls over.

Travis, because he is a saint, doesn’t laugh. Well. He only laughs a little.

"Travis, I don't think I'm gonna make it," Jonnit says mournfully, propping himself up and looking at Travis with wide, sad eyes. "What do we do?"

Travis sighs and sits down to consider. He could leave the boy here and go back alone; if Gable shows up tomorrow he can simply lead them back to Jonnit. If he remembers how to get back here, that is.

The disapproving Gable frown in his head deepens further.

Maybe you shouldn't have left me here with him, then, he thinks spitefully at them. What did you expect? Why don't you come get him, then? Where are you?

Of course, he gets no response, because Gable is on the Uhuru and he's alone on this mountain with an injured child.

Well. He supposes Jonnit did get hurt trying to help him. Even if it was very stupid of him. It would be… rude to abandon him here after that. Besides, with the sun down the temperature is dropping rapidly and Travis does not relish a walk back to their bags in the cold and dark.

"Well, I suppose we'll just have to sleep here and go back in the morning," he says finally, getting up.

"Are you sure?" Jonnit asks, but he's already sagging against the rock from relief. Travis rolls his eyes and doesn't deign to respond, rather getting started on a new snow cave.

If paws are good for anything, it's digging; it's not long before Travis has cleared out a decently sized burrow under the snow. He slips out and stretches, eyeing Jonnit. The boy sat down to wait, but at least he had the presence of mind to leverage himself onto a small ledge and didn't drop directly into the snow in Travis's coat. His whole body is drooping as he tries to stay awake.

"All right, get in," Travis says, startling him awake. His funny little jerk upright is amusing, but Travis watches his bad foot carefully. It would be much less funny if he made their situation worse by further injuring himself just from a little spook.

It takes the boy a moment to visibly process what Travis said, but when he does Jonnit perks up. "You're done?" he asks, already slithering down off the ledge.

"If I wasn't, would I have said anything?" Travis says with what he thinks is remarkable patience.

"Right, yeah, no," Jonnit says, bobbing his head and hobbling towards the cave. He hesitates just outside, glancing down at the coat still engulfing him. "Um, your coat…"

"Well I can't very well use it like this, can I?" Travis says snippily, raising a paw to gesture at his current canine form. The inability to raise his eyebrows with disdain is one of the most frustrating things about his animal forms.

Jonnit ducks his head. "Yeah, okay. Uh, good night, Travis."

"Mm, yes, good night," Travis says, turning his back on the boy as Jonnit crawls into the snow cave. The faster he digs another cave, the faster he can get out of this damn wind.

Now he's thinking about his coat. Sure, strictly speaking the boy needs it more. But it's warm, and it's his coat, and he wants it. Another gust of wind cuts through his thin fur and Travis shivers. Coyotes really are not made for snowy mountain peaks. He turns around, eyeing the entrance to the snow cave. Maybe he could just…

It'd be humiliating. But it would get him out of the cold faster. Besides… they're alone up here, and he can probably talk Jonnit into keeping his mouth shut.

Making up his mind, Travis crawls into the snow cave. It's dark inside, but already warming up. Jonnit's visible only as a dark mass curled up in the small space. He stirs as Travis wriggles his way into his space.

"Travis…?" he asks, his voice heavy with drowsiness.

Travis nudges his way inside his coat, pressed up against Jonnit's chest. This close, he can make out Jonnit's wide eyes barely a foot from his. "We are not friends," he informs him sternly as he settles in against the boy.

He thinks Jonnit smiles, but he could also be imagining it. This is obviously nothing to smile about. "Okay, sure, Travis," he says.

Travis snorts. Jonnit's arms close around him, wrapping him up more completely in the coat and pulling him closer. Travis blows out a long breath and gets comfortable, sticking his snout into Jonnit's neck and smiling to himself at the boy's little yelp.

"G'night, Travis," Jonnit says, yawning.

Travis hums and closes his eyes. "Good night, my boy."

—

Travis wakes up to the familiar ache that heralds his transformation. He's loathe to leave the warm little cocoon he's found himself in, but Jonnit snuffles in his ear and he remembers abruptly exactly where he is, and where he does not want to be as a man.

He pulls himself free of Jonnit's arms and crawls out of the snow cave as the transformation begins in earnest. The sounds echo off the rocks in a particularly gruesome manner, but soon enough the sun is above the horizon and Travis is a man again.

He stretches, pleased as always with the return of his opposable thumbs, but a gust of wind quickly makes him miss his fur again.

Oh, his coat!

Travis crouches down outside the entrance of the cave and clears his throat. "Jonnit," he calls. "Jonnit, I know the sounds of all my bones breaking woke you up. Get out here."

After a moment, he can make out movement inside and steps back, considering the rocks again. He's not actually going to climb them again, because one day lost to injury is enough, but it does seem a terrible waste to just leave without actually getting a better view of the skies around them.

Before he can talk himself into a spectacularly bad idea, Jonnit pulls himself free of the cave, blinking in the sudden sun.

"Good morning," Travis says, turning back to face him. "How's the foot?"

Jonnit grimaces. "Not great," he admits, moving his bad leg out in front of him to show Travis. It's still gross and Travis grimaces back at him.

"Well, nothing for it. We can't just stay here. What if the Uhuru finally shows up and we aren't there and they just leave? We have to get back."

Jonnit seems to take this to heart—as, bless him, he does with everything. He struggles to his feet—or, well, foot. He still stands on one leg, hesitant to put any weight on his injured foot.

Travis looks him over, but the boy puts on a brave face (which is, frankly, rather adorable) and says nothing, so he shrugs and starts walking.

He gets a scant few yards before he hears a surprised little yelp and turns to find Jonnit face-down in the snow. As he watches, the boy pushes himself up, scowling. When he looks up and notices Travis watching, his eyes go wide and scrambles to get back up again—only to put his weight on his bad leg and tip over again.

Travis sighs. "Jonnit."

"Just a second, Travis, I just need a—"

"Jonnit," he says again, more firmly.

"Really, just a second, and I'll be good to go—"

Travis strides over and grabs the boy by the bicep, hauling him to his feet. "Jonnit," he says again, and finally he shuts up. Travis takes a deep breath and summons a stern look. "If you need help, just say something."

A number of emotions flash across Jonnit's face in quick succession, from confusion to annoyance to exasperation. "But you said—"

"What I'm saying now," Travis interrupts him, "is that I would like to get back to the rendezvous point today, and if you can't walk there on your own then you need to tell me."

Jonnit bristles for a moment, puffed up like a slighted songbird, then deflates all at once. "Yeah, I need help," he admits.

"There, was that so hard?" Travis asks.

Jonnit glares at him. "You're real mean when you're trying to be nice, you know."

"Jonnit, please," Travis says, pulling his arm over his shoulders and starting back down the mountain with the boy hopping along beside him. "I'm never nice."

—

By the time they get back to the boulder marking their rendezvous point, Jonnit is clinging to Travis's back with the sworn promise that he never breathe a word of it to anyone else. Travis does not slump in relief at the sight of their bags laying there in the snow where they left them, because Jonnit would be able to feel it. He keeps his relief entirely to himself, thanks.

Jonnit slides off his back and leans back against the rock. "Thanks, Travis," he says, painfully earnest.

"Don't mention it," Travis says, kneeling to inspect his foot. "Really, don't mention it." He shoots Jonnit a warning look. The boy grins back unrepentantly.

Children.

Travis hasn't had to worry about injury in a very long time, so he frankly has no idea what to do about Jonnit's. Also, he doesn't like looking at it. He shrugs and stands back up. "Well, just don't climb any more rocks until they come get us," he says. "It probably won't fall off."

"If I sit up on the boulder, will you push me off?"

"Probably, yes."

Jonnit huffs and flops down onto the packed snow at the base.

Travis sits on the boulder.

—

Without the problem of the rocks and Jonnit's injury to occupy their thoughts, it's not long before they turn back to their empty stomachs.

"Travis?" Jonnit finally pipes up after a while.

"Hmm?" Travis hums from where he's splayed himself across the top of the rock.

"What if Gable doesn't come?"

Travis sighs and glances down. Jonnit isn't looking at him, but has his head tipped back against the boulder and is staring off at the sky. Travis reluctantly pushes himself up into a sitting position. "Gable will come."

"But what if they don't?" Jonnit repeats stubbornly.

"Then we'll die, is that what you want to hear?" Travis snaps. "Does that make you feel better?"

"You mean I'll die," Jonnit grumbles. "I bet you'll be fine."

Travis bristles. "Jonnit, please, I didn't carry you down a mountain to abandon you now. If I was going to leave, I would've done it before humiliating myself."

Jonnit subsides, chewing his lip and still staring intently at the cloudy sky.

Travis sighs. The next time Gable asks him to babysit, he is going to tell them precisely where they can stick it. "Jonnit," he says finally. "There's no point in worrying about what will happen if Gable doesn't come, because Gable will come. End of story. All right?"

Jonnit sighs and goes boneless against the rock. "Okay," he says, defeated.

Travis's hands twitch. He's not happy about leaving the conversation there, but what else can he do? There's no point in lying to the boy. They both know that if Gable doesn't show up, there's nothing they can do.

"Hurry the hell up, you giant idiot," he mutters under his breath, too quiet for Jonnit to hear. "We need help."

—

With nothing better to do, Travis elects to take a nap. So when the screech echoes across the mountain side he nearly falls off the rock.

"Travis!" Jonnit cries in glee before the sound has even fully faded. "Did you hear that?!"

"No, Jonnit, I didn’t—of course I heard that!" Travis snaps, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "What the hell was it?"

"Metatron! It was the Metatron, look!"

Travis follows Jonnit's point to see, sure enough, the familiar figure of Gable's hawk approaching, with the albatross trailing behind.

"They found us! They came!"

"Well," Travis says, not bothering to stifle the grin spreading across his face. "I told you they would, didn’t I?"

Jonnit pulls himself to his feet using the rock as Travis hops down beside him. The Metatron lands with a flurry of snow maybe thirty yards off, and Gable slides down off its back.

"Gable!" Jonnit calls, waving frantically as if they needed help finding their way over. "You're here, you're finally here!"

"Jonnit," Gable says, their voice cracked with relief. They stride over quickly, barely impeded by the snow, and kneel down in front of the boy to inspect him. "How are you? What happened to your ankle?"

"I fell off some rocks climbing after Travis," he says cheerfully. "Uh, I'm gonna need some help walking to the bird."

"Of course, Jonnit, no problem," Gable says quickly, then squints at Travis. "Why were you climbing rocks?" They look back at Jonnit. "And what are you wearing?"

"It's really of no concern now," Travis cuts in smoothly before Jonnit can open his mouth. "We can all go back to the ship, and he can get his gross foot fixed, and I can get something to eat, I'm starving."

"Yeah, Gable, I'm so hungry, it's been days—"

"I know," Gable says quickly. "I'm so sorry, let's get you back to the ship now."

As if on cue, Flee lands beside Metatron and from his back appears—

"Spit!" Jonnit grins and waves again. The old man trundles over, reaching out to ruffle Jonnit's hair.

"Good to see you still in one piece, Jonnit," he says fondly. "Too bad you still have Travis with you, though."

"Lovely as ever to see you too, Spit," Travis drawls.

"Aw, c'mon, Spit, Travis was great! He gave me his coat, and helped me with my foot! Last night he even—"

"All right, why don't you go help the boy onto a bird, Spit," Travis says loudly.

Spit eyes him suspiciously, then offers Jonnit his arm. "Come along then, boy. It's not every day I'm the more able-bodied one around, ha!"

"What are you talking about, Spit? You're fit as a fiddle!"

The two made their slow and careful way back over to Flee. Travis watched them go then turned to see Gable's raised eyebrow.

"Nothing happened," he says. "Nothing you'll ever hear about."

Gable snorts and drops one massive hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for looking after him."

"The boy's tougher than he looks," Travis says, shrugging. "Though he wouldn't have needed looking after if you were at the rendezvous on time, you know."

Gable's expression turns grave. "I'm sorry, Travis."

Travis huffs and looks away. "Yes. Well. Did you accomplish what you were trying to do, at least?"

"Yes. We did."

"Then it's fine. We were fine. We are fine, certain limbs excepted. It takes more than a little cold and hunger to take us out."

Gable's hand squeezes once then releases him entirely. "It won't happen again. I promise."

"Hmph. I hope not. Maybe don't leave your navigator with the ground team next time, hm?"

Gable snorts. "Yeah, in retrospect, maybe not the smartest move."

"Well, that's why you have me," Travis says, waving a hand. "Now can we please go? I've been in these clothes for days."

Gable picks up both bags and slings them over their shoulders. "Will you forgive me for being late if I let you fly the bird?"

Travis narrows his eyes, unable to stop a smile from pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe."

Gable snorts and gestures towards Metatron, and before they can change their mind Travis hurries over and climbs into the saddle.

Over on Flee, Spit climbs up in front of Jonnit, who wraps one arm around his waist and raises the other to wave at Travis.

Before he can think better of it, Travis waves back. A grin splits Jonnit's face and for a moment Travis can't help but feel that maybe being stranded wasn't so bad.

Gable climbs up behind him, and with one final rush of cold wind, they take off for home.

#campaign podcast #travis matagot #jonnit kessler #you know whats NOT worth the time?? editing in all the goddamn italics that didnt copy paste over #anyways i finally finished this fic pls accept some fluff in this our hour of need #my fic

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