Fugue State

a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity

summer event: june 10th - August 31st
 

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 Hate On Potentials, No Love For No Options, @Jchan/Micah
Apr 20 2018, 01:59 PM
88
posts
33 witch spellcaster/teacher
warlock
So baby, come light me up and maybe I'll let you on it. A little bit dangerous, but baby, that's how I want it. A little less conversation and a little more touch my body 'cause I’m so into you, into you, into you.
Tenebrae
bisexual
single pringle/unshipped
Chris

awards

A Total Trainwreck
Eien
she/her/hers | gmt +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Chris didn’t walk into the bar to fight anyone. He wanted a drink. Drink himself silly until he was slurring and drunk. He was becoming a dad, after all, in a few months. And yet he never fulfilled that part of the plan and neither the one when he crudely accosted anyone and proved himself as bad a father as he feared he was. Into the bars, after all, he always wandered all rosy-cheeked and wide-eyed, surely as innocent as a maiden from deep in the Alps here in the States just asking about In and Out.

Girl, you are in a for fun.

But we digressed.

On this night like some before, Chris walked into a bar, telling himself he was going to get drunk, and this time, this time he would for sure; his schedule was cleared, Eleanor was off doing whatever she really did, dismembering people while beating them with their own detached limbs, singing to valor and glory or whatever her ever expanding, cult-like and wolf dominated family did. She was busy, and he was free, and it took only several minutes with himself to fully recognize that weight of this feeling, met with the slap of a few sordid facts about his future parenthood Chris ignored fondly otherwise.

His mother was a prostitute missing in action, his father a pimp and a drug dealer. His brother murdered many years ago. If that wasn’t all worrying, he didn’t know what.

He walked into the bar then, sitting at a table after he had ordered, his whiskey actually enjoyed although after the first tumbler, one inch, no rocks, he realized he didn’t want more, and clearly didn’t marry to the concept of drinking on and on and on until his wallet was dry and his eyes swollen red and his words containing a lot of ‘fuck’.

And then, he just sat.

Toying with the tumbler in his hand, his brief musings were interrupted quickly, not even a minute or so of brooding gone by when he noticed something was happening from the corner of his eyes. His attention, perking up, was still slow to recognize that indeed tonight would be one of those nights-- the nights when you questioned, how did this happen, or perhaps doomed yourself to a much worse--

Why me?

A night that chilled him, his back straight in his seat as he looked over a trio of men accosting a woman who might have been wearing a short, skimpy, sequin dress, but it honestly didn’t give them any kind of right to do what they did next; fed up with their harassment, and her drink presumably paid for (even though Chris refused to make that central to his focus) she turned on her heel and was off, the click-clack of her four inch heels echoing about in a brief symphony before the men, as though moths drawn to a flame though it’d be her ass they stalked like a lion its future sustenance, started off after her, like a pride of beasts driven by hunger. Chris felt his blood run cold.

He didn’t hesitate a moment.

He started after them, though he’d always remember this moment by how nervous he felt. Uncertain, scared, confused-- the pure predatory power of the three was burned behind his eyes as he walked out and stalked them sans they same power they exhibited, vulgar, and raw. It burned itself there, and when he followed their footsteps to the alleyway, just a few moments late and hearing a lot of shuffling going about, he was still, in a way, innocent and wide eyed. Hopeful it wasn’t what he thought it was--

And the world wasn’t so dark after all.

They were kicking her feet apart and he slammed one into the wall on spot.

He heard the sound of bones cracking, and the other two men looked away his, their hold on the woman growing slack and her fight and flight instinct kicking in to see her take advantage of the situation and bolt right out while they weren’t looking. One of them made a second grab at her. A chance desire to see still her screwed onto his cock, a thought that turned Chris’s stomach--

And dredged up what he had long thought well buried layers beneath the surface. His cheeks turned all red but the rest of his skin was cold and pale.

It would have gone so well if they weren’t witches as well.

Kill-- the option was his, coursing wild and untapped in his veins even as he slammed the man already on the ground back against the wall, hard, knocking him out and just when he was getting up. One out, two remained, and Chris had barely turned his attention on them when he found his body had caved, the air punched out of his lungs and the men advanced. He threw them both back again but knew, of course, that his blood bending best lent itself to pure violence. Down on the ground, kneeling like a whore, he realized his bones may have been broken. His legs ached, useless.

Fuck.

Magic slipped out of his memory-- his mind was stuck on the image he had seen when coming here-- a woman, ass out, bared, her legs kicked apart and a man caressing himself through his pants, a view so vulgar, so shocking that he’d almost stopped dead in his tracks and rather than figure out how to help her focus: how fast it had happened. Mere seconds.

And she could have been---

Blood pounded in his ears.

When he got kicked in the chin, and another bone in his body cracked, he cursed an honest, “FUCK” but still it threw him back. He was reminded of Eleanor, for a moment. She’d definitely laugh at him, then. She’d laugh at him loud and clear--

For his inability to be a man, to be strong, even though he was.

Normally.

He kept seeing the woman and her rolled up, pretty, sequin dress he’d not have twice looked at on a normal day. He kept rewinding the plain and horrible intent of the three men--

When he called them almost rapists in his head, he revisited the statement and thought:

They already could have raped.

Chris’s entire world went dark for a moment.

Down on the ground, he scrambled to get up, trying to snap out of it--

He saw one of the two remaining assailants had swung at him, and what he was holding at that moment in his hand must have been a blade three inches in length.
@J-Chan

--------------------
Apr 20 2018, 09:51 PM
104
posts
1902 Archangel History Professor @ SF University
Archangel
Days go on forever But I have not left your side We can chase the dark together If you go then so will I
Heaven
Bisexual
Single pringle looking ter mingle
Zeke, Mr. K

awards

lusty hooker
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
It was supposed to be another day of school work – grading papers, meeting for lunch with a co-worker, and teaching his classes – but the end of the school day saw him at some random bus bench on the sidewalk, a paper in his hands that was opened to the sports section. Every so often he liked to see how the schools were doing against each other in the field, whether that field be sports or some subject of academia. The main part of the sports section talked of the previous this sport or that, and about half way into an article pertaining to basketball, he folded the newspaper closed. Reached for his coffee, drank it, and watched as the streetlamps flickered on above his head. Cars passed, and the bus that usually had this location as a stop, stopped in front of him.

The driver stared at him expectantly – long enough for the Archangel to discern his species, a past suicide attempt, and a plethora of angst in the man – before Micah waved pleasantly, a signal for the driver to buzz the fuck off. But you’d never catch Micah saying that in so many words. Oh no. The doors fell closed, and the bus departed, leaving him sitting alone in the dusk of a setting sun on the horizon. He stared at the sun, then, contemplating the evening ahead of him, which would see him behind a desk for at least half an hour grading papers that his classes had done on various points in history. Outlines had to be done, first drafts, and then final drafts – all within the span of two weeks. That length of time was generous compared to what some other teachers were like. But he wasn’t just any other teacher, now was he?

The night was relatively cool, even before the sun had commenced to setting – although he knew that spring would near its end soon. Summer would arrive, but the work would never end. He was teaching a couple courses this upcoming semester, along with watching over the surplus of pure souls he’d been tasked with looking after. It wasn’t any fault of theirs’. They hadn’t asked for this life to be thrust upon them, nor had they prayed to God and asked him to send Micah to watch over them. It was just his job, his duty, but moreover, it was his calling, one that he was proud to answer whenever the chance presented itself.

In an hour it would be dark, and more than likely, Micah would still be on the street, a man ever seeking his purpose without expecting to find it. It just was. It was a part of him as much as the lungs in his body or the heart that beat in his chest.

The sun was down now, fully, and Micah had stood up with the paper under his arm and the empty cup of coffee in his hand. He strode over to a trash can, dumped both objects inside, and proceeded to walk on the near vacant sidewalk. Passing patrons who barely noticed he was there, he would walk as though he had somewhere to be, the path he’d chosen sending him in the direction of home. He could have teleported, easy enough, only –

Micah stopped, then, feeling that something was wrong. A foreboding feeling washed over him, and it circled around one person in particular, one whose image flashed before his eyes. Now, he couldn’t see what was transpiring, but he felt it and he knew it enough to recognize that one of his charges was in danger. Chris, he thought to himself, and in the following moment, he teleported on the spot. It wasn’t as though people would have noticed him anyway, each of them too wrapped up in their own little worlds to care about much else.

He’d been to this part of the city – where he was getting the feeling from – although not often, and not recently. One of his charges lived in this area, he knew, and of course his mind jumped to that one in particular. He followed the feeling, moving from the area in front of the bar to an alley around the back.

The scene that met his eyes was one that he had seen time and time again – a charge in trouble, with a knife, a gun or some weapon at their throat, along with another innocent, met with a threat they couldn’t stave off. His concern was for his charge, first, but if he could teleport both woman and charge out of there – he targeted the three men, lowering their body temperatures to a safe degree, yet cold enough that they’d have to leave the two innocents alone. And then, as the knife clattered to the ground out of the assailant’s hand, he made his move.

With inhuman speed, he lunged to gather up the two innocents and teleport them on the spot, landing nearly dead center in his living room. The woman was unconscious, and Chris looked as though he might pass out at any point. Employing his speed one more time, he laid the woman on the couch and then tended to Chris who was lain on the ground. He started to heal him, figuring that the woman was probably better off having passed out.

“Chris?” He said to the pure soul, “Can you hear me? It’s Micah. You’re safe. I brought you somewhere safe.”
Apr 21 2018, 06:30 AM
88
posts
33 witch spellcaster/teacher
warlock
So baby, come light me up and maybe I'll let you on it. A little bit dangerous, but baby, that's how I want it. A little less conversation and a little more touch my body 'cause I’m so into you, into you, into you.
Tenebrae
bisexual
single pringle/unshipped
Chris

awards

A Total Trainwreck
Eien
she/her/hers | gmt +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
His blood pounded in his ears.

His ability was in his fingertips, his mind full of magic-- unused, aching, seconds away from snapping him from the miserable, black reprieve of horrifying maybes--

But he didn’t have seconds. His eyes widened. And the blade flashed.

It was over in a moment, and the flutter of magic, light and calm seized him like a blanket he’d be wrong to battle, powerful, seeping well over him as an arm of the universe as it was until he found himself gasping in belated shock, staring at some random, bland point ahead whilst the rapidly coursing adrenaline kept him blissfully blind to the injuries in his body. He didn’t remember anything happening.

It had just happened so quickly. He recalled that perfectly.

He exhaled suddenly.

His body slumped, and down on the floor he made a grimace, staring up at Micah who was addressing him, speaking to him like he wasn’t all here and Chris supposed that the confused, heavy look in his face at least wanted to translate that. His arms slowly moved, wanting to hoist him up--

Fuck.

He cringed.

Made a face, and grunted, “M’fine”, even though it didn’t really sound like that. He hissed in breath. Trying to get up, he remembered, recalled in a detail what had happened, and it came in sudden, sickening ways, revolting his stomach, breeding pain as his injuries, though almost healed at this point, still reared with the last of their power. He looked down at his legs, remembering they’d been broken, some bone-crushing power that he hoped hadn’t sent bone marrow into his blood, and he frowned, gazed fixed down for a brief moment as he attempted to compute the situation. The pain soon faded altogether. He kept his expression however, until moments later he looked up at Micah.

“Thanks,” he said, sitting up fully. His grimace of concern and weight didn’t abate. Fixing Micah with a look, he wanted to ask that innocent, sweet what happened?, but he certainly knew. He looked over at the woman Micah had grabbed too, and could have sworn he had seen her running off. Immediately, he fixated on her.

“She okay?” he asked. He stood up, then. Without help, even eager to reject it, up on his feet, slow to rise as his body may have been healed, but it remembered-- the echoes of the pain were still there, not too abundant, in fact he compared them to a rather ambitious centipede with daggers instead of legs crawling up along his vertebrae-- literal stepping stones, although here the analogy earned his shudder, his throat dry, his stomach somersaulting, his good mood far, far in the past. He looked back at her. Back at Micah in a flicker of a gaze that didn’t even properly look him over-- back at her once more, taunted by her sequin dress, remembering it rolled up, remembering how the men had pressed against her, keeping her flat, helpless and struggling against the wall, an arm holding her face against it, her scream sof help muffled.

Seconds. He could have been late a few seconds. And--

Chris turned on the spot.

“Fuck.”

It didn’t sound angry at all.

Soft, it echoed as something brittle, the gasp of a wounded animal and he paced, losing himself in Micah’s kitchen, at least maybe this was the man’s home, maybe not. Chris, at this point, didn’t know. A hand through his hair and he combed it in some weak, pathetic attempt to deal when he had the least amount of right to be acting hurt here.

His eyes haunted, he believed that.

--------------------
Apr 23 2018, 09:56 PM
104
posts
1902 Archangel History Professor @ SF University
Archangel
Days go on forever But I have not left your side We can chase the dark together If you go then so will I
Heaven
Bisexual
Single pringle looking ter mingle
Zeke, Mr. K

awards

lusty hooker
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
“No you’re not,” Micah told him, “You have sustained some pretty heavy injuries. It would be wise not to try to move too much.” And that was just from observing the witch. But Micah made no move to hold the man down, although he probably should have. Moving at the present moment was not the brightest of ideas, particularly when the heavenly magic was doing its work. His eyes glowed a blue color while the magic went to work on the witch. When Chris’s wounds were healed, and the witch was looking up at him, the blue glow in his eyes fell away, replaced with the usual blue that were in his irises.

His eyes shifted to the woman laying on her back on the couch, her head tilted away from them limply. He knew she wasn’t dead – although, like Chris, she was hurt. To what extent he wouldn’t know until he started healing her, which he would do the moment Chris was on his feet. And now that he was, Micah would say, “I’m sure she’s okay. She’ll need healing, of course, which I was going to tend to her when I knew you were okay.” He admitted. It was an easy thing to admit, and to understand, given that Chris was a pure soul that Micah had been duty-bound to look after.

Then, before he could even offer to lend his aid, Chris would stand on his own. Micah kept his eyes glued on his charge, observing the man for any sway – or any sign that he might fall back to the ground. His charge would wander on his own, and Micah would choose that moment to head to the woman’s side. Reaching her, he kneeled down beside her, and began healing her. It was easier just to give her healing than try to guess what kind of injuries she had. But no matter what healing he gave her, he knew that the mental trauma she sustained would take some considerable amount of hours – days, months, years, he couldn’t be sure – to heal, if it could be healed at all.

When he’d done what he could for her, Micah stood, turned, and his feet brought him to where Chris was standing. He stood just off his shoulder, watching the witch before he said, “Do you remember what happened? And did you get a good look at who did this to the both of you?” Questions the cops would ask, provided they happened on the scene before Micah did. They didn’t, of course. Rarely was there ever a cop around when someone really needed them. They conveniently always showed up after the damage had been done.

It was then that Micah retrieved a glass with water in it, and a couple cubes of ice. He passed it to Chris, seemingly not giving him the option of declining it. “I don’t know why people do the things they do, but they will get theirs’, eventually. God judges all, in the end,” he’d motion at the stools behind the bar in the kitchen, an offer for the man to sit if he so chose it, “She will be okay, Chris. I’ll see to it personally that she gets back to her family, safe and sound. I can call the police, but they will probably want your statement since you are an eye witness.”

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes on the woman during that time he looked away before they fell on Chris again, “I am sorry I didn’t come to your aid sooner. I could have stopped them from hurting the both of you.” You might say there was something akin to guilt in his voice. It was almost like he blamed himself for this happening to the two innocent people.
Apr 24 2018, 01:13 AM
88
posts
33 witch spellcaster/teacher
warlock
So baby, come light me up and maybe I'll let you on it. A little bit dangerous, but baby, that's how I want it. A little less conversation and a little more touch my body 'cause I’m so into you, into you, into you.
Tenebrae
bisexual
single pringle/unshipped
Chris

awards

A Total Trainwreck
Eien
she/her/hers | gmt +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Chris didn’t want to be the one to remark that the kind of healing the woman needed could only be procured in time and therapy. Chris recalled-- she’d not been harmed. A few bruises on her from the selfish manhandling, but outside of those her physical body would appear undamaged.

But her mind, Chris was thinking, her mind was sure to be somewhere his had once been, on fear, on doubt, on suddenly finding everything long, and dark, and stretching on for lengths and through the night like an eerie invite for someone wrong to stop by. He shuddered.

And in the kitchen he either seemed to wait to be joined by Micah, or to simply walk it all off, this mysterious, nameless it yet that Chris refused to put into words but he knew exactly what it was. It continued to tumble the pit of his stomach, making him regret he’d eaten today at all. When Micah appeared, handing him a glass of water and ice, Chris just numbly took it but then set it down.

He wasn’t thirsty. He wasn’t sure he was anything. His mind, as he reached for it, yawned back at him as would a void filled to the brims with nothing but options, one worse than the other but all addressed as the echoes of the unknown, accented by all the question marks that made it the worst kind of worse for the imagination of the human mind. People did fear the unknown the most… Chris sort of paced and when Micah looked at him--

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, gently, frowning--

“She was attacked, I tried helping, I froze up. It’s all.” But his tone, coarse from his worries, didn’t make it seem like it. Chris joined his hands together, steepling them though only to tap finger over a finger like it helped. His back hit the counter behind himself, and he leaned there with the weight of the situation evident on his face. When Micah continued to comfort him, mentioning the police, Chris just grimaced.

“No.”

He looked away. “I won’t be involved in that.” Head ducked, a sigh out, he lowered his hands, and curled them tight around the edge of the counter.

His knuckles paled.

He was silent as Micah apologized. It prickled Chris’s skin. He looked up with a weight on his face. And his eyes screwed shut.

“Stop,” he gently asked. But there was a bite to his tone. “I wasn’t hurt. Stop victimizing me.” He pulled off from the counter with a sigh, but a slow, casual-like motion that showed he had no intentions of just storming off, and wouldn’t, couldn’t, about as attracted to the thought as he was to taking a gun and seeing what happened to his arm with a bullet through its bone. He was wringing his arms, silently, slowly pacing, a to and fro in the center of Micah’s kitchen as Chris’s own eyes remained downcast, pinned to the floor though floors were proven to have no answers.

“You keep fretting,” he gusted. His tone was almost tame. “I’m fine. You’ve healed me already. My physical injuries are in the past, I’m not fussed.” But? He looked in the direction of the woman-- and had to look away with a loud, unhappy sigh, staring up as he darkly mused, sounding tired, “Poor girl, she’s gonna take a while to shake that off. If she does.” He pursed his lips a bit, swallowed. “It was attempted rape but it's bad all the while. I hope she seeks help.” He focused a troubled look at her, his features softening to pure worry as her sleeping, kind form and that accursed sequin dress filtered all kinds of memories in his head.

Of his own--

Chris just made a face.

Looked away again, onwards to perpetually, casually pace. A stroll through some rotten garden with all its green life turned to ash but strolling, anyway. Even if he exuded a nervous energy, walking on the legs that, ten minutes ago, had been broken.

His arm, maybe, as well.

--------------------
May 13 2018, 06:37 PM
104
posts
1902 Archangel History Professor @ SF University
Archangel
Days go on forever But I have not left your side We can chase the dark together If you go then so will I
Heaven
Bisexual
Single pringle looking ter mingle
Zeke, Mr. K

awards

lusty hooker
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
Micah didn’t know what pushed someone into doing something like this – attacking a helpless individual, numbers of them even, against a person who wanted nothing more than to get on with their own lives. What pushed someone into harming another? It wasn’t just humans that were guilty of it. All were, and there seemed to not be an answer to be had. ‘They came from a bad home’ seemed a common thing to say – but all of it seemed like an excuse to not address what problems the person was experiencing. Or maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe people were generally good, and bad apples came about only once in a blue moon. And maybe the world end tomorrow. Odds were about the same.

He nodded, understanding Chris’s apprehension about approaching the subject. It was to say that the man didn’t, and Micah respected that. He’d have dropped the subject there – but he did want to leave the option there on the table for Chris to tell his side of the story to the proper authorities. It seemed like the Good Samaritan thing to do. But then again – Chris wanting to help could be labeled that as well, and he’d been nearly beaten to death. If Micah hadn’t been there to help –

He halted his thoughts there. There was no reason to delve into the ‘what if’s’ and ‘maybes’. It’d gone the way it did for a reason. Micah was meant to be there. He was meant to save the woman, and his charge. And nothing you could have told him to say otherwise would change his mind. He was a person who firmly believed that everything happened for a reason. God intended it to be that way – but on the other side of the coin, you might have said that God intended for the woman to having almost been raped. Still. Still.

Chris had every right to stay out of the situation. It was his right, just as it was his right to help. Micah was silent, right until Chris had said that he wouldn’t be involved in that – and so Micah said, gently, “That is your choice.” He wouldn’t fault Chris because he wanted to stay out of it. In fact, he wouldn’t fault him at all unless there was a damn good reason to.

And then Chris requested for Micah to stop victimizing him. The Archangel merely blinked, unsure of how to react. So he listened, content to shut up right until Chris started speaking of the girl on the couch. His eyes swiveled to her, watching her for a moment before saying, “I am sure she will.” Or she wouldn’t, and she would succumb to the event, and not survive. But that was a risk that was taken by everyone in these kinds of situations. Some of them got lucky, and fought against the odds that were against them. They came out on top, even. And for the rest – well – Micah was content to know that they had to find some peace, whether it was in this life, or in the beyond. Grim though the thought was, it was what he believed.

“And what of you?” Micah asked the young man’s retreating form, “Are you going to handle this okay? You know I am here to talk. It’s something I do best, in fact.” It was a mild attempt at humor, something to lighten the mood, however marginally. He hoped that Chris knew that though - even in the short time that they had known each other, he hoped that the witch had learned that Micah was here to help. He couldn’t make Chris forget, though. And he couldn’t even alter the witch’s memory so he didn’t have to recall it at all, didn’t have to think of it – but Micah could help the other handle it. It was a traumatizing experience for the witch, as well, a fact that was not lost on him.
May 21 2018, 12:26 PM
88
posts
33 witch spellcaster/teacher
warlock
So baby, come light me up and maybe I'll let you on it. A little bit dangerous, but baby, that's how I want it. A little less conversation and a little more touch my body 'cause I’m so into you, into you, into you.
Tenebrae
bisexual
single pringle/unshipped
Chris

awards

A Total Trainwreck
Eien
she/her/hers | gmt +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
I am sure she will, the archangel promised, but Chris shot him and then the woman a withering look, and had to look away. The words felt empty. Micah didn’t even know. The words felt empty and nothing seemed to relax the feeling of being unsettled that continued to rock his nerves. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he could have denied" his magic had remained with him even in that situation. Had he been braver, had he remained purely brave in a situation as charged as that, he’d have won, at the cost of the same injuries sustained but won-- although that, Chris asked, considering the magics of one of the others, would it have come at the larger cost of taking a life? Would he have necessarily hurt one of the men, would he have managed to slam them into the walls of the alleyway, perfectly knocking them out on the spot without further intervention? Or would he have reached deep into his reservoirs of magic and moral behavior, and gone well against his beliefs just to spare one woman night terrors?

Would he?

Would he have not?

Chris paced for a while longer, oblivious to Micah’s humor. He ignored it, rather. The words made him pause, however. He slowed down for a moment, his leg out though halted mid air, returning reflexively to the other-- before he stepped out after all a moment later.

And he paced, once more. Though not for long.

Stopping moments later, he barked out a hasty, panicked, “You know”, before spinning to face Micah and freezing stupidly on spot, his hands going through his hair and running through until his fingers met at the back of it and there connected. He twined them. And made a face, dragging his lower lip in the cinch of his teeth, staring off into the blank nothing like that. He blinked, and relaxed. At least his arms dropped by his sides and he made a gentle, somewhat tortured face. Looked at Micah.

“I got threatened with rape.”

He moved off from the spot then.

Paced, seemingly so, to the fridge, to the furniture, to whatever existed in Micah’s kitchen that Chris would borrow as a distraction. He paced there, his tone wry, and hoarse. He scratched his elbow even though it didn’t itch, and then wrapped his arms around his chest. Stopped there.

“Not here,” he said. “In Duluth, a year ago. Roughly. It’s why I left Duluth, actually.” He turned around and faced Micah. But he didn’t have the strength to look him in the face. His gaze was down, brows pulled together. Jaw tight.

“I… got tangled up with weird business, I interfered with the business of this one guy who was doing some bad stuff, I don’t even know what it was, he intercepted me before I could get too close. I just.” He shut his eyes. “He had… an incestuous something with his brother and I… I interfered with his plans, I guess, with whatever snooping and too much asking that I did. He had a nasty ability. He could siphon people’s powers and use them against them. He took my blood manipulation.”

Eyes bitterly open, Chris was looking somewhere. A frown on his face.

“So he threatened. Pushed me down on the ground and got as far as he had to to get his point across. Said if I didn’t stop meddling and wasn’t out his city, he’d give me something to scream about.” At that, he looked at Micah. A difficult, difficult expression worn. “So I fled.” He’d fled. “Like a coward.” Like a coward. A hint of a heavy sigh there. Arms relaxing by his sides, resting on his hips, he said-- “And when I saw what was happening to that woman, I… I froze. I just. I mean.” Mildly, Chris shook his head.

“It’s stupid,” he said, turning away again. “I shouldn’t have. I should have been brave. I wasn’t a victim. I just had a gross guy breathe into my ear essentially and sit on me. She…” He motioned out with his hand. “She had it far worse,” he stressed, each and individual word. It closed his eyes, once more. He stood, turned a bit, his profile visible. Tortured and soft.

“I just…"

I just.

"I shouldn’t have frozen like I had. And I did. I feel like a dumbass.” Chris pressed his hand to his face, covering his mouth, self-hating and disappointed as he mulled over what had happened.

--------------------
May 25 2018, 01:32 PM
104
posts
1902 Archangel History Professor @ SF University
Archangel
Days go on forever But I have not left your side We can chase the dark together If you go then so will I
Heaven
Bisexual
Single pringle looking ter mingle
Zeke, Mr. K

awards

lusty hooker
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
No, Micah didn’t know – not from a personal viewpoint, anyway. Nothing like this had ever happened to him. He’d lived a moderately simple and safe existence until the day that death came to many at his home. He tried to relate, and to understand – but how could you truly understand something that you never experienced yourself? Students had come to him before, talked of issues that plagued their lives. But none of them had ever expressed the gravity of the darkness that plagued their existences. Not even his charges would discuss such personal things. He could sense some of them, like past suicide attempts and he could feel what the person was feeling at the time, but there was only so much that could be sensed without knowing the individual.

He tried to lighten the mood to the best of his ability, and to get this whole business to stay in the past where it belonged. But he was unsuccessful. Chris was pacing – and probably processing, which was a good thing for him to do – and Micah watched him, ever vigilant as he looked after the woman on the couch, and Chris, his charge. The fact that Chris was his charge made all the difference. He should have known the man inside and out by now, yet in spite of everything he could learn about someone, they still tended to surprise him from time to time.

Chris came out with it a few moments later, and low and behold, Micah was surprised to learn that information that the other man parted with. And like a therapist listening to the woes of his patient, Micah listened intently to what the young witch had to say. He was silent while the witch talked, merely out of respect, and not wanting to be rude. He listened to the story that Chris had to tell, speaking of Duluth, and the business that the man had gotten into whilst there.

And then, once Chris had finished his story, Micah spoke, “I could sit here and tell you that I know exactly what you’re going through, but that would be a lie, and I have always taken pride in trying to tell the truth as much as I can,” he said, “But I can’t possibly know what you went through then, Chris. Never before have I experienced such a thing myself. I guess that makes me fortunate, in a way. I was killed, however, and so I know fear in that regard. Not the same fear, but a type nonetheless,” and then he glanced at the woman for a moment, “And I can’t say that she will ever get over what happened to her. I can only guess. I can’t predict the future. I wish I could – I feel that I’d save more people that way,” he said, any hint of humor gone from his tone, “Bad things happen, seemingly for no reason. Call it fate, call it destiny, or call it a fluke of nature. You either learn from it or accept it – or you lose your mind and you just might lose yourself in the process.”

“You shouldn’t feel like - ” he paused, not wanting to use the word exactly as Chris had said it, but – “You shouldn’t feel like a dumbass, Chris. It could have happened to anyone. Fate doesn’t discriminate between man or woman, this race or that race, this species or that species.” He stood from his spot at the counter, crossing over to the witch and placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. And then he said, something akin to worry on his face when Chris hid his face in his hand, “I’m not sure what God has in store for you – but I know I will do my best to watch over you, and protect you,” and then, “That is my job – to protect the pure souls in my care.”

His hand returned to his side, falling away from the witch’s shoulder, “I can see she gets to the right people – only if you feel as though you can handle being alone for a couple minutes.”
May 29 2018, 01:43 PM
88
posts
33 witch spellcaster/teacher
warlock
So baby, come light me up and maybe I'll let you on it. A little bit dangerous, but baby, that's how I want it. A little less conversation and a little more touch my body 'cause I’m so into you, into you, into you.
Tenebrae
bisexual
single pringle/unshipped
Chris

awards

A Total Trainwreck
Eien
she/her/hers | gmt +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Chris almost felt every regret he had said anything. Standing where he’d stopped his pacing, he looked at Micah, both pitying himself, and then approving he had spoken. Every attained knowledge about this field thus far told him that bottling things up was never a good idea, regardless of how right it felt. Comforting, until it decided to go disproportionate to your mental capacity to handle it. If it came out of you, bursting, then it wasn’t surprising. Chris latched onto that. It didn’t help the self hate.

If nothing else, Chris did listen, and Micah’s words weren’t not wise-- they helped, in their own, well-intending way, helped at least in the way of being phrased well, meaning well as Chris would stress, and being definitely on the side of helpful even if they didn’t yet fully quell that horrifying voice in Chris’s head screaming horror. What it might have been shouting exactly was hard to guess. From everything to nothing, from hate to self-blame, from self-hate to blame and combining, intertwining the worst of feelings to leave him in such an oddly desolate, weakly so state he can’t have pronounced himself incapacitated, and yet can’t have walked into a room with children and smiled at any one of them. He just stood on the spot, looking at Micah, his eyes red-rimmed and soft, the words of Micah’s perdition echoing for whiles after, and then Chris just had to look down, either in defeat, or thought.

Fate, destiny, fluke. He knew bad things happened to good people-- he didn’t remember ever not knowing, since the date of his fortuitous adoption, until the discovery his father peddled drugs, flesh, and his mother had been his whore. A literal one who’d sold her body to enough men his father still refused to see Chris as his own flesh. Even the man DNA tests that confirmed the man’s parentage didn’t keep his protests too quiet. When it was inconvenient, Valentino looked the other way. When it was convenient, he acknowledged their blood tie and asked whatever he’d wanted for in the first place. He went from protective and entitled, to dismissive and cold. Nothing changed he was a cold-hearted murderer with perhaps only one point of guilt to ever weigh on his conscience, that he’d maybe killed the mother of his two children. It made it better, possibly, to pretend they weren’t his. One dead and perished, the other here.

Chris sighed, at the end.

And looked up, jaw tense, the proximity oddly distracting for no particular reason and thus he shrugged it whereas he let Micah’s hand sit on him, until it would leave on its own accord and Chris just numbly nodded and told his angel-- “I. Yeah.” He looked away from Micah for a second, frowning as he stared elsewhere. “It’s just.” Hard? Hard. But he failed to say that. Instead, thoughtful for a second, he shook his head, looking back at Micah-- “I… Right. I’ll be fine. I just. I just need to shake this off. Can you somehow…” Looking over Micah’s shoulder for a second, he hypnotized the innocent, sleeping woman, and then told Micah--

“Do you… have something to make her forget? God, what am I doing, I do.” He started from the spot but stopped immediately. He did. But this also wasn’t his home. Chris slumped back as so, feeling like wanting to rest but instead of that he just sighed, looking for a moment. Tired. He was tired. And Micah’s words had been a balm, but still-- still.

Soft, and frowning, Chris looked up at Micah--- he flickered his gaze at the woman, stirring, and whispered to the angel, softly--

“Could you take her home? I… I don’t want her to see me.” Standing closer, he spoke privately-- “Is there… is there something you angels can do? You know.” Almost nose to nose, his voice a proper whisper and their eyes meeting here and there after every half a word, he talked, “Some... whatever it is to get her to forget. I could… if I had the ingredients here I’d make her a sleeping draught. I’d calm her nerves. Uhn. I could take her to my place.” At that, he glanced down, beginning to fiddle with Micah’s clothes for no real reason, fiddle fiddle, fiddle fiddle, his hands smoothing down the man’s front and pausing now and then to fiddle fiddle, fiddle fiddle, fingers meeting material and fiddling fiddling, fiddling fiddling with the fabric. Plucking lint, debris and taming creases.

Fiddle fiddle, fiddle fiddle.

--------------------
Jun 6 2018, 10:54 PM
104
posts
1902 Archangel History Professor @ SF University
Archangel
Days go on forever But I have not left your side We can chase the dark together If you go then so will I
Heaven
Bisexual
Single pringle looking ter mingle
Zeke, Mr. K

awards

lusty hooker
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
Micah was helpless at that moment, a man that always desired to help those in need to the best of his ability – but he was a man, also, that didn’t have every answer for everything. Just as fallible as the next man, Micah had made many mistakes in his life, and he knew he would make more of them in the future. A perfect life was impossible, and improbable – wishful thinking of someone who wanted the best for their son, daughter, husband or wife, sister or brother, aunt or uncle. The list went on and on. Someone always wanted the best for whoever else was in their life. And while that was admirable, fate didn’t work in a cookie cutter fashion. Things happened for a reason, yes, bits and pieces falling into place like the most gruesome puzzle that there ever was to put together.

It was hard to get someone to understand the concept of fate – and harder still, convincing someone that there was a God, and that God had a plan for everyone. How could they stand there and deny God when they knew that the man that stood before them was an Archangel? But he wasn’t going to sit there and judge. Wasn’t his place, nor was it his right. Everyone had free will, yadda yadda, could make their own choices, yadda yadda. That was the thing about free will. Everyone was given the ability to choose, everything from good and evil, right down to the food they wanted to eat and the people they wanted to marry. Not everyone saw it that way – but that was their problem. A bigot would stand there and judge, condemn those other than himself, and then go home and beat his wife just because he said he could. It was interesting the way the world worked. It shouldn’t have worked that way – although there wasn’t much a single Archangel could do to change the way of the world. One soul at a time, he told himself. Try to make good on a person’s life so that they entered Heaven and didn’t drop into Hell.

Chris would ask him if Micah had something to make the woman forget. “No,” he said, “Unfortunately I do not have anything that could help her.” And then Chris would say that he himself had something, which made Micah tilt his head thoughtfully as he thought of what it was that Chris might have that could help. Magic, maybe? A spell or potion, maybe, he was sure of it. Chris would stand close to the angel, so close that the position they were in felt intimate. He kept his mind from thinking those thoughts, eyes glancing at the woman before blue met green again. “I could take you both there, you can tend to her, and then I can take her to her home. I’m not entirely sure where she lives, but I am sure I can find out without much issue.” How that would be, he wondered, without rummaging through her clothes to find an address of the place she lived. One way or the other, he’d figure that out.

Chris would smooth over the fabric of the clothes that Micah was wearing, an action that the other seemed to be doing with very little thought. It felt wrong, standing this close to a charge again, his mind wandering back to the first time they had met, and the kiss they shared… Micah cleared his throat, glancing down a moment before looking back at Chris. “As much as I want to kiss you and comfort you, we really should tend to her first, and see that she gets home safely,” his smile was soft, and he took one of Chris’s hands, then, holding it and he’d tug a little, leading the witch over to the woman. He’d have to teleport them both, and that would require being near both of them, heh. “Say when you’re ready, and we’ll go.” He let go of Chris’s hand, then, and scooped the woman in his arms, and waited for Chris to grab on.
Jun 7 2018, 03:28 AM
88
posts
33 witch spellcaster/teacher
warlock
So baby, come light me up and maybe I'll let you on it. A little bit dangerous, but baby, that's how I want it. A little less conversation and a little more touch my body 'cause I’m so into you, into you, into you.
Tenebrae
bisexual
single pringle/unshipped
Chris

awards

A Total Trainwreck
Eien
she/her/hers | gmt +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Micah had nothing that could help her. Chris both made a note of it and wasn’t sure he’d remember. What were the Archangel powers, anyway? The title sounded so grand. Surely they could move the mountains if they put their mind into it. But he could have been wrong. He just shook his head, wishing the woman would sleep, for a bit longer, again. He sifted through his mind like a dresser of ideas; could he use his blood manipulation to make her sleep again? Something told him-- yes. And yet without a sufficient medical understanding, Chris decided against. He nodded, wanting to bring up he could also take them, his portals, after all, were ever useful, but instead he just repeated the nod and was silent, for a moment. Then, he frowned.

“Maybe it’s best if she wakes up only to me, actually,” he wryly mused, a look of concern cast over at her. It pulled his brows together, a jarring, haunting view as though he were stupidly putting himself in the shoes of a woman he was not. He looked back at Micah--

Fiddling. Fiddle fiddle fiddling with his clothes, an action that Chris wasn’t too aware of and so when Micah brought up a kiss, Chris’s eyes widened.

“Uh,” he began, dumbly, blinking at the man repeatedly. Uh.

What?

Wide-eyed, and staring, he near wrenched from him but felt too stunned to, too bewildered by the words, nervous and shocked with an awkward flush on his cheeks as he was led over to her. His hand in Micah’s and then they were at her, and Chris was watching Micah bend and collect her into his arms like a trophy he’d take of with, never to be heard of again. He blinked.

“Right,” he said, fake-composing himself.

“Let’s go,” he added, grabbing Micah’s shoulder--

The surroundings shifted and between one blink and another they were in his home. Chris immediately looked around himself-- and ordered, though his voice was soft, “Lay her down, I’ll be right back.”

It seemed redundant to say; in his living room which acted also as his office space, combining the two in a home that wasn’t big enough to yield him a separate room for magical business, all he did actually was take big large steps over to the other end of the room, two its walls lined with bookshelves and magic-related literature, or at least one was, one-- the other, loaded full with vials and potions of different colors, sizes, shapes and labels, had all its offers behind a faintly shimmering barrier perpetually kept on. And yet Chris just put his hand through it, unaffected by his own protective magic, coming out with a small narrow vial, something that looked like it typically stored blood, only the shimmering, sky-blue liquid within was not one at all. He grabbed it, squeezed it (victoriously), looking confident once again--

Micah’s weird kiss mention occurred to him again then and Chris randomly flushed, his ears burning hot.

Right. Focus.

He took a deep breath to make it go.

He spun and-- quickly grabbed another vial, one labeled “sleep” and the other “dreamless N.”, and he was back with Micah, sitting down next to the woman just as she began to stir. Wisely, he put his vials aside, quickly handing them over to Micah with a, “Hold them”, whispered, and then his hands were on the man’s woman’s shoulders, gentle--

Like he'd give them a shake.

“Hey,” he greeted, with a beaming, soft smile. “Welcome… back,” he awkwardly attempted, and at once scooted back. Hands off as well.

She startled, as he’d predicted. Sat up abruptly, wide eyed--

Chris held his hands up, showing he wasn’t holding nothing, and patiently he reassured, “Hey, you’re safe, we’re not enemies, I’m the guy who interfered with the situation, you imagined nothing, it really did almost happen, but you weren’t harmed, we’re at my place, I’m a witch, I’m giving you potions to help you sleep, a sleep draught and a potion for dreamless nights, but only if you're interested. Are you?”

He wasn't surprised when she didn't react to that.

“What. Did they--” she began instead, nervous, staring right through him like she was still seeing the men over his shoulder.

“No,” he answered, and he found his voice was a bit firmer at that. No.

They didn't.


Chris looked up at Micah, taking the vials hands from his hands, silently urging him to take over and say something as well.

--------------------
Jun 10 2018, 09:03 PM
104
posts
1902 Archangel History Professor @ SF University
Archangel
Days go on forever But I have not left your side We can chase the dark together If you go then so will I
Heaven
Bisexual
Single pringle looking ter mingle
Zeke, Mr. K

awards

lusty hooker
J-Chan
She/Her/It | MST | 3/3/3 | J-Chan#2637
Micah hated the fact that he didn’t have anything to help out the woman. There was nothing like the feeling of helplessness, and likewise, having all this power and not having anything that would help. He’d always thought that angels could use a mind-bending power, one to erase the torment set upon vessels demons possessed, or even the things that an angel did while in a vessel – but nothing like that existed. The angel had been what he was for a little over nine-teen hundred years now, and you would think he would know something like that. But there was nothing to it now except to get the woman to Chris’s apartment where the witch could help her – and then Micah would see to it that she got home alright. That was something he could do.

“Yes,” he agreed, “That would be a better idea.”

And then Micah said something completely off kilter, jarring the situation and trying to lighten the situation as best he could. At least he tried. You could see that he did care when other angels might have wrought this off as just another “casualty”, you might say, of the human world. They wouldn’t have shown the care that Micah did. He was a man that tried to cling to what semblance of humanity that he had left, even though he’d never been human to begin with.

He’d scoop the woman up in his arms, careful and cradling her as though she weighed nothing – almost as if he was afraid he’d hurt her if he moved too suddenly or too hard to one side. Chris would grab a hold of his shoulder, and then, just like that, they teleported out of Micah’s house and popped up in Chris’s home, an action that took no time at all. As he was instructed, Micah laid the woman down on the couch, putting a pillow under her head thereafter, and then he stepped away, watching as she slept for a moment like a vigilant protector while he waited for Chris to return.

He didn’t need to wait long, however. Chris returned, and instructed Micah again, telling him to hold the vials that he was carrying. He did, and then the man contemplated if he should step from the room while Chris jostled the woman awake, gingerly but effectively stirring the woman. The angel did step back, giving the woman space in case she reacted wildly, waving her arms about, kicking and screaming. But she would not, which eased Micah’s mind a little. She did sit up abruptly, suddenly, and he kept his hands in plain view of the woman, holding them in front of him a bit for a mere moment before they fell to his sides again. Silence reigned over the Archangel, and he stood there like a stone, unmoving until Chris took them from the angel, and prompted the Archangel to speak.

Micah offered her a smile before speaking, “Hi,” he said, feeling a little out of his element all of a sudden, “How are you feeling? Can we get you anything? Or do you need us to call anyone?” What did you say in these kinds of situations? Someone was nearly raped; how could you make the aftermath okay for that person?

The woman would eye the angel for a few seconds, as if she wasn’t sure what to make of two men hovering over her. “I’m…” she looked away, avoiding Micah and Chris’s gazes, “I’ll be alright,” and then she finally looked at Chris, asking him, “I want to get back to my husband. He’ll be worried about me. God, how long have I been out?” She asked, looking as though she were on the verge of tears. “I can’t say for sure. I would say maybe an hour, at least.” Micah knew he hadn’t exactly been as punctual as he would have liked – and he glanced at Chris, as if to confirm that amount of time. He didn’t wait long for an answer because the woman was asking another question, “I don’t have my phone on me, I remember that much. I left it in my car – Oh god, what if someone has stolen it?” She sounded a little more horrified than she ought to have about a car, but she was already distraught, and so the angel could understand her emotions were off at the present moment.

“Here.” He said, passing her his own cell phone, which he unlocked and gave to her so she could make the phone call. She took it, her hand shakily grabbing at it, and she composed herself as much as she could before dialing the number. The phone call was brief, and it ended with her swiping the phone call to end it before she passed back the phone. “Would either of you be willing to take me home, once I can go?” She asked, her eyes falling on Micah and then Chris.
Jun 12 2018, 01:50 PM
88
posts
33 witch spellcaster/teacher
warlock
So baby, come light me up and maybe I'll let you on it. A little bit dangerous, but baby, that's how I want it. A little less conversation and a little more touch my body 'cause I’m so into you, into you, into you.
Tenebrae
bisexual
single pringle/unshipped
Chris

awards

A Total Trainwreck
Eien
she/her/hers | gmt +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
At least Micah took over.

Chris sat back a bit at this, feeling like he could breathe it even if the situation wasn’t so certain yet. Unsure, and looking at the woman, for a moment he managed to look more lost than her-- before righting his features, schooling himself in a manner required of him by the nature of the situation; this wasn’t about him. This had never been about him. While he was welcome to feel what he did feel, he’d entailed himself to zero pity that belonged to this woman indefinitely. His wound, after all, was long healed, if not something stupidly raw. Scarred over tissue however with no chances of opening unless he introduced it to razor. Healed. Hers would still drip a bit of blood. Chris focused on that, listening as the two chatted.

She sounded as certain as Chris had expected. His gaze softened.

An hour sounded like a rough estimate, about how Chris may have put it if he enjoyed exaggerating. Half an hour, tops, was more like it, even then he wanted to lower it down to twenty minutes, already beginning to fuss with the technical sides of the situation nobody else bothered with. When the phone call happened, Chris blinked at her, feeling wildly out of place in his own home.

“Right,” he said, swapping looks with Micah--

Although either of them had the power to take her back, Chris imagined the level of her discomfort if he just opened an actual portal for her and suggested she go through safely on the word of a stranger. It was looking like too much, at least in the current moment it was, and so Chris smiled at her, wearing his patient, kind expression, and answered her.

“He’ll take you. Micah’s an angel. And… I’m a witch.” Possibly obvious, but with the state she was in, he wasn’t putting it past her to both not have reached that conclusion, and even feel mildly overwhelmed by it. And so, deciding to end the impression of a fretful hover, Chris just slowly rose up from his seat, and it left her alone to occupy the couch.

He smiled at her, sunny. Not too bright and definitely none of that dark, brooding stuff like she had nothing great to look forward to today, and their promise of safety had been deceit plainly offered.

He smiled.

“You’ll be fine,” he reassured, “just… take Micah’s hand and he’ll take you home. Micah.”

At that, Chris looked hopefully at Micah. The man’s words echoed in his head with a ring.

Kiss.

Chris seemed frozen for a minute. His recovery came immediately, though-- levels, levels sweeter when directed at his partner, as though they were in an intimate communion otherwise outside of this situation. He blinked at him, sluggishly, looked kittenish for a second, and then back at the woman--

“I guarantee you,” he promised, his voice all warm, “that you’ll be in good hands. He’ll just teleport you back. A blink and you’re there. And the potions are all labeled, you can trash them if you’d prefer, leave them here or try them out. You don’t have to trust me. But I don’t mean any harm.”

Slowly, her arms loaded full of the potions, the woman looked down. Her face still pale she looked like she needed quite a bit more time to herself. And yet, at the same, like she couldn’t tolerate being away from the place she actually called safe another minute. She nodded, even numbly, and stood up, all shaky. But she did it herself. Chris would have helped her, if she didn’t look like she just really wanted to go home. One arm holding the potions to her chest in a clutch, she stuck out the other to Micah--

“Please, take me home,” she said, a heavy, emotional tremble in her tone.

--------------------

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