#was just. normal. nothing special. and it Rankled the hell out of her

[13skeletons]

I keep making new sylvari like "this time I will put them in sylvari cultural armor! this time for real!" and then i go "but what's the harm in previewing them in some skins i have unlocked but haven't used?" and then I end up with the gothest, most bloodstone crazed salad ever :weary emoji:

[singledarkshade]

Stress Relief

Summary: Stuck with the annoying Lieutenant Coburn on a mission, Rip is being driven crazy. But it's a mission that will change his life forever. Author’s Note: Rip Week Day 4: Time for Romance – Rip is a romantic at heart, ship him with whoever you think is right for him. Any pairing goes. I chose Miranda and Rip.                                ********************************************* “Your mission is one that shall require you both to practice patience,” Druce said as Lieutenant Rip Hunter and Lieutenant Miranda Coburn stood side by side at attention in his office, “I was against pairing you two, considering your inability to be in the same room without almost every discussion becoming an argument. However, you have the specialities that are required to ensure that the mission is successful.”

“What is the mission, sir?” Miranda asked before Rip could.

“You are being dispatched to ensure that the exploratory mission to Neptune in 2151 is successful,” Druce stated, “We have received information that there will be an attempt to disrupt it.”

Rip glanced at Miranda before asking, “And this requires both of us?”

“You are to work together,” Druce ignored the question and continued, “Lieutenant Hunter, your technical expertise will be required to fix any issues with the probe that may occur, while Lieutenant Coburn, as the more qualified pilot, will be there to ensure that it is flown into the right part of the planet if required.”

“Sir, I can…” they both started, stopping and frowning at one another.

Druce stood, “These are your orders. You will be taking the Waverider.”

“Sir,” Miranda frowned, “Surely I should take my own ship with my own AI? Which was put together by the technical team and not...” she glanced to where Rip stood before finishing, “Hunter.”

“No,” Druce said, stopping her before she could argue, “One ship will be overlooked but two will be less easy to hide. I have made this decision and you’re dismissed.” When neither moved, he sighed, “Now.”

Druce watched as the two Lieutenants left his office. He counted to three before the door opened again and Rip appeared.

“No,” Druce stated sharply, “Lieutenant Coburn will be working with you on this mission and nothing you say shall change that. I understand that you two do not get along but, in a word, tough. Now get out of my office.”

Rip seethed in annoyance.

Coburn was not only arrogant but so uptight and smug that the next few weeks were going to be utter hell.

“Gideon,” he called as he entered his ship, the ship he had spent years returning to its former glory, “We have a mission and we’re going to have a guest for the duration.”

“The information has been uploaded to my system,” Gideon told him, “I have prepared a room for Lieutenant Coburn.”

Rip gave a slight smile heading up to the bridge, “Thank you, Gideon. Hopefully, this won’t last as long as Druce thinks it will.”

“Captain,” Gideon said. Although he was only a Lieutenant, Gideon always referred to him as Captain since he was in command of the ship, “Might I suggest that you look on this as a test of your patience.”

Rip rolled his eyes as he stepped onto the bridge, “Gideon, please stop channelling my mother.”

“Lieutenant Coburn is waiting to enter the ship,” Gideon told him.

Nodding Rip started his checks.

“Captain,” Gideon stated, “You are being childish.”

“Fine,” he sighed, “Let her onboard and show her where she’s staying. Although you probably shouldn’t refer to me as Captain while she can hear.”

“I am programmed…”

“I know,” Rip cut her off, “But considering Lieutenant Coburn’s love of the rules and how she will react to the title, especially since she’s going to be onboard for the next few weeks, please just do as I ask.”

There was several minutes of silence before Gideon replied, “Of course, Lieutenant Hunter.”

 Miranda walked onto the Waverider, irritated that she was being stuck with Hunter for the next few weeks. Druce’s golden boy had a tendency to disregard whatever rules he didn’t feel like following.

The fact he had a ship before graduating to the rank of Captain was something that had rankled all of them. Fine he had rebuilt the ship and fixed the AI, but the basic fact still annoyed her.

“Welcome onboard, Lieutenant Coburn,” Gideon spoke up, “I have a room ready for you.”

Miranda nodded, “Thank you, Gideon. Where is Lieutenant Hunter?”

“He is currently on the bridge readying the ship to leave,” Gideon replied, “As soon as you have unpacked, he has asked that you join him.”

“Tell him I’ll be a few minutes,” Miranda told her, entering the room that had been set aside for her.

Dropping her bag on the bed, she unpacked the spare uniform she’d brought with her and hung it up. Grabbing her hairbrush, she pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail making sure she looked like a proper Time Master. Hunter may ignore the regulations regarding his clothing when not on the base, but Miranda was not going to especially as she knew it would drive him crazy.

“Finally,” Hunter rolled his eyes the moment she walked onto the bridge, “Are you ready to go now?”

Sliding into one of the seats, Miranda pulled down the restraint, “Ready. Although as I am the better pilot surely it would make more sense if I piloted.”

“The Waverider is mine,” Rip replied sharply, “I��m flying.”

Smirking that she’d managed to rile him, Miranda leaned back and said nothing as they took off for their destination.

                                 *********************************************

 Rip sighed in annoyance, they’d been stuck here for almost two weeks waiting to see if the suspected Time Pirates would show up to stop the exploratory mission to Neptune, a hugely important even in human history.

Coburn was driving him crazy. She insisted that they follow the normal training regime they would back at the Vanishing Point despite the fact they neither needed to, nor were expected to.

And she was everywhere. The ship was big enough that they shouldn’t have to see one another except when they swapped to watch over the bridge and yet, every time he turned around there she was.

Sipping tea, nibbling a biscuit (never eating it properly she always nibbled), playing with her hair, leaning on the main console as she studied information Gideon provided while tapping one foot against the floor as she thought.

“Gideon,” Rip called as he headed to the galley, “Is there any indication there are pirates anywhere?”

“No, Captain,” she replied, “Lieutenant Coburn has readjusted the scanners during the night to ensure accuracy.”

Rip let out a long sigh, “Of course she did. Can’t she leave anything alone?”

“The scanners are ten percent more accurate now,” Gideon told him.

Letting out an annoyed snort, Rip headed to make himself some tea. Pulling out a mug to make Coburn one as well.

“Does she want something to eat?” Rip asked, as he programmed breakfast for himself.

“Lieutenant Coburn has asked for porridge with apple and cinnamon,” Gideon replied, “Along with the tea you were already making for her.”

Rip looked down at the fact he had two mugs in front of him, he hadn’t realised he’d done that. With a shrug he grabbed a tray and put the two mugs plus their breakfasts on it. Walking onto the bridge, he was surprised by how he felt heat rise in his neck when Coburn smiled at him.

“I take it there was no sign of any pirates?” Rip asked as he handed her the bowl with her porridge and her tea.

Laughing she shook her head before she closed her eyes taking a sip of her tea.

“I will give you this,” she smiled at him, “You know how to make a good cup of tea.”

Rip shrugged, his neck getting hotter as he replied, “Well, Mother taught me a few things.”

 Miranda chuckled amused as she began to eat. Even though this mission had been completely pointless so far, she actually enjoyed being on the Waverider. It was nice to spend some time away from the Vanishing Point, allowing her to go over some of her theories which to her surprise Gideon was really helpful with. Not to mention making Hunter do the daily training regime when he clearly found it irritating was fun.

They’d never gotten along.

They were both so competitive and it didn’t help that they were always pitted against one another. She also despised the fact that he’d had the Waverider since they’d been first year cadets. Logically she knew it was because his entry project was to rebuild Gideon, and he had managed it which allowed Gideon’s self-repair systems to fix the Waverider with his help. But it was still something that annoyed a lot of people.

However, over the past few weeks, watching him within his own ship had been interesting because it turned out he wasn’t as aggravating as she always thought him to be. When he didn’t realise that she was there, Hunter…Rip would sing to himself as he worked, on occasion singing with Gideon. She could see how much pride he had in the Waverider, it was kept in pristine condition and he worked on each system every few days.

To her surprise, he also made dinner from scratch rather than using the fabricator several times during the week. Miranda had been stunned when he made some for her as well but even more so that it was delicious.

“I can take over now,” Rip said as he finished his roll and sausage, “If you want to go get some sleep.”

Miranda shrugged, “I’m fine. Not really tired at the moment.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, “Well, Gideon can set up the firing range.”

“Is my company that awful?” Miranda teased, surprised at the soft blush that touched his pale features.

“Not really,” he murmured before adding, “I just thought you would want to get off the bridge for a while.”

“Gideon mentioned that you’ve been studying the Gosher Riots,” Miranda noted, it was one of the topics she had been given to study recently, “Any thoughts?”

Surprise touched his face, and Rip replied, “One or two.”

 “You can’t seriously believe that?”

Rip shrugged, “All I’m saying is that it is highly unlikely.”

“All the evidence collected shows that it was what happened,” Miranda argued back, “Do you have anything to suggest otherwise?”

He mused for a second before nodding, “Druce let me borrow a diary from Helas that is part of his collection. The man who wrote it was a servant in the palace at the time.”

Miranda’s eyes lit up and she leaned forward, “You have one of the diaries onboard?”

Rip smiled at how excited she was at the prospect, “It’s in my quarters. I’ve been reading it the past few nights.”

“And you’re saying it disproves the theory?” Miranda demanded, as she started off the bridge.

Confused Rip followed her, “No, it actually claims that a chemical was used to start the whole thing.”

“So, you’re not a believer in the so called ‘Love Dust’?” Miranda laughed as she reached his rooms.

Rip rolled his eyes, “It’s preposterous. A chemical substance that makes you fall in love with another person is ridiculous.”

“Well,” Miranda noted, “To be fair it’s not falling in love, just an uncontrollable need for sex.”

Rip felt heat cover his neck again but thankfully Miranda wasn’t paying any attention to him as she just walked into his quarters and headed straight for his desk.

“Oh wow,” she murmured, gently lifting the diary up and turning a few pages, “This is incredible. Listen to this, ‘The sweet smell of the magical dust they covered the palace in filled the air and soon the floor was nothing but bodies, naked and writhing as they pleasured each other, their only intention to reach satisfaction’.”

Rip swallowed at the sound of her voice caressing each word.

“And what do you think of that?” Miranda asked amused.

“It’s a poetic description of an orgy that likely had more to do with copious quantities of alcohol than magical ‘love dust’,” Rip replied.

Miranda laughed, “Oh come on. Why can’t you believe in something that you are not able to put in a little box?”

“It’s preposterous,” he said again, “

“Well it’s not like we’ll ever know,” Miranda rolled her eyes before a mischievous smile touched her lips, “That time is forbidden so we couldn’t steal some to test it.”

Rip frowned at her, “What a shame,” adding sarcastically, “I really wanted to test your theory.”

“I have a small sample of the substance for you to try,” Gideon spoke up suddenly.

Before they could say anything the hiss of the air conditioning system preceded a sickly-sweet smell. Rip felt his head begin to swim, shaking it and blinking to clear his vision he tried to focus again. Miranda appeared before him, and it was like he was seeing her for the first time. Her dark eyes bright with her brilliant mind, her pale skin was glowing, a slight blush on her cheeks and then he focussed on her soft pink lips.

Rip found himself moving and pressed his lips to hers. Miranda’s arms locked around his neck pulling him close as their kiss deepened. Rip slammed into the wall as they stumbled slightly trying to get closer to each other.

Breaking apart for air, Rip trailed his lips down along her neck while she pushed his jacket off him. He moaned as Miranda’s hands suddenly slid along his stomach and in the back of his mind Rip realised that she’d undone his shirt.

It wasn’t long before their clothes were scattered over the floor and Miranda pulled him over to the bed.

 Rip rolled off Miranda, breathing heavily and lay at her side staring at the ceiling trying to work out what had possessed him to do something so stupid.

And then he remembered…

“Gideon,” he snapped, “What the hell did you drug us with?”

“It was the chemical that is known as ‘love dust’,” Gideon replied.

“Why on earth would you do that?” he demanded, trying not to look at Miranda, “Why would you…”

“You requested the chance to test Lieutenant Coburn’s theory, which I gave you. However, the dose I gave you wore off within twenty seconds,” Gideon told him, “Anything that happened after those twenty seconds came from you.”

At his side Rip heard Miranda begin to laugh.

“Rip,” Miranda said softly, touching his cheek so he would look at her. And she looked gorgeous with tousled hair and pink tinge to her glistening skin, “This wasn’t a bad thing.”

“It’s forbidden,” Rip reminded her.

Miranda shrugged, “What is? We’ve been stuck here for almost two weeks waiting for something that hasn’t happened yet. This was just a little…stress relief. That’s not against the rules.”

“Stress relief?”

A slow smile touched her lips and she lay on her side leaning on her elbow, “I’m feeling very relaxed and I’m sure you were too. Before you started having a panic attack.”

Rip stared at her.

“Well?” she slid closer to him, “Were you relaxed?”

Swallowing he nodded.

Miranda softly touched her lips to his again. When she broke the kiss, Miranda smiled at him before sliding out of the bed, not bothering to cover her naked form.

“I’m going to have shower,” she glanced over her shoulder, “If you’re feeling a little stressed again, you should join me.”

Rip lay frozen for several moments listening to the water start.

Stress relief…

He slid out of the bed and stepped into the shower room; Miranda smiled when she saw him through the steam. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close when he joined her.

“We should destress a little more,” Miranda murmured, before adding, “And I need help washing my hair.”

                                 *********************************************

 Miranda wandered to the galley to get some tea before heading up to the bridge to check if anything had happened. They’d been here almost a full month waiting for an attack which so far hadn’t appeared.

Since their first ‘stress relief’ session they’d spent every night together, and Rip was getting a lot more comfortable around her. It was amazing how different he was now he’d relaxed. Miranda knew Rip was smart, you had to be to even be considered to be a Time Master, but he had always been very quiet. Although she knew he was one of the top students of their class, Rip rarely spoke up amongst the others. Only doing so when he had something specific to say, which was usually disagreeing with her, so she’d never got a chance to watch his mind work until now. He had one of those minds that worked problems at angles, solving them in ways she hadn’t expected. It was incredible, and completely unexpected, how well they worked together.

After they had a ‘stress relief’ session each night, they would talk. Going over theories and ideas that they both had, they seemed to connect in a way Miranda had never thought was possible with anyone, never mind him.

She knew that once their mission was over, she had to ensure they continued to spend time together.

 “Yes, sir,” Rip said as Druce finished speaking, “I’ll tell Lieutenant Coburn.”

“Tell me what?” Miranda asked the moment Druce disappeared from the screen making Rip turn to find her walking onto the bridge.

He stood, “We’re being recalled.”

“Oh,” she grimaced, “Straight away?”

Rip smiled slightly, “No. They’re allowing us to witness the probe landing.”

“Oh,” Miranda grinned, “That means we have six hours.”

“Well actually six hours and nineteen minut…” he stopped as Miranda pressed her finger to his lips.

“That means,” she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, “We can ‘destress’ a few more times before we head back to base.”

Rip sighed, “This isn’t a good idea, Miranda. We both know what we’re doing, no matter how we label it, is against the rules.”

“Rip,” she breathed, “You have broken a lot of rules and gotten away with it.”

He winced, “But anytime I have done so was in the service of a mission. This is different.”

Miranda shook her head, “I don’t want to stop spending time with you. Even before Gideon dosed us, I was attracted to you, but I had no idea how you felt about me. We’re allowed to care for each other Rip, no matter what they say.”

“But…”

“Do you enjoy being with me?” Miranda asked firmly.

Rip stared at her for a few moments before whispering, “Yes.”

“We’re not hurting anyone,” she reminded him, “And considering how much time we will spend on missions mostly on our own then,” Miranda brushed her lips to his, “A little ‘stress relief’ can’t be frowned upon.”

He continued to stare at her, his mind going over and over everything.

“Unless this doesn’t mean the same to you as it does to me,” Miranda sighed.

She moved away and Rip caught her hand making her turn back.

“I don’t…I’ve never…” he took a quick breath, “I’ve never felt like this for anyone, Miranda.”

Stepping closer to him again, Miranda took his face in her hands and whispered, “Neither have I.”

Rip rested his forehead against hers, “I don’t know how to do this.”

Miranda kissed him, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him close. When they parted, she murmured, “I don’t either, but we can learn together.”

Still holding onto her, Rip nodded, “Okay.”

“Now,” Miranda smiled, “We have just over six hours before we have to return to the Vanishing Point. Let’s ‘destress’ a few times before we go home.”

As she pulled him, Rip moved with her knowing he was in deep and realising he didn’t care.

                                 *********************************************

 “Lieutenant Hunter is not currently onboard,” Gideon spoke up as Druce stepped onto the Waverider.

“I know, Gideon,” he replied as he started through the corridors, “He’s currently being debriefed. I’m just here to retrieve the book he borrowed from me.”

“Of course,” she stated, “It is sitting on the desk inside his quarters.”

Druce nodded, “Thank you, Gideon.” Reaching the room he easily found the diary and lifted it, “Lieutenant Hunter will be busy for several hours, and a team will be fitting some new fabricators. Your scheduled self-diagnostic has been moved up to today.”

“I am not due for a self-diagnosis until next month,” Gideon noted.

Druce smiled, “I am aware of this, but this was the first long term mission you and the Waverider has been on since Rip repaired your systems. Soon you will be away from the Vanishing Point for extended periods of time and it’s best to ensure now that no problems will occur.”

“Your reasoning is sound, Time Master Druce,” Gideon told him, “I will alert Lieutenant Hunter that I have done this.”

Druce waited until he was sure Gideon was in diagnostic mode before he found the camera he’d set up in Rip’s room.

Rip and Miranda had a part to play in the future, but both had been annoyingly restrained despite the obvious attraction. He hoped this mission, with the planted chemical aphrodisiac, would push them where he needed them to go. In some ways they were both very predictable in what they would argue about and Druce just needed to ensure the material had been there.

Quickly checking through the film captured and smiled to himself as he watched the two of them getting intimate.

His plan was on track.

[ala-mhinyan]

II :: Bargain

{{ TW: Extortion + Misgendering }} {{ Feat Mentions of: @monsutanokami, @talesfromthegameff14 and @dunrai-ffxiv }} The letter had arrived by hunting hawk around midday, right as C’tolemy was finishing up his chores to the village and was preparing to return back to Eorzea proper. The trip home had been...strange, to say the least. It was his first return back to home soil after the incident at the Pack company house that had turned his long, curly mane into a curly mess that barely brushed his shoulders. His kin didn’t look him in the eye whenever he addressed them, a silent blessing that both soothed his fraying pride and rankled deep his conviction. It had made the morning hard and midday harder. By the time he had everything ready?—He was more than willing to return home. It wouldn’t feel as though he had disappointed everyone who had even glimpsed at him there. 

There—Eorzea? Everyone thought the ‘new look’ was something cute or something he would settle into by the time the eighth sun had passed—not that that was anything better to feel anyway. He’d lost the one thing that was -his- when he fled Kushal. The one thing he’d poured himself into to maintain and had actually come to be a source of pride—gone in one night. One moment of battle. He can still smell the scent of burning flesh and hair every time he turns his head too fast, catching a section of curls that brush past his cheek. His stomach turns and he has to close his eyes.

They’ll never understand.

The details of the letter are more important; it was a parchment paper carefully rolled and tied off with a deep red string. A stamp on the far right end tells him all he needs to know—a wolf’s head holding a dagger. He retrieves the letter from the hawk, brushing it’s feathers with the back of one claw and thrusts his arm up to send the beast on it’s way. It spirals up and flutters away, headed toward Rhalgr’s Reach, disappearing beyond the spires long after Tolemy’s gaze has shifted back to the parchment in his hand. He unravels it with a sharp tug, reading the single line at the center of the parchment: ‘Kugane. Now. Bring your mask.’ C’tolemy resists the urge to grimace at what he reads, neatly rolling the parchment back up as he strolls to the center fire pit and tosses the letter into the flame. He watches until he is sure the trail burns away with that parchment before turning away from the fire, gathering his things and waving goodbye to his kin. A pull inward, a focus of swirling aether and he plunges into the lifestream.

< Kugane: Midday >

The ripple splits, black and purple aether crackling as C’tolemy emerges from the teleport—straightening up the Hingan wolf mask that hides his face. A quick pit stop home allowed him to bathe, change clothing and grab the dreaded mask before teleporting back here. There was no worry of anyone catching his activities at home; they weren’t home at this time. Never were. It’s what made these meetings so guilt-wriddlingly convenient. His attire would place him as a native of the land and at this point? He may as well be. The trips to Kugane to meet his ‘friends’ have been increasing in frequency lately and, as such, have made it known to his lovers that something is going on that the Seeker is hiding. Just the thought has his stomach churning again, a hand coming to rest over his gut in a placid attempt to soothe the guilt. ‘Soon,’ his mind whispers, ‘You will tell them soon.’ 

His feet take him through the well-populated city, navigating the crowd with practiced ease until he comes to a stop in front of an establishment donned ‘The Golden Rook’. A glance about him and he slips into the eatery, murmuring quiet acknowledgement to the greeter that meets him. The hyur woman gives him a once-over and guides him through the low-lit restaurant to the very back room and right up to, what appears, to be a blank wall coveted by a decorative plant. She brushes the fern aside, slips her hand into the small opening hidden behind it and pulls open the false wall, revealing a simple sliding door. That too, is slid open and C’tolemy bows his head in thanks, slipping through the dark entrance that leads him down a flight of steps into a darker room lit only by candle. In the center of the room sits a male miqo’te behind a low table, similar in size and stature to Tolemy, dressed in similar attire with a similar mask sitting on the table. 

The man doesn’t bother looking up at the sound of footfalls, busy working on a letter while C’tolemy comes and sits opposite to him, removing the mask and setting it to the opposite side of the other man’s mask. It’s a careful dance that he plays well. Finally, as if addressed, the man lifts his pale blue gaze to smile upon C’tolemy.

“Well met, Lupa. You made it here safely?”

“Yes. What is it you ah calling me ‘eah foah, Nameless?”

The man smiles politely at his long friend of many years, fox-faced and polite despite the hell he wreathes around his person. It is never a good thing when Nameless calls for you. He retrieves a rolled up parchment, similar to the one that was delivered to C’tolemy earlier and holds it out toward his golden friend. C’tolemy doesn’t move to take it. “You’ve been assigned to pick up another contract for The Syndicate. You’ve been doing well with the last three I gave you—despite the little mix up on your last kill. I assure you, no one will be there to rob you of your meal, Lupa.” A snarl pulls at the edge of Tolemy’s lips but he doesn’t let it show, golden eyes turning sharp. Akuno, that kill-stealing bastard… The Seeker breathes in deep and shakes his head.

“I ‘ave no desiah to pick up anothah contract, Nameless. I ‘ave no desiah to retuhn to being Lupa. That is behind me. I onleh did these few because you said you ‘ad no one else that could and I owed you a favoah. Th’favoah is paid, Nameless. I want nothing more of this.”

The Keeper sitting across from his doesn’t change his eerie smile, nor shift the parchment away from Tolemy. He sits unmoving, smile ever present, letting the silence grow. Just before it begins to unsettle, he speaks up.

“Are you telling me you didn’t enjoy the contracts I gave you, Lupa?”

“Theah wheah enjoyable, yes. But I do naught desiah that life anehmoah.”

Nameless cocks his head at this particular response, leaning back as he sets the rolled parchment onto the table. A curious look colors his expression, that smile still never moving.

“Tell me, Lupa. Does Gyr Abania mean so little to you now?”

C’tolemy stiffens, that snarl riding his spine once more. “What ah you on ab—” “It must be so. For you to deny contracts from me, from someone who has only ever had your revenge in mind. I was the one who signed you to the Ala Mhigan Resistance. I was the one who gave you every garlean contract that passed beneath my fingers. I was the one who has always given you special privilege to do what you must for your country without the consequences any normal person would face. It must not mean as much to you anymore, Ala Mhigo, that is.” The Coeurl shifts slightly in place, his long tail having gone from a slow sway behind him to lying still with the tail tip tik-toking behind him. He furrows his brows, responding curtly. “My allegiance to mine countreh, mine kin and mine tribe is th’onleh reason I still wield these blades. I ‘ave nevah failed a contract. I ‘ave nevah let you down. The wah is something I am monitohing caehfulleh mineself and ‘ave resigned mineself to th’moment th’sands need my blades. If anehthing, this is th’last thing I would be weak on.” Nameless bobs his head in an understanding nod, using his free hand to spread out the various papers he was previously writing on.

“Oh? Is that so, Lupa? Then, care to explain something to me? Should your tribe, your blood, your country mean so much to you… Why have you not been present in it?” The Keeper’s documents house a number of descriptions and sections of map. Upon closer inspection, the maps detail out various areas around Eorzea. The Goblet. The Lavender Beds. Shirogane and The Mists. Red circles are drawn on each map, an approximation of a point on each map; The Proving Grounds. The Haughty Mason. The Pack Company House and—their home in The Mists. Tolemy is still, eyes focused on each map while panic and rage build in his gut like bile.

“You spend much time in Eorzea, Lupa. You wander, yes—You explore, yes. But these locations catch me by surprise with how often you come and go from them. Particularly…” A claw taps the Mist map. “This one. Two Xaela, you, a child and a newborn. Is this the family you’ve made for yourself?” C’tolemy snaps his gaze up to meet Nameless’, that snarl finally riding along his tongue with such intensity it rattles the table. His tail is still and the air around him has shifted to something dangerous, the predator within’ waking up at the mention of his carved out existence and loved ones. Anything, gods above, anything but them.

“Leave them out of this.”

“I will leave your perceived family, even the others that you seem to hold so dear, alone—If you comply, Lupa. Take the contract.”

Nameless’ smile has fallen, the predatory gleam in his blue eyes threatening hell upon his future should the Seeker back down. The line of muscle along the Seeker’s shoulders and arms press hard against the cloth barely containing them, loving cradling each shift in muscle as Tolemy leans forward just a little—to be matched by Nameless’ lean as well. They have both gone still and silent, tension building in the moments before two monsters spring upon one another. The moment, however, never comes. Nameless abruptly smiles and straightens up, relaxing once more with that fox-faced expression. “You will, won’t you? For the children.” C’tolemy snarls low once more, nearly going blind with rage at the mention of his precious children. Their precious children. He’ll be damned if he lets this happen, damned if he bends and damned if says nothing. Terbish’s smiling face flashes in his mind and he relents, hand snapping out and taking the rolled parchment with a loud hiss. “Onleh undah th’condition that mine famileh and mine Pack be left out of this. Next time you bring theah names up at this table I will rip yoah throat out with mine teeth, undahstood?” The words leave no room for argument.

Nameless bobs his head in another good natured sign of understanding, chuckling out brightly. “Of course, of course! I am a friend, am I not, Lupa?” A screening smile pulls on the man’s lips, curling into a malicious smirk of a man that knows he has a dog on a leash.

“The details are all present there. Report back here once you have filled the contract. Happy hunting, Lupa.” C’tolemy rises without word, snatching up his mask and pulling it on roughly as he heads to ascend the staircase and leave his friend behind. Nameless watches the Seeker leave in a huff, long, jackal like ears tweaking as footfalls above him make it clear of C’tolemy’s exit. Only then does Nameless drop the smirk to a vacant expression, leaning forward on the table with elbows keeping him propped up.

A hand lifts and jingles the linkpearl dangling from an ear, the Keeper speaking softly.

“Your will has been carried out. Lupa has accepted the contract, though reluctant to because of his new family and responsibilities in Eorzea. How shall we proceed?”

A moment of silence before a womanly voice replies back, 

“I suppose it is time to paeh mine daughtah a visit.”

(( @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast ))

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

oh gosh. oh gosh. I've been thinking about getting evaluated for ADD/ADHD myself recently but I'm scared & anxious. I don't know who to go to - is any regular psychiatrist/psychologist ok or would I need to find one who specializes?? What if I'm diagnosed but they can't do anything about it?? What if I'm MISdiagnosed so they can make money?? What if they tell me I'm just an attention-seeking narcissist and there's nothing wrong with me at all?? 1/2

All I can share is my experience, which is unique to a) me, b) my area, and c) my country’s healthcare system. I mentioned my frustrations with my concentration/focus (or lack thereof) with my primary care physician-- the person who does my annual check ups. They should be your first stop, if you’re in the American healthcare system, as insurance companies often require referrals for specialist appointments, and even if you aren’t in the American healthcare system, your PCP should be able to point you in the right direction of where to go next. 

I have a really great relationship with mine-- she’s been treating me for my entire adult life. She referred me to a neurologist for ADD/ADHD evaluation. When I arrived, the cute intake girl asked me a shit ton of questions about my symptoms. And in talking to her it really hit home how much and how long I’ve been struggling. 

And the neurologist took one look at my intake form and said “you definitely hit the markers for ADD.” (and maybe adhd? It kinda blurred at that point, because ha-hey guess who’s having focus/attention issues?)

Next step? Medication.

Medication is where the stigma kicks in again. Picture this: I am at the neurologist looking for help. There is literally no other reason for me to be there. I am struggling, I need help, and still-- STILL-- when he mentioned Aderall my brain and my heart immediately wanted to bolt. Like, what the hell else did you think he was going to suggest, numbskull? 

So next steps are getting a brain scan/EEG, to make sure I don’t have any other brain issues they need to worry about, and then I’m starting a low dose of Adderall, which is faster acting than some of the other options. By the neurologist’s words, I could be seeing improvement by the end of next week.

Your questions in your first ask are all anxiety, plain and simple (and guess how ADD can sometimes present in adult women? Ding ding ding! Anxiety). 

A specialist will be the best person to help you, so even if they can’t a) they may at least be able to tell you what it isn’t, b) can point you in a new direction, and c) at least you’re taking steps to help yourself-- which is huge. 

Lately I’ve come to suspect that the school fear about “overmedication” is an early split from what eventually became the anti-vaxxer movement, and fuck those guys. And keep in mind-- our conversation here is not about the virtues of forcing kids to sit still in a classroom for 7-8 hours a day, and the need for medication to help them do so. We are adults, struggling to exist as adults. If there is a tool out there to help us function more easily, we are entitled to use it, just as we are entitled to use anti-depressants or pain-relief.

(And PS if you’re wondering if you’re an attention-seeking narcissist, you’re not a narcissist, because narcissists don’t think about that sort of thing. I’ve had similar concerns seeking therapy and that came straight from my therapist’s mouth, so)

If you do seek help for it, I can warn you right now that it’s going to be a mixed bag of emotions. Yes, it’s a relief, to have a name and reason for why you/your brain does X, but at the same time? I had a cry session last night because if the diagnosis is correct, then-- I’ve been fighting it for twenty-plus years. Twenty years where my potential has been throttled by a condition I wasn’t aware of. Twenty years I’ll never get back.

 And that’s heartbreaking.

The one thing about my appointment with the neurologist that sticks in my craw is something he asked me towards the end as we were wrapping up. He asked me “Why did you wait so long to get help?”

He meant it good-naturedly, and I was still reeling and dealing with the anxiety of everything suddenly happening quickly, so I didn’t claw his eyes out right then and there. But it still rankles even now. 

I’m sorry, how in the world was I supposed to know that my wandering brain and hyperfixation on writing and skating (the only two activities in my life I can focus on with zero distraction), wasn’t NORMAL? My doctor asks for my weight every goddamn visit but at no point has she ever asked me how my focus is. No one ever asked me how many times I need to go back to my apartment in the morning to get the keys/sunglasses/breakfast I keep forgetting. 

No one ever asked me how many times a week I forget my wallet in my other bag. Until my visit yesterday, no one ever asked me how often I talk over someone before they’re finished speaking, or finish their sentences for them. No one ever asked whether I fidget in meetings or if I can hold a goddamn conversation without my brain spooling out to think about that one story/movie/figure skating program/”if I have my protein bar early and skip the late session at the rink I can go to that one place I like for dinner tonight I think I’ll get the fish”.

So, someone please tell me how I was supposed to recognize any of this as not normal.

Long story short, here’s my takeaway: If you are struggling with anything that impairs your ability to function on a basic level, you deserve to seek treatment. If you read something online about a condition that rings true to you and your experience, you have every right to mention it to your doctor.

You deserve to live at your full potential.

[renegadesrpg]

Dark Angels: Creation. Part 41: Witch hunter; Hunter Witch Part 1. Adrian and Bryn

Adrian: *Sean throws Bryn a sharp look, his own troubles momentarily forgotten as he turns from worried male back into Sin’s reaper first lieutenant, but Zav shakes his head at him and then jerks it towards the ancient church. His deep, rich mental voice tags my brain as he silently speaks to all of us. ‘Let them work it out Sean. Even as a human Bryn could handle any witch ever born. As a reaper it should be like shooting fish in a barrel for her. We’ll go out to her workshop so I can teach you what you need to know. She’ll call us if she needs us.’ Sourly, I frown at him and ‘path’ back ‘Thanks for throwing me to the wolf here Zav.’ He just throws his head back and laughs as he mists away. Sean gives a mental chuckle, which I am actually kind of glad to hear, given where he’s at in his head right now, and sends out some soothing vibes as he adds his two cents. ‘Don’t worry, she hardly ever bites. Unless you ask her to. And even then she has to REALLY be into you.’ ‘Ha, ha, very funny,’ I answer back as he demats out right behind Zav. With a sigh I look at her dubiously.*

Why is it always me you snag for these crazy ideas? I’m a soldier, not a hunter. Give me a battlefield and I’m your guy, but hunting’s a different kind of fight. Sean’s better as a hunter, or even Zav.

Bryn: *Hands on my hips, narrowing my eyes and tossing my shaggy black hair back as I narrow my eyes*

Think of it as guerilla warfare. Even you’ve learned that forming ranks isn’t always the best option. *Huffing* And besides, it’s /not/ always you. Usually it’s Zav. But he’s busy and I don’t think he can help me with this anyway. You’ve got something special and I need it.

Adrian: Fine. What do we do first?

Bryn: First? Strip.

Adrian: *My eyebrows raise in outrage.* What do you mean, “strip”? I’m not taking my clothes off for you!

Bryn: *Snorting a laugh* Oh, relax, lover-boy, your virginity’s safe with me. I need to look for an anti-witch mark. I think you’re somehow invisible to the witch. We’ve been working in pairs, with another reaper, since this began. The only attacks that have occurred have been when you were the only reaper paired with another. I’d say that whoever is in charge of spying on us can’t see you. So drop your pants, at least down to your boxer briefs.

Adrian: I’m not a virgin, for Creator’s sake! *Jesus, women!* And I don’t wear boxers, briefs, or any combination of that under leathers. Just a jock strap.

Bryn: So much the better. If I need to see the full package, I’ll let you know.*Smirking, Now drop the pants and ditch the shirt.

Adrian: Fine, *I snap* But I’m not doing this down here. Sin and Declan could mist in at any second. My room will do.

*Without waiting I dematerialize upstairs to the room I took as my own for the duration. A quick glance around assures me it’s in shape just as Bryn’s black mist reforms in the doorway.*

Bryn: *I just knew he was going to be a pain about this. He’s always been more standoffish than Sean and Zav. With a sigh I mist up to the doorway to his room. Once my form has re-manifested I take a careful look around. The place looks like a military barracks. You could bounce a dime off of that bed. There are no personal items, no keepsakes. The only things that hang on the walls are his sword and dagger, tools of his trade, I guess.*

Well, you live up to the billing. *stepping inside* This place is certainly Spartan.

Adrian: *I give her something between a smirk and a frown… I never know how the hell to respond to Bryn. I’d had more contact with her since we started this rebellion in the ranks than I’d had since Zav recruited her and still I was awkward as crap around her. But then, I’d never been good with women. Even my human wife had given me a wide berth after fulfilling her duties as a Spartan wife, which had suited me just fine. Normally I treated female reapers the same way I treat male ones -- like I would have a lower ranked soldier when I was human -- with respect, but also with the expectation they’d keep the appropriate distance from a higher ranking officer. But by rank Bryn was my peer and in terms of power, hells, she could probably put me down by raising her eyebrow if she got pissed. I don’t know what one of those fireballs of hers could do to a reaper, but I didn’t want to give her an excuse to use me to find out. Finally, stalling, I ask,*

So what would this mark look like? After all this time I think I’d know if I had one.

Bryn: It could look like a birthmark, a mole… a weird configuration of freckles. Or it might not be visible to the naked eye at all. Whoever put it on you had talent, power, and imagination. I strongly suspect your grandmother. Even though it was before my time and well away from my country of origin, I’ve studied the lore and I’ve done some time... we’ll call it internships… with magical mortals and immortals during my leaves from the corps. *At his skeptical look I add,* What, you think I just take off for a few weeks and amuse myself with boy-toys? Give me a break. Men are more trouble than they’re worth. I learned that lesson early on as a reaper. Now lose the clothes.

Adrian: *This time I don’t have to think about how to react. A dark frown crosses my face as I let my clothes disappear, at least down to my jock. My skin heats as she starts to circle me and looks at me appraisingly*

I feel like a stud being examined before he services a mare, *I grumble.*

Why would you think my grandmother would do that?

Bryn: *Clinically, I look over every exposed inch. His skin has that tan that modern human women give themselves skin cancer trying to achieve and it ripples over a well-defined six-pack. The black back straps of the supporter grip well-developed glutes and the front… well, let’s just say I bet he had to specially design this particular bit of apparel. The pouch covers the necessities –barely- but even with its larger than normal proportions there’s quite obviously no room for any kind of protective cup. There’s barely room for him. Apparently Apollo’s genetics ran true through his descendants. But there are no marks on him that I can see. No freckles, no birthmarks, nothing. Just wide expanses of smooth, golden skin.*

The first Oracle of Delphi was mad strong magically and notably protective of her descendants. Oh, she had to let them choose their paths from the Fates’ choices, but she did what she could to protect them from harm from god’s and other magical entities... I’m not seeing anything…. Is the form you manifest as a reaper identical to the one you had as a human?

Adrian: *Nodding* It’s exactly as I was before I died. Does this mean I have to lose the supporter, too? I mean, why would my grandmother have put the mark on my, uh, private parts?

Bryn: Maybe because no one but someone you trust would ever see it. But don’t ditch the jock yet. There’s another possibility. She could have branded it soul deep the way Freya did the Inguz on Sin. I’ve never seen Sin naked, but I’m betting it doesn’t show itself unless invoked. It probably flairs if the Horseman tries to reach him through their link. If we left the wards and the witch is scrying for us then it would probably show itself.

Adrian: I am /NOT/ going outside this room like this, let alone outside the wards!

Bryn: Chill!

*Ok, I’m getting impatient with this modesty thing…*

We can mist to some place remote. If I’m right, the witch won’t see you, just me. You can manifest, let me take a gander, and then hide and get fully dressed, including weapons, until they send someone. We’re a match for the Horseman’s bully boys. We just need one alive when it’s over. I’ll force mental rapport and find out what they know before we stuff them in a Dybbuk box. We’ll know all he or she knows. If it’s demons we might have to get more creative. And if I’m wrong and they see us both, then we just have to kill them and try something else.

Adrian: *Snorting* You make it sound so easy. As they keep losing grunts, they might suspect we’re dispatching them too easily and send more than a couple this time.

Bryn: So?

*Hands on my hips, challengingly. A little conflict is getting him past his embarrassment and, hey, I’m always up for an argument in a good cause.*

You held off 10,000 men with a group of 300 at a mountain pass in Greece. You afraid of a few reapers? Where’s that Spartan attitude?

Adrian: We all DIED, in case you forgot. And no, I’m not afraid. I just want to be sure we aren’t “ambushed” with overwhelming force. They have to realize by now that the ones they have sent out aren’t coming back and that we /are/ still coming up on their radar. They haven’t called demons back in since the initial attack, but if they still could.

Bryn: *it’s a good point, I have to admit.*

But I can’t see the Horseman asking Lucifer for help easily. It shows that he’s weak. Sean took out DeAndre and that has to rankle, IF he knows about it. There’s no guarantee of that. The Horseman tends to let his “underlings” run things for him. If he didn’t, we wouldn’t have been able to position ourselves as well as we have. But if someone has slid into the power vacuum created when DeAndre and his crew didn’t return they don’t want the Horseman to know they’ve failed to contain us or even to take a civilian important to us. *Thinking out loud now.* In fact, I bet the Horseman isn’t aware of any of this. Not that he’s above rape and murder, but it’s not the smart move right now. Trying to take us out before he’s ready to make HIS big move isn’t any smarter than it would be for us to go on small random offensives just before we make OURS. It's in his best interest to keep us unsuspecting until he’s ready to take out all of the holdovers from Sin’s era and that he’s not quite there yet. New leadership is probably keeping him in the dark as much as they can. The reaper souls haven’t left a mortal plane yet, just been stashed in Dybbuk boxes for safekeeping, so the Horseman wouldn’t feel them gone. Lucifer might be missing the random demons that attacked you and Sean, but if they were low level cannon fodder, I doubt it. No, it’s the witch that will be more of a challenge than we’ve seen before. I can only think of three witches besides myself that could manage this kind of thing solo and I don’t like to think any of them would be in the service of Lucifer.

Adrian: *My embarrassment is gone. Bryn’s pretty much all business at the moment. She’s not above teasing any of us when the moment is right but she gets this isn’t the moment. And that makes it easy for me to focus on the task at hand as well.*

What makes you say that? And why not any of those three witches?

Bryn: It’s a massive operation to set up magical 24/7 surveillance on several beings who simply wink in and out of any location on the mortal plane and that’s how it would look, like a blip on a very big map. Scrying is usually done on a small scale for one physical being in a suspected general location. To see one of us popping up anywhere in the world, and doing it seemingly from nowhere, because with us behind wards that’s how it would appear, requires more than physical observation. It requires something that mentally tags the practitioner so they can catch it. Add to that our physical appearances are simply manifestations of our souls, and it means it has to be someone with enough juice to track a soul, not just a body. *Sighing, now, because the answer to the second question is harder.*

As for why those three? Well, two of them are my sisters. They died in the battle before my last one and I always assumed their souls had moved on to new lives, probably multiple times by now. Something would have had to go very, very wrong in one of those lives for either of them to end up pledged to Lucifer. As for the third… he’s very, very strong, and he very manipulative. And…*hesitating* we have history. Of all the human “boy toys” you guys have teased me about taking for a spin as a reaper, he’s the only one that I actually did.

Adrian: *If my jaw could hit the ground, it would have. Bryn’s as tough and pragmatic as they come and she’s always avoided emotional entanglements of any kind. Someone that could get past that tough exterior was either very special or very devious. A thousand questions run through my head.*

What do you mean “took for a spin”? Was this a short term fling or something more? Just how powerful was he? Enough to pose a problem for you?

Bryn: *If looks could kill a reaper, Adrian would be headed for the Long Sleep right now.*

We were involved for 20 mortal years, so maybe you’d call that a short term fling in a reaper’s gauge of time, but for that 20 years I thought I’d found what Sean and Zav have. I wasn’t sure how it would go when his time as a mortal passed, but I thought perhaps he could be recruited to become one of us. I had only been a reaper a few hundred years. I wasn’t aware of all the vetting Sin put in before he took one of us on even just as an ordinary reaper. Emrys would never have made the cut. He wasn’t entirely mortal for one thing. And he had an overpowering ambition for power that I didn’t realize until we’d been together most of that 20 years.

Adrian: “Not entirely mortal?” What does /that/ mean? Witches are mortal. Essentially just gifted humans.

Bryn: But Emrys wasn’t totally human.

*Looking away for a moment, embarrassed now at how naïve I’d been.*

Emrys’ father was a demon. His mother had been human. I’m not entirely sure, but I got the impression that his conception hadn’t been willing, and after he was born she confessed all to a priest. He convinced her the child was an abomination that had to die, but of course he wouldn’t get his hands dirty and she couldn’t bear the thought of doing it, so she swaddled the babe and left it in a sacred oak grove. Christian priests were just beginning to make inroads in Wales back then. Druidism and goddess worship were still predominant and the druids found the infant. The high priest was no fool. There was no reason an apparently healthy male child would be abandoned back then. He investigated and found the mother but she was too afraid to take the child back so he adopted him and raised him. I’d thought that upbringing had been enough to counteract his demonic heritage, and maybe his lust for power was just a normal human failing. But if it wasn’t….

Adrian: If it wasn’t, he could easily be behind this. *I finish for her.* How did you meet him? Did you teach him magick?

Bryn: He found me. Up until I moved everything here I kept my workshop in the crystal cave in Wales where I’d learned my craft all those centuries ago. It was remote and I had never had to ward it against intruders and then one day when I’m off role and working on a spell this drop dead gorgeous young guy just appears at the entrance. He said he’d been exploring. “Exploring”, my ass. *snorting* He’d felt the power as I worked the spell and had scryed to find the location. Then he just “appeared”. He said he was on a spiritual quest and just happened to find the cave. It took me 20 years to work out that he could translocate like a demon. Granted, I wasn’t with him all the time, but every leave I got, I spent with him and every night instead of staying with the corps I decamped to his bed. *Shaking my head,* I was so blind to what he really was.

Adrian: *She’d deny it, but you didn’t have to have Sean’s gift to feel the pain in her voice. This asshole hurt a woman I called sister, and now I want to deal out some pain to him. Didn’t matter if he was already dead. A reaper can get to anyone, anywhere, anytime.

So what happened?

Bryn: A baby was born in Cornwall. A dragon, a comet with a flame red tail, filled the sky that night. *My eyes grow distant as I remember.* He was almost manic with excitement. He said he’d seen it, that it portended the birth of king who would unite all of the kingdoms under one rule, but that he needed to be there. It was only with his power that it could happen. By that time the Rome I’d fought against had long since left Britain. Vikings ravaged the coasts at will, and for a time, they’d succeeded in establishing a foothold on a large part of the island. When grown, this new king, according to him, would see the Vikings gone and Britain ruled by Britains.

*Sighing wearily as I drop down to sit on Adrian’s bed*

What he didn’t say was it wasn’t about uniting the kingdoms. It was about being the power behind the throne. There was nothing altruistic in this. He saw the future and wanted more power. He already had magick…. More than anyone else I’d ever seen and I’d taught him how to use it. Now he wanted a different kind of power. And he wanted me to help him. As a reaper I could take out anyone that stood in his way, make sure he had access to the child. As a witch I could combine my power with his and create a world that was his to command. I was appalled.

We had a fight, a huge one, and it all came out. He never loved me. He’d used my body the way he wanted to use my power – to bind me to him. If I’d had none, if I’d even just been a mortal witch, he wouldn’t have looked at me twice. I cast him from my cave and warded it against him so thoroughly that he had no hope of ever gaining entrance again and then I turned my back on him. He followed through and I guess it worked for a time. But in the end other mortal weaknesses caused the death of this savior of Britain and the kingdom fell. Emrys died, walled away in his own cave by his fallen king’s enemies, led by a witch with some significant power of her own. Zav reaped his soul. I never asked what happened to it. Being half demon it could very well have ended up at Lucifer’s disposal.

Adrian: *I cross to the bed and sit down beside her. Ignoring my nearly naked status, I put my arm around her shoulder and pull her against my side. It says something about how devastating this was to her that she actually allows it. As I look down, I can see a sheen of tears she refuses to shed gleaming in her eyes.*

So if it is this asshole, can I kill him?

Bryn: *A strangled laugh escapes me. Damn, Adrian is such a rock. Unshakeable and steady. And just what I needed. Not too much sympathy, just enough and the understanding that revenge is best served cold.*

Well one of us has to.

Adrian: And, *raising an eyebrow – damn, has Sin taught all of us that?* And if it’s one of your sisters?

Bryn: *Inhaling and pulling away from his side to sit upright as his arm falls away.*

If it’s one of my sisters, it’s on me. I’ll need to know what twisted them up so much that they went that way and then I’ll deal with them. But I’m hoping it’s a coalition of lesser witches. A group of three with some skill could also pull this operation off. But first we have to get to them. And to do that we need to interrogate a bad guy.

So. *clapping my hands on my thighs, and then standing, forcing the bravado back into my voice* Are you ready to go, studly?

Adrian: *Suddenly, I’m very conscious of my near naked state once again. It’s a more normal Bryn comment, and I’m glad to see her coming back to herself, but still, “studly” is a going a step too far. Face flaming, I blurt* Don’t call me that. And just /where/ are we going?

Bryn: Outside my crystal cave in Wales. It’s remote even by today’s standards, and it has plenty of trees for you to conceal yourself behind so we can get a drop on whoever comes. Plus, if you’re concerned about them sending greater numbers than they have previously come to pass, we can retreat into the cave and I can slam down wards they won’t get through. Oh, don’t look at me like that, *Seeing the dubious look on his face.* We’ll stay in the half world until you can reassure yourself there’s no one around to see you in all your semi-naked glory. But be aware if I don’t see a mark flare, you’ll be naked pretty quick so I can make sure grandma didn’t tat you in an even more concealed place. Once it does you can get dressed. And armed.

Adrian: *The sword from the wall materializes in my hand. Though I’d come to prefer the medieval longsword, for fighting naked a Spartan sword was a more appropriate length for potentially naked fighting.*

I’m going in armed. As a mortal I didn’t fight in much more than this.

Bryn: *Frowning* Then why all the “I’m not going to be naked” crap if you fought mostly naked as a human?

Adrian: Because I’m /not/ human anymore and leathers provide a little more protection. Plus you’re a girl. I didn’t /fight/ girls in battle. Now are we going or not?

Bryn: Don’t think of me as a girl. Think of me as a harpy. Vicious and lethal. It might help. Follow me. *with a thought I dematerialized into the fine black mist of the reaper and disappeared.*

Adrian: *Snorting*

Women. *following her lead, I dematerialize into the half-world and follow her to Wales.*

#TBC

#WitchHunterHunterWitchPart1 #DarkAngelsCreationPart41 #Renegades #RRPG #BDB #AU #Reapers #Angels #Vampires #Witches #Ghosts

[mousedetective]

Rare Gifts (15/16 - An “Unexpected Legacies” Story)

So this is a really long chapter, so I’m putting it under a cut so you don’t have to scroll forever. But the problem is finally resolved! All that’s left is a bit of an epilogue.

Rare Gifts - Mycroft is sent to Hampshire for a meeting that he has an ulterior motive for going to: there has been talk of strange goings ons in the nearby village of Farnham, Surrey, and a high ranking government official has disappeared. He tasks his brother to find out just what is going on, which leads to the discovery of a long lost colony of an ancient race who are normally peaceful but are being manipulated by an unscrupulous businessman with plans for taking what he believes to be rightfully his.

Read Chapter 1 @ AO3 | Read Chapter 15 @ AO3 | Buy Me A Coffee? | Send Me A Prompt

The spell had been incredibly easy to learn; once Merlin was able to be contacted and informed of the plan he began teaching both Sherlock and Molly the spell, having them copy the looks of various people to make sure they knew it. It was actually an almost complete camouflaging spell, in that not only was the physical appearance copied but the height, body shape and voice as well, so long as the caster knew what the person sounded like. It was easy for Sherlock and Molly to impersonate Mycroft and Andrea, and once they were satisfied Sherlock and Molly would pass as them it was simply time to wait until they could leave the Inn.

Sherlock and Molly didn’t leave to go out into the village before the dinner, though they sent John out to monitor things and make sure Lord Roberts didn’t cause any last minute trouble. Molly decided to try and take a nap and Sherlock laid on the bed next to her, holding her close. He worried that things could go wrong again, as they had a tendency to do. He had more power at his disposal than she did, he had more training than she did, his specialty was bending magic to his will by crafting spells off the top of his head while she was more proficient in object-centered magic...there was so much imbalance between them, but he knew to leave her behind would be the worst decision he could make. She centered him, she was able to help him, she was his partner just as much as John was, just in different way.

He would have to reconcile the fear he felt when they did something dangerous to the knowledge that while she might have less power she was just as proficient in using what she could to its full advantage.

When it was time for them to get ready he woke her up or at least attempted to. Her response was to burrow in closer to him and sleepily press a kiss to his neck. “Five more minutes?” she asked.

“Unfortunately time is not on our side,” he said, his tone amused. He’d give more than he could to have five more minutes, but they needed to go to Mycroft and Andrea’s room and model the clothing they would have worn to the dinner and then go to Lord Roberts manor house. “But when we get back you can sleep as long as you want.”

“Mmm, okay,” she said, pulling away and stretching. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him, reaching over to touch his face gently. “We’ll be fine, you know.”

“We haven’t always,” he said.

“We usually don’t have help,” she replied. “We’ll have the fae with us in the forest, and Merlin said he would be nearby at the manor house.”

“I still worry,” he said, running a hand along her waist.

“I know,” she said softly with a nod. She leaned in and kissed him, being careful not to let them get carried away. He kissed her back until she pulled away again to get out of the bed. He wished he had her confidence, but the spectre of Death on the stag rankled at him. If all went according to plan, there would only be a few people in the forest, and he was sure the only one who could die would be Molly. That was not the outcome he wanted.

Slowly they both got themselves to the point where they were ready to go to his brother’s room. The switching of looks didn’t take long, and they left again not too much later as Mycroft and Andrea. Mycroft had told him Andrea usually drove when things like this occurred, and Molly had been given the keys to the car that Mycroft and Andrea were using. They made their way downstairs, and Sherlock caught the eye of their fae friend in the dining room. The fae nodded, and Sherlock nodded back before he and Molly left the inn.

Merlin had assured them this magic was imperceptible and only reversible by them, but it was a shock when they entered the grounds of the manor and he realized Molly had gone back to looking like herself. “Bloody hell,” she muttered when she realized the same thing.

“I want to have a talk with Merlin,” Sherlock said. He reached out to his mentor but there was nothing. There was no reason for Molly to drive back out of the grounds so he could contact Merlin, either, so he put a hand on her thigh. “Slow down a bit.”

“You can’t reach him?” she asked. He nodded. “In my handbag. I brought the dagger.”

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, I got rid of the poison,” she said, lifting a hand off the steering wheel and waving it. “it’s not that hard when he’s so obvious as to which one he used. I doused it in the antidote. It’s harmless. But we have a reason for being here. After all, everyone deserves to get their property back.”

“What if we can’t teleport out?” he asked.

“I have a spell for that in my book,” she said. “Open it up and it should pop right up. It nullifies all the magic in an area for a time. We’ll cancel out his magic, dash to the car, drive back off the grounds, and then do the spell.”

“How do you know it won’t cancel our magic?” he asked.

“I don’t, but I’m sure you can adapt it,” she replied, turning to give him an encouraging look. Sherlock looked at her with a look of admiration. She had assumed something like this might happen while he’d chosen to believe Merlin that they’d be fine. He went into her handbag, careful not to touch the dagger, and pulled out her book. He opened it to the first page and the spell she mentioned appeared on it, glowing white at first but soon fading into a black script. He studied the spell, memorizing it with what he hoped would be enough of an adjustment, and then closed the book and put it away as they approached the manor house.

It had certainly seen better days, he realized. With the string of bad luck hitting him, it seemed to affect the property as well. It looked run down and in sore need of repair. Whoever Lord Roberts had crossed had certainly taken their revenge in many senses. Molly parked the car and then got out, and Sherlock followed. She seemed more confident than he was, to be honest, and he let her take the lead. She went to the manor door and knocked, waiting, with him by her side.

The door opened and a man stood there with greying hair on his head and in his neatly trimmed beard, the only sign of age on him. That wasn’t to say he appeared unaffected by what had been going on; there were dark circles under his eyes and a scowl on his face. “I should have known your brother wouldn’t come,” he said.

“Lord Roberts, I presume?” Sherlock asked, looking at Molly.

She nodded. “Unfortunately.”

His scowl deepened. “I’m a Lord,” he said, glaring at Molly. “I deserve respect.”

“I only respect those who don’t disrespect the people I care about,” Molly said, glaring right back. Lord Roberts blinked and then watched as she pulled out the dagger from her handbag. “Oh, don’t worry, I took your filthy poison off. But I think I’ll keep this out for a bit.”

“You’re an impertinent bitch,” he said. Molly’s eyes widened and she lifted the dagger up. He attempted to wave his hand and cast a spell, but nothing happened. “What…?”

“Frankly, you need a better teacher,” Molly said. She handed the dagger to Sherlock and then reached into her bag again. Before Lord Roberts could react she tossed a handful of powder in his face that had been enclosed in a handkerchief and his eyes fluttered closed as he passed out on the floor. “We have twenty minutes unless someone interferes,” she said.

Sherlock looked at her. “What is that?”

“Merlin’s sleeping powder,” she said, pulling out. “Studying the books does do good. I made some up before I brought yesterday’s lunch, just in case we needed it.” She nodded into the manor. “Let’s find the book and get the hell out of here.”

Sherlock nodded and held the dagger in his dominant hand as they pushed inside. He felt a pull that he couldn’t explain and simply followed it. The pull took them to a two-floor library, but the book they needed was right out in the open. “This seems too easy,” he murmured as they went up to the book.

Molly looked over at him. “It does, doesn’t it?” She thought for a moment, and then Sherlock heard her speak under his breath. A look of satisfaction crossed her face as the book started to glow red. “He’s enchanted it.”

“Do you know how to unenchant it?” Sherlock asked.

She shook her head. “I can detect when things have been tampered with with that spell, but I can’t reverse it.”

Sherlock handed her back the dagger and began to look at the book with the special sight he used when casting complicated spells. He could see the threads of magic Lord Roberts had overlaid on the book, and he began to pick at them. There was resistance, but surprisingly not much. The book wanted to be free, it seemed, and the threads of magic protecting the actual book seemed to help unravel what he thought it considered “bad magic” as soon as he started really pulling at them. He was almost done when the room began to shake.

“Is that you?” Molly asked.

“No, and it’s not the book’s natural magic,” he said. Just a few more strings…

The doors to the library flew in and he heard Molly gasp. “He was fae!” she said.

“The same…?” Sherlock asked, not pulling his full attention away from the book.

“No,” she said.

The spell enchanting the book slid away at that point and Sherlock grabbed the book with one hand and Molly’s arm with the other, casting the spell to teleport. Surprisingly, it worked, and they found themselves next to the fae they did trust at the outskirts of the forest. “We’re probably being followed,” Sherlock said.

“The forest is still under the geas,” the fae said. “But I can call for help.”

“Lord Roberts was replaced by fae,” Molly said as the three of them ran into the forest.

“He was now, was he?” the fae said, stopping suddenly. Molly crashed into him, almost stabbing him with the dagger. “Careful.”

“Sorry,” she replied.

The fae looked to the side as the forest began to darken. A path suddenly lit up, though it glowed weakly. “Follow that,” he said. “I’ll take care of our intruder.”

Sherlock nodded and said nothing, grabbing Molly’s free hand again and pulling her towards the path. He knew his legs were longer and he could run more quickly than he was, but he slowed his pace so she could keep up. Dimly behind them, there were horrible sounds of fighting, but he tried his best to ignore them. The forest grew darker the further in they traveled until they burst into an open space near the mouth of a large cave. The cave did not look natural, instead looking as though it had been woven from brown spider webs and hardened in place.

There, in the center of the opening, was a female spider creature who was bigger than the others, and he knew instantly that was Arachne. He held forward the book. “I’m returning this to you, Arachne,” he said.

“Destroy it,” the female voice he had heard in the dream said. “Use the dagger.” Sherlock dropped the book on the ground and then Molly handed him the dagger. He squatted down and then stabbed the dagger into the center of the book. There was an unearthly scream from the forest, from behind them and the path they had traveled, and then the darkness seemed to recede. Sherlock looked up and saw stars poking through the thick grove of trees and the moon shining on the cave. The human-like face of Arachne was smiling at him. “You are not Merlin’s heir in all ways.”

“He is willing to learn, as am I,” Sherlock said, standing up again.

“But your first instinct is to save. His...not always.” She nodded to the book. “Dispose of that in magical fire.”

Sherlock nodded and cast the same spell he had used to get rid of the bugs in Molly’s home what seemed like ages ago. Soon the book was encased in fire, glowing an icy blue as it was consumed, and then there was nothing left but ash. “Done,” he said.

“Our captor is still alive,” she said. “I demand retribution.”

Sherlock watched as the actual Lord Byron appeared in the open field, looking terrified. He stepped forward towards the man. “Not death,” Sherlock said.

“No?” Arachne asked.

“Not death,” Sherlock replied. He looked up. “He collaborated with fae to destroy this forest for his own gain. The fae who showed us the path should have a say as well.”

“You speak truly,” a voice was heard saying from behind them. The fae they had known as Colin was gone mostly, all except the eyes. This fae was clothed in regal attire, with long shining blonde hair that glowed in the moonlight, and he held a fae who looked similar, though with red hair, by the back of his tunic. “He attempted to use dark magic from one of our less loyal brethren. I will offer a trade. You may have the fae to do with what you will, spider woman, and we will take the human.”

Arachne nodded. “Fair enough. Do you need your kin to remain alive?”

“Let him feed your children,” the fae said, pushing the defeated foe forward.

“Please...” the red-haired fae said before the spiders began to spit silk around him.

“You have betrayed the pact made with the fore-bearers of this forest and you have allowed a human to enslave the spider woman and her kin,” the regal fae said coldly. “You are at their mercy.” Soon the red-haired fae was wrapped in spider silk and being carried off to the cave. Sherlock heard movement to the side and saw Death on his stag. He was not the only one, though, and the fae turned to the hooded figure. “Your price is paid,” he said before nodding his head. Death nodded back, and then quietly he rode back into the forest, the darkness closing around him.

“I and mine will feast on fae blood, tainted though it is,” Arachne said.

“And no more humans?” Sherlock asked.

Arachne turned to the fae, who nodded. “Our food will return,” she said. “We will leave the villages of man alone.” With that, she turned and made her way into the cave.

“You do Merlin good credit, the both of you,” the fae said. “You’ve had a boon from us before, Sherlock Holmes. For restoring the forest to those who will protect it, you have earned another one.” He nodded to Molly. “You as well, Molly Hooper.”

“Do we need to use these boons now?” Molly asked.

The fae shook his head. “No, young miss. You may keep them until you have need of them.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said, bowing at the waist. Molly curtsied as well. Then he pointed to Lord Roberts. “What will be done with him?”

“He will get his proper punishment in our realm,” the fae said. “Your brother will protect the forest, will he not?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said.

“Then he may have a boon as well, when all is said and done and the laws of man recognize the laws of fae.” Other fae came to them then, binding Lord Roberts. “Pass that along, Sherlock Holmes.”

“I will,” Sherlock said. After a moment, the fae king led his subjects and their prisoner back down the path, and when they were gone from view Sherlock turned to Molly. “Back to the inn?”

She nodded. “Yes,” she said. Sherlock put an arm around her shoulders and cast the teleportation spell, having them land in Mycroft and Andrea’s room. Both of them were lying in bed, asleep. “We can tell them later.”

“Yes,” he said with a nod, his voice quiet. He removed his arm from around her shoulders and reached for her hand. Once they got to the door he opened it and they made their way back to their room. “It seems almost...anticlimactic.”

“You destroyed the book and freed everyone,” she said. “And we have boons. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Sherlock said. He stopped just outside their door and used his other hand to caress her face. “I’m just thankful you weren’t hurt.”

“I’m thankful you weren’t either,” she said, reaching forward to wrap her arms around his waist. He let go of her face and held her close. He would rather take an anticlimactic fight where the people who deserved punishment got their just deserts than anything else, but he wondered if all would be well. He would have to wait and see, he supposed.