revivalproject | A Hunting Archivist

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A Hunting Archivist

WHO: Hunt!Jon & you
WHERE: Apocalypse!Temba
WHAT: Everything is wrong. Jon is a Hunter, out to chase some prey.
WHEN: During the event
WARNINGS: TBA
Note: No beastie traits for Jon at the beginning aside from sharp teeth. This might change during a thread.

A - The Change [ violence may happen - you set the hellscape for this one ]

Jon stands outside, looking up at the sky that looks so eerily familiar but at the same time utterly strange to him. "...it's looking back..." is all he can whisper to himself, quoting himself from what now feels like an eternity ago.

It's not the same eye. It's not The Eye. He would know, wouldn't he?

Or would he? He can't feel it. But at the same time he doesn't believe he should feel it. He hardly know how he is supposed to feel anymore. Aside from cold, maybe. It is cold. And dark. And loud. The blood is loud. It's calling him...

He lets his eyes fall away from the sky, to the ground before him. It's cold. And dead. No traces of any prey.

Wait. Prey? No, that can't be. That's wrong. It's wrong!

Shaking his head, Jon reaches up to press a shaking hand against his own temple before looking around, desperately looking for anyone who can confirm to him that this isn't happening, only to find himself shakily making his way towards the first being he spots, desperately calling out to them. "H-help me- please!"

And that's when everything changes again.

B - The Search [ hellscape starts out as The Hunt ]

These deep, dark woods feel just like home. This is where he belongs. This is where he can smell his prey, hear its very move, locate it so the chase can begin.

Thinking about it already makes Jon shake with excitement and he barely holds back a low growl. He breaks out of the deep woods and into an open clearing. Places where the strange eye above is unobscured by looming trees. But the Hunter doesn't care. He has found his prey and is approaching with measured, silent footsteps.

C - The Chase [ hellscape starts out as The Desolation ]

He had nearly caught up to his prey when the world changed again and soft forest ground turned into hard concrete, making it impossible for the Hunter to be the silent predator he is meant to be. Which doesn't mean Jon has given up, but he still pauses to take in his new surroundings, already missing the fresh, open air and the night sky around him.

There are walls and it is hot and he can hear the screams of those trapped behind closed doors.

Jon snarls to no one in particular. He can't stay here. He has to track down his prey. Randomly picking one direction, he starts down one of the corridors, ignoring the heat, the smoke, the flames. He will either find it, or be found first.

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That growl sent a shiver through Tony as well, a ratcheting of tension up his spine that had him digging his elbow into the ground, hand slowly dropping away from Jon and ready to push off, back into flight like the word was a command. With his gaze locked on Jon's wild eyes, not daring to risk a blink like he was crouched in the dark again, Tony was tightly coiled and ready for the first movement; Jon's sharp breath was mirrored in Tony's choked hiccup, his own hand hitting the ground to help push with his heel slipping through the leaves and elbow digging into the earth, knee driving up under Jon's ribs to keep him away as he fell forward. It was a rapid scramble, leaving Tony panting noisily again in the stillness of the woods, pushed halfway up on one trembling arm and caged still between Jon's where he watched Jon's bowed head for the next threat.

Instead, Jon spoke again, and Tony gave a tiny nod, okay, he had to watch what he said, and closed the inches between them to touch his nose to Jon's hair, letting his eyes close for a deep breath to try to steady himself and listen over the sound of his heart in his ears, trying to make sense of 'don't tempt the blood'. "Okay, okay," he tried to assure, only every word was from the furnace of his heart, the flames licking their way up his throat and his tongue a crucible. "There's no blood, we're going to find somewhere safe," he tried to encourage, every word searing.

"There is nowhere safe." Job answers, his voice miserable and he pushes himself back up onto his feet, freeing Tony from where he has held him captive. His entire posture is laced with tension, but at the same time Jon looks as miserable as he sounds, yet somehow managing to keep himself together as he looks up, somewhat indicating the sky observing them through these trees.

"It- This feels like it's my fault, but-- But this time, I- I have no answers, Tony. I don't know how to stop this. I just- I need-... I don't-" The lack of answers has Jon cut himself off, sharp teeth burying into his lower lip, drawing blood. "I don't know what to do..." And he can only keep himself together for certain periods of time.

Jon drawing away felt like peeling off a blister, enough of a relief from Tony's high strung readiness to shove him off that Tony dropped his head back in the dirt with a shuddering sigh, but with an uncomfortable tug that made his gut twist like he might be sick, too much healthy skin tearing away where Tony wanted to keep him close to his heart in a reassuring hug, and to hear how he screamed as he cooked.

Had he always wanted that?

Tony squeezed his eyes shut to stop them from burning, hands drawing tight into claws over his chest like he might rip this impulse out, holding his breath until Jon tripping over his words pushed him upright. He didn't take the time to try to brush any of the debris off, letting is fall in showers of dust and flutters of leaves as he reached for Jon's face again, cupping it this time in both uncomfortably warm hands to get him to focus. This might have been Jon's fault. That big eye was difficult to ignore. But they could use that. "You're going to tell me what you were doing, before this," Tony instructed. That was an easy first project, not a problem.

Tony getting back onto his feet has Jon take half a step back, yet refusing to back away further. Instead, he wants to move closer again. Closer to that tempting warmth that would just burn him if he dared to get too close.

He sees Tony lift his hands to his face and doesn't try to pull away from the touch, instead closing his eyes the moment before the actual touch. A touch that is much hotter than Jon has anticipated and his eyes fly open again with a little yelp of surprise at the burning sensation against his face.

Surprise is quickly replaced by pain, however, and rather than actually answering Tony's question, Jon lets out a howl of pain , his own hands flying up to grasp Tony's wrists and pull the other man's hand away from his face. These hands that have never hurt him before, but right now are about to burn away his very skin.

Solving this problem, dreading all of the worst outcomes and what he might have to do if this was Jon, the nagging hollowness of this whole place or situation or whatever it was making him feel so isolated and cruelly cut off from the constant hum of the network and nowhere to find a fucking drink, all of that burning, aching need suddenly stopped to laser focus on that haunting, exquisite sound Jon made. Jon was stronger than he looked, but Tony's eyes went wide and black, trying to drink in every pained twist in Jon's face, his hands going viciously tense, wrists straining like the tendons might snap under Jon's hold. "No," he said, a simple demand to stop Jon from trying to get away, and was happy to convince him further with one hand sliding back into his hair to grab roughly by the roots to recklessly tug and help guide him as Tony crowded him back against the first tree that Tony could pin him to. "Look at me," he continued, still calm and focused despite the tension and strain of his muscles to keep Jon from pulling his hold away, guiding him again to meet Tony's eye and show him all of that pain with the other hand around Jon's throat, pushing back against the tree and scalding.

Jon finds the time to gasp before his back hit the tree and his air is additionally cut short by the pressure against his throat, resulting in him casting a grimace up at Tony. It's a combination of both physical pain and agitation. He feels thew rough bark dig into his back, Tony's hands charring both hair and skin, but despite the agony, Jon won't give the man any of his fear. His hands may have fallen away from their hold on Tony's wrists, but they haven't dropped entirely and he has pulled one foot up behind himself to push back against the tree, finding footing there. His eyes never leave Tony's, even as tears of pain blur his vision for a moment.

And despite the hand pushing against his throat, Jon growls up at Tony. The growl starts low, but quickly grows into an angry bark and the pupils in Jon's eyes constrict the moment he pushes himself away from the tree and bodily into Tony's form, hands coming up to dig sharp claws into the other man's shoulders and just push him away, maybe even back down on the ground.

All of Tony's focused intent should have been making more of this feeling, and to rapidly feel it draining instead despite his hand tightening around Jon's throat left his mouth dry, eyelashes fluttering with a wave of confusion that tempered his intense stare, and the distinct awareness that he might be hurting Jon suddenly splintering icily from the sweat standing out on the back of his neck. He must have been doing this for a reason, so he blinked again, trying to find it, and sucked in a sharp breath to try, "Tell me...you were telling me--..." It was already quiet, and lost completely under the rumble of Jon's growl. Already unsteady, Tony was unprepared for the shove, snarling back at the tear of Jon's nails into his skin and grasping for balance with that cruel snare still curled against Jon's scalp and grabbing at the collar of his shirt but stumbling through the undergrowth and tipping back against the shuddering trunk of another tree.

As Tony is pushed backwards, Jon is right on him, eyes wild and viciously sharp teeth bared. The rough hold against the back of his head doesn't necessarily deter him from pushing further forward, one clawed hand holding firmly within Tony's flesh while the other withdraws only to remain poised in warning even after the pair's current momentum has come to an abrupt halt yet again.

Jon doesn't release Tony, but remains as close as he has ended up after more of less crashing into the other body, not once having broken eye contact. His face is still hot and partially charred and Jon lets out a hot exhale, twisting his claws slightly within that hot flesh and risking to burn his fingers as well. Not that he cares as he presses forward a little more, leaning into the heat of Tony's body with another deep growl that is both yearning and warning. "Don't. Make me. Chase you."

Maybe this wasn't Tony not being able to control his own messed up impulses, the ones that did always lead to him hurting people and he probably should have realized that must have been what he really wanted because no one else seemed to keep doing it--okay, maybe it wasn't just that, but something that was making them all want to hurt each other. Jon had never hurt him like this, and Tony had given him plenty of reasons to want to, had never given him any indication that he would have Tony clamping his teeth down around a whimper as he slumped back against the tree, heels dug into the dirt to push back and trying to wrench his shoulder away with his hand around Jon's wrist now to try to pull those claws out of his skin.

Slouched down with his shoulders up, jaw clenched and wide, stricken eyes searching Jon's cruel scowl, Tony did hear Jon, but it sounded like a pretty good suggestion to him. They clearly had to get away from each other before something was broken beyond repair. Abruptly, the hold still tugging at Jon's hair stopped pulling to snatch him the last few inches closer, where his jaw struck hard against Tony's mouth and Tony ignored the bite of his own teeth into his lip to kiss the tender skin under Jon's ear clean off. Where his hands were hot, his mouth was like an open flame pressed directly to Jon's neck, making the skin instantly bubble and the blood cauterize before Tony could taste it. He didn't linger, pushing at Jon once again in his kiss, hoping he was staggered enough to bolt into a healthy head start.

Jon feels and undeniable flash of excitement upon being pulled close. It doesn't exactly last, however, not with the surge of pain following quickly after, making Jon pull away with a howl, pulling his claws free roughly to press the same hand against his neck, teeth bared in disbelief and agony as Tony makes for his escape.

Seeing Tony run, it hurts. At the same time Jon feels compelled to follow. To chase. To hunt what should be his despite the change that has come over this place clearly doing its best to deny them what they crave. All in all it seems foolish to go after Tony, especially after he has already been burned by his hands and now even his lips.

At the same time, Jon has not always been the most reasonable in his decision making. But sure enough he has been very stubborn in his pursuits. Therefore, after recovering from the surprise and at least most of the pain, Jon pick up the hunt for the man he can't let go even after having gotten hurt by his kiss.

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A Hunting Archivist

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