#I think I was helped by the foresight of knowing the pacing was rough going in and also the knowledge that like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ieattaperecorders · 5 years ago

Text

Trapdoor

Inb4 we get a good description of the post-apocalyptic world, wrote a little monster encounter for these boys. It’s also here on Ao3.

- - -

“Where are you going?”

Martin turned to Jon who stood a few paces back, looking quizzical. “Towards the hills? You just said it would be safer there.”

“I absolutely did not say that.” Jon replied. “I said we ought to go this way,” he gestured in the direction he’d been turning. “Stick to the lower places, where there’s less room for things to sneak up.”

The rolling, rocky countryside had been suspiciously innocuous lately. Unsettlingly normal. For the last few kilometers, nothing had leaped out at them or tried to lure them towards apparent safety. No part of the world had suddenly twisted or inverted around them. In fact, for some time the terrain they’d been walking across had done an impressive job of resembling ordinary Scottish land on a gray and drizzly morning. It was leaving both of them tense, anxious, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“. . .I’m pretty sure I heard you.” Martin looked back at the hills. “And it feels safer to go that way? I dunno, higher ground? Doesn’t that seem right?”

“Martin.” Jon put his hands on Martin’s arms, speaking slowly and carefully. “You might want to consider the possibility that something is making you feel that way.”

“That doesn’t sound ri - - ah.” Martin caught himself. “Maybe. Er,” he lifted his arms. “Have I got any spiders on me?”

Jon peered over him nervously. “I mean. I don’t see any, but it’s not likely going to be that simple.”

“How do we know which way is safe, then?” Martin asked. “If we’re possibly dealing with mind control, it could be tricking you as well.”

“It’s wise to be skeptical where these things are concerned.” Jon said, “But I was able to see in the Unknowing, and I think this may be similar. Besides that, you seem a little . . . dazed, to me?”

“Yeah. . .” Now that he was focusing on it, he had to admit that his head felt off somehow. “I guess I am feeling a little . . . dazed.”

“I think that my connection to the Eye is the only thing keeping keep me safe. We ought to move as quickly as we can.” Jon looked at him intently. “If this place is affecting your mind, you might not be able to trust everything you see and hear. So stay close to me, try to ignore anything strange. I’ll guide you.”

There was something moving in Martin’s peripheral vision. Tiny ripples formed in the dirt, as if something was shifting underground. He swore he could hear a muffled noise, like a shuffling or hissing, coming from nearby.

“Don’t focus on it.” Jon’s hand came up to tilt Martin’s face towards his own. “Whatever you’re seeing, I’m pretty sure looking at it is a mistake. Just look at me. Focus on my voice. You can trust me.”

“Right.” That noise was getting louder, and Martin tried to ignore it. “Looking is probably a mistake. . . .”

Even out of the corner of his eye, though, Martin could tell that thing was moving closer. He was relieved when Jon turned, hand clasping his, and started leading him away from it.

“This way,” Jon said, pulling gently but quickly at him. “Try to keep your eyes on me.”

But it was really hard not to look down when the mud started to swirl around at their heels. The sound coming from below was just loud enough for Martin to make out a word.

Stop--

And he was pretty sure he did not want to listen to the ground telling him to stop moving, so he decided to quicken his pace a little. But he hadn't gotten far before the soil opened up behind him and a hand, black with mud, reached out and gripped his ankle.

Martin yelped and pulled away, but the hand’s grip was tight, and he only succeeded in yanking half an arm out of the ground with it.

“Don’t look down!” Jon’s voice came from behind him, hand still gripping his. “That’s how it pulls you in. Just keep moving!”

And Martin would have done as he said, except at that moment the soil shifted and a pair of shoulders joined the arm, as did the rough shape of a human head. There were more arms surrounding it, bent and twisted ones with joints like the legs of an insect and long, grasping hands. They reached out and wrapped around the muddy figure to pull it back down, but it was quickly struggling free. Choking, gasping and spitting mud, Jon’s face emerged from below.

“S-stop--” he gasped, looking wild-eyed at Martin “Stop listening to it!”

“Oh my God . . . Jon!?” Martin stared at the half-buried figure.

“Let him go!” Jon’s voice growled from behind him, directed at the muddy silhouette. “He’s not for you!”

The Jon that was covered in mud coughed and spat out a gobbet of earth, its hand still gripping Martin’s leg . He was pulling him towards the mud, he realized, and the grasping hands. Or, no, was he pulling himself out? Or was he just pulling Martin towards himself, away from the one who was holding him?

The one who was - - there was still a hand gripping his hand. Whose...whose hand was on him . . . .?

“Martin. Look at it.” The Jon clinging to his ankle fixed a penetrating gaze on him. Martin felt something . . . a painful moment of light piercing the haze in his mind. “Look at what you’ve been talking to.”

Martin looked back at the thing holding his hand. It was definitely not Jon. It had too many limbs, and not enough eyes, and when it smiled there was a hissing sound like that of a chittering insect.

He screamed, pulling his hand back and trying back away. Unfortunately the real Jon still held his ankle, so he didn’t back away so much as stumble and fall flat onto the ground. The monster loomed. It no longer looked like Jon, but it retained just enough detail - his scarred right hand, the color of his shirt, the lower half of his face now split with a too wide grin - to make everything else seem worse.

“Get away - -” Jon’s voice was hoarse, rough with the soil he’d been trapped in, but there was fire in it. “Get - - away from him.”

The creature froze in place as Jon pulled himself up beside Martin. Martin assumed that Jon’s gaze was keeping it still, but he wasn’t going to rely on the Watcher if he could help it. He took the moment of distraction as a chance to sweep the creature’s legs. Having a dozen, spindly, twisting limbs might be good for frightening people who wander into your terrible pit trap. But they didn’t provide much in terms of stability. The creature went down, landing half on top of Martin.

In a panic, he kicked it towards the hole that Jon had crawled out of. A new arm shot out of the ground just as the monster began to rise. A hand wrapped around one if its gangly legs, and was joined by another. Then another, and another, and many more, until it was looked more like a tangle of chitinous wire than anything remotely humanoid.

Martin and Jon scrabbled back from the pits’ edge as the thing was dragged down and swallowed, screaming inhumanly. The ground went quiet again, and the two of them stopped and breathed.

“Are you all right?” Jon asked.

Martin nodded. “I think so. What about you?”

“I think so.” Jon cleared his throat, voice still raw. “I wasn’t down there long. If, ah, if suffocation were lethal here I’d probably be in more trouble.”

“Here, hang on. . . .” Martin shrugged off his backpack. He was glad he’d had the foresight to bring some bottles of water, despite neither of them feeling thirst anymore. He’d known they’d have some practical use -- or, if he was being honest with himself, tea-related use. But this seemed the more immediate concern.

Jon took the water gratefully, swishing his mouth out and spitting a few times, then attempted to clean himself off. His clothes weren’t going to be pristine again, that was for certain, but he managed to get from ‘dirt monster’ to ‘man who’s been tramping through the muddy woods.’ Which wasn't far from where they’d both been to begin with, and would have to do.

“Stepped in the wrong spot.” Jon muttered as he scrubbed at his hair. “I was underground in an instant.”

“I didn’t even see. I’m sorry.” Martin said.

“It’s not your fault.” Jon replied. “That thing was toying with your mind. I could see it even from down there, but I couldn’t reach you. . . .”

“We should get moving again.” Martin said, getting to his feet. “That thing might be able to crawl out too.”

“Yes. You’re right.” Jon pulled himself up, brushing off what remaining soil he could, and took Martin’s hand. “Towards the hills?”

Martin nodded, slinging the bag back over his shoulder.

“Jon. . .” a startlingly familiar voice came from behind them. “What’s going on?”

Martin turned and found himself facing a figure that looked only vaguely like him. Actually, it would be more right to say it looked exactly like he would look if a number of long, twisted monster arms burst from his back and wrapped themselves around his head and body. It was covered in black mud and one of those long hands obscured the top corner of its face. It stood a few meters away, but Martin could still make out its expression, which was a mocking mimicry of concern.

The Martin-thing held out a hand. “Jon, listen, that’s not me,” it said. Its voice sounded off, though that much might just be because Martin was used to hearing his own voice resonate in his head. “I don’t know what it is, but that isn’t me.”

If the image hadn’t been so unsettling, Martin might have laughed at it. “Nice try? But I don't think he's going to buy it.”

Martin looked over at Jon, who was staring in shock at the Martin-thing. He turned back to Martin and his eyes narrowed with suspicion and concern. Martin groaned inwardly.

“Seriously?” He said. “You’re not really fooled by that thing, are you? It’s covered in weird spider-arms and dripping with mud.”

“Is that what you see?” Jon asked, brow knit.

“I mean, yes?”

“Because he looks entirely normal to me. And--” Jon tensed and Martin felt static at the edges of his perception. A quiet, pained grunt came from between Jon’s teeth. “He looks. . .authentic. Real,” he glanced back at Martin, looking intently at him. “So do you, incidentally.”

“Well thanks very much.” Martin said.

“I, ah.” Jon frowned. “I’m not sure. . .what to do with this?”

There was silence for a while as the three of them stared at each other, not moving. Jon was still holding Martin’s arm, but his grip had tightened a little. Martin suddenly wasn’t sure if Jon was clinging to him, or keeping him in place.

“Okaaay.” The Other Martin said. “So, uh. . . Jon, when you were still working in research, I picked your name for the yearly White Elephant. I barely knew you at that point, so I made the mistake of asking Tim what he thought you’d want. I probably should have realized the ‘it’s wine o’clock somewhere’ t-shirt wasn’t actually your style, but I thought maybe you and Tim had a similar sense of humor and you dressed differently when you weren’t at work.”

“Oh, we’re doing that, are we?” Martin said, annoyed. “Fine. I didn’t let you eat lunch alone for two weeks after you were stabbed. You didn’t want to talk about any of the things you were obsessed with at the time, so I started chatting about anything I could think of to fill the silence. Somehow I got onto cartoons we grew up with and that’s how I found out you’ve never played a Pokemon game but you know a really suspicious amount about the anime.”

The Martin-Thing? Other Martin? Martin was just going to think of it as the other one. It frowned through the tangle of its limbs at Martin’s response.

“The first time you told me that you loved me was on the train to Scotland,” it said, and hearing it talk about that made Martin’s teeth clench. “I was so startled to hear it that I froze and didn’t respond at all, and you started apologizing, worrying you’d made a mistake.”

“Our first night in the safehouse--” Martin said. “You were stroking my hair because you thought I was asleep. I thought you might stop if I opened my eyes, so I just kept pretending. I didn’t tell you about it for a week.”

“Two weeks after we met--” the other one began.

“Stop, stop!” Jon shouted, waved his free hand in the air. “None of that proves anything. There are creatures in this world quite capable of stealing memories, of replacing or re-writing them. You should both know that,” he added with a glare, “regardless of whether you’re real or not.”

The other one frowned. “Jon, it’s me . . . .”

The thing took a step closer and Martin started to back away. Jon kept his grip on him, though that only meant he was pulled along a step or two before he dug his heels into the soft earth.

“Don’t!” he snapped, and Martin stopped moving. Jon released his arm, pose tense, his gaze shooting wildly between them. “Don’t move. Just- - both of you stay where I can see you.”

“Okay. Okay . . .” Martin held up his hands. He could see Jon was starting to panic, and tried to sound calm. “I’m not moving.”

The other one mirrored Martin's pose and Jon nodded, frowning. He backed a step or two away, positioning himself more evenly between the two Martins. His arms were a little out from his sides, as if making ready to grab or push away either one.

“Maybe don’t get too close to it, though?” Martin said, an edge of worry in his voice. “Just in case? Okay?”

“Yeah,” the other one shot back, audibly offended. “Don’t get too close to it, Jon.”

Jon pressed a hand to his forehead, sighing. “Just - just let me think, all right?”

“Right. Take all the time you need.” the other one said, its tone unpleasantly familiar.

Jon paced back and forth with agitation, always keeping his eyes on one of them. Martin watched the other one, in case it made a move for Jon or for him. He couldn’t help but notice It was looking back at him with what he assumed was an identical, watchful expression. Mimics were absolutely the worst.

“Either somehow both of you are really Martin,” Jon muttered, still pacing “or my perception’s being altered in a way I can’t break through. But if it’s the latter I don’t know how we’d proceed. If they both look real, maybe it means neither of them is? But if that’s the case the real Martin could be anywhere, and how am I supposed to find him if I can’t trust what I see. . . .”

“I mean - -” Martin couldn’t help but feel a little hurt hearing Jon talk about him as if he was both not there and in fact, not real. It wasn’t his fault, but it did sting a bit. “How could we both be real?”

“Does that seem impossible at this point?” Jon threw his arms in the air. “That something could split a person in two? Or double them? That would feed into something, surely. The -- the existential fear of it all. Not to mention the fear of being deceived, of unreality, paranoia. . . .”

Martin considered this. “Well. . . that’s fair. But we both saw that other Jon. After that, it seems more likely that one of us is a trick,” he sighed, glaring at the other one. “And I mean. I know which one’s real, but I don’t know how I can prove it to you.”

“You didn’t say you were real.” The other one said triumphantly. “You said ‘I know which one,’ that’s probably a tell, Jon.”

“I meant me, I’m real, I was just trying not to be rude.”

“All right, all right. If nothing else either one of you could be a . . . a replacement.” Jon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “But unless I know, I can’t take the risk of leaving the real Martin behind. So I think we’re all just going to have to stick together until one of you tries to, I don’t know, enslave my will or turn me inside out or something.”

“That’s a bad plan, Jon.” The other one said.

“Yeah, I kind of have to agree with the other one?” Martin said. “I mean, you’re talking about definitely letting an evil doppleganger tag along, I can’t see that ending well.”

“Well unless one of you wants to tear off a Martin skin and get this over with, I don’t see any other options!” Jon snapped, frustrated.

There was a pause, then the other one spoke up.

“What if you asked us who we are?” it suggested. “I mean. . .nothing’s been able to lie to you so far, right?”

Jon considered. He looked at Martin for permission, and he nodded.

“Yeah, all right.” he said. “Do it.”

“Who are you?” Jon’s voice reverberated, reaching into him. The words came out with no resistance.

“I’m Martin Blackwood,” he said.

Jon looked guarded but a measure of relief showed in him, and Martin smiled at that.

“And who are you?” Jon asked the other.

“I’m Martin Blackwood,” it said, “I'm someone who loves you.”

“I mean, I love you too.” Martin said, frowning. Hearing that thing say those words in particular made his stomach twist a little. “I just didn’t think that was what you were asking.”

Jon was quiet for a moment, considering, then he looked at the other one. “Who were you an hour ago?”

“I was Martin Blackwood,” it said. “I’ve always been.”

“And you?” Jon turned back to Martin. “Who were you an hour ago?”

“I was mud.” Martin said. “Eternally grasping, flowing ever downwards. I was hands, many and needful, aching to grip and wrench and pull. I was the thought of hands, hands that grip the mind. Ones you cannot pull away from without ripping out the most vulnerable parts of yourself. And now, I am Martin Blackwood.”

Martin blinked, hand halfway to his throat. The words had poured out of him, he hadn’t even needed to think. Where had they come from?

“I. . .I don’t. I don’t know why I said that?” He laughed nervously. “Why would I say that?”

Jon’s eyes were wide with fear and he backed towards the other one, arm out as if to separate Martin from it. And that wasn’t fair. Why was he trusting that thing over him? It didn’t even look like him.

“Keep away from it.” Jon said.

“Yeah, I got that.” The thing behind him replied.

“Wait- I, I know how this must sound,” Martin tried to explain, “but it’s got to be some kind of trick. I don’t know where those words came from. It’s me. It’s the real me, I promise.”

“I very much doubt that.” Jon said, his voice cold. He was looking at Martin with such hatred, and it stirred something raw and panicky in him.

“Ask me again!” Martin pleaded, voice trembling. “I’ll get it right this time, just ask again!”

“The answer will be the same.” Jon said firmly.

“Jon.” The thing standing behind him put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, speaking softly. “We should probably run. It feels like this is going to get worse really, really soon.”

“Don’t!” Martin resisted the urge to step closer, afraid that if he did Jon would just do as the other one said and start running. “I’m me. I’m Martin Blackwood. You heard me say it, you know it’s true. I’m Martin.”

“But you’re also a trap.” Jon said. When he opened his mouth again, his voice pierced through Martin’s entire being. “Aren’t you?”

This time he did resist, tried to close his mouth as he the words welled up in him. But it was no use.

“Yes,” tears gathered in Martin’s eyes as the truth forced its way through his lips. “A trap for you.”

“No different than the other half of it.” Jon nodded solemnly. “Just a little bit crueler.”

Martin was dizzy. Everything felt like it was falling away. His own words reverberated in his head, taunting him, and he wanted to scream. Then Jon turned and began to walk away, and Martin did panic.

“Wait! Please, just let me come with you,” he begged. “I’m not - I won’t cause trouble. I won’t even complain about the other one, I promise. I - -” he swallowed. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He saw Jon hesitate, gripping the other one a little more tightly, and it held him tightly back. It hurt. That thing didn’t look or feel remotely right, but it was holding Jon. Holding and being held by him while Martin was left outside. Only a few meters away, but it may as well have been the full length of the earth.

“I feel like myself. I feel like . . .like him,” admitting to being something other than Martin was almost physically painful, but he pressed on. “Like Martin. Maybe I didn’t used to be, but I am now.”

“A hand that can conceive of itself,” Jon said darkly. “Clenched by an unseen mind.”

Fairchild’s words now echoed by Jon rang in his memory. The old man had been right. It was horrid. Martin didn’t want to think about any of it. He just wanted to run to Jon, pull him into his arms, hold him close and be held. Couldn’t he just have that? Couldn’t it be that simple?

“I love you.” Martin said. “You can ask me, I’ll say it a thousand times, because it’s true.”

“. . . But you’ll still hurt him,” the other one said. Its voice was as gentle as its words were cruel. “Even if you don’t want to, it’s what you were made to do. The trap is going to close eventually.”

Martin shook his head violently. It wasn’t true. Whatever he might be, he wouldn’t hurt Jon. He just wanted to stay with him. He wanted to wrap his arms around Jon and never let go. He wanted to bury Jon’s face in his chest and hold him close and promise he was safe with him and be believed. Even if they weren’t his, he had memories of a thousand loving embraces. A thousand more gentle touches, kisses, tender looks. They felt no less real than this moment did.

At the same time, he knew Jon would never hold him again. Not willingly. Not anymore.

Something was moving under the earth, snaking closer to the three of them. Something that also wanted to hold them very, very close. Based on the uneasy way they were starting to look at the ground, Martin suspected they felt it rumbling.

“If you love him,” the other one spoke quickly, his voice wavering as the soil shook. “If you’re really me enough to love him, then I think you want him to be safe. And I’m sorry, but he’s not going to be safe with you.”

The heaviness of his words settled on Martin like the weight of all creation. He felt a thousand grasping hands reach out, fingers just breaking the surface of the soil. The two men holding tightly to one another jumped as the earth shifted around them. Then all at once the hands lost their will, and dissolved back into mud.

Martin sat on the ground. He held himself and looked down at the dirt, which was where he truly belonged. He’d keep his gaze fixed there until he heard them leave, then he’d look up and he’d be alone. A hand that could conceive of itself, with nothing to hold.

“. . . Martin?”

Jon’s voice was soft, and Martin assumed he was talking to the other one, the real one, the one who deserved him. But he repeated the name closer this time, and Martin looked up.

Jon stood just a little more than an arm’s length away. The other one was behind him, a hand held protectively on his shoulder. Jon leaned forward, face soft and sad, and Martin took a shallow breath.

“Maybe. . .” Jon said, gently “you should go back to being mud. I think it would be easier than being human. It wouldn’t . . . hurt as much.”

Slowly, Martin nodded. He didn’t remember being mud, but he was pretty damn sure it hurt a lot less than this.

“I don’t know if I can, though,” he said, an ache in his voice. “I don’t. . . I don’t know how to stop being Martin.”

“I can help you, I think.” Jon said. “If you’d let me.”

“But what if. . .” Martin frowned. “If- if I’m mud again. I won’t . . . I mean. . .what if I try to--”

“Then we’ll run.” Jon sounded confident, calm. “We’ve gotten away from worse before. You remember, don’t you?”

He did remember, in fact. Dozens of panicked escapes since the day they left the cabin. Memories of fear, of adrenaline, and of the fierce, mad victory of knowing you’ve reached the other side. They had dealt with worse. He looked questioningly at the other one, who nodded.

“Y-yes.” Martin said softly. “Yes. I’d . . . I’d like to be mud again. Please.”

He felt a vast and painful awareness reach into him, and it pulled out the story of a kind, nervous man who was always underestimated.

The mud slid away from the curves and angles of Martin Blackwood. Details fell back one by one - a quiet night working late, a hand gripping desperately at another, a sweater worn threadbare. For a moment, the mud felt the softest sensation of loss. Then a comfortable hunger returned to it and that feeling dissolved. Filled with relief and clarity once more it reached eagerly, gratefully, to grasp its nearby prey.

The two men staggered back, making the sounds that creatures make when they’re afraid, and their short clumsy limbs scrabbled around them. More of the mud came to join it. Dozens upon dozens of limbs, eternally grasping with an ache to wrench and pull, slid up from the ground to encircle the pair.

But this prey was quick. It was armed, and though the simple weapons could not do the mud any real damage, they were enough to knock limbs aside and open gaps in the tangle, clearing a path for escape. The mud stretched so many limbs to their limit, but its prey reached higher ground and soon it could not follow. Instead it watched eyelessly as they ran towards the hills where the ground would be too dry and too solid for mud to form.

There were countless dangers ahead of them, but this one, they’d escaped. They would not be wrapped in a thousand clutching arms, would not feel the grasping fingers twist in their hearts, would not be pulled into the endless down.

As the tangle of its limbs swirled in frustrated hunger, the mud laughed. It laughed, and laughed, in joy and in relief, as the two figures vanished into the distance.

#fanfic #tma #jonmartin #the magnus archives #tma fanfic

350 notes · View notes

op-peccatori · 5 years ago

Text

Ruffled Feathers (nsfw) | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 5900

Summary: You’re aware that you're dating a man who doesn't lose his cool easily; it's a trait you've come to appreciate about him. However, that doesn't stop you from trying to ruffle his feathers every chance you get. What happens when your latest attempt at poking does wake the bear?

a/n: *looks at all my WIPs* ok time to write another Victor thirstfic!! I actually dreamt of the smut part and had a tough time writing everything that comes before lol. I'm gonna have to come back and edit this properly

(tags under the cut)

Tags/Warnings: explicit content and explicit dialogue, PWP, vaginal sex, oral sex (male receiving), spanking, somewhat rough and dom Victor, MC pushing buttons

Thursday

The soft pitter-patter of rain falls across the courtyard, bringing the hint of a chill with it.

You run through the hallways, cursing your lack of foresight; you didn’t think to bring an umbrella. Victor and Goldman are dropping in on the set, and you want to be the one to welcome them. After all, it's not every day that your boyfriend finds the time to come meet you. You try to calm the rapid fluttering in your stomach–you're going to leave for a work trip in the morning, and you're going to be tied up on set until late in the night. He's just trying to get a little more time with you, just as you requested.

As a set of all too familiar shoulders come into view, you fight the urge to speed up and slow to a walk instead, unable to help the widening of your smile as you meet his eyes. His severe expression softens minutely, his mouth perking up as he meets you halfway, a strange tension buzzing between you both as you waver between options, each more formal than the previous. Throwing yourself into his arms like you want to is out of the question; there's no need to add fuel to the fire. You know people are curious about the nature of your relationship, and whether or not it goes beyond professional.

You settle for beaming up at him, waving at Goldman when he pops out from behind him. "I'm glad to see you both!" You're also grateful when Goldman takes Victor's umbrella and hurries ahead, under the pretence of wanting to inform the director of their arrival himself. He leaves you both smiling at each other as you follow at a much slower pace.

"How are you?" he asks quietly. His expressions slips into something fonder as you sigh loudly.

"Tired. Hungry. Borderline homicidal," you answer honestly. "What about you?" "It was a smooth day. I brought you some food, I thought we could eat together."

Once again, you fight the urge to hug him. Instead, with a quick glance around, you reach out and take his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. His hand is warm under your touch, and you wish you could just wrap yourself around him and bask in his warmth. The way his shirt stretches over his chest doesn’t help matters in the slightest, and you wonder if he’d left the jacket behind on purpose.

"That would be lovely, Victor." You pause when you realize there's a sudden stillness in the air, one you're more than familiar with. Fingers curve around your jaw and with your heart kicking into gear, you look up in time to see him leaning in, slotting your lips together firmly. As his arm slides around your waist, affection morphs into a hot liquid that pools in your abdomen. With the rain frozen still behind you, you press up against him, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, your hands coming to rest over his chest. It's relief, it's like putting warm socks on after a shower, and you just want to sink into him. The want that has been creeping around in your body finally settles down.

A sound of a complaint leaves your lips when he pulls away, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. "Now, how about you show me around?"

After that kiss, all you really want to do is find an empty room. But it also reminds you of what you've been toying with in your head all day, so you agree with a smile only slightly dazed. Victor smiles back, unaware of the devious ideas you've been playing with, and takes a small step away. Well, it can't be helped. You won't get to be alone with Victor for another week, and chances like this one are too rare to pass up.

With a kernel of regret in your heart, you lead your oblivious boyfriend further into the building.

Monday

All chatter in the room ceases as he walks in, some of the occupants scurrying out of the room and some greeting him meekly. You watch quietly as Goldman leaves your side and hurries to his, informing him of all the meetings scheduled for the day.

You watch, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, and wait. Your patience is rewarded when he glances your way: the slightest of pauses in his stride, a twitch of his mouth, the softening of his eyes. It's taken a considerable amount of time for you to become familiar with the minute changes in his expression; it took a lot of testing, a lot of risks, and you hoard this knowledge jealously. He says something to Goldman while still looking at you before he walks through the doors to his office.

Goldman relaxes slightly and walks back over to sit at his desk. "You've got fifteen minutes. He's such a generous man, isn't he? You're a lucky girl!"

'Or he knows I didn't get enough sleep last night and need this cup.' Goldman eyes the little smile on your face suspiciously. "Actually, never mind."

"Well, actually, Goldman," you begin with a sweet smile. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

"No."

"You don't even know what it is."

"With the kind of face you're making? I don't want to know."

"Oh, c'mon! It's just a little favour. And it's for Victor too!" you cajole softly, and he slumps slightly. "I just wanted to know his schedule for Thursday."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" he asks confusedly, adjusting his glasses nervously.

You roll your eyes. "Then it wouldn't be much of a surprise would it?"

"Hmm. And it's something he'll like?" You feel a stab of guilt at how sincere he looks, but it's not like you're planning something terrible. It's just something new, that's all.

"Oh, trust me. He'll like it," you say, unable to help the little smirk that curls along your mouth. You're not sure what Goldman interprets from that, because he looks a little nauseous.

"Right. I regret asking," he sighs. "Well, he's got a few calls and meetings scheduled in the morning, but he does have some time after 5."

"Perfect."

Thursday

And so, having ensured you have some space to yourself, you invited Victor for a short visit to the set. You're filming a fantasy show here, and tomorrow you'll be off to visit other potential shoot locations. You weren't expecting Goldman to tag along, but you figure he's more or less part of the gang now, and knows better than to interrupt your time with his boss–mostly because he would rather not know what you're doing. You've done most of your work, and with Anna stopping by, you're not exactly required to stick around to supervise. With a quick meal, you begin the tour.

You're careful as you lead Victor to different parts of the building. It's an older building on the outskirts of the city, and the lighting leaves much to be desired. But the stonework is beautiful, as are the paintings hanging in the halls. You can't tell if the house had actual floorplans because the rooms and staircases seem to have been constructed at random places. You pass by the windows, admiring the plants in the courtyard that are bright in the soft rain, and as you walk to a quieter part of the building, you reach for his hand, curling your fingers around his firmly. Stepping into your favourite part of this odd little mansion, you show him the room you stop by every time you feel the urge to cry or rage.

There are mirrors of various shapes and sizes on all four walls, and the first time you had come in here you had been so dizzy you'd nearly missed a window in the corner. You had dragged an armchair in here, positioning it in front of the window that had its own private little view of the courtyard. As you declare the room as your spot, an excited skip in your step, Victor eyes you speculatively.

"You sounded a little haggard when we spoke yesterday," he begins, glancing at the door as you step closer and wrap your arms around him. "Yet, you seem almost cheerful now."

"Ah, well," you laugh nervously, a sliver of triumph slithering through you. You turn your head until you can see your reflection in few of the mirrors, the way Victor’s hand slips down to cup your ass before he seems to catch himself and bring it back to safer territory. "Yesterday was pretty rough. But, well. I have my ways of cheering myself up."

"Pancakes?"

'Well, that too.' You smile into his shirt, inhaling the subtle tones of his cologne. The familiar scent relaxes something in you, nearly making regret your plans of breaking this peaceful atmosphere. "Not quite."

He doesn't respond, merely waiting for you to come out with it. Your pulse quickens as you peer up at him sheepishly, hoping the expression isn't too exaggerated. "Well, I was so tense, you know. I needed something to take the edge off. So...you remember that voice note you once sent me?"

You wait for it to click, and you know the exact moment it does, the slight parting of his lips giving him away. "Yes."

"It helped me take care of things."

"Take care of things," he repeats, his hands flexing where they rest on your back.

"Uh, yeah. It's quite effective, I really have to thank you for that! Never fails to bring me to-"

"How often do you...use it?" he cuts you off, hands tightening their grip on you. You blink at his strained tone, adopting a look of slight confusion.

"...often enough. Is there a problem?" You pat yourself on the back for how concerned you manage to sound, snapping to attention when Victor scowls at you.

"Not a problem. But...why don't you just call me?"

"Sometimes I just wake up wanting you." You shrug casually and try to take a measured step away from him, but he doesn't let you, pulling you close to brush his lips over the tender spot underneath your ear.

"Then next time, call me," he murmurs, pressing soft yet insistent kisses down your neck as if trying to emphasise on how much he means it.

"Victor-" you try to protest, hoping dearly that your smile doesn't break free.

"I don't care. This is my job. Call me."

With cheeks warming at his stern tone, you laugh and begin to walk out of the room. "Fine, I'll try. But it won't be possible all the time, you know."

"Why not?" he asks, following you with a deep frown crinkling his forehead.

"Well, I'm going away tomorrow, and who knows what schedule will be like?" You do. "And I can't always disturb you."

A hand curls around your arm, pulling you back into the room just as you exit it. You crash against him when he drags you back towards him, his arms tight around you and keeping you in his hold. You're half expecting the way he kisses you, the way his tongue curls around yours demandingly, the moan it draws from you. Fingers tangle in your hair, keeping you in place for him to plunder your mouth greedily–but then it turns softer than you would like it to. His eyes are clear of any irritation when he pulls back, the dark hints of desire swept away quickly.

"I guess I can understand that. But I hope you know I'm always here to take care of anything you need," he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. You nod dumbly, not having expected him to be so agreeable.

"So, is this you giving me permission to finger myself to your voice anytime I want?" you joke weakly. His fingers dig into your skin for a moment, almost painfully, but his expression is still clear when you look at him again.

"You don't need my permission. Again, I do hope you'll make use of your willing boyfriend more often, hm?" he teases you lightly, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. You're rendered speechless by his inaction. He isn't tempted in the slightest, and you're not sure if you should be offended. No dragging you in front of the mirrors, demanding you to show him exactly how you touch yourself. He leads you out of the room, completely unruffled.

As you both head back to check on the crew, one last thought occurs to you. The final card. You pull your phone out quickly, opening Victor's chat and tapping the icon for attaching images.

“In the spirit of full disclosure,” you begin, watching everyone run around as they pack up, and then you hit send. “It happened yesterday too, in the afternoon.”

Victor stops in his tracks as his phone vibrates. “But you were here yesterday afternoon.” He's still distracted by your words as he checks his messages, and you assume that's why he doesn't realize what he's looking at right away. You barely catch the way his breath hitches in his throat and his fingers tighten around the device, his fixed on the screen.

“Mhm. I was just so tense.” You study him as several emotions flit through his eyes in quick succession, and then his expression smooths out into something carefully measured and blank as he puts his phone back in his pocket, giving you a tight smile.

“Glad I could help.”

You feel like screaming, and not in the way you wanted to. Your grand plans of making Victor snap, lose control and take you in a shadowed corner of the building have turned to dust. Not even a picture of you, reflected in several mirrors with your hand up your skirt, could do it. And you'd wasted so much time on experimenting with the angles too. The aesthetic! Not even a compliment? You watch sullenly as the director comes up to him, drawing him into a chat easily.

‘I mean, I tried,’ you think resignedly, and go help with pack up. 'What does a girl have to do to get some dick around here?' Your shoulders remain slumped with disappointment throughout the process of wrapping up, and it's only when everyone's trickling out that the first seeds of doubt begin to bloom. The sky has cleared up and the fresh smell of rain still lingers in the air when you turn to the director.

"I'll see you in the morning?"

Jason nearly trembles with the force of what looks like excitement. "Actually, ___!Oh, we're so lucky–we don't have to go!"

"What do you mean? We still need to finalize the next location," you ask with no small amount of confusion. You've already packed.

"Yes, but I was just talking to Victor, and I think we’ve found the perfect location! We can go next week, he said he'll take care of it."

"He will?" you ask numbly, turning to the man in question who has just stepped up to stand next to you.

"Yes! I'll text you the details. I'm so glad you invited him. Thank you!" He takes your hands in his and shakes them enthusiastically, contrasting greatly with the sinking sensation in your gut. "What a great man!"

You watch mutely as he turns to Victor, who waves off the other man's praises with a small smile. A hand settles briefly on your shoulder, and you turn around to see Anna grinning at you. "Need a ride back home?"

"Yeah, actually-" you pause and look back over your shoulder, your eyes locking with a pair reminiscent of wild storms. "Uh, I think Victor's going to take me home."

"Oh?" Anna asks just as a hand settles on your lower back.

"Yes. Don't worry, I'll get her home in one piece," Victor assures her, an odd twinkle in his eye as Anna laughs in response.

"Oh, you two! Alright, have a good night."

You wish everyone else a good night, aware of the curious eyes boring into your backs as you both walk away. Your heart thumps loudly as you wait for him to say something, but Victor only makes idle chit-chat as he drives. How you feel about the filming, the cast, the predicted responses. He's at complete ease. It's when you're back in the main city, and you've relaxed into your seat. that he chooses to ask you something different.

"I was wondering if you'd like to stay over tonight. Now that you're free tomorrow, I mean." His tone remains casual, his eyes staying on the road as you perk up. "We haven't gotten much time together this month."

"Oh?"

"I baked something new yesterday, it would be nice if you could try it too," he tells you.

"Yeah, I think that's perfect!" you acquiesce at once, the prospect of getting to eat food cooked by him convincing you easily. Hopefully, after you've gotten to taste other things. "I've really missed you."

"Mm, I know." He flashes you a quick smile. "My babygirl's been misbehaving too. I think I need to make time for a quick lesson, no?"

For a moment, you think you've misheard. Your stomach tightens, and there are no words you can come up with in response, so you remain quiet. Even as he pulls up to his building and anticipation begins to pump through you like a slow drug, you think you could've imagined his words. There's an almost placid look on his face as you both enter the elevator, while you're sure you look like a nervous wreck. You shouldn't be anxious, you're getting exactly what you wanted. You've been feeling so needy it's pathetic, and Victor's going to take care of it.

Except, it didn't go according to plan, did it? You messed with him, but you had planned for him to have enough time and space to cool down while you were away. You hadn't expected him to derail the whole plan so easily.

His phone rings as he opens the door to his penthouse, and he takes the call. Thinking it must be important for him to answer right away, you take this chance to try and sneak away.

"Oh, ___?" You halt right away, but you can't bring yourself to see his expression. He's pressing the phone to his chest in an attempt to muffle his words. He drags a knuckle across the soft skin of your cheek, before a finger under your chin tilts your head up until you can look at him; he looks amused by your nervous demeanour. "Go freshen up. I want you in the living room in twenty minutes."

"O-okay." You're a little embarrassed by the high pitch of your voice, and as you hurry to his bathroom your mind races through the possibilities. An apology would have to be made, but it wouldn't be enough for him to let you off the hook. At this point, you can only appeal to the soft spot he has for you. With that thought in mind, you rush to his closet.

You clean up as well as you can within your time limit, braiding your hair back quickly, your face clear of any makeup. As you walk back into the living room, you see Victor sitting on the sofa, tapping away at his phone. Stopping by the kitchen to get you both some water, you remain silent as you come to a stop beside him and wait.

When he finally turns his phone off and leans back, you rush to get the words out. "Um, Victor, I-I'm really sorry about earlier today...I didn't mean to make you angry.”

He studies you from underneath thick lashes, stretching his neck and taking in the way the hem of his shirt falls to the middle of your thighs and the way your fingers play with it in a well-crafted picture of remorse. "I'm not angry."

"What?" you watch as he sips his water calmly.

"I'm not angry," he repeats, even though you think the dark look in his eyes says otherwise. "I understand why you did what you did."

"You do?" You curse your inability to form full sentences.

"Like I said, we've both been busy this month," he gestures for you to take a seat next to him. "You must've been frustrated."

Relief washes over you at the understanding in his voice. "I-yeah. I'm sorry. I should've just told you." He simply nods, stroking your cheek tenderly. Just as you begin to smile, his hand cups your jaw tightly, preventing any more words from leaving your lips. His grip his firm enough for your cheeks to feel squished, your lips forced into a pout. Your heart skips and drops as the tranquil curtain of his expression falls away, leaving behind something much more austere.

"Yes, you should have. I'm not angry about you touching yourself to the sound of my voice," he says, the gentleness in his tone slowly transitioning into fierceness. "I'm glad I could help." He leans into your space, his gaze locked on you, your eyes widening with panic. "What I don't appreciate is you trying to play games with me. And touching yourself in public? Where someone could have seen?"

You try to shake your head, somehow trying to convey the fact that you had been careful.

"The very thought of it..." he exhales forcefully and releases your jaw, leaning back a bit. "Now, come."

You're not completely sure he means what you think, and the thought of it sends fear and excitement racing through you. You hadn't expected things to take this turn, for him to have seen through your games so easily and taken steps to ensure you couldn't see them through. As he pats his thigh, you crawl over his lap, positioning yourself carefully until you're lying across it. He runs a hand over your back, caressing the back of your head lovingly as you try not to tremble.

"No need to be nervous. You've told me yourself–I'm a good teacher." His tone remains calm as his hand wanders over your body, sliding down the length of your spine to stroke your thighs before pulling the shirt up and dragging your underwear down roughly, baring your ass to him. Nimble fingers stroke and squeeze the plump flesh of your rear, and your breath begins to grow heavy. "Did you really think you could get away with it?"

His hand comes down on your skin in an open-handed blow, not too hard, and you jolt more from the surprise than the sting. You manage to bite back a whimper, and the way Victor's hand massages the skin feels like approval. His hand is warm, and the other settles over the back of your neck, as you rest your head over hands that clutch at the cushion.

"Tell me what you did wrong." Another slap, this time on the other cheek.

"I-I played games." You yelp at the hard smack delivered over the top of your thigh, right where it meets your ass. Your cheeks feel uncomfortably hot–both the sets.

"I know you can do better than that," he coaxes, his tone wicked. You whimper softly as he massages the stinging skin, squirming on his lap until his hand squeezes with a warning.

"I tried t-to tease you," you whisper, and he hums in approval.

"Yes, you were a filthy girl today. Tormenting me with thoughts of coming just by listening to an old voice not. And that picture," he growls. You expect the strong smack this time, your eyes brimming with tears as you try to breathe steadily. "And what should you have done instead?"

"I should've been honest." You hasten to continue when he pinches your prickling skin. "I should've told you how...how badly I needed it."

A smack, and the tears spillover. "Needed what?"

"Y-your cock, sir." It slips out automatically, and you know he likes it when he spends more time soothing your flesh.

"And the picture? Touching yourself where anyone could have walked in?" Smack. "All because you were hungry for my cock. All you had to do was ask." Smack.

"I-I'm sorry, sir. I thought you w-would like it." You part your legs as his hand ventures further down; you wince when you hear him click his tongue and feel him yank at your underwear hard enough to tear it in half. In a rare show of mercy, two of his fingers probe your entrance, although you're immensely embarrassed when you realize how wet you are.

He sighs loudly, sounding disappointed. "Here I am, trying to teach you something, and look at you. You're dripping." If you hadn't known him as well as you do, you wouldn't have been able to detect the pleased edge to his voice. "Answer me honestly. If I hadn't put a stop to your misbehaviour, would you have continued while you were away?"

You freeze in place, blinking through the blurriness as you remember the videos you had planned to film while you were beyond his reach. A gentle pinch of your clit has you moaning, scrambling to get hold of your thoughts, which becomes more difficult when his finger pushes into you.

"I want an answer."

"Y-yes, sir. I was going to..." He continues to slide his finger in and out, rubbing along your walls firmly.

"More pictures?"

"Yes...and videos," you whimper. He only hums thoughtfully, pulling his finger out, and in the next second, he delivers a loud smack on your throbbing cunt.

You can only sob as your mind blanks, trembling in earnest as you struggle to breathe. "I-I'm sorry, sir. Please...I'll be good, I-I promise."

"Shh," he slides two fingers along your heat, rubbing gently. "What do you want?"

"Please...please make me come," you beg, squeezing your walls tightly. The drag of his fingers over your slit is slow, achingly slow, but you don't dare move.

"Alright. Mouth?" The thought of his tongue on you nearly makes you come right there, but you manage to remember what you had been aiming for earlier.

"Could I...could you..." you stumble over your words, frustrating yourself more, but the hand now stroking the stinging flesh of your rear is patient. "Please fuck me. Please. Please."

"Hmm. We'll see." He manoeuvres your body until you're curing into his chest and you feel as if you could pass out from the force of your relief–until he continues. "But first, get on your knees."

You know your face is set in disbelief and despair as you lock eyes with him, but he just gazes back steadily. You know it's better to go along with what he says and be rewarded. You've had enough of the punishment, and you'll do whatever it takes to get to the goal. With his help, you're soon kneeling between his legs, grateful for the plush rug cushioning your knees. Victor continues to look at you expectantly, prompting you to unbuckle his belt as swiftly as you can. Before you can unzip him, he stops you.

"Not yet."

Uncertain of what he means, you remove your hand from his crotch. His fingers slide into your hair, tightening until you feel the sting, and pull you forward until your nose brushes against the soft fabric of his pants. You can feel the way it strains against the restricting cloth, and it makes your mouth water. You mouth at his clothed erection and he loosens his grip on your hair, content to watch you trace his bulge with your lips for a long moment.

"Now."

You scramble to obey, unzipping him with shaky fingers and pulling his pants down along with his boxer briefs, eyes fixed on the way his cock bounces, it's head glistening temptingly. You can't help the hungry kisses you plant along his muscled thighs, barely refraining from sinking your teeth into the firm skin. Resting your chin on his knee, you peer up at him for the next order.

Victor inhales sharply, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Good girl. Suck." The first taste of him on your tongue is salty, and you suck on his tip softly, pleased at the soft groan he lets you hear. "Deeper. Don't use your hands." You take his cock in until it hits the back of your throat, trying to relax your jaw around it. As you begin to bob your head up and down, his hips begin to thrust shallowly. Your fingers dig into your thighs, fighting the urge to touch him, and you keep a smooth pace.

Until a hard thrust has you choking on his length, over and over again.

"See, that's the problem, babygirl," he growls, cupping the back of your head as his cock hits the back of your throat painfully. "If you insist on acting like a disobedient slut, then I'm going to have to treat you like one."

You're unsure if you're really crying or if your eyes are just watering from the force of his thrusts–not that it really matters. He stills when he's deep in your mouth, watching you struggle to breathe and keep your mouth open. "You have to show me you deserve to have my cock in you."

He pulls out of your mouth, his fingers pumping his length urgently as you cough pitifully. "Open your mouth. Stick your tongue out."

His words are a hot jolt in your core, and you obey him immediately, with your eyes still watery and your jaw still aching. Your walls squeeze around nothing as he comes on your tongue, and despite your attempts at catching all of it, some dribbles down your chin and cheek. And still, you wait.

"Swallow." You do so, wiping the rest off your skin as best you can and licking it off your fingers. Every bit of it seems worth it when you see the glazed look in Victor's eyes, and the little smile curving his lips up as he watches you lick enthusiastically.

He pulls you back onto his lap, holding you close and rubbing your back gently as you accept the glass of water he hands you, taking only a small sip before slumping into his chest. You stay there for a while, your ear pressed against the skin over his heart, and you feel it gradually slow down from its quick thumping.

You gather the remnants of your resolve and tug at his shirt. "Sir–pease fuck me." You feel him pause against you, and then shake as he begins to laugh.

"Ah, you're so greedy, sweetheart. You want my cock that badly?" he teases, as if he doesn't already know how desperate you are.

"Yes. Please."

"And what if I don't want to give it to you?"

You know you're way past feeling any embarrassment when tears pool in your eyes, the depth of your need endless and the prospect of it remaining unanswered terrifying. "Please, please, I'll be good, I'll do anything." Thumbs sweep away the tears sliding down your cheeks, and you feel his lips on your forehead.

"Don't worry, I was just teasing," he assures you, his previously rough tone taking on a soothing note. "I could never leave my babygirl in such a state. You've more than earned it." He helps you slide your knees apart until they rest on either side of his hips, kissing you softly the whole time. As he pushes through your swollen lips, sliding into the hilt with little resistance, you think you could stay like this for the rest of your life, keeping his cock inside you and his arms around you. He pulls you to rest against him, adjusting himself until he's able to begin thrusting with progressively stronger thrusts. "Is this what you wanted?"

You moan nearly incoherently, nodding fervently. His hands cup your ass, and the nexus between the pleasure from him fucking you and the pain from the stinging skin of your ass makes your eyes roll back into your head. He uses the grip on your cheeks to bounce you on his cock, syncing the motion with his thrusts. "A-all I wanted..."

"It's yours. All you have to do..." he presses his face into your hair, driving his hips up into yours relentlessly. "...is ask." He keeps you in place with one arm, and then there are fingers rubbing tight circles into your clit and beginning the start of your end, as you begin to shatter into pieces. You forget everything but the heat pumping into you, working you through the daze, warm arms and soft lips slowly putting you back together. You barely register the deep groaning he's unable to suppress as his pace kicks up to rush to the finish line, as you press lazy kisses up his throat.

"Could I ask for one more thing?" Your voice is barely a whisper, and your lips brush against his earlobe, teeth scraping against the tender skin as he gasps. "Sir?"

"Anything," he rasps out, the flush on his cheeks spreading down to his chest. "Anything."

"Could you come in me?" you murmur. "Just...fill me up. Till the last drop. Please?"

You can't help but smile at the curse that leaves his mouth, and the bruising kiss he pulls you into as he fulfils your request, his thick seed filling you in quick, hot spurts. Neither of you pulls away even once he grows soft within you, losing yourselves in the meeting of your mouths until you can’t keep your head up and let it fall onto his shoulder.

“I’ve got you. You did so well, sweetheart,” Victor murmurs into your hair as you smile sleepily. “Let’s get some lotion on this cute butt, hmm?”

The laugh you’re startled into turns into pained croaks as your throat protests the action.

“And some tea, I see. Just relax and let me take care of you, okay?” He carries you to the bedroom carefully, holding you close as if in possession of priceless jewels. You spread out over his bed on your stomach, letting your body melt into the sheets. A pleased sound leaves your lips when you feel him rub the cool lotion into your abused skin.

You’re not aware of how much time has passed when you’re startled awake, and look up to see Victor smiling apologetically at you from his seat at the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” You crawl forward towards him, letting him pull you up so you can curl into a ball between his legs. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, the cotton fabric soft and soothing on your skin. “I made you some tea.”

The first sip is painful, but within a few more you’re able to swallow with some relief. “Thank you.”

“Let me know if you feel up to eating something.”

“Mm.” With the taste of honey on your tongue, you nuzzle his neck as he pulls a blanket over you. His arms are warm and reassuring around your tired body. “I wanted to have sex in the mirror room.”

“I know.”

“Mean.”

“I’m not that easy, darling,” he says imperiously, soft lips brushing your temple. “If you want me to drop my pants in public, you’ll have to try harder than that.”

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc fanfic #mlqc smut #mr love queen's choice #mr love: queen's choice #mlqc li zeyan

517 notes · View notes

supercalvin · 5 years ago

Note

Hii! About the prompts: Merlin is some sort of royal, may be a crowned prince or king in Victorian era ( or another historical era) and Lancelot is his 'bodyguard' and the trope is Presumed dead ( may be platonic or romantic) Or Merthur 14 R ( 1920s and In Vino Veritas) Thank you!!

¿Porqué no los dos? I’m going to write the first one on this post, but look out for a second post with the 1920s AU! By the way, this AU you just pitched is absolutely wild and I’m so in support of it.

Royal!Merlin + Boyguard!Lancelot + Victorian Era + Presumed Dead

Prompts (or any prompt) + Ficlets

***

Arthur’s valet was just buttoning up his cufflinks when there was a knock at the door. Leon entered, not waiting like he usually did for George to open the door for him.

Arthur raised a brow at his head advisor, “Leon.”

“Your Majesty,” He gave a quick bow, “I have urgent news.”

“What’s happened?”

“There was an attack last night.”

Arthur’s heart beat hard in his chest. Arthur’s mind was already thinking of sending a militia and which members of Camelot’s parliament needed to be alerted immediately.

Leon shook his head as if he knew Arthur’s thoughts, “Not in Camelot, sire. There was… Someone infiltrated the Avalon Royal Palace during a Druid meeting and the council chambers were set on fire. Half the palace was burned to the ground before it was put out.”

Arthur felt lightheaded, his vision going white briefly.

“Most of the staff made it out unharmed. King Balinor was badly injured but he and his wife survived.”

Arthur swallowed, closing his eyes and trying to stop the bile from rising in his throat. “The prince?”

Leon paused for too long, but Arthur wasn’t sure if it was just the ringing in his ears.

“Leon,” Arthur bit out.

“Prince Merlin has not been accounted for.”

Arthur felt his knees go weak and he had to grab onto his bedpost to keep his balance.

“Send a messenger,” Arthur heard himself say, though it sounded distant.

“I sent our fastest man to get the truth of it as soon as I heard,” Leon said, sounding apologetic, “He won’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest.”

Arthur was in a daze. Thankfully Leon had enough foresight to cancel all of his appointments, making the excuse that Arthur’s personal guard was concerned about more attacks. Arthur couldn’t care less at the moment. He could barely speak or eat. Morris, the prince’s personal servant, confirmed that the Prince had been present in the Druid meeting, as he had recently been instated as Emrys, the Druid spiritual leader. Most newspapers speculated that the Prince had died in the blaze, despite the fact that his body had yet to be found.

Three days later, Camelot’s messenger returned from Avalon. It only took the messenger a few minutes to be escorted to the audience hall, but in that time Arthur had paced and paced and paced. It could have been hours and he wouldn’t have noticed. He could barely stand still as the man entered the audience hall.

He didn’t really remember what the messenger said. It didn’t matter what order the words came in. The message was clear. The prince’s body had been found in the burned remainder of the council chambers. The messenger handed the King a burned piece of cloth. It was royal blue with silver embroidery. How many times had Arthur seen Merlin wearing it? Lady Hunith had embroidered it for him when he was crowned Avalon’s Prince and he wore it at all formal occasions.

Later Arthur had been told that the messenger was sworn to secrecy. He wasn’t to tell a soul that he had seen the king collapse back into his throne. Or that he heard a sob rise from his monarch’s chest as he clenched the burnt scrap in his hand. He was never to tell a soul that the King had whispered out the Prince’s name, so familiar on his lips anyone who heard it would know it had been a lover’s name. It didn’t matter. The messenger wouldn’t have had the words to describe the look of anguish on the King’s face or the sorrow in his voice.

The newspapers published news of the Prince’s death the following day. King Balinor and his wife announced the funeral on the day after that.

Arthur was in a daze. He kept to his chambers and Leon continued making his excuses, spreading the rumor that the guard feared more attacks.

Arthur spent most of the time in bed, staring at an empty space on his pillow. Only a few months ago that space had been occupied by a young prince with a mischievous smile. They so rarely had opportunities for nights together. Diplomatic visits were often crowded affairs. Any time alone with the Prince was brief and rare. Any time alone with no one watching was even rarer. Scattered across the months, there were nights when the King of Camelot was visiting a border town or the Prince of Avalon was sent to Camelot as a diplomatic envoy. Those nights were cherished.

There had been one night Arthur remembered every word. Merlin had promised his heart to Arthur. Despite all the obstacles. Despite the fact that Camelot and Avalon had been enemies only a generation before. Despite the fact that Merlin had enough to worry about, between being both Prince and Emrys. Despite it all, he had promised to be by Arthur’s side. Merlin had kissed him and held him close, as if all the risk was worth it.

On the seventh day, Leon entered his chambers and pulled his King from bed, no words spoken as he fulfilled the duties of a valet rather than a royal advisor. He buttoned Arthur’s shirt, and pulled a cardigan over his shoulders.

“Your majesty, there are people who wish to speak with you.” His voice was soft and apologetic, “I have held them off for as long as I could.”

Arthur nodded, “Thank you, Leon.” He brushed back his hair, aware that his hand was shaking. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Life went on, even if Arthur felt like his soul had been drained from him. Everyone noticed, but no one said anything. It was clear there had been a deeper relationship between the King and the foreign Prince than anyone had originally thought, but no one would dare point it out now.

Two weeks passed in a blur. To Arthur they felt like ages and only minutes at the same time.

It was the first night since the attack that Arthur had joined his court and advisors for dinner. Although unusually quiet, the dinner had gone well.

At the end of the last course, Leon entered the hall and lent down to speak into the King’s ear, “Your majesty, you are needed in the kitchens.”

Arthur’s brow pinched and normally he would have questioned it, but lately he had found it hard to speak. It wasn’t that he wasn’t listening or he didn’t understand. He just couldn’t find the energy to open his mouth. An odd side effect of his grief.

Arthur followed Leon without a word.

What he found in the kitchens was a room of servants who were standing idle. Arthur hadn’t been to the kitchens much. Not since he was a boy and the cook had taken a liking to him, giving him sweets when he was good. But the kitchens were rarely idle. There seemed to be fewer servants too, and as soon as Arthur entered the main room, Leon dismissed the rest of them.

On the center table, where there should have been pots and pans, there were two cloaked figures. One was lying prone on the table while the other was hovering over him. At the King’s arrival the second figure looked up, his hood falling to his shoulders.

“Your majesty,” he bowed deeply, as he always had, far more respectful than his liege had ever been.

“Sir Lancelot,” Arthur said, surprised by his own voice.

“I’m sorry for trespassing, your majesty. We were desperate.”

Arthur’s eyes landed on the figure laid out on the table, wrapped in a thick cloak and face covered by a woolen scarf. The body was long and thin, but it was breathing. Shakily, but breathing.

Arthur stepped forward, his vision narrowing as he moved past Lancelot.

“I told him it wasn’t safe for either of you to bring him here, but he wouldn’t see reason.”

Arthur’s hands reacted before his mind could. He pulled back the scarf, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold onto the fabric.

Merlin’s left eye was swollen shut with the burns. There was a wound on his jaw held together with quick and messy stitches. When Arthur moved the scarf, Merlin’s right eye opened and his lips twitched with a small smile.

“So Lance didn’t throw me into the gutter after all,” The Prince’s voice was rough. He was obviously exhausted, but there was little in this world that would make him lose his sense of humor. “He threatened it a few times.”

Arthur let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. He hung his head, gripping Merlin’s cloak in tight fists. A bandaged hand came up to his cheek. Arthur could barely see him through his tears, but he turned his face to the hand, holding it to his face with desperate hands.

Over his shoulder Lancelot said, “I was just outside the room when the attack happened so I was able to sneak him out before Aredian could react. He has been hunting us ever since. The safe house was compromised tonight and Merlin insisted we come to you.”

Arthur took in the words but his eyes were on Merlin, cataloguing his injuries and all the signs that he was real.

“Arthur, it’s alright,” Merlin whispered, obviously weak and badly injured, but still smiling for Arthur’s sake. “I’m here. I’m alright, I promise.” Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s palm.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Arthur’s voice shook, tears falling on Merlin’s scarf below him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get word to you,” Merlin said.

Arthur shook his head, “It doesn’t matter now.” He pressed a kiss to Merlin’s chapped lips, barely able to kiss him as the sobs overtook him. Merlin tried to wrap an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, but it was clear that his strength was leaving him and he would be unconscious soon.

“Leon,” Arthur had to swallow and regain his breath. “Call for Gaius. Direct him to my rooms. Tell my guests I’ve a headache and to continue dinner without me. Lance, help me carry him.”

Leon left with a quick bow and Lance was on Merlin’s other side in an instant.

“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice was thin.

“Gaius will be here soon. You’ll be alright,” Arthur said, touching Merlin’s face with a gentle hand.

“I promised,” Merlin whispered, his voice trailing off.

“And I’ll hold you to that promise, love,” Arthur said firmly, “Always.”

Merlin smiled briefly before his eye closed and his face went slack.

“Rest,” He pressed his lips to Merlin’s brow. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

***

Prompts (or any prompt) + Ficlets

#merlin #merthur #merlin fic #ficlets #eldingoringo

138 notes · View notes

stunt-lads · 4 years ago

Note

either "make me forget" or "i just want to feel something" for trashstack! <3 cause we need more ben/richie in the world.

I am so sorry

-x-

Ben wakes from his sleep in the Townhouse gasping and trying to wiggle out from under the weight that’s suddenly on top of him. He thrashes blindly, fear nearly consuming him until he remembers where he is.

And then he feels hands on his chest, legs on either side of his hips, and a mouth at his neck. A mouth with facial hair, scraping across his sensitive skin and making him hiss.

It’s not Bev then. He thinks idly before he groans softly as the mouth trails along his jaw.

“Who?” He mumbles it, half asleep, and feels a hand trail down to his pants.

“Who d’you think?” The words aren’t slurred but they’re off a little. But, he recognizes the voice. It’s Richie. And Richie’s drunk. It’s really the only explanation. Why else would he be groping Ben in his bed?

“Wh—” He’s cut off with a kiss to his mouth, and yea he can taste the alcohol on his tongue.

“Richie.” He urges, gently pushing him away. His eyes are adjusted now, he can see Richie’s bloodshot eyes in the darkness and he knows that look.

He’s been crying.

“Ben,” He chokes out, voice broken and hoarse, “Make me forget. Please, Ben.”

And he can’t help it, with his voice as broken as it is, Ben understands. He saw how broken Eddie’s death had made Richie, how he sobbed, full body shudders and now it all makes sense.

He feels like a fool for not realizing it sooner.

The silence drags on and Ben sighs softly, letting his hands sit on Richie’s hips.

“Ok.” He whispers it to the barely illuminated room, the moon trying its best to get in through the sheer curtains. It feels like they’re being watched and simultaneously the only people in the world.

“Yeah?” He sounds so hopeful and Ben smiles.

“Yeah.”

And then they’re kissing again and Richie is sloppy, motor skills a little off kilter with his drunkenness. But he’s enthusiastic and before long Ben is on top of him, grinding down against Richie and making him whimper and moan, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Richie, what do you want…?” He isn’t sure how to ask Richie what he needs but apparently he’s more coherent than Ben gives him credit for.

“I just want to feel something.” He whispers and Ben kisses him once more before leaning back and getting off the bed.

He’s not stupid. He packed lube and a few condoms. But he expected to maybe use them with Bev, not his male friend who is currently mourning the love of his life, regardless, he has them and he’s grateful for his foresight.

When he returns Richie kisses him with vigor, desperate and needy, before they situate him on his knees, bracing himself against the headboard of the Townhouse’s bed.

Stretching him has him panting softly and grunting occasionally and Ben wishes he could do more to help him, but he’s so desperate, he barely gives himself enough time before he’s demanding Ben fuck him, meeting his every thrust in with a hard press of his hips.

Ben ignores his pleas. He’s helping, not hurting.

When Richie feels sufficiently stretched, slick and ready, legs shaking from how tense he is, knuckles white where he grips the headboard, Ben finally slides up behind him. He fumbles a little before getting the condom on, but once it’s on he grips Richie’s hips gently and pushes himself in.

It’s so warm and Ben sighs deeply, pressing his forehead against Richie’s shoulder, placing a gentle kiss there.

“You feel okay, Richie?” He feels Richie nod and the way he inhales a shaky breath before exhaling it slowly, he hears the way he licks his lips and Ben waits patiently.

“Y-Yeah, Haystack, I’m fine.” Ben can hear in his voice that he’s not, can tell in the way he sounds, his voice is thick and Ben kisses his shoulder again.

He starts with shallow thrusts that have Richie gasping softly, his head thumps gently onto the wall as he sniffles softly, whimpering out soft curses. He can hear it, just on the tip of his tongue, just before he starts giving into the brutal pace Richie’s been begging him for, bitten back and hidden deep in his chest.

“You…It’s okay Richie. I don’t mind if you do.” Ben pants out softly, grip on his hips tightening.

“Nnn—” He’s cut off with Ben shifts positions, slamming into him and brushing against his prostate repeatedly, it’s soft at first, barely whispered, like it’s forced from his lungs, “Eddie.”

“Richie, go ahead.” Ben’s voice is rough, but it’s all it takes.

“Fuck, Eddie, shit,” Richie gasps and moans, voice still thick, and Ben bets, if he ran his hand along Richie’s face, he’d feel the tears there, making twin trails down his face.

“Eddie, I—hhhnnaa, fuck.” It’s like a dam bursts, after Ben lets him, because he repeats the name over and over, a soft prayer intermingled with curses, falling from his lips so easily and quietly in a desperate way Ben’s never heard anything else.

It doesn’t take Richie long after that, even in his inebriated state, he comes with a whimpering sob across the pillow under him, body shaking softly as he breathes. Ben moves to pull out, but Richie, hand firmly on his hip, stops him, sniffles softly and says wetly, “Please don’t.”

So Ben stays, it doesn’t take much for him to lose his arousal, not when his friend is sobbing again, heartbreaking sobs that make Ben’s heart ache. He hugs him from behind until he’s soft inside him, and then he pulls out, careful and slow, and lays him on the bed.

Ben holds him until they both drift off. Hoping he helped at least a little.

When he wakes, Richie’s gone.

#trashstack #richie x ben #richie tozier x ben hanscom #ask #notsfw #minors dni #benhanscomisnotstraight #ecks barks back #canon character death

31 notes · View notes

fotiathymos · 4 years ago

Note

I liked your headcanon backstory for Lio, when you have the time would you share your idea for Galo's?

Galo's story time! According to random thoughts that occur in my brain to make me upset at night!

Once again, thank you for the interest. And I guess it comes off that I enjoy writing so I hope you enjoy reading. Even when its said. >.> I'd love to discuss with people their ideas still. And once again again... its LONG.

TW emotional abuse, parental death, small racism mention, transphobia mention, bullying, self harm via over working, and again I apologize if I miss anything.

Galo's parents were city dwelling young teens that fell in love and got married months later after dating at barely 19 years old. And it was rough.

His mother was loud, out spoken, take no bullshit kind of girl. She grew up all her life in Promepolis, poor and dirty. She'd get drunk at gay bars, fight with her parents, make out with random people and claimed it was living life to the fullest and if you can't handle that then you are just a prude!

His father recently moved into the city with his father (Galo's grandfather). They lost their home and was moved to Promepolis' shelter.

The recent events of the World Blaze caused many people to be displaced and homeless across the world. And welcoming new comers in the city scared the locals, what if they were Burnish? But with a majority of livable land reduced to deserts, people had to go somewhere.

Galo's father was training to be museum curator assistant. He was well versed in many cultures histories, educated, introverted and always got his way through social interactions via jokes. Upon arriving to the city he was currently jobless, the museum and city he previously called home was burned to the ground. His father was his only family and unfortunately wasn't handling old age well.

Sort of an opposites attract but 'were not so different, you an I' way. They met through friends of a friend. Galo's father wasn't fond of clubs but went anyway. She made him let loose for once in his life and he fell head over heels for her. They connected real fast. They were just 19 and impulsive, but it worked out in the end sorta, and decided if the world is this sucky lets just get married right away.

The reason why Galo was never taken in by any other family members was because 1. Galo's father only had Galo's grandfather, who was living in a home for his health. and 2. Galo's mother was disowned by her parents after hitching up with Galo's dad. She was from a large Italian family. Tight knit. They disapproved of her not dating or marrying an Italian boy from the city. She married a Japanese man. They excommunicated her from the family. Even when Galo was born they refused to see him.

Galo was their 'miracle child'. Kind of playing off how in the movie he was always is in such danger he should've died, it was a miracle Galo was born! His mother went through unfortunate miscarriages before she suddenly had Galo. And even then he was born premature and was held in the hospital on and off for the first 3 years of his life. And he survived! He was their miracle.

The family mostly lived a quiet life. Working multiple jobs in a shitty city apartment, caring for an elderly man and a small child. They knew of the politics and horrors going on in the world but they had no time to think of it. They were just trying to survive day by day. They had no outside support. They had friends but even then, they were busy too. There were fights about money, who is staying home with Galo, why don't we have any food in the fridge, whose taking him to school. They made a rule to never fight in front of Galo but kids still felt tension.

Galo didn't quite know he was different from other kids. He just felt.. wrong. It was discovered he was a boy early on though. Really, his parents had suspicions. Galo would hate being referred to as girly, lived for the idea of tomboy. Even when it conflicted with things he did like, like dolls and dresses. The moment someone said he was a pretty girl in that dress, he threw out the dress, tore it to pieces. He would get irritable when people used words and terms for him he didn't decide for himself. He only ever wore his dresses at home, played with dolls at home. At school he begged to wear baseball t-shirts, have robot notebooks, he'd point to anything in the boys section without much care to what it was, as long as it made him appear 'boy' to the world. His parents sat him down to talk about all this. When it all clicked that their child was transgender, they did all they could to make his life easier. They poured their money into puberty blockers for the time being. Before any further steps would happen.

Galo was bullied heavily at school. He was the 'weird' kid. The 'ugly girl', the 'freak'. Even to teachers who were asked to respect him, they just found him to be a 'troublemaker'. Never paying attention in class, always fidgeting, he'd talk too loud, always asking to go to the bathroom.

'Look at adults when youre talking to them.' 'Stop drawing and pay attention.'

He'd try to go by the rules but the rules always didn't make sense to him. Gender was confusing but school was even more confusing. He was always frustrated. All his attempts at fitting in were hit by walls. No one seemed to understand him. Kids stepped all over him, stealing any cool pencils or books he had. His back pack thrown across the school yard.

And just as his parents hid their worried and hard life from him, he made sure to not worry them about his own struggles.

When the fire happened Galo was around 13 year old. Galo was in bed. There were suddenly flames everywhere and his instincts made him run to his parents room. His mother was trapped inside the bedroom, his father outside. Galo was told to make a quick exit out of the house on his own. And in a panic he fled out the front door and into the worst possible human being.

Everything was pretty much a blur. Galo fell hard into shock when his parents weren't coming out of the building. He honestly was clinging to anything nearby to just.. hold something.. feel something. It just happened to be Kray Foresight.

The news was on the scene and sirens were blaring and Galo was anywhere but on earth in that moment. He was placed in an ambulance with a shock blanket, Kray sat beside him, muttering to himself. The only words Galo caught were something along the lines of ‘how unexpected the world gives things.’

In Kray's world, his sudden fame gave his sabotage and manipulate plan more speed. In Galo's world. Before he could even start his life, it ended.

Galo was sent to live in foster care. His Grandfather unable to support him. Galo got heavy into history when visiting his grandfather. The man had Galo's father history books in storage and Galo was instantly pulled in. Especially in his father's culture which he never got to learn much about. He discovered the history of Hikeshi through the books and it became his biggest interest. some foster care nurses were worried about him getting into firefighting history after suffering from a fire.

Galo would also visit a reluctant Kray very often. The media always ate it up. Kray would pose for pictures and Galo loved the attention. A break from thinking anything bad, he could run around a large empty office while Kray was on calls. Okay, maybe, sometimes he'd get yelled at for being too loud. And Kray would kick him out of the room. But thats just cause he was busy! Galo would talk and talk and talk to Kray about the new things he read in his books, he'd even bring by the books some days! His back pack full. It has to do with firefighting! Kray is working on ways to help prevent burnish fires! Kray would so be interested in Galo's research! So he'd spread out all the books all over Krays desk. Kray would let in some tv people during Galo's visits, maybe so they could see how even Galo, a kid, can be working so hard for a better world!

Galo would notice how different Kray got when it was just them two. Kray would mutter under his breath a lot. Stress from the job probably. Krays outbursts toward Galo only happened when they were alone. clearly Galo was being a bother to him. Kray was a busy man. Galo wasn't helping as much as he should be for Kray. Galo started being more quiet during his visits. He went from jumping around to sitting in the corner of the room, watching Kray work, till he was yelled at to stop staring. Galo would pace the Foundations halls, people watching. How they acted and how he could do the same to impress Kray finally. Show he isn't a kid anymore. That he’s normal.

But Kray wasn't always so stressed out with Galo, sometimes he'd pat Galo's head, buy him a new clothes and video games, have someone drive him back to the foster home in a big fancy car. And one day Kray even started noticing how interested Galo was in firefighting! He even offered to pay for schooling!

Galo hated the foster home system. Instead of dealing with his problems he ran away. He'd run to Kray's office. To visit his grandfather. Just mindlessly wander the city. Being an older child with trauma, adoption wasn't really on his plate. Ageing out seemed to be his only option. But no one ever wanted to just tell him that was the case. Giving false hopes for a better life.

Being bullied in school was easy compared to being bullied by other foster kids. They all hated Galo for being Krays 'favorite'. Galo was given a special room because Kray paid for it. Galo was bought clothes and video games and taken on drives in fancy cars! It was common for Galo to come back to his bedroom trashed. The first Matoi made out of card board and scrap fabric... suddenly found burning in the buildings front yard.

Galo would try and try and try to fit in. To be accepted. To have friends. So he started letting other kids come join him in the fancy car rides. He'd give others his clothes, pretending they were gifts. He'd help others by doing their chores. And suddenly everyone needed Galo.

When Galo's grandfather passed on due to old age. Galo felt more hopeless. His Grandfather was having memory issues in his old age, so Galo visited less, he could handle being mistaken for his mother, or asked who he even was. Galo felt so useless. And then the last piece of his family died and he, once again, was useless.

He was 16years old now. And felt so very stuck. As he was getting closer and closer to aging out of the system Galo was slowly accepting he had his own dreams of being a firefighter now. To help people who befell such a horrible situation that he himself suffered. He also wanted to impress Kray with his studies and maturity. He got to work. He got a job at the foster home, secretly got a front desk job at the Foundation, did small odd jobs around the city. All at 16-17. 18 years old was moving closer and closer. He wouldn’t eat or sleep and his body would ache everyday. But. He didn't want to be stuck and be useless.

Galo wanted to talk to Kray about helping him with top surgery. After the fire he got off puberty blockers, and after many many therapy sessions with the foster homes nurse did he start hormone replacement therapy. He honestly thought Kray already knew Galo wasn't cis from when he was 13 years old. But it seems he keeps forgetting. Kray was told about it by a nurse but he didn't mention it again. So Kray must not care that Galo was trans! He'd surely be excited and proud when he finds out how hard Galo worked up the money and how mature he was for all his research.

Kray was livid.

Calling Galo impulsive as always. Galo was working 2 years on this, and was researching for even longer. But.. I guess it was still 'impulsive' of him. Kray said it was too huge a thing to do to ones body. Galo understood that. Does that mean he can't go through with it? Yes, it was a big change but thats what Galo wanted. Kray just stated the obvious. Galo just wanted support for it. Galo explained as calmly as he could to Kray. Kray didn't seem to budge. Galo was too nervous about doing it without Kray's support. So he just sulked for months. Til one day, Kray said he found a surgeon. And Galo was elated! The news the next day had a big article on how Kray was still being a hero to the small boy he saved years ago.

Galo had some extreme abandonment issues. He conformed all his life to fit into a role, a job, a way he was expected to be for whoever he was talking to. He struggled with his own identity from a young age and with how different the world continued to act towards him it was hard for him to find his own place of comfort. It was always someone elses comfort he had to focus on. Joining Burning Rescue enhanced that feeling. He was meant to save and help others. And he was happy with that. It gave him purpose, pride, and reason to keep living.

Night terrors and sleep paralysis started immediately after the fire. During his foster home days, he was known to be awake at all hours of the night. Playing video games, reading, wandering around, doing exercise. anything to think of anything that wasn't that night. That wasn't how he's failing, how he wasn't liked, how he wasn't 'normal'.

He'd apologize after every time he got too excited and his voice got loud. Kray would always yell or give him a look from that. Kray wasn't subtle about how disinterested he was in Galo's interests. Galo would talk and talk and Kray would grunt and mumble under his breath and then slam the books off his desk nonchalantly. Galo would shut up. Galo had trouble understanding when the right time to speak was, what if he was too loud, what if he said something wrong.

Self deprecating humor was his go to in social interactions. If he said how annoying and stupid he was first then when they say it, it won't hurt that much. Or well, its just a joke, he doesn't really hate who he is! Right?

Galo's self harm was in working too much. Sleeping too little. He'd appear as a workaholic, invested in his passions. He'd be important and useful and he convinced himself that the aches werent there or werent too bad. His forgetfulness from lack of sleep was just him being stupid.

After Parnassus. He dealt with his issues more. Sort of. He'd become invested in helping Lio in helping the Burnish. Helping Lio with Lio's traumas and aches and lack of sleep.

But Lio was also invested in helping Galo.

Lio.. listened to him. Galo would talk and talk and talk and Lio could repeat the information back days later. Lio asked to hear more about certain subjects. Lio snap at Galo everytime he made a self hating joke. Galo still suffered nightmares and traumas but he wasn't alone this time. Truely wasn't alone. He finally had someone, and even more then just Lio, actually checking in on him, visiting him. Instead of Galo running to find someone to connect to and meeting brick walls.. he was slowly starting to have someone run to him.

Lio was the first person Galo would talk to about his parents. About the fun board game nights they had together. How his mother would let Galo wear make up and dresses but still refer to him as a boy when asked. How his father would let Galo stay up way to late watching old movies with him.

Galo had his own issues to deal with but he was in love with Lio intensely. Someone understood him when no one else would. But he couldn't always trust his own head, it always seemed to give the wrong answers about how others felt. But he just felt Lio loved him back. Lio just needed time. And there were days and months where Galo felt it was entirely one sided. That no one could love a fool like him.

But Lio would always end up doing something, as if reading Galo's mind, that showed he cared for Galo and that Galo's negative thoughts were just that, negative thoughts.

OKAY I feel like i could write forever and I def went all over the place. Im def missing some big points and thoughts. I hope this is at least readable. I'm sleepy. I'm going to bed.

I hope it wasn't too long or too weird or too much. idk where i was going with it and well i started writing with out a goal in mind. Just getting thoughts out really. Enjoy??And please talk to me about your thoughts. Anon or not anon. But thank you again for being even vaguely interested!! I know its not like.. fun or prob a popular idea for the most part.

#boop answers #no tags no time #i must go LIE DOWN #Anonymous

6 notes · View notes

bread-elf · 4 years ago

Text

DWC 2020 - Day 26

Trust

Legion "Hey, Shield Mother!" There's a rather timid knock on the door to Jiroki's cabin on her ship. Docked in Marshtide, she shuffled through some documents as she was in the middle of work. Her Shields either socialized on the ship or in the shared camp of the troops. Some contracts had been issued out yesterday and they had returned successfully just hours ago, taking the opportunity to relax and enjoy themselves. "Come in." She calls out, not bothering to look up. The door opens and in peeks the head of Greggory, a silver haired human with an eyepatch who worked as one of her intel sources. "Some of us are going to Ironforge to drink! Do you want to come?" "No thank you." Jiroki still doesn't bother to look up, setting aside a pile of newly sent contracts that she approved of. She still had others to sort through to either accept or toss aside, there's plenty to occupy herself with. "You sure?" Greggory asks again, causing Jiroki to huff as she's interrupted further.

"Yes, I'm sure." She stresses. "Go on."

"Alright, suit yourself." And the door shuts once more.

"Nah not this time." She can hear her Shields talking amongst each other in the ship, reminding her just how thin the walls can be.

"Gotta bloody stick up her ass." A gruff voice of a worgen speaks out, causing Jiroki to frown a bit.

"Shh, she might hear you!"

"Guys stop it, let's just go."

"Last one there buys the first round!"

Like a bunch of children they scamper off, leaving her be. But Jiroki didn't mind, she ran a business, not some adventure's guild. She could lost any of her Shields at a moments notice from this line of work, and she preferred to keep her distance. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "You're so frustrating!" Drax'arah, also known ae Drake, snarls at Jiroki, the couple in yet another spat. "Do you know how hard it is to learn anything about you?!" "Why does it matter?!" She fires back. "You already know plenty about me! I don't see a reason to share anything else!" "We're married, Jiroki! I barely know Jack shit of what you used to do. And I'd like to at least know why you cry out people's names at night!" Drake experienced first hand the night terrors that Jiroki gets at times, some reoccurring more than others, but supported her nonetheless. Yet even now officially we'd, she kept her secrets shut like a clam. "How many times do I have tell you I don't want to talk about it?!" Trying not to let her voice raise too much, the twin babes sleeping upstairs. Delo'ran watched the fight occurring, also listening for the children in case they were to wake. But he doesn't step in the fight, letting it occur. "This isn't fair! You know about things have happened to me! If you just tell me these things, then maybe I can stop angering you so much!" "I only know about your past because you dragged me into it!!" Jiroki says harshly. "It caught up with you! I didn't have a choice!" The words came out before she could fully process them, but it was too late. Drake looks at her in shock, pained his own mate would say such a thing, then anger creases over his features. Without saying a word he turns on his heel, heading for the door. "Where are you going?!" Jiroki demands, but he says nothing. Drake opens the door and steps out, slamming it behind him. The walls shake from the force, and upstairs a startled cry sounds as one of the infants begins to cry. "Mother fucker-" Jiroki seethed, trying to ebb away the red she was starting to see, pacing around to try and calm herself. Delo'ran watches her carefully, waiting until she stops pacing to slowly step up behind her. She feels his hands gently grab hold of her shoulders. "Breathe." He says, placing his lips on the back of her head. "Just breathe." Jiroki tries as such, heaving deep breaths, but the crying upstairs doesn't help. "He doesn't understand-" "How can he?" Delo pulls his head back. "He is right though. It hurts him that he doesn't know how to help you, and you won't let him in." "Don't you take his side!" Jiroki whirls around, beginning to lash out towards Delo as well. "I'm not. But the same goes for me, you know. I wish you'd trust us more." He takes a few steps back, heading towards the stairs. "I'll go check on them." Jiroki is left alone as she hears the footsteps of Delo'ran going up the stairs to see to her children. With trembling hands she starts to stroke back her hair, once more beginning to pace. How could she relive all those terrible times she's faced? The phantom pains burned on her back constantly, the loss of her family and loved ones, it was even a miracle she could bear children after what she had done to her first unborn child, and having to put down Rydras like a dog- Jiroki forced herself to breathe, the trauma hitting her as she started looking around for her medicine. She had some milk saved up in bottles already, she could afford a moment to drug herself, she had been weened off of it for long enough as is for the children. She'll abuse it just this once, then wait until her children no longer need her milk. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jiroki sat with her shirt off, covering her chest for modesty as Ia inspected her back. A group sparring session had just concluded with the Greyshields, but Jiroki had accidentally over exerted herself. Again. "It's not too bad." The Tanaris woman reports, her white hair cropped short as her bangs hanged longer than the rest of the length, covering one eye. "Only one of the blisters reopened. You said someone kicked you?" "Yes…" Only a select few knew of the burns on Jiroki's back, and all of them Jiroki could count on one hand. Though at times that led to complications when someone got too rough with her while sparring. "This will be just a moment." Ia takes a few steps back and squats into a pose done by a follower of the Jade Serpent, and a green mist begins to come from her palms as she ushers them towards Jiroki, letting it fuse into her back. But she paid mind to not go overboard, Jiroki was adamant to keep the scars. Jiroki could feel the wound begin to close and heal. It would help numb her back for a time at least, until she would need to take her medicine again. "With all due respect, Shield Mother." Ia starts. "You really shouldn't hide this from the others. It could jeopardize a mission." "Some of the other medics know." Jiroki says as she starts to redress herself. Only one medic knew in fact, Cylan Moonshadow, a former druid who she had known for some time now. Ia takes a deep breath, her brow creased in disapproval. They have had this conversation numerous times as is, but Jiroki remained stubborn as ever. "As you say." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Reaver designed by the Legion laid dormant in the waters of the swamp, defeated as the warlock Harutan laid on his back on the shore. A blade held deep against his neck, his breathing raspy through his mask as he stares up in horror at his doom, the scarred Kaldorei leering down at him. “Heh, y-you think you’ve won!” He spits up at her, coughing up some blood. “This isn’t the last you’ve seen of me!” “That may be the case.” Jiroki sneers back, shouting over her shoulder. “Search for a Soulstone! He has one somewhere!” Harutan gives a gasp, his eyes wide beneath his mask, though Jiroki couldn’t see. “W-Wait, no! You can’t!” “You’re pathetic.” Jiroki glowers down at him. “I’ve dealt with warlocks far more vicious than you.” “We found it. How do you want to handle this?” Kazbocon the gnome says, walking up with some of the other Shields nearby. Rina the worgen and Bastet the Kaldorei, both druidess’ tending to injuries of others who had faced the encounter. Aztook lurked nearby as well, carefully watching his new boss and how she will handles this. Jiroki thought for a time on it, staring down at the warlock as he lay beneath her. A nearly familiar sight, though this form is not nearly as a threat as he’d like to think. “Keep it.” She says. “Lock it up.” Jiroki couldn’t fight the devilish twitch of her lips. “We’ll use him in the future.” “No- no- YOU CAN’T-” Jiroki sinks her glaive into his neck, silencing him. Harutan goes limp, and his soul stone flares to life. Quickly Kazbocon conjures an arcane prism around the soul stone, keeping it stabilized. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Bastet seemed troubled, the young druidess hesitant as she overhears. “Wait- you killed him, but you’re keeping his soul?!” Rina also points out, young as well, in her human form for the time being. “That’s cruel!” “Did you not see what he just tried to do to us?!” Jiroki counters back. “He needs to pay for what he has done, he tried to kill us! It’ll only be for a time; I don’t trust his soul to be free while the Legion still assaults us.” “But that’s not-” “Stop it, girl!” Kazbocon interjects this time. “What’s done is done. Shield Mother, I’ll take care of this personally, I have a place I can store it.” “Good. Thank you.” Jiroki says, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. Rina turns and storms off, Bastet following, and Kazbocon walks off while carefully carrying the stone. “Hmph, lesser mortals.” Jiroki curses in her native tongue, only Aztook around to hear her now. “They don’t understand a bloody thing.” “Hmhm.” Aztook hums in amusement, tilting his head as his sightless gaze stares at her. “They do lack foresight, at times. Almost makes me curious as to what else you understand.” Jiroki turns and raises a brow at the former illidari, the being crazed and mad in his own right as he starts to give her a wicked grin. She rolls her eyes, and storms off, needing to find someone to deal with the body. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jiroki was alone in the ship, and so she had taken a decent dose of her medicine, needing to not feel. Or to feel something, sometimes she couldn’t tell the difference. Sitting at a table in the mess hall of the ship her face laid face down on the table, arms crossed to rest her head as her hair spilled around her shoulders. But sometimes in her state of high her senses were slow, not hearing the footsteps coming into the ship. A hand runs through her hair and tilts her head to the side, someone trying to look at her face. Her eyelids flutter as she tries to open them and focus on who is touching her, and she’s met with a pair of icy blue eyes on a human face. Jiroki sits up in alarm, nearly falling out of her chair, but cold hands grab her. “You are narcotized again.” Daniel Farington, a death knight who served in the Greyshields, states matter of fact. “N-No, I’m not…” Jiroki quickly tries to say. Daniel suffered from memory loss, not having memories of his living life. But through the trauma he went through that also made him forget, he became a bit… Slow. Innocent in a sense, not understanding social skills. “Are you not?” Daniel asks, his voice monotone, but his face expressive as his brows knit together in a confused frown. “You do not like it when you are touched. The only times you are slow to react, are when you have just taken your opioids.” “Daniel, shush!” Jiroki tried her best to keep her addictions a secret, yet Daniel must have been a smart man in life. It was just a shame that in his current state he was too mouthy for his own good. “Yes, sometimes my drugs make me sluggish, but it’s nothing to be concerned about. And you don’t need to tell the others.” Daniel thinks for a time, processing her words in his own way as he finds meaning behind them. “Hm… I see.” He moves them, going to the other side of the table she sat on, and he sits in the chair. “What are you doing?” Jiroki felt her eyes watering, it was harder to keep up the façade. “It is not good for you to be sluggish.” Daniel states. “If an assassin were to come, you would not be able to defend at your full potential. I will monitor you while you rest, until you can move freely on your own.” Jiroki narrows her eyes at him, not wanting to leave herself dependable on this man. “I didn’t order you to do so. You don’t have to stay.” “I will leave if you order me to.” He responds. “But, in… my own feelings, I think. You should not be left alone. I will remain silent.” Daniel always spoke politely, and at times could be sweet, but Jiroki could see that slight bit of stubbornness deep down in him. Jiroki says nothing, feeling her eyes wanting to droop, and so she gives in. Deciding to trust this man for a time, she lowers her head and rides out her high. (( @daily-writing-challenge ))

#stories

4 notes · View notes

chemicalmagecraft · 4 years ago

Text

Foresight is 20/20 Chapter 14

Hinata's palm struck me in the jaw, making me grunt. "Kick his ass, Hina-chan!" Kurama cheered from the sidelines. It was nice seeing how well those two were getting along, even if it meant him encouraging her to beat me up. The two of them actually helped each other a lot. Hinata warmed Kurama up to humankind and got him to be slightly less angry, while Kurama made sure to rub some of his "I'm better than you lousy humans" pride off on her, causing her to be a bit more confident. Plus he liked imparting little bits of arcane knowledge upon his favorite human, meaning...

I just barely noticed with my chakra sense that Hinata was leaking a small amount of chakra out of her fingertips, so I jumped back. Unfortunately, I'd determined with my eyes that expressing too much interest in obtaining the Byakugan with my chakra assimilation would only cause most of the clan to grow wary of me, so I didn't have the ability to actually see her jutsu, but at least I knew to stay away.

I made a few seals, but had to stop when the barely-there chakra rushed me. Even though I moved my arms the chakra swerved faster than I thought it would, causing my left arm to go completely numb. "Ow," I said despite the fact that the problem was that I couldn't feel any pain in my arm. "You're getting faster with that, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Hina-chan said. "Kurama-chan helped me figure it out."

I tried to move my arm, but couldn't. Eight Trigrams Heavenly Will as it was called by most of the family, or much less pretentiously Tenketsu Puppetry Jutsu by Hinata, was a jutsu Hinata invented by combining the basics of Juken that she was learning with the chakra threads I'd showed her how to make and then some sort of advice from Kurama. In addition to acting like a ranged, though technically much less potent, version of Juken, the threads stayed inside the tenketsu of the victim meaning that not only was any recovery from the attack blocked until they were removed but she could also, as her name for it suggested, puppeteer my arm.

"Impressive, sis, but you know that that doesn't exactly work on me." I raised my right pointer finger, causing a single link of yellow chain to form on it. With a bit of concentration, I changed the yellow Adamantine Sealing Chain to a shadowy purple permutation, Adamantine Destruction Chain. I swiped at roughly where I felt the chakra threads with it, managing to snap all of them and suck the foreign chakra from my body.

I'd figured out that my assimilation could also adapt powers that were compatible enough together. I was already working under the assumption that I couldn't just make new elements by combining people's affinities because that would be broken, but I did alchemize Ai's Adamantine Sealing Chain together with the Kikaichu's Parasitic Destruction to make chains that could drain chakra as well as disrupt it for some extra chakra cost. Plus, the disruption and absorption effects synergized, enhancing each other's performance. And there was also the || combination, Parasitic Sealing, which allowed me to cover my body in an aura that disrupts and absorbs chakra. Though it was harder to do than Adamantine Destruction and wasn't perfect...

But I digress. I pointed the chain link at Hinata, shooting an entire chain at her. The general consensus of just about anyone who I used my special chains on was that if I got a grab in the fight was over. Sure, I could still only have more than a few links out for a few seconds without any boost before I got super tired, but between the draining and the throw I could easily pull off with the chains I only needed one good grab to wear down even adults. At least enough to jump in with a few cheap hits to finish them off. Hinata obviously knew this by now, so she ducked under my chain, then rolled out of the way when I tried to pin her to the ground.

I was expecting her to do that, though, and had already prepped my next jutsu. Metal marbles, designed so I could hurt but not kill with my magnet release, scored hits on her side. I charged, and she blocked my foot with her hand. I winced, realizing my mistake when my leg turned numb from the near-instantaneous point-blank Heavenly Will. I used my demon gem-based flight to try to kick her with my other foot, but she got it before I could.

"Full body takeover, eh?" I asked as the rest of my body below my neck was wrested from my control. Really, having a relatively non-draining jutsu that might as well be an automatic win to anyone in melee distance is even more broken than I am...

"Sorry, but can I practice this for a bit?"

I tried to shrug, but remembered the futility. "Go ahead. I still have control over my demon gems, so I can catch myself if you slip up." Hinata spent the rest of the sparring session finding stupid dances to make me do, egged on by Kurama. I did get her to work on her proxy chakra control a bit, though. She could almost make me do Juken by the end. And I could almost do Juken by the end.

kukukuku~

Tenten said something, probably about how much it stank that we had to go to school, as we walked ourselves to school. Well, they walked and I floated because I actually may or may not have a bit of trouble matching other people's walking paces, especially if I'm not paying too much attention... I didn't know what she was saying, though. I was thinking. I mumbled something in response and pulled out my sealing notebook and note-taking pencil, which I used to write down the formula I thought of. I tuned out their conversation even more as I sketched the complex seal down as best I could.

"You messed up a little there," Tenten said as I was finishing off the last strokes.

"Hm?" I asked.

She pointed to one of the runes and oh my that was very wrong. "I'm not sure, but I think it'll just tear a hole in the fabric of space if you don't fix that stabilizing rune." I thanked her and hurriedly fixed it.

"I feel like maybe you should not write down a seal that could potentially tear a hole in the fabric of space itself until you're absolutely sure it won't do that?" Neji said with more than a little concern.

To be honest, I didn't blame him, but... "Graphite's pretty much the worst for making seals," I explained, "which means that it's really good for practicing making the more dangerous seals because it's almost impossible to activate it accidentally. Unless you're a jinchuriki, maybe, but even then you'd probably have to be pretty distracted."

"Well why didn't you have me use a pencil when you were trying to teach me seals, then?"

Finished, I stowed the notebook. "Okay in my defense I wasn't expecting you to screw up the easiest seal in the book when given detailed instructions, much less screw it up enough to accidentally make an incredibly simplified explosive seal. And with the last seal I had you do, I think we both know that you should always assume that there will be an explosion when making a paper bomb."

I tried to teach Neji fuinjutsu once. Turns out he's literally the worst at it. He somehow managed to turn a basic light seal into a thankfully tiny bomb with only a big enough blast radius to burn itself off of whatever it's written on with a noise like a firecracker, which apparently was a theme with him. No matter what, he would always make bombs out of whatever seal I gave him. And then, when I tried to have him purposefully make a bomb, hoping that maybe he was just some sort of bomb savant, he somehow managed to make a seal tag that teleported itself and whatever it was touching to a random place within a fifty meter radius. Which, okay, free spacetime ninjutsu, but how? "I'm still scratching my head on how you managed to make a short-range teleport out of a bomb. Speaking of, what's your mom make of it, Tenten?"

She snorted. "She's still on that high from the wedding, so she's been more concentrated with being all lovey-dovey with Mommy than looking over the seal, but she did say to never let Neji near a seal again when I told her it was supposed to be a paper bomb."

"It wasn't really that bad, was it?" Neji asked.

Tenten laughed and shook her head. "Not at all, Neji..."

"...It's much worse," I finished her sentence with a slight grin. We high-fived. "When I looked at the seal you were making with my eyes, I saw a lot of different possibilities. Random teleportation was one of the better ones. You don't want to know what the worse ones were."

"Right." He didn't believe me. To be fair, I did tend to mess with him... And was messing with him. "So what's the seal you were working on supposed to do? I'm assuming it's somehow related to spacetime."

"Yeah, normally when people screw up seals that have nothing to do with spacetime, the result doesn't do anything to the fabric of reality," Tenten said, elbowing Neji.

"Shut it."

I shrugged. "You're right, though. It was most certainly a spacetime seal."

"Yeah, it looked a bit like an object summoning seal, but a little different," Tenten said. "Was it meant to swap objects between two paired seals?"

"Close. My hope is that it'll form a portal between two locations when chakra's input on both ends, and that it's compatible with demon sage chakra. It's still a little rough around the edges, though."

"Let me guess, secret base," Tenten said.

I brushed my hand through my hair. I was combing it less now, so it was a bit curlier and fluffier. And it was getting so long that my bangs started falling over my left eye more. I loved the way it looked, though. "Obviously. In fact, I have an agent working on finding the location right now. Haven't found anything good yet, though."

"How do you have an agent?" Neji asked me.

"Magic." I noticed a certain building and pointed at it. "Hey, isn't that the school? That looks like a school."

"Yup, that's the school," Tenten said. "Mommy took me here a lot. Mama's job is a little less kid-friendly, plus the teachers looked after me when I didn't want to sit through Mommy's classes."

"Oh right," I said. "Your mom's a teacher."

"Yeah, I said that earlier, weren't you paying attention?"

Something about that sentence felt a little doomy, though I couldn't tell why. "No, I was thinking about how to breach through spacetime to reach another location without accidentally summoning Mega Neo Beqthulhuzillaon, Destroyer of Souls and Eater of Worlds."

"Is that an actual concern?" Neji asked. "Are you messing with us or could you have actually summoned some sort of eldritch horror monster?"

I smirked. "You should know the answer to that question by now. I'm assuming you know the way, Tenten?"

"Duh."

kukukuku~

I tried very hard not to groan. "My name is Uzumaki Tenko," our teacher for the next few years said, writing it on the chalkboard. God I hate chalkboards. If I were Hokage I'd make chalkboards illegal. Which is probably one of the reasons I should not be Hokage, actually... "I look forward to teaching you." I slumped in my seat. It's not that I didn't like her. Tenko was really nice. No, the problem was that she knew I was a literal genius relative to my age level, and with that comes... expectations...

Before, my plan was to just rest on my near-complete high school-level education to put the bare minimum amount of work into the actual academic parts of ninja school, which considering what grades I got with how little effort I put into school before would've made me best in class or thereabouts already. But Tenko already saw me put actual effort into something, meaning she might have been able to tell when I didn't put in the work. So if I didn't want to hear about it from her and Tenten both I'd have to at least half-ass it. Ugh...

I sound like Shikamaru, don't I?

"Didn't I tell you she was going to be our teacher earlier?" Tenten muttered to me. I guess that was what I missed... "And why are you so annoyed Mommy's your teacher?"

"Because she'll actually care if I don't put any effort into my work," I whispered back.

"How terrible," Neji snarked. I flicked him with natural energy. Using natural energy without sage mode may have been a lot weaker, but I could at least flick someone sitting right next to me hard enough to feel. He flicked me back, though. My Neji may have been completely seal-illiterate, but he was just as much of a ninjutsu genius as in canon, and figured out how to feel and manipulate natural energy just by watching me do it, though he hadn't quite managed sage mode yet. We proceeded to engage in invisible and incredibly petty warfare that Tenko would probably have stopped if she were a sensor. Luckily, Tenten was too amused to turn us in. She almost gave us away with her giggling, though.

"Now, why don't you introduce yourselves?" I'm not saying that I completely tuned everyone's introductions out, but I am saying that the only names that I retained aside from Hyuga Neji, Uzumaki Tenten, and Rock Lee was someone from the Yamanaka family whose given name was Kaede. Kaede is a pretty awesome name. Why couldn't I have been a Kaede?

"Hello. My name is Hyuga Kouki," I said when it was my turn. "The reason why I don't look like Neji despite us having the same family name is because he's adopted."

"What!?" Neji spluttered. "No! You're the adopted one!"

"It's nice to meet you," I halfheartedly finished, pretending Neji said nothing. He flicked me for my troubles when I sat down. I flicked back, and as if someone assassinated a duke or something, Flick War II began.

kukukuku~

"Just remember that these are friendly matches," Tenko said when we were all sitting on the ground by the sparring ring. "If I feel like someone is being hurt too badly, I'll stop it there. And once more, it's taijutsu only."

"Why'd you look at me when you said that?" I asked. Her glare turned a little more accusatory. I pouted. "I wasn't gonna do it anyway..."

"Right," she said, turning away from me. "You may now look at the slips of paper I gave you. Who has one?" Tenten and a boy I should probably have known the name of raised their hands. "You two are first. And Tenten, try not to rough him up too badly, okay, sweetie?"

The unnamed kid grinned maliciously. "I hope teach doesn't get too angry after I beat up her precious daughter." Neji and I exchanged a look and snickered. Right, like that kid stood a chance. When they were told to start, the kid jumped in for a punch. Tenten dodged easily and shoved him to the side. He stumbled and fell.

"Get him with your Uzumaki strength, Tenten," I cheered dully.

She scowled at me. "For the last time!" Tenten shouted, then picked up the nearest object. Namely the unnamed kid. "I'm not!" She hoisted her hapless victim above her head. "Freakishly strong!" She threw Hapless Victim at me. Without even blinking, I deployed the demon gems hanging from my earlobes. One formed a springy barrier in front of me that safely absorbed the impact of the collision without too much damage to Hapless, while the other formed a barrier under him to cushion his fall.

"I have no idea why I would think that," I said as I recalled my gems. "Truly, your ability to lift over your body weight in small child despite being yourself a small child is totally unremarkable." She blushed and growled at me.

"Kouki, please stop antagonizing Tenten," Tenko said. "The match is over, Tenten wins."

"How did you do that?" another small child I probably should've known the name of asked me.

"Magic."

Hapless (I was now trying to commit his face and chakra signature to memory so I could keep calling him that) groaned and sat up. "I thought we weren't allowed to use jutsu!" he complained.

"You weren't," I said. "The Uzumaki bloodline manifests itself passively in the form of enhanced vitality and strength, something that Tenten definitely has even if she doesn't quite have the traditional looks."

"HEY!"

"So really, you didn't stand a chance."

Hapless stomped off to his seat and the rounds began again. After a few, it was my turn, as well as, "coincidentally" enough, a young Rock Lee.

"Remember, no jutsu," Tenko reminded me.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, then got into my fighting stan- "Ah, crud," I muttered, realizing that I had not been doing regular old sparring enough. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd actually practiced fighting someone without ninjutsu or genjutsu.

"Start."

I dodged a really shoddy punch. To be honest, it was pretty weird seeing Lee suck at taijutsu. Very lucky for me, but weird. I leaned away from another punch, then caught his arm. "Stop," I commanded. I uncurled his fist, removed his thumb from his palm, and then forced his hand into a proper fist. "It's a common mistake," I assured him. "If you punch someone with your fingers around your thumb, you'll probably break it. Oh, and hit me with those two big knuckles, not the entire fist." When I released him, he cautiously punched me. "Good," I said after catching his hand with mine. "However, I'm afraid that now I have to..." I twisted around and slung his arm over my shoulder in an attempt to suplex him or something. "Finish you!" Key word being attempt... I may or may not have only lifted him onto my back...

"I don't think you did what you were attempting to do..." he said.

"Stupid physics. I always hated that subject..." I shrugged and just dropped backwards in what I hoped looked like a planned move. I really needed to work on my taijutsu...

"Okay, that was not at all what I was expecting..." Tenko sighed. "Kouki wins, I guess..."

"You okay?" I asked as I got off Lee.

He sighed. "I am fine..."

The third noteworthy match was Neji versus Yamanaka Kaede, a hotblooded girl with orange hair like that one Fu guy and red eyes. While Neji was technically a pseudo jinchuriki by now from my experiments, his powers were weird and technically even his "passive" strength would be considered an active jutsu, especially because he could turn it off. The Yamanaka, on the other hand, was surprisingly strong for a Yamanaka. Maybe she was part Uzumaki? She did have red hair. At any rate, while Neji was almost overpowered at one point, he beat her. He was a genius after all.

kukukuku~

"Hey," I said, then sat down on the floor next to Lee. Okay, I actually floated just a bit off the ground, but the sentiment was there... "Sorry about beating you so bad."

He sighed. "No, it's okay... I already knew I would not do well here. I cannot use ninjutsu or genjutsu, and you saw how my taijutsu is..."

"Can you channel chakra into things?" I asked. I really wanted to know what would happen if I started him off early.

"I can, but no matter how hard I try, I will not be able to use a jutsu. The doctor said that there is a problem with my chakra coils, so I am incapable of molding my chakra into jutsu..."

I shrugged. "Not exactly a dealbreaker, if you're willing to work extra hard."

"What do you mean?"

I summoned my crystal ball. Yeah, I know it's kind of a stereotype, but I'd made the jutsu from that crystal ball jutsu Sarutobi used to see Naruto in the first episode, plus it did kinda look cool. "Watch this." I waved my hands over the floating crystal ball, casting the jutsu. Despite not activating my Shoraigan, the crystal ball changed to show another location. By using a physical medium, I could show my vision to others and didn't have the same backlash, though with the downside that it wasn't private and I didn't get nearly as much information.

"See that man?" I said, pointing to Gai training. "He used to be about where you are, but now he's one of the most dangerous shinobi in Konoha through taijutsu alone. Do you want to know how?" I put away the ball and looked at Lee. His eyes said yes. "An insane amount of practice, training, and diligence, combined with challenging himself to do something even more difficult whenever he fails a training exercise. You should probably take time to rest every once in a while, especially at first to keep from permanently damaging your body, but I see a fire in you. There's no reason why you couldn't become as good as or perhaps even better than him one day."

There were stars in his eyes, and he was almost crying. "Do you think so?"

I gave him a small grin. "I know so. Also..." I pulled out the other thing I had for him. "This is a bit of a beginner's fuinjutsu kit, at least my version of it. Try and see if you have some aptitude for it. You may not be able to inscribe seals with chakra alone, but if you pick up enough you might be able to work wonders with seals." Imagine Rock Lee with the ability to make and use seals. To be honest I have no clue what would happen but I do know it would be amazing.

He stood up, energized, and gave me a deep bow. "Thank you very much! I will make sure to become a splendid ninja!"

My grin was genuine. "I'm sure you will."

kukukuku~

Usagi

I lurched along the dirt path. My new body of stone and earth was not suitable for travel in the slightest, but I had no other alternatives. It seemed that compatibility with myself was not quite as common outside of Konoha as I assumed it was at first, and the rabbit was either a stroke of luck on my part or perhaps somehow related to how Kurama was present in End Valley at one point. Perhaps his chakra acted as a primer. Still, I did sense a few scattered people in small villages who had compatibility, though I couldn't in good conscience simply abduct and kill an innocent person. I needed to find a bandit with compatibility.

"Well well well, what do we have here?" a source of malicious intent jeered as two men appeared from behind trees. Speak of the devil... The two bandits, however, were nowhere near compatible.

"There's a toll to use this road," the other bandit said, brandishing his sickle. They had yet to realize my anomalous existence on account of the cloak, gloves, and mask I had fashioned for myself.

"Oh," I said. "I do apologize. I was not made aware of the toll. You really should put up a sign."

"You gettin' smart with us?" the first bandit asked. "We'll rough you up!" I probably didn't look like much of a threat either. The body I'd formed for myself was rather on the short side, to save energy. It was still definitely in the adult range, but not by much.

"You two are bandits, aren't you?" I asked. I already knew the answer, of course.

"Of course we're bandits, now give us all your loot!" The sickle-wielding bandit rushed me. That was a mistake. My body became fluid, the eyeholes of my mask gained two red lights where my eyes should have been, and I dodged effortlessly. I removed one of my gloves and placed my hand on his face, my hand like a lunging viper.

"Do you take chakra instead?" I asked, then infused his body with demon sage chakra. He dropped his weapon as his brain itself was altered in such a way that, while he didn't technically die, he certainly couldn't have been said to have been truly alive anymore. I removed my hand, revealing red markings across his face.

"What the hell!?" the other bandit shrieked. Without turning to him, I sent a signal to my new thrall. The bandit that I had just "killed" snarled like a beast and rushed at him. The... I suppose the best word for it would have been "zombie" bit the man on his arm with partially crystallized teeth. The man shrieked, throwing the zombie away and running in terror. I nodded to myself and split my attention in two, one half of my mind focusing on breaking the zombie down into more demon gems and the other tending to the bandit.

When my zombie bit him it infected him with my chakra, causing the cells in his arm to start to transform into the demon gem-like material that I'd used to zombify his partner. I altered the rate at which the infection spread, causing it to slow near the surface while speeding up within his blood and bones. My hope was that he'd notice the infection, cut his arm off and assume he got it all, then hurry back to his leader while carrying the infection. That would be fun. When I was done with the carrier, I turned my full attention to the zombie, which was almost prepared. With a final command, the corpse disintegrated into red powder. Some of it scattered to the wind, where it would be carried elsewhere. The rest came to me. About half of it went behind my mask, where it bolstered my existing gem. The other half I formed into another gem that I hid within my cloak.

With that done, I placed all of his belongings into a bag I had tied to my makeshift body under the cloak. I wasn't to know fuinjutsu, after all. I continued down the lonely road, ever-so-slightly quicker than I had before.

#naruto #naruto fanfiction #fanfiction #Foresight is 20/20 #F20 CH14

1 note · View note

jenovahh · 4 years ago

Text

Jewels in the Sky - Flor x A’yana

Halone help him, he was smitten.

The night had been wonderful. Florentel couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed himself so thoroughly.

Halone knows it took him no small amount of courage to build up the courage to ask A’yana to court her, given the hoops he had to jump through just for her to realize how amazed by her he was. Her obliviousness made him think that perhaps she had loved another; until she began (not too subtly) fishing for hints about who he was interested in. She could not hide her jealously, and thus, he made his move.

It was a lovely night, Florentel offering to take her to see Lominsan night life; they had watched dancers, visited taverns, and he had even had the foresight to make a reservation at the Bismarck, letting her order whatever her heart desired. They had chatted about their childhoods, their interests, their struggles, and before they knew it was was well past midnight and time to go home.

Ever the gentleman, he had offered to walk her home, both to spend those few extra moments with her and to ensure she arrived to her home safely. He had no doubts she could handle herself; but a primal part of him wanted to protect her.

“The Beds are quite lovely. Much different from Ishgard.” Florentel comments as they stroll along the sidewalk. The could’ve easily mounted and rode to her front door, but at her insistence, they had walked all the way from the ferry.

“I would think so. It is so frigid there.” She returns, flashing him a dazzling smile. His heart beats like a drum in his chest, and he fumbles with his words.

“That is most certainly true. I would not be opposed to moving to an um, warmer locale.” He coughs, averting his eyes for a moment, hoping she cannot see the red on his cheeks. It is silent for a moment, and their pace is slow. He wants to be closer, but worries about scaring her away. She had admitted that she had never had a true romantic relationship before; and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. Even still, he wanted to show her that his interest was genuine.

Carefully, he reaches for her hand, hoping his own are not clammy with nerves. She flinches as he takes her hand in his, but doesn’t pull away as his fingers curl around her palm. Her hands are rough with calluses but still manage a delicate feel to them. She stops in place for a moment and so does his heart, fearing he had made the wrong move. “I apologize,” he begins, starting to unclench his hand.

“No, it’s alright.” She whispers, her fingers curling tighter. Shyly she looks away, ears perked up, tail swishing low. “It is...nice.”

Releasing the breath he was holding, he gives his own shy grin, continuing their walk to her home. “I’m glad you think so.”

They reach her doorstep together, having held hands the rest of the way. Neither of them seem to know what to say. “Flor?” A’yana begins, looking absolutely bashful.

“Yes?” He responds, letting her pull her hand away, already missing its warmth.

“Could you lean down for a moment? There’s a leaf in your hair.” She informs him.

“Oh is there? Then please, get it out,” He laughs, bending over to make it easier for her to reach.

Just as she reaches out, her hand instead deviates to his shoulder, grasping gently as her face nears his. His eyes go wide as her lips press softly against his cheek. Time seems to stand still for a moment as Florentel processes what happened.

“Thank you for this evening, good night!” A’yana chirps, quickly opening the door and darting inside her house, leaving the poor, confused Miqo’te outside. Once his mind catches up with the rest of him, he places a hand on the offended cheek, rubbing it gently. A smile breaks out on his lips, eyes glancing back toward the door she had disappeared through. Chuckling quietly, he prepares to head home. =========================================================== With their permission, I’ve decided to start showing off a bit of my OC work. Jewels in the Sky will be any past or current snippets I have written of me and my friend’s OCs, who are all in a relationship with each other.

Florentel is a trans male Keeper of the Moon, raised in Ishgard by Elezen parents after his birth parents were killed.. A’yana is a cis female Seeker of the Sun, raised in a distant swamp in a village of witches. And just as a little hint, as I’ll post this sporadically, jumping all over the place like I do with my friend. The only difference is you do not know the headcanons, and will have to piece together how the relationship forms yourself. I hope you all enjoy it!

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #ff14 #writing #OCs #A'yana #Florentel Terrechant #JitS

2 notes · View notes

mysticsparklewings · 5 years ago

Photo

Draw This In Your Style!

Draw/Recreate This In Your Style, post the original art alongside it (on platforms that support it, elsewhere you can just link back to the original instead), and either tag it with #dtiySparkle or tag me, MysticSparkleWings (xxMysticWingsxx on Twitter) directly and I'll retweet/share/etc. it! No deadline, just create at your own pace!

____

You know, I constantly go back and forth on "celebrate milestones!" vs. "don't be that person that won't shut up about how many followers they have and the numbers and etc." Mostly because I usually find it annoying from other artists, even if I don't find the artist themselves annoying. It's complicated. I know it's important and in many cases helps grow a following further, but it also just gets exhausting, you know? Both to see it and to try to do it.

Still, I've been wanting to make a "Draw This In Your Style" (DTIYS) for a while now, but it didn't seem like the kind of thing to just do on a whim. It felt like there should be a reason for at least the first one, provided it went well enough to make me want to do more. I noticed a few weeks ago that I was approaching 1,000 followers on Twitter* and I saw an opportunity, knowing that 1. It would take me a while to finish the artwork (go big or go home, yes?) and 2. It would take a few days for the numbers to stabilize so that I would actually hold steady at 1,000+ and not be 1,000 one minute and 998 the next. (Followers go up and down like a see-saw over there)

*Thanks exclusively to Art Shares. I'm very sure I'd still have less than 100 if it weren't for those--and please don't be fooled by that number. 1,000 isn't teeny tiny, but in-depth interaction from a handful of people will always mean more to me than zero or minimal-at-best interaction from thousands/millions/etc, and frankly, my interaction over on Twitter is basically non-existent compared to the interaction I get here on dA, which precisely is why I prioritize dA over all other social media. It means more to me; it feels infinitely less passive.

But...I kinda didn't want that to be the only reason for the DTIYS. It just seemed...I don't know, cliche? Not right, somehow. Fortunately, the Twitter milestone happens to coincidence with I think I've finally stabilized around 300 followers on Instagram (after being stuck between 250 and 290 for months, consistently going up and down 2-3 people at a time), and I've also garnered over 400 watchers right here on dA.

The Twitter milestone is technically the biggest, but honestly, the dA one means a lot more to me. I thank each and everyone one of you, my fellow deviants, for thinking my art is worth the watch.

And I especially thank those of you--I'm sure you know who you are, I won't name names just in case anyone's not comfortable with that--that consistently fav and/or comment on my work. Your support and encouragement are why I keep doing this, despite the frustrations I may have along the way and aside from an innate need to create.

Speaking of which, if you're a loyal Sparkler I think now I'll get to the part you might know me best for; the long description of the artistic process!

Like I mentioned before, I noticed the milestone stuff a few weeks ago and thought now would be as good a time as any to get started on a DTIYS, so I started trying to brainstorm something that would be both fun for me to make and fun for others to recreate. I was having a little trouble on this front, so I took a trip to Pinterest and re-visited some boards I use to save potential draw ideas/inspiration on.

I was thinking I wanted to include a fairy since I've been wanting to get back into drawing them more regularly and fairies-via-Winx-Club is where I got my start here on dA and indirectly into getting more serious about my art in general. I was also thinking something with galaxies since those are usually fun to make and are a good way to make an otherwise plain or simple piece more interesting. I didn't want this to be too terribly complicated if I expected other people to draw it, but I also didn't want it to be too boring. And, of course, I was hoping for something I could lean into my mixed-media prowess with.

All that turned out to be quite the balancing act, but after some scrolling, I had some ideas and ended up with a sketch of a fairy in a teacup, with place-holder wings and a place-holder rose on the cup. The wings I knew would be easier to do the lines digitally (even if the final art was traditional, which I was planning on), and the rose I wanted to be slightly more sophisticated than my typical stencil-made roses, which I thought would also be easier to experiment with digitally. I was right on that front, thanks to some of the public domain images on PixaBay.

Beyond that, my original idea was fairly different from what you see here; I was thinking black hair, a fairly vampiric look, for the fairy, more typical butterfly wings, a red rose on the cup, and then an abstract galaxy wash, more watercolor-y and less saturated, for the background. And to be fair, that's still an interesting idea that I might return to at some point, but even as I worked on and finished the digital linework (fully planning to print them and then do what I wished with them traditionally, as has become a norm for me) something in the back of my mind told me that vision wasn't the right one; Not for this project, anyway.

Fortunately, I was a busy enough bee in between working on the lines for this that I partially had to step away from it to meet other time constraints and I could afford to step away from it and have some time to ponder what I wanted to do.

In my pondering, I kept coming back to the galaxy/constellation thing I've been experimenting with lately (Exhibits A, B, and C ). I hesitated at first since I knew for sure I didn't want to do the whole drawing that way and I wasn't entirely sure how to decided what to do with what.

Of course, after thinking about it a bit more, I decided I'd take a risk in doing the background and wings in the constellation style, and then somehow do the rest in a more traditional way. I'd have some more time to think about that while I was re-tooling the wings digitally for said constellation style, after having discovered that made life so much easier during my previous experiments with it.

I'd know from the beginning that I wanted to do metallic accents (most likely silver) on the cup and saucer, which in this case meant I'd need to use either watercolor or heavy-duty mixed media paper for them, and I definitely had to use watercolor paper for the wings/background. The mixed media will work for the galaxy technique, but the colors don't blend quite as nicely and I was concerned about how that might affect the overall look here.

Still, I didn't want to watercolor the fairy herself at least, which left me with a choice of alcohol markers or colored pencils. I was thinking pencils for the hair for texture, markers for the skin for the lack thereof. But I typically don't like using alcohol markers on watercolor paper. The additional texture feels too rough on the nib and it's almost like I can feel the paper soaking up extra ink.

I also thought that doing the background and the fairy on the same piece of paper was asking for a very big watercolor-y mess, so between that and the paper concerns, that led me eventually to deciding to split them up.

And somehow in there, the idea occurred to me that I could get a bit adventurous (read: crafty) and actually separate the various parts of the fairy and cup out a bit and not only solve my paper problem, but also makes things a little more interesting.

After yet more pondering (if you can say nothing else about my art, you cannot say it isn't well-pondered by the time it's finished!) I settled on having the layers as follows:

background/wings (watercolor paper)

back part of the saucer (mixed media paper)

the fairy (with her arm and bit of hair carefully plopped over the next layer; mixed media)

the cup (mixed media)

the front of the saucer (mixed media)

Or at least that was the plan, and if I discovered problems in this plan then I could adjust as necessary.

So I got to work on the background, which was fairly straight-forward. I layered on paint and blended to essentially my heart's content, and then let it dry overnight since it was getting late by the time I finished it, or rather the first layer. I came back to it the next day and layered on some more paint to fix some blending issues and darken the whole thing up some more.

While that second layer dried, I got to making the lines for the additional layers and cutting them out--uncolored for the time being, as I figured the layering would need to factor into that a bit--and setting how exactly they'd fit together. The only modifications to my plans I had to make, which I, fortunately, had the foresight to do while I was cutting, was to leave two little bumps at the "bottom" of the fairy (where her body meets the cup) so that she could sit probably as both in the cup but also with her hair and arm hanging over it. The little bumps were a sort of "grounding" behind the cup to hold the rest of her in place while the other pieces were wedged on top.

I hope that makes sense, it's a little hard to explain without seeing it for yourself.

Anyway. I'd also had the foresight to transfer an outline of the fairy and cup lines onto the background before I started painting, which helped with making sure everything was placed...semi-correctly...on the final piece.

I say semi correctly because despite my best efforts when I went to glue everything together it looked right in-person, but the digital scan would later reveal to me that in fact, the layered bits had all shifted slightly to the left and curved inward a bit more, like a right parathesis: ) But I'll come back to that in a minute.

Once I was convinced my layering gambit was going to work out, then I started toying with colors and ideas for the layers themselves. The clearest idea I had out of the gate was to do the rose in a galaxy style too, rather than just plain watercolor like I'd originally planned (teal for the leaf though because green wouldn't have fit with the rest of the palette and blue would've blended too well); either way, I figured it wouldn't pose much of a problem on the mixed media paper since it's such a small area. The biggest challenge would be the stars, but even then you could say the same thing: It's such a small area that star dispersion with a pen really wasn't that big of a challenge to make look convincingly like random star placement.

I went back and forth a bit on the other colors, but I ultimately decided that I liked the idea of soft purple skin and dark(ish) blue hair, maybe soft pink lips and a little blush, for the fairy herself. And I also decided to do a little warm-gray shading on the cup with markers, as opposed to just leaving it white.

The lips turned out so nicely I was tempted to try doing the blush with the same markers, but I have very mixed luck with marker blush (sometimes it blends nicely, other times I get a nice line despite my efforts), and so I decided to play it safe and do it later with pencils instead. Fortunately, the rest of the skin and the cup (both done with Copics specifically as that's where I most easily found the colors I needed) went nice and smoothly, as is the nature of markers on this mixed media paper. (Seriously; Strathmore 400 series Mixed Media works wonders with alcohol markers for layering and blending!!)

The hair was a little more complicated because of the color I was hoping for, but that didn't matter too much because half-way through I decided to change things up a bit and I added little bits of pink and purple into the mix, intentionally following the rest of the galaxy-ness of what I was doing. It's not much, but I think it was the right choice.

While I waited to make sure the cup was good and dry, I went to splatter town on the now-dry background, as was necessary for the galaxy look, and then used my phone to shine some extra light on the paper so I could see my lines and dots for the wings. And after giving the white gel pen a moment to dry, I then went back in with my PanPastel, as is custom, to make the wings glow. I have also now learned that a blending stump/tortillon is good for blending out the pastel in a tight space, while a dry paper towel or tissue works to semi-remove it if it goes on a bit too thick.

Everything, after drying, was then assembled and attached to the background with some handy-dandy tacky glue which was fortunately fairly quick-drying for liquid glue, stuck fairly well without me having to add a whole lot of it, and also not a sloppy glue mess everywhere.

I did have to carefully go back over some of my lines for the cup and hair after everything was assembled because I forgot to do so over the metallic paint and pencil wax before assembly, but it also worked out okay since a couple of corners for the hair got snipped a little short, so I could sort-of fix it by extended the corner on the paper underneath. (In hindsight this works a lot better in-person; on the undoctored scan the placement looks pretty off or incomplete)

And of course, with everything assembled, that brings me back to what I was saying about the scan earlier.

Like mentioned, everything had shifted a bit during placement and gluing, and I could more clearly see the lines I had missed in that process on the scan. Unfortunately for me, while in-person everything looks relativity fine, on the (undoctored) scan this shifting made the balance feel way off, at least to me. The fairy and cup were too far to the left, meanwhile, the ring wing stuck out too far on the bottom.

I fiddled and fiddled and fiddled with the scan, using the content-aware move tool half a dozen different ways before I conceded it just wasn't going to do what I wanted, and then my next-best idea was the extend the background to the left a bit. In doing that, I discovered the warp tool worked to my advantage for that, and so I decided I'd trying fiddling with it and see where it got me.

It's still not perfect, but it's better than it was. In the end, I used the warp tool to tweak the angle of each part of the wings and that made up for some of the balance problems without also compromising any of the lines (which was the biggest reason why the content-aware tool wasn't working; it kept messing up the lines or other parts of the drawing in the process). At the very least, I was able to do enough that it only really bothers me now when I start looking for the off-balance-ness.

I also ended up doing some minor touches, mostly just smoothing out certain lines and small tweaks, but once the balance problem was finally somewhat solved it was pretty much done. (Aside from, of course, me then also adding the words on top so people know what this is at only a moment's glance.)

The end result, both scan and traditional. I'm really happy with. The piece is plenty interesting to look at, but it's also not too complicated, especially when you break down the individual parts that make it up. (Literally and more figuratively.)

Thus, I can only hope others find it interesting-but-not-too-complicated enough to try their hand at recreating it. Even if no one takes me up on my "Draw This In Your Sparkle Style Challenge though, I enjoyed making this all the same and I'm really proud to share the art itself with you guys.

Hopefully though at least a few people will take a stab at it and I can focus on that and not explode from impatience in regards to various not-really-art-related things I'm currently waiting on.

____

Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings

____

#drawthisinyourstyle #dtiysparkle

3 notes · View notes

marvelousmarvelimagines · 6 years ago

Text

A Christmas to Remember

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary - You’re sick of spending Christmas alone while your boyfriend is always on missions. When some surprising news is discovered though, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

A/N - So I haven’t had the opportunity to really write in forever, but managed to pull out my own little Christmas Miracle with a little drabble for a Christmas Even present to you all with our favorite Bucky Barnes! I hope you guys enjoy.

Warnings - A little language

“Hey, Buck are you ready? I’ve got hot chocolate and a ride -” I froze at the sight in front of me. It was a sight I had seen many times before, and one I had hoped, begged and prayed not to see again this year.

His suitcase was out, random clothing being shoved haphazardly into it. He didn’t even stop as I came into the room. I had a feeling it was because he knew what expression had taken residence on my face.

It was one of disappointment because I couldn’t believe this was happening once more. “Again?” It was the only word I could manage to say.

“It’s just a recon. Nothing too dangerous, but it has to be done. They’re moving and this might be our chance to -”

“You promised,” I said, hearing the own frustration in my tone. “It’s our third Christmas together Buck, and our third apart, you know how much I love-”

Bucky turned and looked at me after zipping his bag closed. His face was hard, steeled with determination, and I knew at once there would be no talking him out of this. “I have to do this, doll, you know that.” He swung his bag over his shoulder and stepped closer, reaching to cup my face, but I recoiled. Just for once second I managed to see the hurt before he was back to steel. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“No you won’t. Because you’ve said that for the past two years, and every time I’m stuck here by myself wishing you were with me.” I told him, crossing my arms over my chest. “What am I supposed to tell my parents? Again? Not to mention my little nieces who absolutely adore you?”

“Tell them the truth. I have a mission.” Bucky replied. “I can’t control that.”

“A recon mission? Come on, Buck. I know what that is. It’s sitting around, staring out at a window for hours on end. Something an entry level agent could do! It doesn’t require an Avenger!” I argued.

“This is my responsibility, Y/N, I’m trying to -”

“What about your responsibility to me? I guess that’s not as important right?” I said, biting my bottom lip to try and hold back my tears.

I couldn’t miss the disbelieving look that flashed across his face. “Is that really what you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think Bucky, you’ve made that very clear.” I replied, turning away from him and heading back to the door, my hand freezing on the door knob. “Be careful.” I said, something I could never let him leave without saying that no matter how mad I was. I still didn’t give him the chance to reply though.

_____

The stick shook in my hand as I looked down at the clear words. On the desk in front of me sat three more, all different brands, but all saying the same thing.

Pregnant.

“Holy shit . . .” A voice said from beside me, staring at the same thing. “You’re pregnant.”

“Yep,” was all I could think of to say.

“And it’s two days before Christmas.”

“Uh huh.” I replied.

“Your boyfriend is on a mission to God knows where.” She continued on.

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping me understand this? After all you’ve done it twice now.” I finally interrupted my sister, putting the stick down with the others.

“I was under the impression that you and Bucky didn’t need help understanding how to make a baby with the way you two go at it like rabbits -”

“Not what I meant.” I replied, running an anxious hand through my hair.

“Well . . . were you two trying?” She asked.

“I wouldn’t say trying, but not being very careful either.” Bucky and I hadn’t talked about having children too much other than to admit that at some point we would want some. I don’t think either one of us expected some point to be so soon.

“So what do you think he’s going to say?”

That was the question. I wasn’t even sure how to react, especially when he had left on bad terms.

It had been stupid, and I had been selfish. I knew Bucky was trying to make up for everything he had done as the Winter Soldier, but my third Christmas without my boyfriend was a little rough. Especially when you not only have your parents to answer to, but two little girls running up to you asking where your Bucky was. I was tired of letting them down. The reaction I had was too much, and I regretted it almost immediately, but by then he had been gone. Was he still upset? Would he even want to see me? Even to tell him I was pregnant? “I don’t know.” I answered, my hand unconsciously moving to my stomach.

“Well, there’s one way to find out.” She replied.

_____

Two hours later I found myself banging on Tony Stark’s door so hard it felt like my knuckles were going to start bleeding. From behind the door, I heard grumbling and some curses before it flew open. “You know, I have things to do.”

“I need to know where they are.” I told him.

He rolled his eyes. “They’re on a mission. I’m not interrupting that for a booty call.”

“It’s just a recon mission, Stark.” I said.

“Oh, you get to decide whether a mission is important or not now?” Tony asked, irritation seeping in his tone. Try as Steve might, Tony was still not a fan of Bucky and a little of that extended to me.

Tonight though, I didn’t have time for it. “That’s not what I meant, Stark. I know it’s important, but I also know it’s just surveillance, and I need to talk to him. It’s an emergency.”

The door was already closing in front of me. “Being horny does not qualify as an emergency, even the day before Christmas Eve -”

“I’m pregnant!” I blurted out before I could stop myself, the rising panic in my chest forcing out my words. “I’m pregnant, and I don’t know how to feel because my boyfriend is off somewhere mad at me. I need to tell him and find out how he feels so I know whether I should be freaking out or not.” I took a deep breath, refusing to cry in front of him. “Also tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I’ve never got to spend Christmas with Bucky, and I’m just feeling very hormonal-” Okay so maybe that last part was a slight exaggeration, but if it worked . . .

Tony Stark opened the door just enough to let me through.

_____

I really hadn’t thought this out. All I had been concerned with was making sure I could get to Bucky, not knowing what I would say once I got there. I did at least have the foresight to call ahead and make sure that Bucky was off duty and in his room which is where I now found myself, pacing outside his door.

What was I going to say? Was I just going to blurt it out like I had with Tony? Should I have planned some sort of cute reveal like I saw on the internet all the time? I should apologize first. Make sure he knew I was sorry before I dropped a bombshell like pregnancy on -

“You would have been a terrible spy.”

My whole body jerked, startled at the voice. Turning around to face him, as always, he took my breath away. Bucky had just woken up, his eyes red and his hair disheveled. None the less, still the most attractive man I had ever seen. “It’s a good thing I’m dating one then. At least I hope I still am.” I responded, biting my bottom lip as I looked at him.

HIs face was unreadable for a scary moment, and I wasn’t sure there was anything more intimidating than those steel blue eyes staring directly into your soul.

Then a soft, slightly sleep filled smile formed on his face and his whole body seemed to shift into a relaxed posture. A hand reached out to me. “C’mere doll.”

A relieved smile left my lips as I took his hand and let him pull me close. My face nuzzled into his neck as we swayed from side to side in a tight embrace. “Does this mean you still love me?” I murmured into his skin.

“Always,” Bucky replied, squeezing me tighter. “Do you still love me?” Bucky asked, and I hated the tone of uncertainty in his voice.

“Always,” I replied, “I’m sorry if I ever made you think any different.” I pressed a tender kiss against his neck.

“Even when I’m being selfish and not putting you first?” He whispered.

“James Barnes, the last thing you are is selfish.” My arms tightened their grip around him. “I was being selfish. I know how hard you’re trying to make things right. It’s just . . . difficult to remember that sometimes. Especially when it gets in the way of Christmas.” I tried to explain, leaning back so I could look at him. “I just miss you when you’re off saving the world. I’m sorry I took that out on you.”

“Doll, I know how important Christmas is to you, and it’s our third one I’ve missed. I could have said no. I just . . . I haven’t really had a Christmas since the war, and -” His arms tightened their grip too, as if afraid I was going to leave him.

My heart tore right then. It was something I should have figured out on my own, but had never even thought about. “Oh, Buck, I’m so sorry I didn’t even -”

“How could you? I never mentioned it. I . . . I just wasn’t sure what it would be like, having Christmas without my family, but . . .” He leaned his forehead against mine, letting out a contented sigh. “You’re my family now. You and Steve and even Wilson. I’m sure Christmas -”

My whole body tensed at his words. How was he going to feel about adding one more person to that family? One so soon? One we hadn’t even really discussed as a couple?

As always, Bucky sensed my anxiety. “There’s something else.”

I pulled back so I could look at him, hoping I could read his expression. “Do you still love me even though . . . even though I’m pregnant?”

The moment I said the words, it was as if time stopped. I wasn’t even sure Bucky was breathing anymore as he stared at me. If I hadn’t been paying attention I wouldn’t have noticed how his eyes drifted to my stomach before looking back at me. “You’re pregnant?”

Not knowing what else to say, I just nodded.

A slight tilt of his lip, and a smirk settled on his face. “You’re messing with me, doll.”

Of all the reactions I had expected, this had not been one of them. “No . . . I think the constant throwing up and four positive tests is a good sign . . .”

His hands cupped my face, and I was shocked to see a teary glint in his eyes as his smirk turned into a full blown smile. “You’re really pregnant?”

His smile, a sight so rarely seen by anyone but the people he was closest to was so contagious I couldn’t help but smile back. “We’re having a baby, Barnes. So I really hope you still love me, because I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

“Love you?” Bucky replied, his voice cracking with emotion. “Y/N, you are the most kind, smart and beautiful woman I’ve ever met. You are my universe. One of the only damn things in this world that is truly good. You make me a better person. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Once again, his forehead rested against mine, “and now you’re having a baby with me. I don’t think I could love you more if I tried, but you can be damn sure I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to.”

I didn’t waste another second, pulling him in for a kiss, happiness almost exploding out of my chest. Bucky responded in earnest, his hands gripping under my thighs, and lifting me up in the air so my legs could wrap around him. The action caused me to giggle against his lips as he then pulled away to practically smother me in kisses. “So you’re happy? You’re really happy?” I managed to say, running my fingers through his hair as he paused in his kisses.

“Y/N, you’re here, and I’m getting to spend Christmas with you and our little baby.” He pressed another gentle kiss to my lips. “I’ve never been happier.”

Yeah, I don’t think I’ve been either.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #Winter Soldier #winter soldier x reader

229 notes · View notes

kaytewrites · 6 years ago

Text

can’t stop the spirits when they need you [ki’va anai]

a backstory for my fey-patron shadar-kai warlock, ki’va, with a chip on her shoulder and a hunt in her heart.

rating: PG warnings: mention of past death word count: 1943

It’s easy, right? Knock, listen.

There’s a lot a quiet little knock can tell you about a room, especially when you’re outside of it. It’s one of Ki’va’s favorite tricks.

“Pay attention, Kiki,” Eiro whispers to her, the sound a secret in and of itself. “This one’s important.” He knocks against the wall quietly, so quiet Ki’va can barely hear it herself, and she presses an ear against the wall—and Eiro gently pushes her away.

“Not on the wall, but close. On the wall just gives you the wall. Just off...” He leans in close, and she mimics him, and he knocks, and the sound bounces around the room, inside the kitchen where her amma Indira is making dinner for her and ajja Eiro. She can just barely hear the knock bounce back to her, and when she opens her eyes, she can see her ajja smiling back at her. She understands.

Inside the wall is cramped, small, damp with water-rot and clouded thick with cobwebs that stick to the roof of her mouth when she breathes, but right now, all she can see is the gleam of her ajja’s smile, hear the sound of the lightest knock in the world shake off the side of the pan in her amma’s hands in the room outside their little world of secrets and hiding.

Knock, listen. Ki’va rests her head just off the wall, and with the barest tap, knocks. It had taken years to learn not to listen just for what comes back, but what doesn’t, the empty space that means clothes and people and thick flesh to absorb the sound. Tables, chairs, desks. Inside this room, there is a single man, and beside the knock, she can hear the soft scratching of quill-on-paper, the taptaptap of it dipping into the inkwell and being cleaned and the scratch again. Ki’va smiles.

She presses her hands to the vent and, silently, scales the side of it. The cobwebs barricade her nose in a way that is part nostalgia, part annoyance, but she does not wait to wipe them away. She just slows her breathing to stay quiet and calm. She climbs until there is a sharp angle to parallel the ground, and when she lifts herself up, there is a grate into the room that is now below her. She sticks her hand to it, lifts it, and puts it to the side as she swings herself down.

She hops to the floor, a graceful press of silent limbs into a predator’s crouch. She feels a satisfied smirk on the corners of her lips, and lets it spread.

Ki’va takes one step, two— —the mark disappears.

“Well, shit,” she deadpans, and rolls into a crouch as the door bursts open with a thunderous crash.

She recognizes the guard uniforms, and thanks her foresight (and her Ajji) for shoving a scarf at her before she left. She shoves it around her face and bolts for the window, not even turning around at the cries of “Halt! Thief!”

I didn’t even steal anything, she thinks, and then her arms are hitting the glass of the window hard enough to bowl her through it, and she throws out her arms as the ground rushes up to meet her.

“Breathe, dauti,” her ajji says, hand on her back, and she nods, pressing her lips thin. The air is cold and crisp in the little, graffiti-ed park they are standing in. Ajji leans in close, kisses her face, and Ki’va breathes in, out, in.

“You see that statue, there?”

She nods. It is cracked nearly in half on the head, but it clings stubbornly to itself, remaining precariously intact through what seems sheer spite in the wind that whips Ki’va’s hair around her face and makes her nose feel separate from her body.

“I want you to go there. Do not take a single step.”

The directions are confusing, but they are the same ones her ajji has been giving her all month, every day, when she brings Ki’va out here. Ajji knows Ki’va doesn’t want to be here. Ki’va would rather be combing through the streets to look for her appa, look for whoever took her amma and ajja away from her. That urge burns like fire in her heart, so warm to the cold that freezes her fingers.

It is the same person. She knows. And they’ll come back to finish the job, too, kill her and ajji just like they killed amma and ajja and—

“You’re getting angry, dauti. That won’t help you finish this faster.”

“Sorry, ajji,” she says, through clenched, chattering teeth.

“What have I told you?” Her voice is unlike Ajja Eiro, so different from that shared secret. It is cold winter and instruction like clean lines, and Ki’va struggles to hold onto it even as it slips past her ribbon fingers. “Don’t get angry. Don’t think. You are here, and you need to be there.”

Is this how you learned, ajji? she wants to spit out, angry and defiant, but she bites her tongue. Getting angry at Ajji Kee’lah isn’t how she’ll get this done.

She closes her eyes.

She closes her eyes—

—her feet stumble out from under her as she rolls onto the pavement, seconds before she would have only been paint in the gutters. She spares half a glance to the dumbfounded guards staring out the window before she’s ducking through the alleyways again and again, seeking out more familiar territory.

Praveen is getting an earful when she gets to him. This is the third time this month her bounties have gone bad, and she has a feeling she knows who’s behind it.

Rajesh.

It’s easy to hate that easy swagger he has, when he walks in the bar and sits down next to Ki’va. She focuses on the drink in her hand. It’s not the day for this shit, especially after the botched job she’s had.

“Hello there, beautiful,” he says, and she hates, hates, hates him, like fire in her gut fueled by the cheap liquor in her mouth. No matter the sweet cant of his lips, no matter the sweet roughness of his hands on her arm as he slides a hand towards hers, toward her wrist.

She shakes him off viciously. She does not have time for the confusion of Rajesh, all sun-elf hospitality and cocky swagger. She has a mark to get ready for. One that, hopefully, won’t already be turned in by the time Praveen hands her the information this time.

“What do you want?” she spits out.

“Harvey Kliegmire,” he says, and smiles like that isn’t the worst thing she’s ever heard him say.

She makes it back to Praveen’s shitty apartment halfway across the city, ducking into back alleys and cutting through a kitchen that knows her and hides her when the guards come looking. She steps into the place, ignoring the lingering scent of unwashed plates and food left to petrify on dishes left out longer than she’s had the shirt she’s wearing, and steps up behind an unsuspecting Praveen to grab him by the shoulders and whirl him around.

“What the fuck,” she grinds out between her teeth, and Praveen holds up his hands to mollify her.

“What, again?! I swear, Ki’va, it’s not me—”

“I know it’s not!” she yells, shoving him against the wall once and letting him go to stalk and pace like a caged caracal. “It’s him! Every time, for the past three fucking months, it’s been him!”

She paces and rages inside herself until she feels burnt out, or like her fire is banked, coaxed to slumbering embers just inside her skin.

Praveen waits a moment, two, before he speaks again. “What are we going to do?”

She scrubs a hand over her face. Holds up her hand. Watches the play of light on her white-moon skin.

“I’m going to get help,” she says, and stalks out before Praveen can even raise a finger to stop her.

Rajesh smiles. He takes her glass from her stupor-frozen hand and drains the rest of her drink in one long swallow, and sets it back down. By the time he’s wiping his mouth with his sleeve, her face has wrenched itself into a snarl.

“What the fuck do you mean, Rajesh.”

“Exactly what I said.” He leans in close, and she can smell the cheap liquor on his tongue, along with the bright forest-green scent of his clothes. “Don’t take the job, Kiki.”

She freezes.

“There we go.” He swaggers upright, off the stool, and has the audacity to try and place a kiss on her cheek. She outright slaps him at that, and the play of outraged indignation across his face is almost enough to make up for the attempt in the first place.

“A friendly warning,” he says, and his tone has lost the honey-and-sugar of before, revealing the vinegar swill beneath.

She watches him go, and barely a second later, she’s sprinting to Praveen’s apartment like a wasp on a hunt.

She makes her way out of the city with nothing but hot, hot fury on her heels, anger writ in every line of her body. She smooths it to vicious, tempered evenness, walking with easy, languid predator-grace until she makes it to the forests, and then she swallows.

The forest is dim-gray-twilight, the sky is burning, vibrant sunshine, and everything is limned in halo-riddled gold. The edges of the leaves smolder into ash and smoke as she watches, and she reaches out to touch with hands made of mirror-glass and shadows reflected into shadows reflected into flesh.

The sky is—not familiar, not comforting, it could never be, but it is recognizable as other and unlike and not-part, and she finds what little surety she can in the spine-chilling blinding gold.

He speaks like thunderclouds and dry-season dust, and his hands are shaped like flame, fingers licking at her own with heat to blister and burn. He is almost too bright to look at, and she knows her own skin should be burned away like the paper-thin tissue it feels to be, should he will it so.

She remembers, closing her eyes in the forest, remembers her bargain. The pact.

“I refuse to be weak,” she says, and he hears this, all the things in her heart that she is too angry/afraid/weak to say but says anyway: I want to find my appa. I want revenge. I want to be vicious and smart and cunning in ways that terrify and ways that attract. I want to be everything that men hope for and everything that will eat them alive, I want to become the best there ever was at everything I do.

“You, little firebrand, I like,” he says with djinni eyes, and Ajji said to fear the fire-men of the sands, but she sees nothing but kindred kinship when he looks down at her with too-bright eyes.

There is power, now, in her veins. It is hours later in the day, and she is unconcerned that the night has come while she has meditated here, where she found the gate to the djinni and his towering pillars of sand and glass and fire.

“You will be fearless,” he breathes out, and she breathes in, as if on command, and her lungs fill with fire and smoke. “What is the name of your quarry, caracal?”

“Harvey Kliegmire,” she says, and he hears: Rajesh Patel.

She walks back to the city with embers smoldering in her red, red eyes, and the echo of a voice like smoke in her ears.

Hunt, little caracal.

#dungeons and dragons #dungeons & dragons #dnd #d&d #shadar-kai #elf #warlock #fey warlock #fey #faeries #making deals for fun and profit: what NOT to do #ki'va anai

5 notes · View notes

thehighlandhealer · 8 years ago

Text

Nothing but Dead Ends || Bronwyn, Vincent, & Charles

Charles: He paced the floor of his study, inexplicably nervous. It hadn't taken him very long to talk himself down from his panic after the encounter he privately dubbed 'The Atlas Fiasco'. Charles Xavier was a man of action; wallowing did not become him.

Still, one's boyfriend changing species and losing his memory was a bear of a problem to tackle. He'd scoured a mate's preternatural library for answers and, finding none, had immediately sought out the next course of action. Who knew real life had a phone-a-friend option?

He'd been quick to scrounge up the number Mason'd had the foresight to give him, but actually making the call was proving to be a mite more difficult. "Nothing for it but to take the plunge, old man," he muttered to himself, pressing 'call' before his fear could get the better of him. He would exhaust all resources.

Bronwyn: "Ye need to move them, the sunflowers are castin' too much shade, stealin' all the light," said Bronwyn, adjusting the hat on her head. She and Callum had spent a lovely morning playing in the dirt, and her cousin's garden was all the more beautiful for it.

Eden had nothing on a Druid's garden.

Callum contemplated his nasturtiums. "I've been meanin' to but I can't decide where to put them."

Bronwyn looked around. "How about.....there?" She pointed at a bed lined with begonias just as her phone rang. One glance at the display had lead pooling in her stomach. There was only one reason she would be receiving this call. "Mind if I take this?"

"No' at all."

Bronwyn stepped into the house before she answered. "Charles? What's wrong?"

Charles: "Hello to you as well, Bronwyn. Lovely to hear your voice," he teased, though anyone that knew him could detect the thread of anxiety weaved into his charm. It was possible that the restless clacking of pen against desk was audible as well. Charles was not in a good place, but manners make the man.

"I must confess, I did phone for something more pressing than small talk. I'm... When was the last time you heard from Mason?"

Bronwyn: Under normal circumstances she would've gone through the motions and made small talk with Charles, but under normal circumstances she also wouldn't have this bad feeling in her gut.

"When he texted me and told me he was about to do somethin' extreme and asked me to understand."

Charles: "Well." How to best to share what he knew? Charles was already taking meddling to its extreme by calling on Mason's friends for help. Did he have any right at all to share the would-be demon's secrets?

The answer may have been 'no', but the ache in his chest would not be soothed until a solution was found. Best to spill the truth quickly and efficiently. They'd officially reached Band-Aid territory.

"Extreme is putting it lightly," he began, grave despite his earlier efforts to be otherwise. "I don't know how much he told you about his plans, but the goal was to erase all memory of his so- of his past, so that he could have a slightly more bearable eternity. I told him it was a terrible idea, but those eyes. I couldn't deny him the right to pursue happiness. Needless to say, it did not go well. I hadn't heard from him in too long, so I popped by for a visit."

He needed to stop babbling and get to the point.

"Mason is human and remembers nothing of his past life."

There. Band-Aid.

"There must be something we can do. I'm... I can't lose him this way."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's only thought when Charles finished speaking was, 'Oh, Mason.'

Mason, Mason, Mason, what on earth have you done? How could you have been so breathtakingly reckless messing with something as fragile and fickle as memory?

She sank into the nearest chair and was silent for a long time. Charles might think the call had cut off except for the sighing that could be heard clearly over the line.

Charles: Charles was ever so grateful for the limits of phone calls as his lip began to wobble, careful composure cracking for the second time since he'd met that stranger. He kept himself quiet. A calm façade that only distance allowed.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed, when he was certain his voice would crack. "I'm so, so sorry."

Bronwyn: "I'm sorry, too," Bronwyn said softly. "The loss isn't only mine or only his." Or only Callum's. "It's yers as well. Ye love him."

Charles: "More than I can say," he agreed. A wave of exhaustion days in the making crashed over him and he collapsed into the chair behind his desk, rubbing at his eyes. "Is there anything to be done?"

Bronwyn: "I don't know. I'd have to do some diggin', find out exactly what he did or who he went to and dig some more. But whatever happened here, I think it's safe to say this wasn't the intended result. From what ye're tellin' me, he wanted to strike a few things from the slate, no' wipe it clean."

Charles: "That's what he told me. I trust that he wouldn't want me gone completely; it's why I felt justified in calling in reinforcements." A brief pause. "Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?"

If there was one thing Charles Francis Xavier hated, it was feeling useless.

Bronwyn: "If ye hadn't, I would have. When he sent me that text he told me to contact ye if somethin' went wrong. I didn't want to believe somethin' had but here we are..."

Bronwyn heaved a long sigh. "I don't know. I hate that that's the only answer I have."

Charles: "Oh." Full of surprises, that demon of his. The chunk of ice lodged where his heart should be thawed the smallest bit at the knowledge. "I don't know how he believed I might help the situation."

There was that pen again, tapping thoughtfully away at polished mahogany. "I suppose I could do more reading on my own end. I haven't found anything thus far, but I can't imagine sitting idly by while he's... Anything you think you might need, yeah? I'll be there. Nothing is too large or small."

Bronwyn: "He probably thought that between the two of us we could resolve whatever it was he was worried would go wrong." Bronwyn could only hope Mason's faith hadn't been misplaced. How ever many amazing things she was able to do, her power had limits, and those limits tended to rear their heads at the most inconvenient of times.

"Actually, I do need somethin'. I need ye to tell me ev'ry detail ye can remember about this new Mason. Ev'ry single one, even the ones that don't feel important in the grand scheme."

Charles: "Oh." A beat. "Oh, all right."

Charles had never once been more grateful for his eidetic memory. Pen still tapping out a jittery little samba, he dragged the incident to the forefront of his mind.

"From what I could tell, the house remained unchanged. I wasn't given free rein to go exploring, of course, but nothing I could see was out of the ordinary. Mason..."

He inhaled shakily. As far as memories to relive went, this one was hardly going to make the highlight reel.

"He looked enough like himself for me to believe that he was himself, but there were subtle differences. He'd shaved, for one, and he'd gotten his hair cut. That should have been a red flag, though I thought he only wanted a change of pace... He wasn't as impeccably dressed as he usually is, either. That may have had more to do with the fact that he'd obviously been sleeping, but I can't be certain of anything in this situation.

He mentioned parents. Both dead. His mother more recently. He told me that was why he was in North Carolina to begin with; he'd inherited the house. He said that he'd grown up there, but he'd been living in Louisiana, which is where most of his friends were. Are? I didn't catch any names."

He swallowed past a viscous lump of bile and plowed on. God, why couldn't he let this go.

"He'd been to see someone.... And apparently his visit and inspired a similar reaction to my own. Someone named Callum? What else? What. Else. Oh! And he was sporting a tattoo that I'd never seen before. Just below his neck. Some-- some sort of symbol. It wasn't one I recognized, but I could probably draw a rough sketch of it from memory. I was a bit too preoccupied to ask him anything about it."

That was all he had. He could only hope something would be of use. "His name was Lawrence. Lawrence Atlas."

Bronwyn: Rather than clear things up a little, Charles' tale just confused and concerned her more. It was one thing to have no memories of your life. After all, hundreds of people got amnesia every year. It wasn't an ideal condition but at least it had a name and a cause.

But having entirely different memories to replace the ones you'd lived through and suddenly changing species? Suddenly having a different first name but the same surname?

That was a horse of a different color.

Bronwyn rubbed her forehead. She could feel a perfectly vicious headache coming on.

"I haven't seen him shirtless all that often but I don't remember him havin' a tattoo. Might be somethin' there. As for the visit with Callum..." She sighed. "I heard about it. Callum's my cousin. I'm actually visitin' him at the moment."

Charles: "It's new," he assured, before he could reflect on the implication of such a hasty response. All at once, he was grateful for their distance. She couldn't see how red his face had gotten from... wherever she was.

"Oh." Cousins? Had Mason mentioned that? Not as far as Charles could recall, and he wasn't in the habit of memory suppression. He couldn't be sure just what this new scrap of information made him feel. "I see. Well, I hope he's all right. I know that seeing him was difficult for me. I can only imagine..."

Bronwyn: The implication flew right over Bronwyn's head; it was taken with more pressing matters than why Charles was able to clarify that point with such certainty.

"Maybe I'm graspin' at straws here, but I think this new Mason havin' a tattoo that our Mason doesn't means somethin'. Draw me that sketch. I'll see if I can dig anythin' up."

"He's fine now," Bronwyn said carefully. She didn't know if Charles knew about the soulmate thing, so she thought it best to proceed with caution and be as casual as possible. "It was a shock, though. It's hard to prepare for somethin' like that."

Charles: Charles knew. Of course he knew. But he wasn't about to broach the subject now. Or ever, most likely. He couldn't quite manage to be in denial about Mason's cosmic life-partner, but he'd keep it under lock and key until he was forced to face it. "Good. Good, I'm glad to hear it."

A soft rustle of paper accompanied his pleasantries, the professor digging about for a scrap of paper to begin his sketch. The sooner they sorted this mess out, the better. "Anyway, you're probably right about the tattoo bit. I'll draw up a likeness right this very moment."

Bronwyn: "I appreciate that, thank ye. It might be nothin', but we have to turn over all the rocks." After a few moments she added, very gently, "How are ye doin', Charles? Really, how are ye doin'?"

As she'd said before, it wasn't just her loss. It was his, too, and in a lot of ways it cut him more deeply. He was in love with Mason, after all.

Charles: "I've been better, Bronwyn, I must admit," he sighed, dragging his free hand through his hair and leaving it as disarranged as he felt. "I miss him. Terribly, awfully, dreadfully. I just want him back."

With gentle clearing of his throat, he collected himself and put the final touches on his sketch. "There. I think that's it, more or less. God, I hope it's of use." Now how was he going to get it to her?

"I could bring it by yours? Perhaps sending a photo would be easier? Whichever you'd prefer."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's heart hurt for him. She knew what it was to lose someone you were deeply in love with, but her loss wasn't the same as his. Ian MacGregor was still himself even if he wasn't with her. "We'll get him back, Charles. I don't know how we're goin' to do it or how long it's goin' to take, but we'll get him back. I promise."

"It has to be. I'd like to think it wouldn't have appeared on his skin otherwise." She glanced out the window, saw Callum gently digging up plants. "I leave that entirely up to ye. Whatever would be easiest and make ye the most comfortable."

Charles: Charles allowed that gentle promise to soothe him. The man was nothing if not optimistic, and if Bronwyn was confident, he was more than happy to feed off of that.

"I'll pop over, then." His enthusiasm had little to do with necessity. He only wanted to feel useful. As if he was doing something. A concrete plan set in motion to reach a goal. Even with Bronwyn's assurances, Charles would go mad if he was forced to sit and stew in his own worries. "I've got a free moment. Where do you live?"

Distance was no object when one housed mutants that could travel hundreds of miles in an instant.

Bronwyn: Since she was going to be staying there for the next little while, Bronwyn gave Charles Callum's address. It wasn't the most ideal situation, but she could hardly ask Vincent to teleport her to New Orleans just so Mason's boyfriend wouldn't meet the reincarnation of his dead wife. It would only delay the inevitable.

"My cousin's out working in the garden at the moment. If you don't feel comfortable with him here, I know somewhere where we can go to talk this out."

Charles: "Oh, no, no, no, darling. That's perfectly all right." Of course, Charles couldn't possibly know that the cousin in question was none other than the infamous soul mate. Mason hadn't been particularly forthcoming with that scrap of information.

"I'll see you soon," he promised, bright with this newfound purpose, before clicking off.

It was the work of ten minutes to type the address into Google Maps and have Kurt examine the area. Thank heaven for satellites. In no time at all, he was waving away a cloud of sulfur, nodding to the handsome fellow in the front garden, and tidying himself as best as possible.

His rap on the door was quick and efficient.

Bronwyn: Just as oblivious as Charles was, Callum felt only mild curiosity as he watched the strange man go up to his front door, smiling and waving in greeting before continuing with his work. Guy was probably a guest of Bronwyn's. It never ceased to amaze him how many acquaintances his cousin could make.

Bronwyn, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves. She really wished she knew how much Mason had told Charles about Callum and vice versa. She could ask them herself, but she didn't want to bring them up to each other in that sense. It would only make this whole situation worse.

Better to avoid soulmate talk altogether, she thought as she went to answer the door.

"Well hello there, Charles. Come in."

Charles: Charles' greeting smile was broad and charming, masking a fair bit of worry. There was something uniquely satisfying about being active however.

He crossed the threshold, giving the space a politely curious once-over before offering Bronwyn the full force of that smile. "Bronwyn. It's so very lovely to see you again."

To his merit, this was true enough. He admittedly wished that they were meeting under better circumstances, but he'd been nothing short of charmed by their last interaction.

"Beautiful home you've got here. The garden is spectacular. Did you want my sketch straight off?"

Regardless of her answer, he was already slipping a hand into his jacket to retrieve it.

Bronwyn: "It's lovely to see ye as well," she said, offering him a smile in return. The smile hid enough that if she didn't know better, she would never have guessed something was wrong. That would probably work to their advantage what with Callum so close by.

"It's my cousin's place, but yes it is. He's put his blood, sweat, and tears into makin' this house what it is." Bronwyn nodded. "Might as well. There's no pressin' danger but I'd still feel better if we got this mess figured out as quickly as possible."

Charles: "Oh?" Charles tossed a quick glance through the doorway, but he couldn't see Handsome Waving Fellow from his vantage.

"Was that him I saw toiling away in the garden? His work's certainly paid off. It puts the Institute's to shame. I only hope he doesn't mind that I invited myself over."

The corners of his mouth tilted up in a weak little smile. Charles was in total agreement. The man that would be Mason seemed in perfectly good health, but the matter still felt pressing to the telepath. Ah, love.

"Well, here you are," he nodded, holding out a bit of school stationary folded neatly in two. "Is the symbol one you recognize? I've never seen anything like it before."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye, that's him. He's doin' some maintenance and rearrangin' out there. Some of the flowers aren't as happy as they could be."

He won't mind as long as he has no idea who you are, she thought before waving the matter aside. "He won't. He'll be out there for hours putterin' away."

Bronwyn took the paper and studied the symbol Charles had drawn, brow furrowed. "I can't say that I do. And yet..." She rotated the paper left and right, studying it for a few long moments. Had she seen this before? Surely not. She'd have done research if she had. "I could swear it looks vaguely familiar but I can't for the life o' me figure out why. Ye said this was tattooed on him?"

Charles: "Admirable dedication." He caught wind of that last thought, however unintentionally, and his eyebrow quirked in curiosity. He thought it better not to ask, though. Now wasn't the time. "Good. I'm glad to hear it."

"Mm," he agreed, studying her expression rather than the drawing itself. "Just here." His fingers brushed lightly over his own clavicle, where it was hidden beneath pressed cotton. "The human mind is a remarkable thing. It recalls more than we can consciously know. Perhaps you've seen it in passing? A book?"

Bronwyn: "Aye, perhaps. It looks similar to some ancient Irish Celtic symbols I've seen." Bronwyn studied it for a few more moments before nodding to herself. "I suppose that's as good a start as any. Come, we'll comb through my cousin's library, see what we can find." If they couldn't find anything (Callum's books dealt mostly with plants and growing), she'd ask Vincent to pop over to her library in New Orleans and maybe the one back in Montana too.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to offer ye somethin'. Would ye like somethin' to eat or drink?"

Charles: Finally. Something to do. Steps to take that would lead to a solution, or at the very least rule out certain possibilities. He grinned broadly, something grateful glinting in his eyes, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides with renewed energy. "Brilliant. Lead the way." Scouring through old texts was something he was good at.

"Oh, thank you, no." He declined the offer with a smile and a brief shake of the head. Charles doubted he could eat anything, at the moment. "I'm quite all right."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn couldn't help but smile back; he just looked so relieved. It made her wonder just how much time he'd spent trying to figure out a way to fix it and how frustrated he must have been to keep coming up with nothing. She knew the feeling well.

She nodded as she led him into the small room tucked away at the back of the house's second floor, where there were as many books on the floor and table as there were on the shelves. "Sorry about the mess. I've been workin' on somethin' of a side project and haven't had much luck yet. Now let's see..."

After careful scanning, Bronwyn selected four books as starting points, all dealing with Irish Celtic lore. She handed two to Charles. "Based on what I know, there are two reasons he'd have the mark; a spell or a creature."

Charles: "Oh, no, no. Please don't apologise. At least not until you've seen the disaster area that is my study." His gently self-deprecating chuckle was well earned. He'd really only been mildly hyperbolic. He did his best thinking when everything to consider was spread out before him.

The telepath fell to immediately, peeling open the topmost book with an almost reverent sort of care. He divided his attention neatly in two, eyes scanning the first page and ears still pricked to all Bronwyn was saying. Spell-work he was passingly familiar with, but... "Creature? What sort of creature?"

Bronwyn: "The ancient and powerful sort," said Bronwyn, cracking open her own book. "There are some creatures whose magic is so powerful that it leaves a physical mark on whoever is affected by it. It can be a burn, a scar, or in some cases, a tattoo. Sometimes it can even be a sort o' bond."

Charles: "Ah." Charles had a muddy sort of understanding. There was so much about this world just beyond his world that was inconceivable. Now, apparently, there were ancient powerful beings that could alter the very fabric of someone's reality. Fantastic. He continued to flip through pages, hoping that the gravity of all that he didn't know or understand wasn't plain in his face.

"A bond between the creature and the person? Or the person and another person?"

Bronwyn: "Between the creature and the person. No' a romantic one mind ye--although I'm sure that happens ev'ry now and then. A bond of servitude, of debt, of any number of unpleasant things. And as long as that mark remains, so too does the bond."

Charles: At those words something ice cold and unpleasantly slick worked its way down his spine. He shuddered, swallowed hard, and turned a page with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. His voice, surprisingly enough, was steady when he spoke next. "Debt... Is there any way to remove the mark without harming the host? Aside from the general unpleasantness that would be laser-surgery, I mean."

Bronwyn: "I'm no' sure," said Bronwyn, scanning through a list of ancient symbols. "Magic can only be altered or overridden with more magic, but there are some types that are stronger than others. But even if we could remove the mark, I don't know if that would sever any potential bond. We'd have to know exactly what the mark is to know if it's just a symbol or if is the bond, if that makes sense."

Charles: "It does." Frustration tugged at the corners of his mouth. It did not dampen his determination, however, and he scanned through pages with a stiff efficiency. He'd finished off the first, the second, with nothing to show for it. He was nearly through the third before he spoke again. "Are there any more that might be useful?"

Bronwyn: Having come up just as empty-handed as Charles, Bronwyn went back to the bookshelf and got them some more material. There hadn't been anything in any of the books on Irish Celtic lore, so she branched out into other regions and religions.

"Whatever else has changed, the fact that he lived in New Orleans has stayed the same," she said as she handed Charles a small stack of books. "That makes me wonder if whatever happened to him could've happened there. Lots o' voodoo and hoodoo in those parts."

Charles: "Mm. That's certainly a possibility." It seemed to Charles that nearly anything was a possibility in this hidden world of demons and curses. With nothing off-limits, they had a hell of a lot to sift through. It was not a comforting thought.

He smiled, faint but grateful, and set the pile of books nearby to continue his scouring. "I have a necromancer friend who lives in New Orleans. She owns a bookstore. I certainly wouldn't say no to a trip. Just to see what there is to dig up." After this, of course. After he'd exhausted every page of every suitable book in the place.

Bronwyn: Times like these, Bronwyn really missed her library back in Ronan. That house and pretty much everything in it had been designed with one goal in mind: to help hunters. It hadn't started out that way, but that was the way it had ended up.

Hell, she'd even managed to find a medical supply company that would sell to her!

"Definitely an option for us to keep in mind. I actually have a friend down there who's a hoodoo priestess. She might be willin' to help us out, too."

Charles: "Perhaps we should plan a trip in the immediate future." His tone was gently amused, but Charles put a mental pin in the idea to examine later. For the time being, it was best to exhaust all possibilities here. Plan A before Plan B, and all that.

He paused in his flipping, finger poised on a swirling, black mark that resembled Lawrence's tattoo. It wasn't the same mark --Charles' memory was photo-accurate-- but it did bear a slight resemblance. It was probably nothing, but there was no harm in trying.

"Does this mean anything to you?" he asked, tapping at the illustration in question.

Bronwyn: "Ye're more than welcome to visit," said Bronwyn, smile matching Charles' tone. "I live there, remember? I already have a pretty good idea of where all the places that might help us are."

She leaned over to get a look at the page Charles was pointing at. "Huh. That looks vaguely familiar. Does it say what creature or spell it belongs to?"

Charles: "Mm. Djinn." He chewed on the unfamiliar word, tapping out the syllables against thin paper. "Dee-jin? Die-jin? Jin? Whatever it is I've never heard of it." With the admission, he pushed the book across for Bronwyn to get a better look. And though it wasn't his intention, his eyes were faintly pleading when he finally tore them away from the pages. "Have you?"

Bronwyn: "Jin," Bronwyn confirmed, studying the page more closely. Maybe they were finally starting to get somewhere.

"As a matter of fact, I have. My brothers ran into one a few years ago. Djinn are basically genies. They grant yer dearest wishes but never the way ye think they are. Some species of djinn send ye into a perfect dream state while they drain ye of blood. Others are more trickster-like, givin' ye what ye want but havin' it bite ye in the ass."

Charles: There was nothing to be done for it; his pulse began to hammer, like his heart was trying to slam its way out of his ribcage. Hope is a dangerous weapon. "Yeah?" he breathed, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "Do you think that warrants further exploration?"

A shudder ran through him, unbidden, as the truth of Bronwyn's explanation settled over him. "Your brothers... did they-- What was the outcome of their experience? Is there any way to stop it? If we're even dealing with a djinn, I mean."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn looked between the symbol on the page and the one Charles had drawn and considered. They were incredibly similar. "I think we would be remiss no' to."

"Things turned out verra well for them, and aye. Djinn can be killed."

Charles: Charles paled, if only slightly, casting his gaze down toward the swirling symbols. Killed. A dangerous word, to be sure. It filled him with a sense of dread that he quickly buried. Perhaps murder wasn't the only way to rescue his Mason. He'd consider his options once they'd formulated a plan. "Good. Good. That's a relief to hear. So... where do we start?"

Bronwyn: "Ideally by goin' to Mason and askin' him if he's been associatin' with any suspicious characters but in lieu of that, we need to go down to New Orleans. Even if it is a djinn and no' some sort of curse, my friend Marie's input could be verra valuable."

Charles: "Sounds reasonable." Charles nodded, trying not to seem as eager as he was. He was ready to leave right that very instant, no preparation necessary. But there was a scrap of sanity left in him yet, and he knew better than to assume a grown person could drop everything to go on a man hunt. Monster hunt? "When would you like to go?"

Bronwyn: "As soon as ye're ready," said Bronwyn. This entire situation made her uneasy; she didn't want to be without answers any longer than she had to be.

Whatever had cast that curse, Mason was soon going to be free of it. She and Charles would make sure of it.

Charles: "I'm ready, now." Perhaps he sounded a mite overeager, but Charles wanted answers just as badly and a solution most of all. He'd shoot a text message to one of the teachers before too long, but he was as ready as he'd ever be. He carried his greatest weapon with him wherever he went. "How are we traveling?"

Bronwyn: The man certainly didn't waste any time. Definitely an asset in a situation like this. "All right, then. I have tons of frequent flier miles so I can get us on the first flight out, or we could go with a more....magical, non-traditional method o' transportation."

Charles: One corner of his mouth twitched into a wry grin. Charles was good with non-traditional. After all, he'd arrived by teleporter and his best friend specialized in wormholes. "Non-traditional is all right with me. The less time we waste, the better, as far as I'm concerned."

Bronwyn: "Verra well then, give me just one moment." Rather than make a phone call or go fetch someone, Bronwyn merely closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She was concentrating on her connection with her familiar, calling him to her side with her thoughts.

Vincent: It was as instantaneous as always, appearing in a blink on his mistress' shoulder in his jackdaw form. His feathers ruffled, eyes on the man in front of his druid.

"Ma'am?"

Bronwyn: Vincent was given a nuzzle in greeting. "Hello, love." She turned to Charles. "Charles, this is Vincent. He's my familiar. Vincent, this is Charles. He's a friend. We're undertakin' a task we could use yer help with."

Vincent: "Pleasure, Sir Charles." He would have smiled if he could. His feathers began to smooth. "How can I be of service?"

Charles: For all that he considered himself well-prepared for the strange and preternatural, Charles started when the bird made its appearance, a burst of feathers from one blink of blue eyes to the next. If time with Wynter and Mason had taught him nothing else, however, it was composure. He quickly regained his and offered the creature a smile, not a hint of bemusement at its ability to speak. "I assure you, Vincent, the pleasure is all mine. I believe that Bronwyn here can explain our predicament best."

Bronwyn: "Do ye think ye could transport us both home to New Orleans? A friend of ours is in some kind o' trouble and we need to find information on how to save him."

Vincent: "Yes, ma'am, of course. One moment." The bird fluttered from his mistress' shoulder. Standing pretty to her right, the avian creature began to enlarge; what was a sharp and tiny beak elongated and curved to a prominent nose. Near five feet and six inches the feathers sank into his skin and faded altogether, replaced by clothing. It was what distinguished him from Fera, his ability to return to human form bereft of the hassle of nudity. He had been in his true form for days, which was why his transformation took seconds rather than a blink.

"Ah!" The familiar cracked his back and neck. "Hi!" he waved.

Charles: Transformations, at least, were something he was intimately familiar with, given his upbringing. Any reminder of his sister and her gift still brought a wistful smile to his face. He waved back, friendly despite his brief trip down memory lane. "Well! Hello there."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn always enjoyed seeing people's reactions to Vincent's transformation. For some it was wonder, others curiosity, and in some cases--like now--there was fondness.

"There he is," she said, smiling as she smoothed Vincent's hair. "Have ye eaten, love? Don't want ye makin' this journey with an empty stomach."

Vincent: "Just seeds and - and things." Bugs. Delicious bugs! That wasn't a proper dinner in this form. In fact, his stomach suddenly felt empty. "Do we need to go now, ma'am?"

Bronwyn: "I do believe we have enough time for ye to eat somethin'. Both o' ye," she added, looking to Charles. "We all need to be well-nourished for what lies ahead and it just so happens I made chicken earlier."

Vincent: "I'm...I'm fine. Really. I can make it for a trip." Perhaps, but his stomach did grumble in protest to this, loudly enough for the familiar to hug his torso to silence it.

Bronwyn: "Nonsense, ye're goin' to eat. If ye don't want chicken I can make somethin' else."

Charles: He hadn't so much as considered his own stomach since he'd arrived. They'd been working for quite some time, but he'd been... preoccupied. Perhaps it was better to adventure on a full stomach than an empty one. "Chicken sounds lovely," he smiled, nodding to Vincent in an effort to assure him that he did not mind the delay. "We have to keep up our strength, after all."

Vincent: "If it's alright by you, then it's alright by me," said the familiar. "I'll help in the kitchen!"

Bronwyn: "Excellent," said Bronwyn, gesturing for them to follow her to the kitchen. "I can make some lovely sandwiches or I can heat up the chicken and accompany it with some salad."

Vincent: "Sandwiches, please!" chimed her bird.

Charles: "Sandwiches are perfectly fine," Charles agreed, chuckling. "Can I help you with anything?" To say that the telepath was hopeless in the kitchen was a gross understatement, but sandwiches even he could manage.

Bronwyn: "Sandwiches it'll be then. And wouldn't ye know, I do believe I have some fries we can pop in the oven."

"Charles, I'll put ye in charge o' washin' and slicin' some tomatoes. Vincent, ye can butter and toast some bread. Sound good?"

Vincent: "Yes! This I can do - and I won't eat all of it, promise." Once in the kitchen, the familiar looked between the two. "So, what are we doing afterwards?"

Charles: The corner of his mouth tilted up in an amused little smirk. Charles had never had the self-restraint to make such a hefty promise. "I think I can manage that." He trailed behind to the kitchen and awaited further direction. "Straight to New Orleans?"

Bronwyn: "Good," Bronwyn chuckled, taking over the task of slicing the chicken. "Lightly buttered, mind ye."

She nodded. "Aye, straight to New Orleans. Once this is done I'll call Marie and tell her we're comin'. Wouldn't want to catch her completely unawares."

Vincent: "Will I need to do anything else for this person we're going to see? More spells?"

Bronwyn: "I don't think so. Although now that ye're here, I wonder if ye might recognize the symbol we're tryin' to decipher."

Charles: "Oh!" He hadn't even considered asking. Without a word, he scuttled off in search of the sketch and returned with paper outstretched. "Here it is. Bronwyn, where do you keep your knives?"

Vincent: "A symbol?" The sketch was taken from their guest and given a once-over. "It's very old, and...I feel like it's something from both worlds. My old one and this one."

Bronwyn: "They're in the drawer underneath the coffee maker. I keep tellin' Callum to get one o' those magnetic strips that mounts on the wall but he refuses to listen."

Bronwyn moved to stand beside her familiar, looking down at the symbol on the paper. "Have ye seen it’s like before? In this world or yer old one?"

Vincent: "Only near dry lands. Drawn on rocks, painted or etched on glass. Never actually seen the owner of it."

Bronwyn: "We're startin' to suspect it might belong to a djinn of some sort."

Vincent: "Well, djinn plus dry lands would fit the profile."

Charles: Charles listened intently as he rummaged through the drawer for what he hoped was a suitable knife. Dry land? Rocks? Glass? Did any of it hold any significance? The telepath couldn't begin to guess, but he trusted the experience of his new companions where his own fell short. In the meantime, he busied himself with washing and slicing the tomato. "Do djinn not like water?"

Vincent: "That's the rumor," Vincent smiled.

Charles: "Huh." He supposed it was true that you learned something new every day.

Bronwyn: "Well if that's really the case then New Orleans is an odd place for one o' them to set up shop. Then again," she sighed, going back to the chicken. "I suppose that isn't too much of a problem as long as he avoids the river."

Vincent: "And the hurricanes, and the normal rain...and the misty days."

Charles: "Not to mention the humidity. Spending a summer day in the French Quarter feels a bit like drowning."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn chuckled. "This djinn chose a verra poor place indeed to avoid water. What else do the two o' ye want on these sandwiches? Cheese, lettuce, pesto, mayo? Request to yer heart's content."

Vincent: "All of that and some tomato," said her familiar.

Charles: "That sounds brilliant," he beamed, proudly sliding a cutting board of nearly-evenly sliced tomato across the counter.

Bronwyn: "Ask and ye shall receive." Fries went in the oven and the rest of the sandwich components were taken from their respective homes.

Charles: "Is there anything else I can do?"

Bronwyn: "Keep an eye on the fries to make sure they don't burn. Callum's oven has a bit of an attitude."

Charles: "I think I can manage that." He flashed another smile and nodded before taking a seat.

Vincent: "So what are you?" Because his childlike curiosity trumped his filter.

Charles: "I--" Charles blinked. His skin was far too thick for such a question to bother him, but it had been quite some time since he'd been asked so boldly. "I'm a mutant. Telepath."

Vincent: Vincent looked to his mistress then. A mutant? What?

Bronwyn: "There's somethin' in mutant DNA that gives them abilities most don't have. Some read thoughts, some manipulate matter, some can shapeshift. Endless possibilities."

Vincent: "So humans that can do magic all the time?"

Charles: "Oh." It hadn't even occurred to him that someone might not know who they were. "Essentially, I suppose. Though perhaps we're more like magical creatures... It isn't something that we do, it's something that we are. It's in our blood."

Vincent: "Sounds like a magical creature. Sounds like me, and vampires, and - well, I guess no demons."

Charles: "Mm. Every one of us is different, has different abilities, but we're a community, more or less. I run a school, you know."

Vincent: "A community, the very thing humans don't normally like in this realm," Vincent mused.

Bronwyn: "They'd be beside themselves if they knew how many communities exist right under their noses."

Charles: "It took quite a bit of adjusting for me to come to terms with that as well," he laughed, dragging fingers through the chaos of his hair. "But I must say that I'm glad to have met all of the people that I have, yourselves included." A beat. "And Mason, of course."

Vincent: "Mason, the demon? Have I met him?"

Bronwyn: "I don't believe so, but I'm sure I've mentioned him to ye before."

Vincent: "Mhm. Some days just blend together."

Charles: "He's.... a uniquely brilliant individual. I only hope that you get a chance to meet him." He lost himself to his thoughts, for a time, fiddling with a loose thread of his jumper before the distinct smell of potato caught his attention. "I think the chips are done?"

Bronwyn: "He will," said Bronwyn, smiling reassuringly for all their benefits. "We're goin' to go to New Orleans and get some answers and restore Mason to himself. He'll be okay."

She nodded an handed him a pair of oven mits. "Aye, it smells like it. Just set the tray on the stove there."

Charles: Charles nodded, trying for a smile, and did as he was told. The chips smells delicious, but he no longer felt the least bit hungry. Still, he set the oven mitts aside and took a seat while the fries cooled. He'd eat for strength and courtesy, if nothing else.

Vincent: "So," the tension was bothering the bird, "what are we going to be doing in New Orleans to find whatever?"

Bronwyn: "We're goin' to be visitin' a friend of mine. Marie Lanoue. She's a hoodoo priestess and one o' the only people I can think of that would have detailed information about djinn. What's more, she'll know if that symbol can be found anywhere in New Orleans."

Vincent: "Good! We should be able to solve this before the weekend is out, right?"

Charles: "I certainly hope so," Charles nodded, letting Vincent's optimism fuel his own. Already, they'd gotten leagues beyond anything he could have discovered researching on his own. It paid to have friends in strange places. "What do you think, Bronwyn?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn wished she could share their optimism. But since she couldn't, she was going to have to fake it until she did.

"I think Marie's our best shot at makin' it so. And if no' her, I know lots of other people that could give us answers. We're lousy with resources and we will figure this out and solve this."

Vincent: "It's not... life or death?"

Bronwyn: "No, nothin' like that. He's fine, he's healthy. He's just...no' himself."

Charles: "Not himself," Charles echoed, nicking a chip from the tray mostly for something to occupy his restless hands. It scalded his mouth as he popped it in, but he didn't so much as flinch. Certainly felt like life or death.

Vincent: "I've never heard of a situation like this before. How could it even happen?"

Bronwyn: "Djinn are verra powerful creatures. Some have the power to manipulate reality and I'm assumin' in Mason's case, people."

Charles: "And how does one go about defeating one of these very powerful creatures?"

Vincent: "Throw a bucket of water at them?"

Bronwyn: "I wish to god it was that simple. Maybe it will be and they'll melt like the witch in The Wizard of Oz, who knows."

Charles: "I wouldn't be surprised, honestly." He actually managed a laugh, and popped another fry into his mouth. "It seems to me that all the old fairy tales are true."

Vincent: "Did you think none of this existed before?"

Charles: "A long time ago, yes. Or what feels like a long time ago. It's all still very new to me."

Vincent: "Well, you're new to me," Vincent smiled.

Charles: "So I am," he chuckled. "I only hope I can make a good first impression. You know, for mutant-kind everywhere."

Vincent: "You're you, not the entirety," Vincent smiled.

Bronwyn: "If it makes ye feel any better, there are things that are new to us too," Bronwyn said to Charles, offering him a smile. "Human or non-human, none of us ever stop learnin'."

Charles: Charles returned the smile, eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. "How right you are."

Vincent: Vincent would have to be reminded to eat slower, wolfing down lunch in his excitement to begin their search for whatever information was going to lead them to success. Unless the conversation was food related, then he was staying out of it.

Bronwyn: "Can I get ye somethin' to drink, Charles?"

"Slowly, Vincent," said Bronwyn, turning to her familiar. "And smaller bites. I'd hate to break our streak of days gone without chokin'."

Charles: "A glass of water, please?" He smiled around a mouthful of tomato, keeping his lips closed in an attempt at being polite. His appetite was still nowhere to be found, but it was probably best not to leave on an empty stomach. "The sandwiches are delicious, Bronwyn. Thank you."

Vincent: "Sorry!" Vincent gasped. "Done." He was picking up crumbs at this point. "I'm ready when you guys are!" Excited to get this moving forward. Anytime there was a mystery to solve he was ecstatic.

Charles: Charles cocked an eyebrow at the man, lips twitching faintly with amusement. "Do you want to finish my chips?" he asked, plucking up the second half of his sandwich and sliding the mostly-full plate across the table. "I've been ready for weeks, my friend. I only wished I'd come to you sooner, Bronwyn. We've achieved more in a few hours than I have in a month on my own."

Bronwyn: Charles' water was fetched, her own meal attended to. She wasn't all that hungry either but as she'd told Charles and Vincent, it was best to undertake things like this on a full stomach.

Bronwyn shook her head fondly at her familiar before giving Charles a smile. "What's important is that ye're here now. We'll figure this out, whatever this is." She took a deep breath. "So we better go see what New Orleans has to offer."

Vincent: The familiar perked, several of Charles' chips crammed in his mouth. "Yesh!" crumbs making a break for it.

Bronwyn: "Vincent, we've talked about this too," said Bronwyn, getting up to clear their plates. "No talkin' with yer mouth full."

Vincent: "Sorry!" Yet he was still doing it, only now covering his mouth as he wolfed it down. "Ready when you two are."

Bronwyn: "I'm ready. Charles?"

Charles: He exhaled sharply and nodded, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his sweater. It was now or never, he supposed. "Ready as I'll ever be." A wry little smile and he was pulling back from the table to stand beside his companions.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "All right. Take us away, Vincent."

Vincent: With a smile, the familiar offered his hands to his mistress and the professor. This would drain him, as always, but at least now there was fuel to burn through.

New Orleans was unexpectedly chilly on arrival; it was the kind of frigid cold that bit through skin to bone. The thunderstorm was to blame, and immediately Bronwyn's bird was whining.

"I don't like this!"

Charles: Years. Years of instantaneous travel and Charles found it no less unpleasant. Still, he was upright and mostly steady when the world swam into view again. His brow furrowed with concern when he registered Vincent's complaints. "Are you all right? Is there something I can do?"

Bronwyn: After a few days in the pleasantly chilly weather of Edenton, coming home to bitterly cold wind was like a slap in the face. "Och, Jesus bloody Christ it's freezin'."

She wrapped an arm around Vincent to give them both some warmth. "Come on ye two, let's get inside."

Vincent: Like a bird - or in this case, a dog - Vincent was shaking off the wet as soon as they were in the foyer. "Storms are only nice to watch, not be a part of!" Time to strip out of his jacket and hoodie.

Charles: "I don't know," Charles chuckled, peeling out of his sweater and resisting the urge to wring the entire mess out onto the floor. "I enjoy this weather when I dress for it. Perhaps we should have checked today's forecast before we left."

Bronwyn: "Or teleported into the house," Bronwyn mused, following suit and shrugging out of her wet jacket. "Give me all those wet things, I'll throw them into the dryer and then call Marie to let her know we're comin'."

Vincent: "Well, excuse me," Vincent grinned. "I'm not perfect!" Now, to the kitchen for milk! "Yes, ma'am!"

Charles: Charles chuckled, and gratefully handed over his sweater for drying. "Thanks."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn grinned back. "Ye're forgiven."

Clothes were put into the dryer, fresh ones distributed, towels offered. And of course, Marie was called.

A few minutes later everything was ready to go.

"All right, ye two, into my car. We're goin' on an adventure."

Vincent: "Yes ma'am," chimed the familiar again, mouth full of gingersnaps.

Charles: "Excelsior," Charles mumbled, tipping a nod in Bronwyn's direction even has he ducked into the car. He tugged nervously at his borrowed sweatshirt and braced himself for whatever was coming.

Bronwyn: The visit to Marie didn't provide any concrete answers, but it did assure them that they were headed in the right direction.

Marie explained that there were a couple of hoodoo rituals that could achieve the effects they described, but the symbol on Lawrence proved it was not hoodoo and did in fact belong to a djinn. She also told them that there were many different species of djinn, one for every culture in the world and all with varying degrees of power.

"And I guarantee," she had said, "That this is not what your Mason intended to be the result of his dealings with this creature."

Charles: Something loosened in Charles' chest. Reluctant as he was to admit it, even to himself, a part of him had wondered if all of this wasn't what Mason wanted-- a fresh start, free of all the chains of his former life... including Charles. The relief was almost painful. He dropped his head into his hands and heaved a trembling sigh, heedless of his audience. When he'd managed to collect himself, he spoke clearly, though he did not lift his head. "What are our options? How do we proceed?"

Bronwyn: "Only two options, Mr. Charles. You kill or you negotiate."

Charles: His face went ashen, and he was oh-so glad that no one could see it. Of. Fucking. Course. "Well. I'd prefer to negotiate, but I'll do what I must to save my... to save Mason. How do I find this djinn creature? And how do I kill it?"

Bronwyn: "Djinn cannot be summoned like demons. You have to go out and look. And until they in front of you, no way to tell which species it is. Once you know species, then you can find way to kill."

Charles: "Oh." It was never simple, was it?

Vincent: "So...what do we need to do now?"

Bronwyn: Marie gave Charles' hand a pat. "Go out and look, little raven. Good chance Mason knows the djinn."

Charles: Charles nodded and raised his head, managing to pull a smile out of somewhere. "That's... all right. Thank you. This has been very enlightening."

Vincent: Vincent just looked to his mistress and sighed. He felt bad for Charles, but what could he do?

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave her familiar the same look he gave her. Short of snapping their fingers and setting the world to rights, there was no immediate fix for this.

Marie patted Charles' hand again. "You're welcome, Mr. Charles."

"Hey Marie?"

Their hostess turned to Bronwyn. "Yes?"

"Do ye know of any djinn around here?"

She nodded. "Hooker in the French quarter. Name is Lila."

"Would she know of any other djinn?"

Marie shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to ask."

Charles: Charles' smile brightened ever so slightly. At least it was something to work with. He cast an appreciative glance at Bronwyn for staying level-headed when he was so obviously distraught. "Lead the way. Thank you again, Marie. Truly."

Vincent: The word "hooker" brought a blush to the familiar's cheeks. "Well, this is about to be an experience." Vincent bowed to their hostess and fell into step beside Bronwyn.

Bronwyn: "Aye, thank ye, Marie."

"No problem, sweeties." She kissed Bronwyn's cheek. "Go see your mama, she went shopping for you." The mama Marie was referring to was Lydia, an old mutual friend that saw Bronwyn as the daughter she never had.

"I will."

Once they were out in the car, Bronwyn sighed. "How the hell are we goin' to find a hooker in the daytime in a storm?"

Charles: "A brothel would be my best guess." Charles shrugged, pulling down the hood of his borrowed jacket and watching the rapidly-flooding streets with little interest. "But I don't suppose they would openly advertise what they're selling, even in a city like this one. We could always wait until tonight. After the storm's passed?"

Vincent: "We've come to a strange pothole in this path towards victory," said the familiar.

Bronwyn: "We have," Bronwyn said with a nod. "And aye, I think we're goin' to have to wait for tonight." She peeked up at the sky. "Hopefully the storm lets up by then. I don't think hookers work in the rain."

Charles: "Tonight, then." Waiting would be torture, but at least they had a game plan.

Vincent: "That word hits the ear wrong when you say it, ma'am," the familiar laughed. He just couldn't sympathize with the druid and mutant in this situation, as he didn't know Mason Atlas intimately. This was just another adventure.

Bronwyn: Leave it to Vincent to find some levity in all this.

Bronwyn chuckled softly. "How about we call them workin' girls?" She didn't like the word whore. It was so....aggressive.

Vincent: "Working girls. I like. Sounds progressive. It's their body, their business. Literal business! Cha-ching!"

Bronwyn: She laughed again. "I'm sure Lila will appreciate the progressive attitude if we manage to find her."

Charles: Despite himself, and the entire situation, Charles snorted out a laugh, dragging a hand down his face. "Indeed. What'll we do until then?"

Vincent: "Oh! There is an ice cream parlor nearby!" chimed the black hole.

Bronwyn: "Ice cream sounds good right now." Never mind that it was freezing outside. "What do ye say I buy us some banana splits?"

Charles: Charles was always, always dfs (down for sweets). His distant expression brightened considerably despite the cold, and he tossed a smile in Bronwyn's direction. "Make mine a sundae and you've got yourself a deal."

Vincent: "Perfect." They were in such a rush to get this done, obviously. Vincent should have been more mature about this, but ice cream was important!

Bronwyn: "Sundae it is." Rush or not, the rain was halting their progress. Might as well spend the time doing--and eating--something enjoyable.

Bronwyn parked in front of the ice cream parlor.

Charles: Charles didn't hesitate to brave the torrent. There was never a bad time for ice cream, and he planned to take full advantage of the down time. If he couldn't have Mason just now, at least he could have strawberry syrup.

Vincent: As usual, Vincent was the first to finish eating and the first to get brain freeze. He would have to be scolded, as usual, and an hour into the train the familiar was growing frustrated.

Bronwyn: He had been scolded; gently, but scolded nonetheless. And he definitely wasn't the only one getting frustrated and antsy.

"Do ye think people would notice if I suddenly made the storm disappear?"

Charles: Charles was still picking over a bowl of peanuts, restless and eager to make a move. Any idea that would help that along was a good one, in his opinion. "Possibly. But I could make sure that they don't." His telepathic range was well over three hundred miles, and this was an emergency. Or at least as far as he was concerned.

Vincent: "Maybe just a - maybe we could - I mean this is an emergency to you two."

Bronwyn: "I don't think it'll come to that if I do it gradually. Like so." Bronwyn took a deep breath, making sure to keep her now-glowing eyes turned away from the rest of the people in the parlor as she slowly made the rain taper off.

Charles: Charles grinned. Positively beamed. It was probably the brightest smile he'd shown since learning of Mason's predicament. If there was one thing that never failed to capture (and keep) Charles Xavier's interest, it was a display of fantastic power. Too bad Bronwyn was a fully grown druid, and not a young mutant. He would have offered a place at his school on the spot. "That's incredible." he whispered, studiously arranging a handful of nuts into an umbrella on the tabletop to remain inconspicuous even through his excitement.

Vincent: "Best I can do is make it rain like a bucket of water over someone's head," Vincent grumbled. "Never going to be that amazing." Mist was his favorite type of rain, so at least he could smile at that.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled, though her focus remained on the clouds in the sky. "I could try to teach ye if ye want," she said to Vincent. "I'm pretty sure ye have enough magic to pull it off."

Charles: Their relationship was a unique one, and Charles couldn't quite liken it to anything else. Charming as he found it, however, his mind drifted elsewhere. "How long do you suppose we should wait?"

Vincent: "How long does it take hookers to come out of hiding?" Wait... "Was that insensitive?"

Bronwyn: She chuckled. "I have no idea. We can ask Lila once we find her. And I'm guessin' we better go now. We know the rain won't come back, but the hookers don't. They'll want to get some business while they can."

And off to the seediest street in the French Quarter.

Charles: He was probably not as uncomfortable as he should have been, with the proceedings. Hands shoved deep into pockets, Charles scanned the block, even as it began to come to life. He flitted easily from mind to mind. It was like finding a needle in a bloody haystack, of course. He didn't even know what the person he was searching for looked like, let alone who her friends and confidants might be. He wasn't without hope, however. Best way to find a needle in a haystack? Bring a magnet. With a glance toward Bronwyn for unspoken support, he crossed the street to greet a woman with blonde curls piled high atop her head and a half-burned cigarette hanging from her lips.

Vincent: "What's he doing?" Vincent asked. "Just going to ask around for her? Should I?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded as she followed Charles. "Aye. That's the only way I can think to find her. And no, stay close, love." She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I don't like the way some o' these men are lookin' at ye."

She gave the woman what she hoped was a pleasant, unthreatening smile. "Hello, miss. Could we ask ye a question?"

Charles: The blonde smiled pleasantly as the man hailed her, shoulders straightening and fingers tucking an errant curl back into her knot. He was pretty, had a kind face and, by the look of him, money to blow. Such a combination was always an indicator of a good night to come. She'd hit the jackpot. Of course, she'd never been particularly lucky. It really should have come as no surprise that the chick and her sidekick sidled up as well. Groups were always a bad idea. Her face went stony as she prepared for a firm rebuff.

Charles reached the woman first, and, undeterred by her cold demeanor, offered her the warmest smile he could muster. "We're looking for someone," he began after Bronwyn. "A woman by the name of Lila. We were told we could find her, here." He winced inwardly as her expression shuttered further.

"Who's askin'?"

Vincent: "The men?" Vincent looked around. Men were looking at him? It hadn't come to his attention. "I thought women were the ones to be cautious with around here," he whispered, slipping into silence as Charles began his interrogation.

Bronwyn: "Looks like ev'ryone should be cautious," she whispered back.

And sure enough, there were men looking at Vincent; some were merely curious, others were sizing him up in every sense of the phrase while they did the same to Bronwyn.

Why did the prospective djinn have to be a hooker?

Bronwyn noticed the woman withdrawing as well, which was why she reached into her purse.

"Benjamin Franklin," she said smoothly, holding up a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

Charles: Well, that was the type of motivation that she lived for. She reached to try and pluck the bill from the woman's hand before she could take it away and tuck it into her bustier. Still, all the money in the world couldn't make her rat out another girl. Strangers didn't come around looking for pros by name unless there was trouble. "Look, Lila don't work down here no more. She cleaned herself up, got a real nice apartment with some rich fella down in Laplace. That's all I know." It was a good lie, and she'd be long gone before they figured it out.

Charles smiled, seeming grateful for the bullshit information. He hadn't reached out to the woman with the intention of her telling them anything. He only wanted to mention Lila's name. Once he got a person thinking about another, it was child's play to pluck information out of their heads. "Thanks. Enjoy the rest of your evening, ma'am. Shall we?" He turned to his companions, wanting to get out of earshot before he told them anything.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn squinted at the woman, not entirely certain if she believed her. People usually parted with information quite easily if there was profit to be made but usually it took more than a hundred dollars. She was about to offer another bill when Charles gave the woman his thanks.

She smiled. Who needed money when there was a telepath around?

"We shall. Come on, Vincent." Bronwyn squeezed her familiar's hand and followed Charles. "So where is Lila really?" she asked when there was no one in earshot.

Charles: Charles grinned. It was refreshing to have friends (?) not put off by the casual use of his ability. He'd have to spend more time with Druids and the like. "She works out of a hotel not far from here." He hadn't caught a name, but he knew what the building looked like and its general location. "This way. How best to approach the situation, do you think?"

Vincent: "Do you have a gun? Would a gun hurt a djinn?" Vincent smiled, lacing his fingers with his mistress'. "I know. A squirt gun."

Bronwyn: "Well, I have more money and a knife. Guns are at home, but I don't know if they'd do any damage." Bronwyn chuckled. "Now one o' those might. Maybe we should just talk to her and offer to pay for her time?"

Charles: Charles winced slightly, shoved his hands into his pockets and ducked his head low as they walked. "Fresh out of weapons, I'm afraid." Well, aside from his own mind. "I think payment and a simple conversation would be best, yes. Agreed." The walk was a short one, and soon enough a grand, old building loomed into view. "Here we are."

Vincent: "Well, she has taste in hotels, that's for sure," Vincent admired. "I'll just...stay behind you two."

Bronwyn: "Ye can say that again." The blond woman might not have been telling the entire truth, but Lila had definitely moved up in life.

Well, as much as a prostitute could while still remaining a prostitute.

Bronwyn gave Vincent's hand a reassuring squeeze. "That's fine, love. I think Charles should take the lead."

Charles: "Me?" Charles paled, which was remarkable given his complexion. He was good in a pinch, but he didn't know the first thing about djinn outside of how to pronounce their name. Still, he didn't want to let anyone down, Mason least of all. "All right." He squared his shoulders and strolled through the double doors with all the grace of a born and raised blue-blood. Lila would be at the hotel bar finding clients, if his hunch was sound.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye. It's always hard to know how one supernatural creature will react to another. Most tend to be hostile. The fact that ye're human despite yer ability might work in our favor."

Once again she followed Charles, high-heeled boots echoing on the marble floor. She was trying to give off a non-threatening aura. Druids weren't exactly known to be unfriendly and threatening but it couldn't hurt to try to give some reassurance. She was a Druid on a mission, after all.

Charles: One could hope so. He found his way to the bar easily enough, most businesses such as this made their layout as uncomplicated as possible for the customer. Charles scanned the patrons as casually as he could before taking a seat next to a woman in a form-fitting cocktail dress. Her hair was long and dark, but he couldn't see any obvious signs of her being... other. Still, she matched the memories that he'd plucked from the mind of the other woman. Taking a deep breath, he ordered a strong drink, keeping maybe-Lila in his periphery. I think this may be her? Do djinn look different from humans in any way? Just to be sure... He chanced dropping the inquiry into Bronwyn's mind, hoping she was not bothered by the intrusion. They hadn't discussed boundaries in any way, but this was an urgent matter.

Vincent: Vincent wasn't usually this quiet, but without command he felt no need to say or do anything but cling to Bronwyn's side. Not quite a bodyguard, not quite a servant. Something almost child-like.

Bronwyn: Other than her own, there was only one other voice Bronwyn was accustomed to hearing in her head, and that voice was her familiar's. Hearing Charles' without any warning gave her a bit of a start that hopefully no one besides Vincent noticed.

'It is,' she thought back, rubbing the spot on her hip where her Mark lay. It was prickling something awful. 'Most djinn can pass as human, especially if they're using a glamour. That's Lila.'

"Want a drink, love?" she asked Vincent, giving him a reassuring smile.

Charles: Charles drained his drink, then another, before he gathered the courage to take action. This was it. Another path that could lead to his beloved, or another dead end. Turning to face the woman full-on, he offered her his brightest smile. Was it better to dive right in with the true motivation behind this conversation, or beat around the bush? He didn't know, but he could feel himself losing nerve. "Erm. Hello. I was wondering if I might borrow a moment of your time..."

Vincent: "No thanks," he whispered. "I'm fine." If he had one thing he'd want another, and another, and this was meant to be important, more important than his bottomless pit of greed.

Bronwyn: The woman that called herself Lila slid Charles a sidelong glance before devoting her attention on her drink again.

"Your face is earnest," she said by way of reply. Her voice was cool and crisp and ever so slightly accented. What the origins of that accent were, only she knew. "And your eyes are kind. Have they served you well?"

Charles: His charm failed him. There was something slightly disconcerting about the woman. Something otherworldly. Charles supposed he knew what, but knowing and experiencing were two different beasts. When he spoke, it was with all of his barriers down. "My... eyes?"

Bronwyn: She gave a single nod. "In your profession. Has your kindness and earnestness served you well?"

Charles: "I..." He had to give it a moment's consideration, but the answer was obvious when it came. "Yes. Yes, I believe that it has."

Bronwyn: "Do you believe it will serve you well here?"

Charles: He blinked. Well, shit. "I suppose that's up to you." Another long, pregnant pause. Charles wasn't prepared to be on this side of the interrogation. It was throwing him for a loop. "...does this mean you know why I'm here?"

Bronwyn: "Hmm." Lila looked from the man to his companions. She could only detect that vaguely Faerie-like aura from one of them, but they both smelled of the forest. Perhaps that was why they clung to each other.

She sipped her cosmopolitan. "You are here for the same reason as all the others before you. You want something."

Charles: "I do," he admitted, not bothering with coy evasion. Charles was out of his depth. "I'm... we're looking for information. I'd be willing to pay for it."

Bronwyn: She looked at his companions. The woman immediately ducked her head, which made Lila's lips curve in a barely there smile. Druids would never lose the respect their Faerie forefathers had bred into them.

"How did you come to find yourself in league with a little Faerie and her...." Lila inhaled. "...raven?"

Charles: He hesitated, briefly, unsure of how much to tell her. Or how much she already knew. "Friends of a friend," he said finally, which was true enough. "That friend is why I came to you, actually. He's in a spot of trouble." Understatement of the century.

Bronwyn: "If he were in merely a spot of trouble, your Faerie and her raven would've been all the help you needed."

Charles: "Fair enough." It was true, after all. His hands twitched slightly where they wrapped around his glass. "The friend in question got involved with a djinn. I don't know any of the details, but I know that he lives here. Do you know of him?" Charles didn't have a name. He didn't know if these creatures ran in similar circles. He was throwing his hopes blindly at the woman's feet.

Bronwyn: "We are not social beings. This is a very large city with an aura that attracts many kinds. Knowing that, perhaps your friend should have exercised caution."

Charles: Charles turned to face her full-on. "Perhaps, but the time for regret has passed. You haven't answered my question, ma'am."

Bronwyn: "Save your money. I do not know of another. They might well exist, but they are not known to me."

Charles: "Please." A hint of panic threaded his voice; he sounded desperate enough to have turned a few heads. Everything. Everything he'd been through. This couldn't be another dead end. He couldn't stomach it. "Please, Lila. You must know something! A rumour? A guess?" Anything to avoid starting from scratch.

Bronwyn: Lila's only reaction to the emotional plea was a curious tilt of her head. "You have my sympathies, professor, but I do not have the information you seek."

A tall man in a dark suit appeared at the entrance to the bar. He smiled at Lila; she gave him her almost smile in return.

She finished her cosmo and slid off her stool. Before walking over to meet her client, she trailed a single finger across Charles' cheek.

"Do not fear, Charles of the house of Xavier. You already have the information you require."

Charles: No. No, he very much did not have the information he required. Charles didn't bother to watch her leave. His head sank to the sticky bar-top as the crippling pain consumed him. For a moment, at least, Bronwyn and Vincent were forgotten. What was he going to do? So distraught was he, he did not question how the woman had known his name.

Bronwyn: A few moments passed before Charles would feel a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We'll find him," Bronwyn said softly, resting her head on his shoulder as she gave him a one-armed hug. "Come hell or high water, we'll find Mason."

Charles: His eyes were damp and red-rimmed, but he accepted the offered comfort. It was easy to forget that Bronwyn loved Mason, as well. He returned her embrace with a fleeting flicker of a smile. "Yes," he agreed. "Yes." He had to believe it was true, no matter how tired he was of disappointment. "We should go? I don't want to be here any longer."

Bronwyn: She nodded. "Aye. Let's go home."

Holding one of Charles' and Vincent's hands in each of her own, Bronwyn led them out of the hotel. They'd go home, they'd regroup, and they would bring Mason back.

#Nothing but Dead Ends thread #askprofessorx #vincentcorvidae #elevatorsandink

4 notes · View notes