let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
will byers stan first human second
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
No title available
Discoholic 🪩
No title available
wallacepolsom
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Today's Document
#extradirty
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
PR's Tumblrdome
ellievsbear
Andulka
@theartofmadeline
Show & Tell
Cosmic Funnies
i don't do bad sauce passes
Origami Around
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Türkiye
seen from T1
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Spain
seen from Singapore
seen from Türkiye
seen from Algeria
seen from United States
@echo-goes-mmm
Welcome!
Hi, I'm Echo!
Here is my writing Masterpost
What I write:
Slavery whump
Pet whump
NSFWhump
What I don't write (my squicks):
BBU
Bad caretakers (carewhumpers are fine)
Askbox is open, including roleplay with my OCs
Buy me a coffee if you want!
Touch-starved Pet vs. touch-averse master….. Pet wins 🧸
Version without Angel wearing a blue tutu is on my twt/bsky accounts, linked in my masterpost!
big fan of when a character is dead and the narrative frames them in a very angelic, soft, gentle manner but then it turns out not only are they still alive (plot twist) but theyre alive in the most gruesome and horrific way. your loving kind mentor who motivates you to fight in their memory came back wrong and theres blood and dirt under their fingernails from clawing they way out of the grave.
Love Evermore
Juno Collection Masterpost
Previous
Note: an AU of King's Counsel where Juno does not recover.
Warnings: haunting, minor character death
Ser Beauchene was the last to go.
Juno wished he could have picked the order of execution. He wanted more time with the others. The knight was evil, and cruel, but far from the worst. His death would have been the swiftest, if Juno had the choice.
Terry had even mentioned, once, that he was the only one who had ever hesitated.
But that was a long time ago.
“I’m sorry,” Ser Beauchene told him.
Moonlight filtered through the slit in the stone walls. It made the knight’s skin look as ghostly as Juno’s, his reddish-brown hair faded in the glow.
Where the knight was once an imposing man, full of strength and pride, now he was soft and ashamed. No doubt he was still able to fight, but stone walls and iron bars did not care. And neither did ghosts.
Juno looked down on the man, who refused to meet Juno’s gaze.
“I didn’t think they would kill you. I should have let the king go earlier.”
Ser Beauchene covered his face.
“I never should have hurt him. I hurt you, and you didn’t do anything wrong. All you did was exist.”
Juno cocked his head.
The others didn’t apologize. Not like this.
“I abandoned my vows. I swore an oath to my king, and I failed. You were a better knight than I, Juno.”
Juno bent down. He patted Beauchene’s head.
It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t forgiveness. It couldn’t be fixed.
Juno was just ready for it to be over.
The knight startled at the touch, looking up.
They stared at each other.
“Would you stay with me? Please?” Ser Beauchene asked, his voice wet.
Juno considered.
No. He would not.
He ignored the knight’s soft crying, and pretended he didn’t regret it.
___________________
Juno didn’t go to the execution. Instead, he sat with Terry in the garden, by his grave.
Terry had finally left his rooms to sit in the sun.
“It’s over,” he said. Juno knew by now that he was talking to where Juno’s body lay. But it was good to hear his voice. “They’ll tell me any minute now that he’s gone. That they’re all dead.”
Juno nodded along, looking into the pond. He could see himself in the water.
Juno dipped his finger into it, and one of the golden koi investigated the ripples.
A soft sound came from behind him.
“Sometimes I swear I can see you,” Terry whispered. “I think I must be going mad. Juno, I-”
Juno held his breath.
“I let you die. I deserve this.”
___________________
Ser Beauchene was dead.
A weight on his chest that Juno didn’t know was there had dissipated.
He felt more solid, somehow. More… there.
In the mirror, Juno looked less like mist, and more gathered. He could now see where he ended and the air began. His funeral dress even had more color to it; his pearls were no longer dull and grey.
Juno glanced behind him, away from the mirror.
Terry was sleeping, and Juno had the habit of checking the rise and fall of his chest. Juno had to make sure nothing happened bad to Terry ever again.
The king was fine.
Juno looked back at his own reflection.
The hollows under his eyes were gone. He was dead, and yet he wasn’t corpse-like.
Curious.
Terry shifted under the quilt. He was fretting again.
Juno went and laid next to him on the featherbed. The mattress dipped under his weight.
He fell asleep next to his Master.
___________________
At dawn, Juno got up.
He yawned, and drew open the curtains to let the sun in.
The king’s robe was draped over his armchair, and why hadn’t Juno picked it up last night?
Oh well.
Juno put it in its proper place on the hook. It was his job to clean up, after all.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Your majesty? I have breakfast.”
Annoyed, Juno went to answer the door. After so many years, didn’t they remember that Juno made Terry’s morning meal?
He opened the door.
The servant gasped. Dropped the tray.
It crashed to the floor, pot shattering and dishes spilling and the silverware echoing off the marble floor.
She screamed, and Terry woke with a shout.
What on earth-
Oh. Oh-
Juno looked down at his hands, translucent, and he was so very dead.
What had he done?
“Ghost!” wailed the servant.
Juno whirled, and Terry was already out of bed, frozen in place.
His eyes were wide and his mouth open with horror and relief all at once.
The servant had already fled, dark tea pooling on the white polished floor, shards dripping.
“Is it really you?” Terry breathed out.
Juno crossed the room in three strides, and hugged his Master.
Terry squeezed him tight, sobbing.
“You’re here.”
Juno nodded into Terry’s chest, tears rolling down his cheeks. He’d waited so long to be seen. To be held. He was dead; he earned it.
“I can’t believe it. You’ve been here this whole time. I’m so-”
Juno straightened, putting a finger against Terry’s lips.
No more apologies.
Terry smiled, then laughed. The sound was glorious.
Footsteps thundered down the hall, and they turned to see half a dozen guards, swords drawn, pulling up short at the sight of the living holding the dead.
Their faces paled.
“Go,” Terry told them, voice suddenly stern. “I’m busy.”
The king’s voice was cold, and hard, and the guards had no choice but to back away.
“Oh, Juno.” His Master nuzzled him, warm cheek on Juno’s cool skin. “I’ve missed you.”
___________________
Being dead had its advantages. People were terrified of him.
Juno could simply bare his teeth, and they shuddered. No one dared raise a hand to his Master, and even the new council looked away with shame.
The scandal of his death was not forgotten. For months, the newspapers were alight with it.
He didn’t care.
The guards eventually got used to him; the servants too.
It was easier, with them. He’d been among the staff halls for years before his death. They simply didn’t mention what happened. They didn’t dare get in his way when he returned to his work. Sometimes, they even smiled at him.
It was funny how death commanded respect in a way that being alive didn’t.
Juno patiently allowed the magicians and spirit speakers to ask him things. To demonstrate what he could do. That he could pass through walls, that he could lift objects, that he could even float in the air, feet never touching the ground.
The spirit speakers had never seen a ghost of Timorsia before. Or a ghost that didn’t pass on after the unfinished business was done.
But his work was never going to be finished.
He had a duty.
Juno watched over Terry, day and night. He would never be alone again; never be hurt again. Juno followed his Master as a shadow followed the sun.
There was no one to stop him. Juno couldn’t be killed twice.
And the tree, the blue wisteria planted over his grave, now called Eyes-of-Juno, The King’s Grief, kept blooming.
As long as Juno kept haunting the king, it would never stop.
taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandashes @behind-the-v3il @paperprinxe
The Beginning of the End
Juno Collection Masterpost
Next
Note: an AU of King's Counsel where Juno does not recover. Begins after Regress
Warnings: Major Character Death (temporary), Grief
Juno knew he was dying.
The fever had left, and so had the delusions, but the deep exhaustion and aches in his bones had not.
He knew he was dying, even before his Master and the nurse sat beside him and gently, softly, told him so.
“I am so so sorry,” the king had whispered into his ear, his voice cracked. “I can’t save you, Juno. Please forgive me.”
Terry’s brown eyes, kinder and softer than anyone Juno had met, were wet with unshed tears.
Juno raised a hand to his cheek. His arm was sore.
He stroked the king’s face.
It wasn’t fair. Terry needed him. Terry needed someone to brush his hair and remind him to eat and sleep next to him so he could rest-
But Juno was dying.
Anger festered in his heart; a burning ember inside the hearth of a soul he’d dedicated to this one man.
He was going to die, because he wanted Terry to live.
Now he wasn’t sure if his Terry would survive putting Juno in the ground.
___________________
Master was not working.
Juno didn’t mind.
Master Terry spent his days by Juno’s bedside, reading to him and holding his hand.
Juno felt the aches in his joints all the time now, and he struggled not to doze through Terry’s presence. He wanted to be there, to spend as much time as he could with the man who loved him.
Terry loved him.
Terry was the only person who ever loved him, aside from perhaps Juno’s mother whom he did not remember except that she was warm and sang.
It was cruel that Juno could not stay.
“Are you hungry?” Terry asked. His voice was as soft as the feather pillows he’d helped Juno sit against.
He wasn’t, anymore. Hunger seemed like a distant memory with how little it plagued him now, even as his mind silently counted all the meals he missed while sick.
Juno nodded anyway.
Terry smiled so sweetly at him when he spooned the broth into Juno’s mouth. It wasn’t crying, but it was a smile of grief.
Juno missed the happy smiles.
___________________
Terry took Juno outside when it was warm and sunny.
Today, he had made a picnic on the grass of the royal courtyard, below the shade of a cherry blossom tree.
Juno hadn’t been strong enough to get to the koi pond to see the fish. But this would do.
“I was thinking,” Terry said quietly. “That you should see the dressmaker.”
Juno peeked up at him from his place on Terry’s lap.
He’d seen the dressmaker only a few times in his years of Terry’s ownership.
“It’s tradition,” his Master’s voice was strained. “To have something new before…” he trailed off.
Juno would like a new dress. Brides got new dresses to be married in. It made sense that the dead would have a new dress to be laid to rest in.
He nodded, slow as molasses, and pretended that Terry was not nearly weeping.
___________________
The dressmaker was solemn as she passed over fabric for Master, then Juno, to feel and touch.
He rejected all the silks, opting for soft and familiar cotton.
Juno wasn’t a noble, to be dressed in lace and silks and jewels.
He was just Juno. He would die happy, but not as someone he wasn’t.
The cotton he picked was white, in an imperfect way that reminded him of the roses in the greenhouse.
It would be the first white garment he wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning. It would be white forever.
“I’ll embroider it myself,” the king told the dressmaker.
“I understand.”
___________________
Terry worked on the dress at Juno’s bedside. It was nice to watch him move the needle and threads as the birds sang outside the window.
Juno was sleeping more now, and he knew in his heart it wouldn’t be long.
Sometimes he woke up with wet eyes and cheeks, and the king’s handkerchief wiping the sorrow away.
Every time he woke up, the dress was a little more finished, with roses blooming over the hem and birds on the vines of the sleeves.
It was the prettiest dress Juno would ever wear, and still Terry’s needle moved.
“Does it hurt?” Terry whispered to him, setting aside the fabric to take Juno’s hand. “There’s no need for you to be in pain.”
It hurt, but not in a way any pill or potion would cure.
Juno weakly squeezed Terry’s hand, and shook his head.
Terry reached with his hand to stroke Juno’s face.
His fingers were so warm.
“I thought,” Terry swallowed. “Remember your king, Jason the fifth?”
Juno remembered. The Timorsian emperor had been kind to him, unusually gracious, like Juno was a kinsman and not a slave.
“He’s sent you pearls.”
Terry smiled, and it was pale like milk.
“I thought you might like to wear them. When the time comes. Something to remind you of home?”
Juno had never worn Timorsian pearls, much less pearls from his king.
It would be nice. To have a thing from home that wasn’t a scar from pain or temporary like spices and sheeps’ cheese.
___________________
The pearls were cool against his skin, blue-green like the sea they came from.
Juno liked to twirl each one with a finger.
Terry had asked him to look at blossoms today. Branches of wisteria flowers, all of them blue but in different shades.
“Pick your favorite,” Terry offered, spreading the bundles over the quilt keeping the chill away.
Juno didn’t ask.
He knew Rhodanthians planted trees over their dead.
He picked out a delicate bloom, blue as a clear summer sky.
“It matches your eyes.”
___________________
Juno was going to die today.
He knew. It wasn’t fair.
Terry knew too. Without even trying to tell him, his Master knew that Juno was going to die.
He never felt so loved. He never felt so angry. He never felt so heartbroken.
Terry gave him a small vial of clear liquid. Painkiller, to get through the day.
Juno drank it without hesitation. It tasted like bitterness and honey.
They ate breakfast together; a savory porridge and bacon. Juno could lift the spoon himself with the aid of the drugs. He only managed a few bites of the cheesy grits, and nibbles of the rich maple-glazed bacon, so he kept to his favorite parts. They’d made the bacon chewy with browned edges, just how he liked it.
The king Juno loved then helped him out of bed. Bathed him carefully with a hot, wet cloth. Eased him into his dress, embroidered with blossoms and birds and greenery and love.
Terry carried Juno out to the garden, to the beloved koi pond. They fed the fish peas and barley grains, watching the shimmering reds and golds and whites of their scales.
Juno laid his head on Terry’s lap, enjoying the sun as Terry read to him. It was a story Juno had heard many times, a favorite, but he paid close attention to his Master’s voice. He wanted to keep it in his ears forever.
Lunch was fruit tarts and crackers with salty sheep’s cheese. The small portions were easier to lift himself and bring to his own lips.
“Here,” Terry suggested. “Have a bite of each kind.”
Juno managed a single bite of pear, strawberry, apple, blackberry, cherry-
Terry didn’t have much appetite either.
___________________
The court musicians played just for the two of them.
Music flowed seamlessly from one song to another, harp and violin and cello and Rhodanthian pipes and Timorsian chimes, and a few Juno couldn’t name.
Endless music that wasn’t interrupted by court chatter.
Terry stroked his hair and held him close and Juno was getting more tired than he’d ever been.
Dinner was a single slice of warm, rich chocolate cake, topped with cold vanilla ice cream and whipped heavy cream.
It was a summer day, and the amount of work the kitchen put into making ice cream just for him-
Juno smiled at Terry as he ate. It was the first thing he finished in a long time.
“Did you have a good day?” Terry asked him as they lay in bed after an hour of stargazing.
Juno nodded weakly.
He lay over top of Terry, his head on his chest as Terry pet his hair.
It would be soon. His breathing was slower than ever.
“I’m glad,” Terry whispered. He was so close to crying.
Juno didn’t want him to cry. Not now. Not ever again.
It was hard.
With one last effort, he raised his head.
He kissed Terry on the cheek.
He laid back down.
“I love you,” Terry told him.
Juno knew.
___________________
Announcement of Mourning
King Terrance’s beloved pet and servant, Juno of Timorsia, died in the early hours of the morning of June 30th. He was approximately twenty-three years old. The funeral will be held tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. He will be buried under a blue wisteria tree, near the royal koi pond which he loved so much. It is a private ceremony. The Crown thanks you for your consideration at this time.
taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandashes @behind-the-v3il @paperprinxe
Love Evermore
Juno Collection Masterpost
Previous
Note: an AU of King's Counsel where Juno does not recover.
Warnings: haunting, minor character death
Ser Beauchene was the last to go.
Juno wished he could have picked the order of execution. He wanted more time with the others. The knight was evil, and cruel, but far from the worst. His death would have been the swiftest, if Juno had the choice.
Terry had even mentioned, once, that he was the only one who had ever hesitated.
But that was a long time ago.
“I’m sorry,” Ser Beauchene told him.
Moonlight filtered through the slit in the stone walls. It made the knight’s skin look as ghostly as Juno’s, his reddish-brown hair faded in the glow.
Where the knight was once an imposing man, full of strength and pride, now he was soft and ashamed. No doubt he was still able to fight, but stone walls and iron bars did not care. And neither did ghosts.
Juno looked down on the man, who refused to meet Juno’s gaze.
“I didn’t think they would kill you. I should have let the king go earlier.”
Ser Beauchene covered his face.
“I never should have hurt him. I hurt you, and you didn’t do anything wrong. All you did was exist.”
Juno cocked his head.
The others didn’t apologize. Not like this.
“I abandoned my vows. I swore an oath to my king, and I failed. You were a better knight than I, Juno.”
Juno bent down. He patted Beauchene’s head.
It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t forgiveness. It couldn’t be fixed.
Juno was just ready for it to be over.
The knight startled at the touch, looking up.
They stared at each other.
“Would you stay with me? Please?” Ser Beauchene asked, his voice wet.
Juno considered.
No. He would not.
He ignored the knight’s soft crying, and pretended he didn’t regret it.
___________________
Juno didn’t go to the execution. Instead, he sat with Terry in the garden, by his grave.
Terry had finally left his rooms to sit in the sun.
“It’s over,” he said. Juno knew by now that he was talking to where Juno’s body lay. But it was good to hear his voice. “They’ll tell me any minute now that he’s gone. That they’re all dead.”
Juno nodded along, looking into the pond. He could see himself in the water.
Juno dipped his finger into it, and one of the golden koi investigated the ripples.
A soft sound came from behind him.
“Sometimes I swear I can see you,” Terry whispered. “I think I must be going mad. Juno, I-”
Juno held his breath.
“I let you die. I deserve this.”
___________________
Ser Beauchene was dead.
A weight on his chest that Juno didn’t know was there had dissipated.
He felt more solid, somehow. More… there.
In the mirror, Juno looked less like mist, and more gathered. He could now see where he ended and the air began. His funeral dress even had more color to it; his pearls were no longer dull and grey.
Juno glanced behind him, away from the mirror.
Terry was sleeping, and Juno had the habit of checking the rise and fall of his chest. Juno had to make sure nothing happened bad to Terry ever again.
The king was fine.
Juno looked back at his own reflection.
The hollows under his eyes were gone. He was dead, and yet he wasn’t corpse-like.
Curious.
Terry shifted under the quilt. He was fretting again.
Juno went and laid next to him on the featherbed. The mattress dipped under his weight.
He fell asleep next to his Master.
___________________
At dawn, Juno got up.
He yawned, and drew open the curtains to let the sun in.
The king’s robe was draped over his armchair, and why hadn’t Juno picked it up last night?
Oh well.
Juno put it in its proper place on the hook. It was his job to clean up, after all.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Your majesty? I have breakfast.”
Annoyed, Juno went to answer the door. After so many years, didn’t they remember that Juno made Terry’s morning meal?
He opened the door.
The servant gasped. Dropped the tray.
It crashed to the floor, pot shattering and dishes spilling and the silverware echoing off the marble floor.
She screamed, and Terry woke with a shout.
What on earth-
Oh. Oh-
Juno looked down at his hands, translucent, and he was so very dead.
What had he done?
“Ghost!” wailed the servant.
Juno whirled, and Terry was already out of bed, frozen in place.
His eyes were wide and his mouth open with horror and relief all at once.
The servant had already fled, dark tea pooling on the white polished floor, shards dripping.
“Is it really you?” Terry breathed out.
Juno crossed the room in three strides, and hugged his Master.
Terry squeezed him tight, sobbing.
“You’re here.”
Juno nodded into Terry’s chest, tears rolling down his cheeks. He’d waited so long to be seen. To be held. He was dead; he earned it.
“I can’t believe it. You’ve been here this whole time. I’m so-”
Juno straightened, putting a finger against Terry’s lips.
No more apologies.
Terry smiled, then laughed. The sound was glorious.
Footsteps thundered down the hall, and they turned to see half a dozen guards, swords drawn, pulling up short at the sight of the living holding the dead.
Their faces paled.
“Go,” Terry told them, voice suddenly stern. “I’m busy.”
The king’s voice was cold, and hard, and the guards had no choice but to back away.
“Oh, Juno.” His Master nuzzled him, warm cheek on Juno’s cool skin. “I’ve missed you.”
___________________
Being dead had its advantages. People were terrified of him.
Juno could simply bare his teeth, and they shuddered. No one dared raise a hand to his Master, and even the new council looked away with shame.
The scandal of his death was not forgotten. For months, the newspapers were alight with it.
He didn’t care.
The guards eventually got used to him; the servants too.
It was easier, with them. He’d been among the staff halls for years before his death. They simply didn’t mention what happened. They didn’t dare get in his way when he returned to his work. Sometimes, they even smiled at him.
It was funny how death commanded respect in a way that being alive didn’t.
Juno patiently allowed the magicians and spirit speakers to ask him things. To demonstrate what he could do. That he could pass through walls, that he could lift objects, that he could even float in the air, feet never touching the ground.
The spirit speakers had never seen a ghost of Timorsia before. Or a ghost that didn’t pass on after the unfinished business was done.
But his work was never going to be finished.
He had a duty.
Juno watched over Terry, day and night. He would never be alone again; never be hurt again. Juno followed his Master as a shadow followed the sun.
There was no one to stop him. Juno couldn’t be killed twice.
And the tree, the blue wisteria planted over his grave, now called Eyes-of-Juno, The King’s Grief, kept blooming.
As long as Juno kept haunting the king, it would never stop.
taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandashes @behind-the-v3il @paperprinxe
Spite pt. 2
Juno Collection Masterpost
Previous
Next
Note: an AU of King's Counsel where Juno does not recover.
Warnings: haunting, minor character death, grief
Terry was getting sick.
Juno knew the signs.
He ate so little and when he slept, he had nightmares. And he was working working working.
Papers and meeting with his new council and staying up far too late trying to fix the mess that had been left behind.
And now, late at night, Terry laid curled in bed, stripped of all his finery, and weeping.
Juno sat down on the mattress.
His master was flush, feverish red on his face over the pale skim milk of his skin.
Juno cupped his cheek. At least he could do that.
He knew now that he felt cold to those he touched, thanks to his experiments on Ser Beauchene, Chamberlain Antoine, and First Magistrate Telesphore.
It was almost a shame Spymaster Elodie had already been sentenced.
Terry did burn this time, uncomfortable in his body heat, but Juno had been through far worse for far less.
His master groaned. Juno flinched away. Was he hurting him?
Terry pawed at where he sat, his hand passing through Juno’s leg.
Master froze, feeling the featherbed.
Hesitant, Juno placed his hand on Terry’s forehead again.
Terry relaxed.
Juno couldn’t fetch medicine to soothe the fever, but he could do this.
When dawn began to filter through the curtains, Terry had finally fallen asleep.
___________________
After the execution of First Magistrate Telesphore, Juno followed Terry as he stumbled into his rooms.
He watched his Master shake, clutching the frame of the mirror.
Juno stepped forward.
Please- let me-
His fingers brushed over Terry’s shoulders, lifting the too-heavy cloak off-
He dropped it on the floor. But it worked.
Terry’s eyes flicked to him in the mirror.
He gasped.
Turned in a whirl and Juno held his breath-
Terry sank to the floor, weeping.
He still couldn’t see him.
Juno wrapped his arms around Terry and cursed the two evils still lurking in the dungeons.
___________________
Terry didn’t leave his room for three days after.
At least he wasn’t totally stuck in bed.
Juno knelt at his Master’s feet, at his favorite armchair, waiting. Praying. Hoping.
Terry sighed, fingers twitching.
Juno looked up. He missed being pet, being loved. Would Terry ever truly touch him again?
He wiped his eyes, and leaned against his Master’s thigh.
Terry inhaled sharply, but that was just from the chill of Juno’s skin. Master Terry needed it anyway; he was still flush from fever.
“Your Majesty?” came a soft voice from the other side of the door.
Terry cleared his throat. “Come in,” he said. Juno could tell it was a struggle not to sound broken.
A servant quietly opened the door.
“I’ve brought you your tea.”
A pang struck through Juno’s chest. That was his job.
Not anymore.
The servant switched out the long-cold breakfast tray for mid-morning tea, and left.
Terry didn’t move, staring into the empty fireplace.
Juno got to his feet to inspect the tray.
A small teapot, cup and saucer, honeycakes, crackers with cheese. A balsamic reduction drizzled over top. Biscuits. Even a small vase with a few Rhodanthian roses.
Juno set his jaw. It was a good spread. It stung.
He focused the best he could, concentrating.
Juno furrowed his brow and lifted the pot. He poured the steaming, fragrant tea into the delicate bone china cup, and it didn’t even rattle.
He set down the fragile pot, and breathed.
The steam shifted from his air.
He did it.
He had poured his Master a cup of tea.
Juno looked to Terry, pride surging through him.
Terry blinked, gaze still unmoving from the ashes of a fire long gone.
Juno reached for his hand.
The chill shook Terry from his thousand-yard-stare, and he sat up. His lovely brown eyes finally started to see. Even if what he saw was the tea service, and not his Juno.
Still, Juno couldn’t help but feel sheer relief when Terry picked up the cup of tea and took a tiny sip.
Terry ate half of a honey cake and two of the crackers and it felt like salvation.
___________________
Chamberlain Antoine was next.
Juno had tormented him most of the night, gleefully shoving his hands into his lungs and screaming in his face to wake him in between checking on Terry and soothing his Master back to sleep.
Terry wasn’t feeling up to watching the execution, so Juno went in his stead after managing to tuck a quilt over him and his scrap teddy into his Master’s arms.
Antoine was the one who raised the whip, the one who split his back open like cherries bursting in teeth, the one who made Terry cry over his body.
Juno gleefully watched the guards force the man into the chair.
They poured a small measure of wine into the iron chalice, followed by the poison to kill the former council member.
He smiled when Antoine shakily accepted the deadly wine, grinned when he drank a sip.
“All of it,” the executioner sharply reminded him.
Antoine stared into the swirling, dark wine.
Juno refused to wait any longer.
He stepped forward towards the chair, in between Antoine and the jeering crowd he was invisible to.
Antoine’s eyes went wide. He could see Juno, even if no one else here could.
Juno snatched Antoine’s wrist.
“Please- no-”
Forced the chalice to his lips-
Antoine gurgled as Juno poured the wine down his throat.
The iron cup fell, empty, to the stage floor. Not a drop was wasted.
Chamberlain Antoine died choking on his own spit, frothing at the mouth, staring with horror at nothing at all.
taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandashes @behind-the-v3il @paperprinxe
Spite
Juno Collection Masterpost
Previous
Next
Note: an AU of King's Counsel where Juno does not recover.
Warnings: haunting, implied torture, light body horror, minor character death
Juno woke up and knew he was dead.
He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how.
But he was dead, and he was still here.
He watched the funeral, curious.
Juno, or the body that used to be him, was smaller than he thought he used to be. Pale as bone china and thin as if he would shatter.
He looked nice in the dress. Terry had spent weeks on it.
The hole in the ground was near the koi pond. It was a good spot to lay him in. To rest.
Terry stood weeping as they lowered his body into the ground.
Juno shook his head. He would not rest, despite the priest’s sweet words of peace and loyalty and light and the gods.
There was Terry, and the priest, two men to lower him down, and the head chef who helped Juno get things off of the high shelves in the pantry.
Juno liked her. He didn’t know she was fond of him enough to see his funeral.
It was a nice ceremony.
___________________
Juno followed Terry back into their- no, just Terry’s- rooms.
His things, teddy bear and kennel and blanket, sewing kit and colored pencils, hadn’t been moved.
Terry lingered in the doorway, shaking with tears. He crossed the room, picking up Juno’s scrap bear.
His master clutched it to his chest, breaking into sobs, sinking to the floor.
I’m right here, Juno wanted to say, but even in death he could not speak a word.
He knelt in front of the man he loved and tried to wipe his tears-
Terry was warm- hot- to the touch. It nearly burned, and Juno did not care.
But Terry shuddered, and did not look up, and the tears on his cheek flowed and did not move.
Juno hummed a soft note-
Terry’s head jerked up, looking around the room.
Could he not see? Juno looked down at his hands.
He could see through them, to the floor, to the rug-
He could have screamed in frustration.
Instead, he balled his hands into fists, and headed straight for the dungeons, anger flaring as it never had when he was alive.
How could they do this to him- to their king- To Terry-
___________________
His murderers could see him, much to his delight.
He smiled at Ser Beauchene, who shook at the sight of him.
“You’re dead,” he choked out, huddled in the back corner of his cell.
The man wore only a threadbare shift and trousers in the cold damp of the dungeon.
He was going to be executed soon, but that didn’t mean Juno couldn’t have his own fun.
Juno nodded, still smiling.
He was dead, and no one could punish him for this.
“I’m sorry,” Ser Beauchene pleaded. “We didn’t mean to kill you. I swear.”
What good was an oath to a ghost?
Juno tested the steel bars. His hand passed straight through; a strange sort of tingle ran up his spine, but there was no pain.
And no stopping him.
The guards didn’t bother responding to the screams.
___________________
Juno felt better, after. When Ser Beauchene was writhing on the floor, after Juno’s hand slipped through his chest and felt his heart pulse hot blood in his palm.
He didn’t kill him. He just made him feel how Juno felt when he realized he was going to die.
Terry would get the honor of killing the man who beat and raped him.
Juno went back upstairs. He was bored of Ser Beauchene, and Terry needed him.
Terry was in his bedroom, an untouched tray of food on the small table next to his armchair. A book was in his lap, but he wasn’t reading.
Juno tried to pour Terry a cup of tea, but his hands passed through the pot.
Why? He could feel a man’s heart struggle and twist, but he couldn’t pour his own master a cup of tea to soothe him?
Juno turned to look at Terry.
His face was ashen and his eyes dull.
Juno knelt at Terry’s side, like he did every night.
And he waited. And waited.
Terry did not see him. He did not eat. And when he gave up an hour later, and curled up under the covers, Juno knew his Master did not sleep.
___________________
Juno had never asked himself if ghosts slept. What would be the point? He couldn’t check or ask a spirit speaker, and questions like that would only distract him from work.
But ghosts could sleep, or at least something similar. He knew time had passed when he faded back into knowing he existed.
Terry was in bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Juno sat on the mattress beside him. He reached to stroke Terry’s cheek.
He was still so hot.
Terry shivered, and turned his head. His gaze went straight through him.
Disappointment flared in his chest.
At least he could watch over Terry, even if the man who loved him didn’t know.
He could watch over Terry forever.
Forever.
Juno smiled, the first genuine one since he died.
What a perfect idea.
Terry eventually got up to use the bathroom, and Juno didn’t follow. He was dead, not rude.
Instead, he listened in case Terry needed him.
He heard water splashing, and his Master came out with the front of his hair still wet. He wiped his face, and glanced at the abandoned tray of food.
Please eat something.
It was left untouched.
Terry left the room, and Juno didn’t know ghosts could cry either.
___________________
His gravesite was pretty, he could say that much.
The freshly overturned dirt was replaced with newly planted flowers, forget-me-nots, and a blue flowering wisteria tree sapling. A white marble carved bench had been placed next to the tree, overlooking the pond.
Terry sat upon it, gazing at the fish. His hands fidgeted with his gloves.
He didn’t wear gloves much around Juno. Now he was wearing them again.
White silk gloves that covered up just past his wrists.
It hurt.
Juno sat down beside him.
He couldn’t feel the sun, or the presumably cold stone, but he could feel Terry’s hand as he placed it down on the stone.
“I miss you already,” Terry whispered aloud.
Juno looked over.
Terry did not see him.
___________________
Elodie was the first to be executed.
She was the rudest to Juno; the one with the most distaste towards his existence. He took his time with her.
She spat hatred and cruelty and then eventually offered begging and pleas.
Elodie didn’t listen to Juno’s screams, nor his Master’s, so why would he bother listening to hers?
Despite all that pain, she still feared death.
Good.
In Timorsia, she would be hanged. Unfortunately, Juno would not get to watch her gasp for breath, her legs swing or her chest heave.
Rhodanthians offered their treasonous prisoners a choice.
Poison, decapitation, or magical lightning. Laughable.
At least they were all public.
Juno stood next to Terry on the platform, listening to the charges.
Elodie stood stone-faced, but there was a wobble in her legs.
Murder. High treason. Embezzlement. Abuse of power. Abuse of a vulnerable person. Torture leading to death.
All true, but some crimes were missing. Erased, so no one alive would know the king’s pain.
Terry was pale and his face carefully blank. He was wearing makeup to hide the hollows under his eyes and pink his cheeks; his clothes were padded and formed to hide his bones.
Juno didn’t like it. He should be resting and eating and strong.
Juno looked away, to the spymaster.
She deserved this.
Deserved to be forced to her knees, deserved to have her head forced over the wood, blade shining in the sun above her.
Terry’s eyes fluttered shut when it came down.
Juno laughed when her head landed in the basket.
taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandashes @behind-the-v3il @paperprinxe
The Beginning of the End
Juno Collection Masterpost
Next
Note: an AU of King's Counsel where Juno does not recover. Begins after Regress
Warnings: Major Character Death (temporary), Grief
Juno knew he was dying.
The fever had left, and so had the delusions, but the deep exhaustion and aches in his bones had not.
He knew he was dying, even before his Master and the nurse sat beside him and gently, softly, told him so.
“I am so so sorry,” the king had whispered into his ear, his voice cracked. “I can’t save you, Juno. Please forgive me.”
Terry’s brown eyes, kinder and softer than anyone Juno had met, were wet with unshed tears.
Juno raised a hand to his cheek. His arm was sore.
He stroked the king’s face.
It wasn’t fair. Terry needed him. Terry needed someone to brush his hair and remind him to eat and sleep next to him so he could rest-
But Juno was dying.
Anger festered in his heart; a burning ember inside the hearth of a soul he’d dedicated to this one man.
He was going to die, because he wanted Terry to live.
Now he wasn’t sure if his Terry would survive putting Juno in the ground.
___________________
Master was not working.
Juno didn’t mind.
Master Terry spent his days by Juno’s bedside, reading to him and holding his hand.
Juno felt the aches in his joints all the time now, and he struggled not to doze through Terry’s presence. He wanted to be there, to spend as much time as he could with the man who loved him.
Terry loved him.
Terry was the only person who ever loved him, aside from perhaps Juno’s mother whom he did not remember except that she was warm and sang.
It was cruel that Juno could not stay.
“Are you hungry?” Terry asked. His voice was as soft as the feather pillows he’d helped Juno sit against.
He wasn’t, anymore. Hunger seemed like a distant memory with how little it plagued him now, even as his mind silently counted all the meals he missed while sick.
Juno nodded anyway.
Terry smiled so sweetly at him when he spooned the broth into Juno’s mouth. It wasn’t crying, but it was a smile of grief.
Juno missed the happy smiles.
___________________
Terry took Juno outside when it was warm and sunny.
Today, he had made a picnic on the grass of the royal courtyard, below the shade of a cherry blossom tree.
Juno hadn’t been strong enough to get to the koi pond to see the fish. But this would do.
“I was thinking,” Terry said quietly. “That you should see the dressmaker.”
Juno peeked up at him from his place on Terry’s lap.
He’d seen the dressmaker only a few times in his years of Terry’s ownership.
“It’s tradition,” his Master’s voice was strained. “To have something new before…” he trailed off.
Juno would like a new dress. Brides got new dresses to be married in. It made sense that the dead would have a new dress to be laid to rest in.
He nodded, slow as molasses, and pretended that Terry was not nearly weeping.
___________________
The dressmaker was solemn as she passed over fabric for Master, then Juno, to feel and touch.
He rejected all the silks, opting for soft and familiar cotton.
Juno wasn’t a noble, to be dressed in lace and silks and jewels.
He was just Juno. He would die happy, but not as someone he wasn’t.
The cotton he picked was white, in an imperfect way that reminded him of the roses in the greenhouse.
It would be the first white garment he wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning. It would be white forever.
“I’ll embroider it myself,” the king told the dressmaker.
“I understand.”
___________________
Terry worked on the dress at Juno’s bedside. It was nice to watch him move the needle and threads as the birds sang outside the window.
Juno was sleeping more now, and he knew in his heart it wouldn’t be long.
Sometimes he woke up with wet eyes and cheeks, and the king’s handkerchief wiping the sorrow away.
Every time he woke up, the dress was a little more finished, with roses blooming over the hem and birds on the vines of the sleeves.
It was the prettiest dress Juno would ever wear, and still Terry’s needle moved.
“Does it hurt?” Terry whispered to him, setting aside the fabric to take Juno’s hand. “There’s no need for you to be in pain.”
It hurt, but not in a way any pill or potion would cure.
Juno weakly squeezed Terry’s hand, and shook his head.
Terry reached with his hand to stroke Juno’s face.
His fingers were so warm.
“I thought,” Terry swallowed. “Remember your king, Jason the fifth?”
Juno remembered. The Timorsian emperor had been kind to him, unusually gracious, like Juno was a kinsman and not a slave.
“He’s sent you pearls.”
Terry smiled, and it was pale like milk.
“I thought you might like to wear them. When the time comes. Something to remind you of home?”
Juno had never worn Timorsian pearls, much less pearls from his king.
It would be nice. To have a thing from home that wasn’t a scar from pain or temporary like spices and sheeps’ cheese.
___________________
The pearls were cool against his skin, blue-green like the sea they came from.
Juno liked to twirl each one with a finger.
Terry had asked him to look at blossoms today. Branches of wisteria flowers, all of them blue but in different shades.
“Pick your favorite,” Terry offered, spreading the bundles over the quilt keeping the chill away.
Juno didn’t ask.
He knew Rhodanthians planted trees over their dead.
He picked out a delicate bloom, blue as a clear summer sky.
“It matches your eyes.”
___________________
Juno was going to die today.
He knew. It wasn’t fair.
Terry knew too. Without even trying to tell him, his Master knew that Juno was going to die.
He never felt so loved. He never felt so angry. He never felt so heartbroken.
Terry gave him a small vial of clear liquid. Painkiller, to get through the day.
Juno drank it without hesitation. It tasted like bitterness and honey.
They ate breakfast together; a savory porridge and bacon. Juno could lift the spoon himself with the aid of the drugs. He only managed a few bites of the cheesy grits, and nibbles of the rich maple-glazed bacon, so he kept to his favorite parts. They’d made the bacon chewy with browned edges, just how he liked it.
The king Juno loved then helped him out of bed. Bathed him carefully with a hot, wet cloth. Eased him into his dress, embroidered with blossoms and birds and greenery and love.
Terry carried Juno out to the garden, to the beloved koi pond. They fed the fish peas and barley grains, watching the shimmering reds and golds and whites of their scales.
Juno laid his head on Terry’s lap, enjoying the sun as Terry read to him. It was a story Juno had heard many times, a favorite, but he paid close attention to his Master’s voice. He wanted to keep it in his ears forever.
Lunch was fruit tarts and crackers with salty sheep’s cheese. The small portions were easier to lift himself and bring to his own lips.
“Here,” Terry suggested. “Have a bite of each kind.”
Juno managed a single bite of pear, strawberry, apple, blackberry, cherry-
Terry didn’t have much appetite either.
___________________
The court musicians played just for the two of them.
Music flowed seamlessly from one song to another, harp and violin and cello and Rhodanthian pipes and Timorsian chimes, and a few Juno couldn’t name.
Endless music that wasn’t interrupted by court chatter.
Terry stroked his hair and held him close and Juno was getting more tired than he’d ever been.
Dinner was a single slice of warm, rich chocolate cake, topped with cold vanilla ice cream and whipped heavy cream.
It was a summer day, and the amount of work the kitchen put into making ice cream just for him-
Juno smiled at Terry as he ate. It was the first thing he finished in a long time.
“Did you have a good day?” Terry asked him as they lay in bed after an hour of stargazing.
Juno nodded weakly.
He lay over top of Terry, his head on his chest as Terry pet his hair.
It would be soon. His breathing was slower than ever.
“I’m glad,” Terry whispered. He was so close to crying.
Juno didn’t want him to cry. Not now. Not ever again.
It was hard.
With one last effort, he raised his head.
He kissed Terry on the cheek.
He laid back down.
“I love you,” Terry told him.
Juno knew.
___________________
Announcement of Mourning
King Terrance’s beloved pet and servant, Juno of Timorsia, died in the early hours of the morning of June 30th. He was approximately twenty-three years old. The funeral will be held tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. He will be buried under a blue wisteria tree, near the royal koi pond which he loved so much. It is a private ceremony. The Crown thanks you for your consideration at this time.
taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandashes @behind-the-v3il @paperprinxe
Twitter: @spoogyoogie
Worthless Pirate AU - Rescued
Masterlist
Important note: This AU is not in chronological order. This takes place two years after Elliot's initial kidnapping
Content: slavery, whipping, mention of past noncon, threats of knife violence, threats of gun violence, bound and gagged whumpee, degrading language, dehumanization, slave whumpee
-
Elliot sobbed with each sharp snap of the switch against his scarred back. He was on his hands and knees, furiously scrubbing away the dried blood—his blood—from between the grooves in the floorboards. He'd spent many mornings in the crew's cabin over the years, diligently cleaning up the mess he'd made the night before. Usually, however, he was alone while he did it. It wasn't often that he was whipped and bloodied while working. His whole body ached, but his back was on fire as the thin wooden stick carved fresh wounds through his skin. He didn't know what he'd done wrong.
Elliot yelped as the switch ripped through his skin again. “Hurry up, slave!” the amused crew member shouted. “Otherwise, I'll tell the captain you were bad and you'll have to spend the night with us again. Got it, slut?” Elliot sobbed. Every movement tugged at the wounds on his back and thighs. He was going as fast as he could, but there was only so much his small, ruined body could do.
“Y-Yes, Sir,” he choked out through his tears. The crewmate laughed and whipped him again. He whimpered, trying his best to go faster. He couldn't take another night with the crew. His body was so sore and achy and exhausted and after what they had done to him the night before, he didn't think he could survive another round.
But Elliot wasn't stupid. He knew it didn't matter how fast he cleaned or how much he pleased the crew. If they wanted his body, they'd find a way to take it. Still, if there was even a slight chance to avoid being the crew's whore for the night, he had to try.
The crewmate whipped him again, the switch hissing through the air before it landed. Again and again and again. Hot blood trickled down his back, adding to the mess he was nearly finished cleaning. His arms were quivering, nearly unable to hold him up any longer, and his knees were scratched and splintered where they were pressed into the rotting wood. He was trying so hard, but the pain was too much.
Immediately following another snap of the switch against Elliot's back, the hatch that led to the upper deck was thrown open and a frantic voice shouted down, “Paxton! All hands on deck! We've got an enemy ship incoming!”
The crewmate turned to face the hatch and shouted back, “Which one?”
“De la Peña.”
Elliot couldn't suppress his audible gasp. He'd heard tale of the infamous Captain de la Peña in the past. Supposedly, he was a ruthless, bloodthirsty tyrant who cut down any pirate that dared to cross him. He'd never lost a battle before and the graveyard of ruined ships he left behind could fill a gulf. He was the closest thing these oceans had to a pirate king.
The crewmate, Paxton, cursed under his breath and glared down at Elliot, who had briefly ceased his scrubbing in order to hear what was going on. Paxton lifted the switch again and whipped Elliot across the shoulder. Elliot yelped. “Keep cleaning, slave! I'll be back to check on your progress when this is over. Savvy?”
Elliot nodded, tears carving through the dirt on his face. “Y-Yes, Sir.”
“Good boy.”
Once the crewmate was gone, Elliot completely broke down. His shoulders heaved as he sobbed into his hands, trying to muffle the sound so as not to alert the frantic crew overhead. He didn't understand. What was he being punished for? Was the crew disappointed with the job he did last night? They'd all seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves. Did he scream too much? Was he not tight enough? What would they do to him if they couldn't use him anymore? His body was all he had to offer these horrible pirates.
Loud voices overhead interrupted Elliot's catastrophizing and he turned his attention to the hatch. The voices sounded unfamiliar and Elliot couldn't help his curiosity. He wanted a glimpse of the infamous pirate king.
Elliot swiftly slipped his discarded shirt on, crawled on hands and knees over to the hatch, and lifted it just enough to peer onto the upper deck.
The scene was confusing. Two pirates, whom Elliot had never seen before, were facing the captain and crew. One of them was a tall, husky man with blond hair tied back behind a bandana. The other was a woman with darker skin wearing a tricorn similar to the captain's over her long, dark hair. Her hair was intricately braided and stretched all the way down her back, similar to how Elliot once wore his. That felt like so long ago, back when his hair was still his own, instead of a natural leash for the captain to hold while fucking him.
“I’ve spent a long time looking for you, Whitlock,” the woman said, taking several bold steps closer to the captain. “I'm a very patient woman, but this little cat and mouse game has gone on a little too long in my opinion. I'm ready to collect what I'm owed.”
“I don't know what you're talking about, Karine,” the captain said. “All my debts are paid.”
The woman, Karine, hummed. She brandished a cutlass from her hip and lazily swung it near the captain. “You don't recall the mutiny you staged? Or the ship that you stole? Perhaps you remember the 500,000 gold you took with you. Any of this ringing a bell?” She tossed the cutlass down at the captain's feet. The captain looked down at it, not daring to pick it up. “No? What about the rest of my mutinous former crew?” She turned her gaze to the gathered crew behind the captain. None of them dared look her in the eye. “Hm. Seems you've expanded your ranks, Christian. All men? Figures.” She looked at the captain again. “Given our history, you're lucky I don't slice you in half right where you stand. So do you have my gold or don't you?”
The captain met the woman's eyes again, a dark expression flashing across his face for a split second. Elliot's heart dropped upon seeing it, but the woman seemed unfazed. “I can’t say that I do,” the captain admitted. “Been goin’ through a bit of a dry spell, we have. Haven't happened upon any treasure in quite some time.”
“That so?” The woman smirked. She brought her heel down on the hilt of the cutlass, sending it flying into the air and effortlessly catching it again before aiming the point at the captain's throat. “Shame. Ain't no point in keeping you around then.” The captain made no move to stop her, but Elliot could see the way his face paled. Why wasn't he fighting back? Why was the crew just letting this happen? “This everyone?” the woman gestured to the gathered crew. “Good,” she said without waiting for an answer. “I want your whole crew to watch while I gut their spineless captain.”
Elliot's eyes skirted to the man at Karine's side, who was scrutinizing the ship and crew as he watched the ordeal. His eyes roamed over each frozen pirate, then flicked across the deck, the sails, the helm, before finally landing on the hatch. Elliot paled as the man's icy blue eyes pierced the slave's. The man's eyes narrowed as he started to make his way to the hatch. Elliot gasped and disappeared below deck, trying and failing to rush to safety, but the swift movement pulled at his wounds and sent him stumbling into the wall.
Elliot had no time to gather his bearings before a fist closed around his upper arm and yanked him to his feet. Elliot yelped in both pain and terror as his teary eyes met that of the large man accompanying the woman.
“What have we here?” The man asked, a sinister grin on his sun-kissed face. Tears spilled from Elliot's eyes, heart pounding relentlessly against his ribcage. “The captain's gonna love this.” Even if Elliot were able to speak in that moment, the pirate didn't give him a chance. He dragged Elliot with his bruising grip to the upper deck, despite the boy's pained state.
The woman looked over at them once they reached the deck. Her gaze immediately fell upon Elliot, her expression entirely unreadable.
The man unceremoniously shoved Elliot to the ground at the woman's feet. “Look what I found, Captain,” the man said. Elliot froze. Captain? This woman was the captain? That means…
Sobbing, Elliot chanced a quick look up at Captain de la Peña, who was brutally scrutinizing him with a terrifying level of intensity. Elliot squeaked and averted his gaze, choosing instead to meet the furious eyes of his master. Elliot felt every nerve ending in his body turn to ice beneath his master’s glare. He turned his eyes downward, unable to bring himself to look at the crew.
“What am I looking at, Landon?” The woman asked.
The man, Landon, nudged Elliot with the toe of his boot, eliciting a quiet yelp from the slave. “From the looks of him, I think he's the ship's cabin boy.”
Karine hummed again. “I specifically asked that your entire crew bear witness to this meeting, Whitlock. Foolish of me to assume you were capable of handling even that.”
“It's not part of the crew,” the captain explained. “It's just my slave.”
Karine quirked a brow. “That so? You wouldn't mind if I take a look at him then, would you?”
Elliot's breath caught in his throat. If he wasn't already trembling, those words would've shaken him to the core.
Please say no, Master.
“Be my guest,” the captain said.
Elliot's heart dropped and a particularly loud sob escaped his throat.
Karine sheathed her cutlass and kneeled down beside the slave. “Eyes up here, dear,” she said. Elliot obeyed and lifted his tearful eyes to meet the supposed pirate king's. Her expression was cold and scathing and did nothing to ease the terror in Elliot's chest. Her eyes roamed across his body, lingering a little too long on his exposed bruises and scars. After what felt like an eternity, she stood back up again and faced the captain.
“I'll make you a deal, Whitlock,” Karine said. “Give me your slave and I'll spare your life.”
Elliot's heart stopped. The captain wouldn't actually agree to that, would he? Elliot's life aboard the Serpent's Wrath was hell, but at least it was predictable. He knew how to please the crew, and even on days in which he fell short, he was at least familiar with their cruelty.
The captain scoffed. “Not a chance. That slave is my prized possession.” A warmth bloomed in Elliot's chest.
Karine smirked. There was excitement in her eyes. “How kind of you to volunteer that information, Whitlock. Landon?” She glanced at her companion, who nodded before once again snatching Elliot by the arms and yanking him to his feet.
Elliot yelped at the sudden pull against his wounds and stumbled backwards into the man called Landon. The large pirate twisted Elliot's hands behind his back and held them firmly in place. Tears sprung from the slave's eyes and loud, open-mouth sobbing ripped through his throat.
“Hey!” The captain shouted, reaching out to grab his slave.
With a swing of her cutlass, Karine blocked the captain's path to his slave. “Ah, ah, ah,” Karine said, wagging a finger in his direction. “You owe me half a million gold. Clearly, you require some incentive, so here's what's gonna happen, Whitlock. You are gonna find a way to come up with the money, and until then, I'm gonna hold onto your precious slave.”
“You can't do that, Karine! That slave is my personal property!”
“Oh? Where was this mentality when you stole my ship?” Karine asked. The captain had nothing to say. “You will give me what I am owed. Until then, I will be sure to keep him safe for you, Christian.”
“Master, please!” Elliot cried. All eyes turned to him. The woman's countenance remained stone-cold, but the serpents all wore expressions of shock at the sound of his voice. “Please, don't let her take me! I-I don't wanna go, please!”
The captain's eyes narrowed at his slave first before flicking to Karine. He unearthed his pistol from the holster at his waist and aimed the barrel at Karine's forehead. “And what if I don't agree to this deal?”
Karine was unfazed. “If I do not return to my ship unharmed within the hour, my crew has orders to sink this vessel.” She took another step forward until her forehead was firmly pressed to the barrel of the gun. “You forget that I know you, Christian. Your threats are empty and I will not be bullied by the likes of you.” The captain said nothing and Elliot couldn't help but wonder what his history was with this woman and why she instilled so much fear in him.
Karine glanced at Elliot, then at her companion. “Get him to my ship.”
Elliot gasped as thin ropes were abruptly wrapped around his slim wrists. He didn't bother trying to fight. That instinct had been beaten out of him years ago.
Once his wrists were securely tied, his captor worked a soft cloth between the slave's lips and secured the gag behind his neck. Elliot whimpered. He couldn't believe this was happening. Why wasn't his master fighting for him? He thought he was his master’s prized possession. Was he really worth so little that the captain would allow this woman to use him as a bargaining chip?
Tears blurred his vision and loud sobs broke against the gag in his mouth. He stared at his master, begging with his eyes for help, but the captain merely glared at him. Elliot held the captain's gaze all the way up until a second cloth was tied over his eyes. He whined, but offered no other resistance.
A hard shove to his wounded back sent Elliot stumbling forward, yelping in both shock and pain. “Move, slave,” Landon commanded. Elliot did as he was told, limping as he was led across the deck. Stepping into the small dinghy with the aid of his new owners, he left the Serpent's Wrath for the first time in years.
-
I hope you enjoyed this!! Like I said at the beginning, I am not writing this in chronological order. So the captivity arc is not over!! I promise!!
If you have any requests for this au, feel free to send them to me! I'm having a lot of fun with it!
Taglist:
@phoenixpromptsandstuff @ofclrosewriteswhump @whump-queen
Sylus ❌ no biting
Febuwhump 2026 - Day 9 - Auction [ Alt prompt 5]
"Tamed god"
It’s crazy that you’re all unearthing this art now…
Foxtale 2
My Writing Masterpost
Juno Collection
Previous
Next
Warnings: dehumanization, starvation, vomit
Juno was up by the time Nikolai made it out of bed and into the living room. He was lying where Niko had left him, under a quilt on the rug.
The pillow wasn’t in sight, but was a lump under the cover.
“Good morning,” he told Juno, heading straight for the coffee.
Usually he’d get dressed before making a quick breakfast, but he had someone else to consider. Feeding his buddy was more important than lying in bed for a few more minutes.
Bacon wasn’t the best choice according to the internet- he should call a vet after work- so instead he cracked a few eggs into an oiled pan.
He scrambled them, forgoing salt just in case.
In the corner of his eye, he could see Juno sitting and watching.
A little further away this time; so it seemed he had learned how not to startle. Cute.
“Breakfast,” he said cheerfully. “Or at least a good start.”
He checked the fridge.
Another apple would do, and a little cheese would be okay.
Nikolai set the chunk on Juno’s plate, the apple beside it.
“I’ll leave a granola bar out for you,” he explained, stirring sugar and cream into his mug. “I’m going to take off early so I can go shopping for better food.”
Juno’s ears were aimed at him as he ate, and Nikolai figured that was close enough to attentive listening.
He fixed an omelet for himself, now that he had the time to eat properly, and headed to work.
___________________
Niko figured he would stop by the apartment before getting groceries, if only to reassure and check on Juno.
He came home to a disaster.
The couch cushions were scattered across the floor. Juno’s pillow was spilling fluff. The standing lamp was on its side.
Nikolai stepped through the doorway, dumbfounded.
“Juno?”
The kitchen was worse.
The trash can was knocked over, rubbish and food scraps all over the floor. The smell was downright gross; odd because he hadn’t left the trash for long-
And then he saw the vomit, dark bile over what used to be rotting food.
He searched the apartment for the foxboy.
It was surprisingly hard to find such a relatively large animal and yet it took him several concerning minutes.
Juno was cowering behind the couch.
“Hello,” Nikolai said softly, scooting back to give Juno more room. “How did you get back there?”
He didn’t answer. Juno’s eyes were so round, reflecting the light back at him. His face was wet.
Nikolai didn’t know foxboys could cry.
“Have you finished throwing up?” he asked. It was the most important problem.
A tiny little nod and sad little chitter.
“Alright. That’s good.”
Nikolai sat back on his heels, thinking.
“Were you worried you’d get too hungry again?”
Silence. It was enough of a reply.
“I know it’s scary,” Nikolai soothed. “I won’t make you go that hungry. You don’t need the trash anymore, okay? Today I’ll make you a box with snacks you can have when I’m gone.”
Juno whined.
“I’m going to clean up now. Come out when you’re ready.”
Nikolai stood.
He started with the living room.
The lamp’s bulb was unbroken, thankfully. Glass would have been a lot of trouble.
Niko put the lamp back in place, the cushions straightened and smoothed.
He folded up the quilt- which had a chewed on corner already- and put it on his sofa.
The pillow… could be salvaged. He had a sewing kit somewhere.
The kitchen was predictably a hazard. The broom wasn’t usable after he was done.
Juno had crept out from behind the couch, but he was still shaking when Nikolai glanced at him.
His ears were pinned to his skull, his tail between his legs; all so familiar.
Nikolai sat on the couch, on the end furthest from where Juno was trembling. He was filthy again.
“I’m not angry,” he started, which was a good place to start. “And I’m not going to punish you. You’re just scared, and you’re allowed to be scared.”
Juno looked confused.
“I don’t want you getting into the trash again. That’s all.”
Once Juno was used to things, he probably wouldn’t also knock things over. Nikolai would buy chew toys to prevent the other issues.
“Understand?”
Juno slowly nodded. There was a small piece of garbage in his fur.
“Good boy. Now, I think you need another bath.”
___________________
Ordering groceries online was the wiser choice, when it came down to it. He gave a fifty dollar tip to make up for the fact that he was ten stories up.
He ordered a large bed and an assortment of toys ranging from ‘heavy chewer’ to soft plush ones. They’d figure out what Juno liked best.
Niko glanced at the foxboy, who was dozing on the rug. He wasn’t really sleeping. Nikolai couldn’t blame him. He’d had a rough time and his anxiety was probably running high.
He turned on the television for some background noise, and Juno sank lower into the rug, tension easing out of him.
Good to know.
___________________
It was legal to own a foxboy with a permit, thankfully.
He scanned the online application.
The fee was only a hundred dollars, and the application was… sparse.
They asked Niko’s name, address, phone number. If Juno was male or female, and if he was neutered.
Was that it? Really? There was no description box, no option to fill out tracking information, no questions about vaccines or standard of care or if he’d seen a vet-
He checked the process listed on the city government site. Then the state.
It was just the permit. No one was coming to check living conditions.
What the fuck? It was insulting how easy it was.
Except that he didn’t know if Juno was neutered.
Nikolai left the application open, and searched for a vet.
___________________
“Thank you for your time.”
No luck.
It was the third exotic animal veterinarian he’d called, and none of them were able to treat a foxboy.
There were three more he could call; two actually in the city and the last an hour outside of it.
To travel that far for a vet would be annoying, but realistically a more rural exotic animal doctor would have at least seen one? From what he’d read, most foxboys lived on estates with owners who had a menagerie of large animals.
He dialed the number.
“Hello, my name is Nikolai Stellos. Does your office treat foxboys?”
“We do.”
Relief flooded through him.
“Excellent. When is the next availability? It’s somewhat of a pressing matter.”
“I can pencil you in for next week. Would you like to receive a call if we have any cancellations beforehand?”
“Absolutely.”
He gave his information, and one of his credit cards for the $500 deposit.
Nikolai checked the Garden Towers resident site.
There wasn’t anything against foxboys. Just a flat pet fee.
What they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.
Nikolai glanced down at Juno again.
This time, he was properly asleep.
taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandahes @behind-the-v3il
Foxtale
My Writing Masterpost
Juno Collection Masterpost
Next
Warnings: dehumanization, starvation, nudity
It was a warmer night, almost too warm for a suit.
Nikolai walked regardless, too wound up from the day to take a taxi and risk a conversation. Besides, his apartment in Garden Towers wasn’t far enough from the financial district to justify the expense. Even if the expense was hardly pocket change.
He could use the exercise. Too much time on a computer wasn’t healthy, and with the market and paperwork all digital, he spent most of the day sitting down.
It was a nice night.
The streetlights had just come on, the sky darkened to a dim blue. Here in the city, it was impossible to see the stars, but Mother was probably enjoying the cloudless spring night at the estate.
Crickets chirped in the hedges and potted plants, growing silent when he passed by. A few birds still sat on wires, but they were quiet. Nikolai could hear the low hum of distant traffic. A slight breeze in the air carried the scent of food; no doubt someone cooking with a window open.
His stomach rumbled. Nikolai’s building wasn’t far off, but a snack wouldn’t ruin his appetite.
He kept a few options in his bag anyway.
Niko stopped to fish out a granola bar.
A sudden crash came from the alley. He dropped the bar.
Nikolai looked into the dark alleyway, wary. A metal dumpster lid was swinging, no doubt it had banged against its metal side.
A shadow moved, fast, scrambling out of the dumpster.
A raccoon? Some sort of animal-
Nikolai grabbed his phone, turning on the flashlight.
Eyes reflected the light back at him, but it was no raccoon.
A foxboy- teenage? Adult?- stared, frozen. A rotten chicken carcass in its mouth.
It- he- was filthy and had no clothes. Naked and streaked with grime.
Bones jutted through his skin, and Nikolai could see every frantic pulse of his ribs as he breathed. His collarbones seemed ready to burst through.
The foxboy was trembling, black fur puffed and ears swiveled back. Tail between his legs. The white tip was gray.
Fear, Nikolai knew. There was no growling.
It was like seeing a stray bearded dragon or parrot or tiger.
Because surely this was a pet. Foxboys were far too rare, far too exotic to be anything but.
He didn’t even know it was legal to own one in the city.
Well. The poor thing wasn’t owned now. No collar. Unfed.
“Hey there,” he finally managed to choke out. “You want something to eat?”
Ears perked forward.
Nikolai slowly, without taking his eyes off the animal, bent down to pick up his granola bar.
He stayed crouched low, squatting.
“Here you are.”
He held out the bar.
The foxboy’s pupils grew wide. He dropped the carcass, thank God, and darted forward.
He snatched the bar and retreated. Sat in front of his previous prize, the chicken, guarding it.
At first, Nikolai worried about the wrapper, but no. The foxboy ripped it with ragged and broken claws and shoveled the food in so fast it would have choked a less determined creature.
Nikolai searched his bag. He was sure he had an apple too, and yes there it was.
He offered it, palm open.
The foxboy’s fur was less puffy now, his ears forward and tail happily swishing.
“You’re a pet, aren’t you?” he asked softly as the animal approached slower, eyes on the apple and nose twitching. He didn’t answer, focused on the singular mission of eating.
Now that he was closer, Nikolai still couldn’t tell how old he was. He didn’t have experience with such things. He was small, but didn’t have the figure of a child, but that just could be his boniness.
“Were you left here?” he asked. It was rhetorical. No one accidentally lost such a distinctive animal for so long without looking. Not to such a degree that their lost pet was this sick.
The smell was awful too- stank of rot and sweat and possibly urine-
The foxboy had finished the apple, core and all, and looked up at Nikolai for more.
He didn’t have more food on him, but he held out his hand, palm down and relaxed.
The foxboy carefully sniffed at his knuckles, tongue flicking out to give his hand a little lick.
Oh, he was precious. Even in this state, Nikolai could tell he was adorable.
Nikolai slowly moved to pet the animal between the ears. His dark fur was so soft, despite that it was oily and greasy. Only God knew how long it had been since he’d been washed.
The foxboy leaned into the touch, pressing so hard he nearly fell over.
“You want to come home with me?” Niko asked.
A pause. The tip of the creature’s tail flicked.
“I’ve got food,” he coaxed.
That was the magic phrase, because the foxboy headbutted his hand, rubbing his cheek on it.
Message received.
___________________
The puzzle was getting the foxboy inside.
He followed well enough, but he was nude and Nikolai was pretty sure it was either illegal to own a foxboy without a license, or it was against his lease, or both.
Maybe he could sneak him up to the tenth floor unnoticed. He prayed silently as he coaxed the animal inside, through the lobby, and to the elevator.
No one was downstairs, and the elevator was already on the first floor.
He pressed the button, the gray steel doors sliding open.
“Come on,” he said, stepping through.
The foxboy did not follow.
Shit.
Nikolai held down the open door button.
The foxboy’s fur was standing on end again, and he peered into the elevator.
Nerves.
“I know, but it will take us upstairs to my home.”
The tail curled up between the foxboy's legs.
“That’s where dinner is,” he pleaded.
The foxboy ducked his head, lowering himself to a crawl as he slinked inside.
Nikolai felt bad- he did- but ten flights of stairs was not a journey worth the risk.
The doors closed.
The elevator began to move.
The foxboy scrambled to a corner, making himself small against the wall.
Whines poured from him like crying, his eyes darting, pupils tiny in a sea of blue.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Nikolai reassured him, but it was futile.
He reached over to pet him, but the foxboy flinched.
Touch from a stranger wasn't going to help.
Instead, Nikolai felt for his keys and hoped no one else needed the lift.
Finally, after an eternity watching the numbers tick up, the doors opened.
The foxboy darted out.
Why was he so fast-
Nikolai went after him, and luckily the animal had frozen in the hall.
Still low on the ground, ears moving on a swivel. Was he confused? Never used an elevator before, probably.
It must seem like magic to him.
Nikolai could see dark letters on the nape of the foxboy’s neck, but there was no time.
“Come on, food this way,” he said, putting a gentle hand on the creature’s shoulder. He guided him to his apartment, praising him.
“Good boy,” he breathed. “Just a moment.”
He ushered the foxboy in, closing and locking the door tight.
Nikolai had promised there would be food. He tossed his bag aside. Better to fulfill that sooner than later, or there might be a problem. He didn’t know this animal.
He fetched a bowl and grabbed what fruit he had.
“Here.”
The foxboy didn’t even wait until the bowl was fully on the floor before shoving his face into the blueberries.
“I’m going to cook now,” he told him. “Then I’ll give you more.”
The letters were more visible now. They sat just below where his fur began.
Nikolai craned his neck to read them at a better angle. They were tattooed on. Perhaps the previous owners didn’t like collars?
At least it wasn’t a brand.
Juno, they read.
Nikolai let Juno eat as he got out a pan.
Then he paused.
What could foxboys eat?
Juno’s teeth- from what he’d seen of them- were not the same as human teeth.
He pulled out his phone. Thank God for google.
The list was large enough that feeding him wouldn’t be too much of an issue. It boiled down to ‘no spices’, ‘light salt’, ‘no chocolate’, and ‘less processed’.
More than he expected.
Nikolai had picked out a steak for himself earlier that week, and luckily the package came with two.
He set water to boil in a pot as he chopped potatoes. Usually, he’d heavily salt the water for taste, but not this time.
He’d make his own, seasoned food, after cooking the plain meal for Juno.
Once the potatoes were fork tender, he drained them and let them cool on a plate before searing a steak.
He added a bare amount of salt. It didn’t take long until it was rare. A little too rare for him, but that’s what was advised.
Nikolai added the steak to the plate, and cut it up for his new buddy.
He turned and jumped.
Juno was staring up at him, silently, barely a foot away.
“How long have you been there?” he asked. He only got a few blinks in response.
Weren’t foxboys supposed to talk?
He shook it off before going over to switch the empty bowl for the dinner. Nikolai rinsed the dish and filled it with clean cool water.
Honestly, he should have offered water first.
Juno was chowing down, but slower. Good.
Nikolai fixed his own dinner, and turned on the television. He sat on the couch.
The smell coming off of Juno mixed in an unpleasant way with the scent of a cooked meal.
Nikolai wrinkled his nose as he ate.
“You need a bath,” he told Juno. The foxboy was on all fours still, lowered with his tail wagging. His genitals were hanging.
Nikolai looked away, face hot.
“Clothes too,” he said aloud, focusing on his show.
___________________
Showering Juno wasn’t as hard as he thought it might be.
Juno sat on the tile, still and well-behaved as Nikolai worked a second round of shampoo into his fur.
Gray water, an improvement from black, swirled into the drain. The soap wasn’t even lathering, which meant a substantial amount of grime.
Nikolai was only in his boxers, having given up any pretense of staying clean himself.
“You’re being very patient,” he told Juno. “Thank you.”
Juno made an odd little sound, something nearly akin to a bird. A sort of… warble.
But he didn’t move, and maybe that was just a nice little sound.
Nikolai could see a lot of googling in his future.
The easy part was Juno’s fur-less skin, but his tail took ages to get clean, and the top of his head was no better.
He washed Juno’s ears the best he could (after researching how) with a damp cloth.
“At least you didn’t have fleas,” he told Juno. “We’re all done.”
Nikolai toweled Juno’s sopping wet fur the best he could.
“Do you want me to use a hair dryer?” he asked. The towels were just not enough.
In response, Juno shook like a dog, spraying droplets everywhere. Nikolai threw up his hands.
“Juno, please,” he laughed. “Alright, I get it. No more.”
Juno chirped and clicked at him, and smiled in a very human way.
Nikolai couldn’t be mad at him. He was too cute.
“Well, I’m going to shower. I’ll be out soon.”
___________________
Nikolai changed into his pajamas after washing up. It was early, but he was just worn out.
Juno wasn’t on the couch like he expected. He was curled up on the rug, tail neatly tucked into him.
“You want to sit on the couch, sweetheart? It’s allowed, promise.”
Juno’s head lifted, unsure.
“You don’t have to. I just thought you’d be more comfortable.”
Juno laid back down.
Oh well.
Nikolai grabbed his laptop and searched foxboy clothing.
There were a few promising results. Socks with the fronts open to allow for claws, trousers with slits for tails. A skirt or two with the same feature.
Shirts were all cutesy patterns, but there was nothing preventing Juno from wearing a normal, fairly priced shirt.
He ordered a pajama set too.
It was the underwear that made him pause.
Why were they all jockstraps?
He flushed, and switched tabs to get away from the pictures.
It made sense, unfortunately. Easier to accommodate for a tail if there was no true fabric to get in the way.
Nikolai ordered the underwear.
___________________
He put Juno to bed after a snack; the foxboy’s tummy bulging from fullness.
Juno still didn’t want the couch, so Nikolai gave him a pillow and draped him in a blanket. A large pet bed was added to the shopping list.
He considered taking off work tomorrow, but it was a friday. They’d have all weekend to figure things out.
What was the worst that could happen?
taglist:@haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandahes
Foxtale
My Writing Masterpost
Juno Collection Masterpost
Next
Warnings: dehumanization, starvation, nudity
It was a warmer night, almost too warm for a suit.
Nikolai walked regardless, too wound up from the day to take a taxi and risk a conversation. Besides, his apartment in Garden Towers wasn’t far enough from the financial district to justify the expense. Even if the expense was hardly pocket change.
He could use the exercise. Too much time on a computer wasn’t healthy, and with the market and paperwork all digital, he spent most of the day sitting down.
It was a nice night.
The streetlights had just come on, the sky darkened to a dim blue. Here in the city, it was impossible to see the stars, but Mother was probably enjoying the cloudless spring night at the estate.
Crickets chirped in the hedges and potted plants, growing silent when he passed by. A few birds still sat on wires, but they were quiet. Nikolai could hear the low hum of distant traffic. A slight breeze in the air carried the scent of food; no doubt someone cooking with a window open.
His stomach rumbled. Nikolai’s building wasn’t far off, but a snack wouldn’t ruin his appetite.
He kept a few options in his bag anyway.
Niko stopped to fish out a granola bar.
A sudden crash came from the alley. He dropped the bar.
Nikolai looked into the dark alleyway, wary. A metal dumpster lid was swinging, no doubt it had banged against its metal side.
A shadow moved, fast, scrambling out of the dumpster.
A raccoon? Some sort of animal-
Nikolai grabbed his phone, turning on the flashlight.
Eyes reflected the light back at him, but it was no raccoon.
A foxboy- teenage? Adult?- stared, frozen. A rotten chicken carcass in its mouth.
It- he- was filthy and had no clothes. Naked and streaked with grime.
Bones jutted through his skin, and Nikolai could see every frantic pulse of his ribs as he breathed. His collarbones seemed ready to burst through.
The foxboy was trembling, black fur puffed and ears swiveled back. Tail between his legs. The white tip was gray.
Fear, Nikolai knew. There was no growling.
It was like seeing a stray bearded dragon or parrot or tiger.
Because surely this was a pet. Foxboys were far too rare, far too exotic to be anything but.
He didn’t even know it was legal to own one in the city.
Well. The poor thing wasn’t owned now. No collar. Unfed.
“Hey there,” he finally managed to choke out. “You want something to eat?”
Ears perked forward.
Nikolai slowly, without taking his eyes off the animal, bent down to pick up his granola bar.
He stayed crouched low, squatting.
“Here you are.”
He held out the bar.
The foxboy’s pupils grew wide. He dropped the carcass, thank God, and darted forward.
He snatched the bar and retreated. Sat in front of his previous prize, the chicken, guarding it.
At first, Nikolai worried about the wrapper, but no. The foxboy ripped it with ragged and broken claws and shoveled the food in so fast it would have choked a less determined creature.
Nikolai searched his bag. He was sure he had an apple too, and yes there it was.
He offered it, palm open.
The foxboy’s fur was less puffy now, his ears forward and tail happily swishing.
“You’re a pet, aren’t you?” he asked softly as the animal approached slower, eyes on the apple and nose twitching. He didn’t answer, focused on the singular mission of eating.
Now that he was closer, Nikolai still couldn’t tell how old he was. He didn’t have experience with such things. He was small, but didn’t have the figure of a child, but that just could be his boniness.
“Were you left here?” he asked. It was rhetorical. No one accidentally lost such a distinctive animal for so long without looking. Not to such a degree that their lost pet was this sick.
The smell was awful too- stank of rot and sweat and possibly urine-
The foxboy had finished the apple, core and all, and looked up at Nikolai for more.
He didn’t have more food on him, but he held out his hand, palm down and relaxed.
The foxboy carefully sniffed at his knuckles, tongue flicking out to give his hand a little lick.
Oh, he was precious. Even in this state, Nikolai could tell he was adorable.
Nikolai slowly moved to pet the animal between the ears. His dark fur was so soft, despite that it was oily and greasy. Only God knew how long it had been since he’d been washed.
The foxboy leaned into the touch, pressing so hard he nearly fell over.
“You want to come home with me?” Niko asked.
A pause. The tip of the creature’s tail flicked.
“I’ve got food,” he coaxed.
That was the magic phrase, because the foxboy headbutted his hand, rubbing his cheek on it.
Message received.
___________________
The puzzle was getting the foxboy inside.
He followed well enough, but he was nude and Nikolai was pretty sure it was either illegal to own a foxboy without a license, or it was against his lease, or both.
Maybe he could sneak him up to the tenth floor unnoticed. He prayed silently as he coaxed the animal inside, through the lobby, and to the elevator.
No one was downstairs, and the elevator was already on the first floor.
He pressed the button, the gray steel doors sliding open.
“Come on,” he said, stepping through.
The foxboy did not follow.
Shit.
Nikolai held down the open door button.
The foxboy’s fur was standing on end again, and he peered into the elevator.
Nerves.
“I know, but it will take us upstairs to my home.”
The tail curled up between the foxboy's legs.
“That’s where dinner is,” he pleaded.
The foxboy ducked his head, lowering himself to a crawl as he slinked inside.
Nikolai felt bad- he did- but ten flights of stairs was not a journey worth the risk.
The doors closed.
The elevator began to move.
The foxboy scrambled to a corner, making himself small against the wall.
Whines poured from him like crying, his eyes darting, pupils tiny in a sea of blue.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Nikolai reassured him, but it was futile.
He reached over to pet him, but the foxboy flinched.
Touch from a stranger wasn't going to help.
Instead, Nikolai felt for his keys and hoped no one else needed the lift.
Finally, after an eternity watching the numbers tick up, the doors opened.
The foxboy darted out.
Why was he so fast-
Nikolai went after him, and luckily the animal had frozen in the hall.
Still low on the ground, ears moving on a swivel. Was he confused? Never used an elevator before, probably.
It must seem like magic to him.
Nikolai could see dark letters on the nape of the foxboy’s neck, but there was no time.
“Come on, food this way,” he said, putting a gentle hand on the creature’s shoulder. He guided him to his apartment, praising him.
“Good boy,” he breathed. “Just a moment.”
He ushered the foxboy in, closing and locking the door tight.
Nikolai had promised there would be food. He tossed his bag aside. Better to fulfill that sooner than later, or there might be a problem. He didn’t know this animal.
He fetched a bowl and grabbed what fruit he had.
“Here.”
The foxboy didn’t even wait until the bowl was fully on the floor before shoving his face into the blueberries.
“I’m going to cook now,” he told him. “Then I’ll give you more.”
The letters were more visible now. They sat just below where his fur began.
Nikolai craned his neck to read them at a better angle. They were tattooed on. Perhaps the previous owners didn’t like collars?
At least it wasn’t a brand.
Juno, they read.
Nikolai let Juno eat as he got out a pan.
Then he paused.
What could foxboys eat?
Juno’s teeth- from what he’d seen of them- were not the same as human teeth.
He pulled out his phone. Thank God for google.
The list was large enough that feeding him wouldn’t be too much of an issue. It boiled down to ‘no spices’, ‘light salt’, ‘no chocolate’, and ‘less processed’.
More than he expected.
Nikolai had picked out a steak for himself earlier that week, and luckily the package came with two.
He set water to boil in a pot as he chopped potatoes. Usually, he’d heavily salt the water for taste, but not this time.
He’d make his own, seasoned food, after cooking the plain meal for Juno.
Once the potatoes were fork tender, he drained them and let them cool on a plate before searing a steak.
He added a bare amount of salt. It didn’t take long until it was rare. A little too rare for him, but that’s what was advised.
Nikolai added the steak to the plate, and cut it up for his new buddy.
He turned and jumped.
Juno was staring up at him, silently, barely a foot away.
“How long have you been there?” he asked. He only got a few blinks in response.
Weren’t foxboys supposed to talk?
He shook it off before going over to switch the empty bowl for the dinner. Nikolai rinsed the dish and filled it with clean cool water.
Honestly, he should have offered water first.
Juno was chowing down, but slower. Good.
Nikolai fixed his own dinner, and turned on the television. He sat on the couch.
The smell coming off of Juno mixed in an unpleasant way with the scent of a cooked meal.
Nikolai wrinkled his nose as he ate.
“You need a bath,” he told Juno. The foxboy was on all fours still, lowered with his tail wagging. His genitals were hanging.
Nikolai looked away, face hot.
“Clothes too,” he said aloud, focusing on his show.
___________________
Showering Juno wasn’t as hard as he thought it might be.
Juno sat on the tile, still and well-behaved as Nikolai worked a second round of shampoo into his fur.
Gray water, an improvement from black, swirled into the drain. The soap wasn’t even lathering, which meant a substantial amount of grime.
Nikolai was only in his boxers, having given up any pretense of staying clean himself.
“You’re being very patient,” he told Juno. “Thank you.”
Juno made an odd little sound, something nearly akin to a bird. A sort of… warble.
But he didn’t move, and maybe that was just a nice little sound.
Nikolai could see a lot of googling in his future.
The easy part was Juno’s fur-less skin, but his tail took ages to get clean, and the top of his head was no better.
He washed Juno’s ears the best he could (after researching how) with a damp cloth.
“At least you didn’t have fleas,” he told Juno. “We’re all done.”
Nikolai toweled Juno’s sopping wet fur the best he could.
“Do you want me to use a hair dryer?” he asked. The towels were just not enough.
In response, Juno shook like a dog, spraying droplets everywhere. Nikolai threw up his hands.
“Juno, please,” he laughed. “Alright, I get it. No more.”
Juno chirped and clicked at him, and smiled in a very human way.
Nikolai couldn’t be mad at him. He was too cute.
“Well, I’m going to shower. I’ll be out soon.”
___________________
Nikolai changed into his pajamas after washing up. It was early, but he was just worn out.
Juno wasn’t on the couch like he expected. He was curled up on the rug, tail neatly tucked into him.
“You want to sit on the couch, sweetheart? It’s allowed, promise.”
Juno’s head lifted, unsure.
“You don’t have to. I just thought you’d be more comfortable.”
Juno laid back down.
Oh well.
Nikolai grabbed his laptop and searched foxboy clothing.
There were a few promising results. Socks with the fronts open to allow for claws, trousers with slits for tails. A skirt or two with the same feature.
Shirts were all cutesy patterns, but there was nothing preventing Juno from wearing a normal, fairly priced shirt.
He ordered a pajama set too.
It was the underwear that made him pause.
Why were they all jockstraps?
He flushed, and switched tabs to get away from the pictures.
It made sense, unfortunately. Easier to accommodate for a tail if there was no true fabric to get in the way.
Nikolai ordered the underwear.
___________________
He put Juno to bed after a snack; the foxboy’s tummy bulging from fullness.
Juno still didn’t want the couch, so Nikolai gave him a pillow and draped him in a blanket. A large pet bed was added to the shopping list.
He considered taking off work tomorrow, but it was a friday. They’d have all weekend to figure things out.
What was the worst that could happen?
taglist:@haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandahes @behind-the-v3il
