Fandom — Identity V
Pairing — Jack & Melly/Norton
Summery — Jack is on his nightly walk, though he comes across two survivors in the forest and decides this might be a good way to entertain him for a while.
Content Warnings — Character Death
Word Count — 1548
Jack the Ripper wasn’t afraid to admit he was a dirty, dirty bastard. He had blood on his hands that he wasn’t ashamed of, didn’t even flinch when he had found himself in a murder game that never ended, even as his body turned into something that wasn’t human anymore, even when he became one with the shadows and fog, becoming invisible.
Whenever he wanted to disappear, he simply could. He especially enjoyed doing so for his night time walks, finding that it was a lot easier to enjoy himself when the animals that the survivors cared for weren’t trying to harm him. Clever little things they were for knowing the enemy, but, as he stared up at the moon that night in all of its bright glory, he huffed slightly through the mask he wore, flexing his fingers, bare without the familiar claws that he had come to adore as a part of his body.
The moon was full tonight, leaving the manor’s grounds to be illuminated by her beauty, it also made walking easier as he walked along the familiar path he had come to know. He made sure to avoid the lake that Hastur resided in tonight, knowing that the eldritch being would be more irritable than usual; it had been one mistake that the clown had made once that had given endless amusement to the others, some filled with horror as they watched their coworker be treated as nothing more than a stress toy. Jack could see the many eyes underneath the surface as he hummed, knowing that they were watching him, waiting for him to get close.
The water stilled when Hastur realised he wouldn’t be close enough to reach, leaving Jack to continue deeper into the forest that surrounded the manor.
The wildlife had long since gone to sleep for the night, the birds asleep in their nests and the little fuzzy creatures, filled with warm blood, no doubt hiding in their burrows, but Jack’s body turned as he heard a disturbance. Broken sticks, the sound of flesh on flesh, he couldn’t help his curiosity; he had to see what was causing such a ruckus.
His first thought was of Bane as he left the path; the Gamekeeper, no doubt, was unable to sleep and wished to scout the perimeter, or maybe it was the Axe boy and his love for nature. Both were reasonable options, both were equally as likely, but, as the prospector stumbled out from behind a tree, wiping away something from his nose as he braced against another thick trunk. Jack paused, watching as the entomologist came out from the cover, hands gripping onto a large rock as she held it out to the prospector — or better yet, held it as a weapon.
“You have a lot of courage to follow me out here, Mr Campbell,” The entomologist said, the leaves parting above to reveal that the entomologist wasn’t in much better shape than her male counterpart; hair a mess, her mouth covered in blood, her mask gone and her favourite coat was missing too as she thrusted the rock at the prospector, the dark haired man only staring at her in turn, “you’re here to finish the job, aren’t you?”
The prospector’s laughter broke the silence, laughing until the dreaded cough that Jack was familiar with cut him off, forcing the black haired male to bend over as he spluttered and wheezed. Black lung, something that Jack had witnessed in the slums of London before he had fled to Scotland, it was easy to spot if you knew who or what to look for, and with the cold look in Campbell’s eye, Jack knew this man was one to carry the miner’s curse.
“Finish the job?” Campbell laughed once the spluttering had subsided, spitting blood with his words as his lips cracked into a grin, “Nah, not like I can anyway while we’re here. Came to see if you’d maybe want a fuck?”
Absent of her mask, Jack found it highly amusing how reactive the entomologist’s face was without it, her lips pulling back to bare her teeth as she tossed the rock to the prospector’s feet. “That is what you come stalking out into the woods to ask? How crass of you!”
“But it’s not a no.”
Jack had to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop himself from laughing, the two survivors stuck in a stalemate as they stared at each other. The prospector could easily overpower the entomologist, could shove her into the cool dirt and rip her piece by piece. Though she would regenerate and come back, the thought of her entrails all over the path made his blood sing in excitement, Jack wishing he had brought his clawed glove to partake in the festivities. Maybe the prospector would allow for him to take a finger, or perhaps even cut her neck and watch her struggle to breathe.
The entomologist finally moved, crossing the distance to punch the prospector across the face before… before she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him, shoving him further against the tree trunk, forced to stand on her tiptoes to meet his height.
That was no fun.
Wait, no. This… this could be interesting. Jack took a few steps back to sit on a conveniently placed tree stump, crossing his leg over the other as he watched the survivors. They were passionate in their movements, ripping and tearing of their clothes (though he would have been excited more if it had included their skin), teeth and lips clashing together in a violent ballet that roared in Jack’s blood, their movements a blur as they attempted to one up the other.
Primal, feral, they were nothing beyond animals that needed to fuck. He had seen the feral look in their eyes for the win, but this? This was different, with more power and colour in their iris that he could spot from here, Campbell getting the one up on the entomologist as he pressed her against the tree, their nude flesh like the ladies that would wander the streets to look for lonely men, the women of the night who showed their skin in return for money and food.
The next match he had both of them in he would spare them no mercy, they wouldn’t even make it to the chairs with the hate in his heart that burned with its intensity, intensified by their lewd noises as the prospector buried his fingers in the sinful slit of the entomologist, the two huffing as the male grinded his lower half against her.
“Thought you’d be fuckin’ loose after being married, Melly.”
“You clearly have only slept with used up women, Campbell.” If Melly had wanted to say anything else, her voice was cut off with the cry that came from the prospector burying his face into her neck. Jack wanted to see closer, removing himself from the stump, inching closer.
A stick cracked under foot, all three in the forest pausing. They looked at him, looked through him, the hunter staying completely still, knowing that if he made a sudden movement then the light of the moon would give him away, that he would be caught before he could strike them by surprise.
“Must be one of the boars…” Campbell muttered, returning to his activities.
Jack finally got close, standing beside them. If one of them moved their arms to their right, if one of them reached out, they would no doubt find him, feel his clothing and his cold body cloaked in the blessing of the fog. The adrenaline rushed through his veins, able to see up close as the entomologist attempted to keep her moans quiet, to not give the prospector what he sought, but his fingers turned into his cock, far from the love making she probably had been used to from her husband.
“Fuck.” The prospector muttered, not giving the entomologist the time to adjust as he pounded away, Jack bending his spine so he could spy on where they were joined, grinning behind his mask as he could see bright red scratch marks along their skin. “Been too long.”
“Shut up and just fuck me.”
Jack spotted the entomologist’s net, stick cut in two and the tip pointy, slowly moving away from the joined bodies to pick up the end without the net, holding it in his palm as he crept up behind the two, letting the fog roll off his body, shrouding them in the darkness. The entomologist was the first to spot him, her cheek pressed against the tree as her eyes widened, slapping the hand the prospector used to brace himself against the tree.
“I’ll slow down in a second. Let me finish.”
He didn’t get to. The net handle pierced their chests, the two survivors pinned to each other. Flesh and muscle tore and ripped with an audible pop, their bodies frozen as the prospector stared down at his chest. Jack ripped it out, blood spraying out and covering his suit, the two survivors toppling over and disappearing like dust.
He would be reprimanded for this later, but, as he swiped some of the blood off the handle, he grinned.
"He had no interest in the mechanics of ghosts, and very little in their individual desires or intentions. All he really wanted was to destroy them as efficiently as possible." -TWS, p. 95
Lucy makes this observation about Lockwood right after George accidentally opens the coffin with Joplin. Lockwood is lecturing George on his unprofessional, dangerous behavior, and to each rebuttal George makes about important psychic discoveries, Lockwood responds with "who cares/it doesn't matter" with increasing degrees of exasperation. Even Lucy, however, is starting to edge towards George's side, insofar as her interest in Bickerstaff. While Lockwood's concern and anger are valid, his total disinterest almost seems excessive, and then it hit me:
This is before George and Lucy know about Jessica. At this point, they aren't even positive that Celia and Donald are dead.
Lockwood has no interest in the mechanics of ghosts—something his parents worked hard to understand. And it didn't save them. They died in route to a lecture. From Lockwood's point of view, understanding the mechanics of ghosts isn't going to keep anyone safe. Destroying the ghosts is.
The desires/intentions of ghosts don't matter, either. Who cares what the desire of the ghost from the broken pot was? Knowing the answer wouldn't have saved Jessica. Jessica, who died going through artifacts her parents had brought back in their attempts to understand the problem. Those stupid mechanics again. Never helped anyone, really.
And that takes us back to Anthony, to the only thing that has kept him alive — fighting. He wasn't ghost touched because he destroyed it with a rapier. That's what kept him from the same fate as Jessica. That's all he knows that works.
We talk all about why Lockwood is so on edge about Lucy's talent — he sees her getting too close, emotionally connecting too deeply, and he's worried to watch her die like Jessica. But we don't talk about his response to George, his fear for George.
Lucy might be in danger of ending like Jessica, but George is in danger of ending like Celia and Donald. And Lockwood can't think too hard about that.
How about we stop interpreting the Cat King into something he is not and start listening to Lukas Gage about his own character instead?
Because it's genuinely concerning how some people view him, and at this point, I am starting to believe you people are so hostile towards him because he disrupts Painland, which he doesn't since Edwin can very much like two people at the same time (most people in real life do).
Lukas also sees this shit... It's obvious he loves this character and worked very hard to make him complex and three-dimensional, only for people to misunderstand him completely and start treating him horribly, which I'm sorry but it's completely bullshit.
So less "I don't like him because he makes me feel icky for no apparent reason" and more media comprehension.
Cat king is a very complex character and yall are reducing his personality down to one or two lines. He comes off cold and sarcastic but he very obviously has a kind and caring side.
He cares about consent, refusing to even kiss Edwin without permission. He watches over Edwin but allows him to go about things mostly uninterrupted except for the occasional check in (which Edwin could have ignored) and when Edwin was in direct danger he even goes so far as trekking through the woods searching for him to warn him about his new boyfriends betrayal and the witch (who cat king is obviously afraid of). He gives Edwin a common funeral flower that symbolizes innocence to show sympathy for his lost friend and gives his condolences after meeting her once and realizing she cared deeply for Edwin (the flower is also POISONOUS TO CATS!! hes literally handing Edwin something that could kill him to show trust and as a request for forgiveness after what he put him through.) The cat king said "im a hopeless romantic" and I really think he meant that. He may be a trickster based in desire but he cares deeply for others and would never cross a boundary.
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