Can we start again?
Oh, you’d better run.
[for one of the other prompts for this photoset, which involved Michael staying in a haunted house of an inn - three guesses who the ghost is, and the first two don’t count.]
ninemoons42 writes: unexpected meetings
Michael had to bend down a little to be able to look out the tiny window; whoever designed this attic clearly didn’t take anyone taller than five feet into consideration.
But the view was spectacular, long rolling fields like an endless sea of all shades of green. The distant horizon was a line of fire, all lit up by the setting sun. How he wished he could capture it. He was rather a couple of weeks behind on his writing, and January and Zoe had both sent him follow-up messages. If he couldn’t show them anything in the next seven days they were going to sic Alex on him, and Michael wasn’t up to being mother-henned or babysat by anyone, much less the kid who was also a fan of some of his earlier novels.
Still, he couldn’t help but go calmly through the motions of setting up his laptop and his various reference books. For this novel alone he’d managed to power through three notebooks, filling each page up with his spidery slanted handwriting as the ideas for scenes and witty dialogue came to him.
He supposed the problem was putting them all together into the right order, but then again, when was that part ever easy? For him, organization was what made him want to sweat blood. Gaiman hadn’t been kidding about his definition of hell. The annoying bit was that it wasn’t even writer’s block - just an inability to start working.
Something rustled as Michael pushed open the window an inch; the breeze whistled right into his room, filling it up with the smells of heather and a sweet scent of faraway flowers.
“That feels nice,” someone said, in a thick burr that sounded vaguely Scottish and distant and old all at once.
Michael didn’t look up from the pen he was twirling absently in his left hand. “Yeah it does,” he said, and then: “You from housekeeping? I’d like the sandwich I asked for when I checked in?”
“I’m…rather not sure I can help you with that,” the voice said. “Hard to carry things when one’s not actually in a physical body, and all.”
Michael froze for a moment, and then very carefully, very slowly, turned around.
And he nearly immediately fell to the floor, dislodging the desk chair with a loud clatter and almost overturning it, when he noticed the faint outline of his interlocutor. Pale blue eyes shimmering out of a human-shaped cloud, mostly insubstantial, but for some reason Michael could clearly see the freckles dotted around the nose and over the cheeks - distant shadows in the ghostly face.
The specter favored him with an ironic little smile. “I promise I won’t be offended if you run out of here screaming. I’ve almost got used to it.”
And yes, Michael was considering it, but no, how could he be rude? It took him a few moments to calm his hammering pulse down, and during that time he couldn’t take his eyes off his ghost, who was dressed in a fairly neat though decidedly unfashionable tuxedo, with a too-big floppy bow tie.
“I’m James,” the ghost offered after a moment.
“Michael,” he said, and he held out his hand to shake - the ghost squinted at him, that youthful face creasing into a thousand amused lines, then touched his hand to Michael’s and yes, he was cold, but he was real, and interesting, and Michael wasn’t about to move for the world.
David 8 and cat!Charles on a mission, but being chased by Alien, just doodling
So what if Prometheus originally wasn’t going to have any form of pet life on the ship, but then one of the scientists was talking about how they haven’t really put David in charge of any life form before, not really. So then they decide to let him have this kitten so he can keep active in caring for something for the two years that the rest of the crew is in ‘hibernation.’
Well, David gets way attached to Charles, to a point where he’d honestly rather save the cat than all these stupid fucking humans. Charles is kind and sweet and he lets David pet him all the time, and David likes it best when Charles kneads his paws or starts purring because he knows its a sign of happiness, and that means David is the one making Charles happy. When David sits at a console, Charles likes to curl up and sleep in his lap, and David’s maybe gotten into the habit of holding a snoozing Charles curled up in one arm and using his other to hit buttons on the computers and datapads.
damn you, pala.
TAKE TWO. Even though I’m not nearly as satisfied with this as I was with what I lost. Oh well!
———-
Two blue eyes peered out at David through the carrier grate.
“A cat?” he asked.
Doctor Shaw was smiling when he straightened and turned to her.
“Yes,” she said. “In seafaring times, it was traditional to bring a cat along so it could help control pests on the boat.”
“The Prometheus is outfitted with several state-of-the-art methods of pest control, as well as stronger measures for larger, more hostile, creatures.” David paused, momentarily confused by the doctor’s amusement until he deduced the reason behind it. “Ah. You’re not bring it along to control pests.”
“No,” she agreed. “Some would say it’s silly for me to worry about an android being lonely, but I thought it might be nice to have company while the rest of us are asleep.”
“Has the captain approved this?”
“I managed to convince him,” Doctor Shaw said, but David predicted there was more to her answer. When she didn’t elaborate, he decided it would be considered rude to question her about it. Instead, he bent over to look into the carrier on the table.
Those blue eyes were still watching him. After a moment, the cat issued a trilling chirp and rubbed against the grate, looking expectantly at David. Curious, David reached out a hand and slipped his fingers through the grate. The cat chirped again and this time when it rubbed against his fingers instead of the grate. Its fur was soft but the muscles beneath moved with easy strength. David heard a chuckle and looked up to see a pleased Doctor Shaw watching him
“His name is Charles and I think he likes you.”
~~
Charles was on the small side for a cat—at least, according to David’s data files—and had brown fur with white markings on his paws and tail, as well as around his mouth. He let David pet him frequently and often tilted up his head to allow David to scratch under his chin, his eyes closed in apparent bliss.
Charles wore an electronic collar that monitored his life signs and location within the ship, but it hardly seemed necessary when he rarely left David’s side. David had tried only once to lock Charles up so he could check the Prometheus’ systems and crew. Charles’ persistent cries, growing louder the further David walked down the hall, had been too distressing for him to ignore. In the end, he returned to his room and opened the door.
As soon as he did, Charles bolted free but he quickly came to a halt once he realized David wasn’t trying to stop him. Then he walked over to David and twined about his legs, purring the whole time. He came to a stop with his front paws on David’s foot, tail curled around one calf, and face lifted upwards. Charles seemed so genuinely grateful to be let out that David was left awestruck by the display. As he knelt to pet Charles, he decided it would be unnecessary to lock him up ever again.
~~
Occasionally Charles would wander off to investigate on his own, but only after he had determined David was staying in one place for a time. When Charles did explore, David would hear calls of “Mrow?” from wherever he had gone. Without considering whether it was unusual to do so, David responded.
“What have you found?” he asked once and heard a short meow in response. He reasoned that Charles had determined there was nothing to report yet, but would continue investigating.
Whenever Charles returned from exploring, he always trotted over with his tail held high, blue eyes trained on David. Often, he chirped to let David know he was back and then he would stand by the chair expectantly until David reached down to scratch his head. It became almost habit for David to reach out and find Charles within arm’s reach, happy to let David pet him. David enjoyed it just as much as Charles seemed to, for he found Charles’ fur fascinating. It was softer than anything David had felt before and surprisingly clean. He was intrigued by the feline bathing process and often watching the meticulous process unfold with great interest. Charles seemed unconcerned by the attention, although he did tilt his head at David the first time the android paused his work to watch.
~~
In his attempts to become the best owner Charles could have, David had read that cats often looked for places to sleep that were soft and warm. By their second day on the ship, he had devised a small bed for Charles using a blanket and square, metal container. However when he set it on the floor, Charles circled it, bent his head to sniff at the fabric, and then looked up at David. Confused by this reaction, David knelt beside the makeshift bed and patted the blanket.
“It’s for you, Charles,” he explained. Charles obligingly stepped into the container and sat down on the folded blanket, but he still looked up at David as though he had a question he couldn’t voice. David was still puzzled by his behavior but since Charles didn’t appear unhappy, he stood and left him to get comfortable on his own.
He took a seat at the ship’s console began pulling up menus on the screens before him, running through the usual diagnostics. He was surprised to feel something softly batting at his knee a moment later. When he sat back and looked down, he found Charles standing on his back feet, one of his paws on the chair as he pawed at David’s knee. As soon as there was space between David and the console, Charles leapt up into his lap.
David was momentarily at a loss for how to react but in the half-second it took him to reference his data files, Charles began kneading David’s thigh with his little white paws. Now this was something David had researched and he felt a smile stretch across his face in response.
Cats exhibited a kneading motion when feeling content or at ease. Charles looked very focused now, eyes closed as he slowly sank lower in David’s lap, purring and kneading the whole time. Eventually, he paused, turned around twice until he had found the right spot—David was intrigued by how cats determined this—and then he curled up across David’s legs. Within moments, he was seemingly sound asleep.
David knew he should return to his duties but he allowed himself a short break to watch Charles sleep. The smile on his face never wavered, nor did the warm glow of joy in his chest.
———-
ogm.
galdsfad
omg
*hyperventilates*
I need more of this
I need
more.
*grabby hands* where’s the rest. THERE MUST BE MORE.
(via groovyphilia)
Tonight Charles was going by Francis. He’d dressed up, shaved, and gave off that nervous, virgin air. He had to be acting as bait. Under-aged bait. Erik highly disproved as he watched his hunter awkwardly flirt at the pool tables. Really, Charles should never be anything other than what he was - wolf amoung humans. Deadly, controlling, power housed in that delicious body that melted under the vampire’s touch. His human was so warm under him. So trusting. Mouthwatering. Erik would stay and watch and plan. Charles would be his to use while the vampire was in town and nothing else would touch him.
(via zimothy)
“Aren’t you a little young to be coaching the soccer team?” Erik asked.
“Maybe. But I’m old enough to be coaching the football team,” said Charles, emphasizing his English accent so much that he sounded like a parody of a BBC announcer.
So that was the first reason Erik hated him. The second came during the next time-out, after they resolved the matter of Logan fouling Ben; Charles stepped between them when things got heated and told Logan to go cool down and walk it off, with a cocked eyebrow at Erik suggesting that he say the same to Ben. “Get back in formation,” was all Erik told Ben. He turned to Charles. “So tell me. How old are you?”
“I’ve just finished my first year at university,” Charles said.
“Which doesn’t answer my actual question.”
Charles shook his head. “Fine. Seventeen next week. I had early admission.”
“I’m sure it’s a huge challenge to get into Bible college early,” said Erik. In his three summers as a camp counselor at Camp Wise, everyone he’d ever met from Camp Hope was planning to go to Bible college.
“I wouldn’t know,” said Charles, “I’m going to Harvard.”
And that was the second reason. The third and fourth reasons came one right after another at half time. Charles was stretching; fine, whatever, it wasn’t like Erik was watching, it wasn’t like Erik was interested in some snob from Camp Hope with his stupidly complete soccer uniform with knee socks and his stupid floppy hair and his stupid stumpy legs and shortness. Then Charles bent at the waist, hands curled against the ground, and he stayed like that and stayed like that, white shorts pulled obscenely tight around his ass and his solid, sturdy thighs. He held that position til Erik was pretty sure he could draw every seam and stitch and fold on those shorts from memory, not to mention the lines of Charles’s underwear, visible through the thin white fabric. He wanted to verify those lines with his tongue.
When Charles finally straightened he was flushed and gorgeous, all that fluffy hair falling all over the place. The most acrobatic member of his team, a blonde girl named Raven, hugged him and kissed his cheek. And those were the third and fourth reasons that Erik hated Charles a lot.
(via laurazel)
Brandon/Wesley
Wesley gathered his thoughts, watching, as Brandon marched into his office. He looked to see if Brandon saw the postit he ld left. The postit with a message he really shouldn’t have left but he needed to.
‘yes’
By itself no one would know what it meant. But in his scrawl and after yesterday…
Wesley swallowed hard. He could still feel Mr. Sullivan… no… Brandon’s lips next to his ear while his hand still lightly rested on his neck.
“I’m going to fuck you Wesley.”
And he knew Brandon was right.
He was there again, standing behind me. I could feel the heat radiating off him, soaking into my skin. He smelled good too, like some high end cologne. And if I remembered right, he also smelled like sex. That was kind of shocking, but not. I mean he prowled around here like some giant jungle predator and scary is hot? Right? But I mean it wasn’t too surprising he smelled like that.
“Wesley? Isn’t it?”
I must have jumped a million miles in the air. The guy was nice about it though, he was smiling and didn’t laugh at me,
“Yeah…” I felt like I was choking on my own tongue. Yea smooth there Wes, really smooth.
“Why don’t you join me in my office? I’d like to go over this regional report. Your thinking on it was different. I’m interested.”
I blinked at that. Somewhere in my fevered, sex-starved brain I though he was talking about something else entirely. Well that and the shark’s grin. I was starting to feel like lunch.
“Uh.. ok..”
Again with the smooth but he had his hand on my shoulder. He didn’t even take it away as I stood, he just slipped it around to rest on the back of my neck. Great… right to hotspot number one. I could feel my face getting hot and then he squeesed. He smiled at me like he’d just won the lottery and I let out some sort of pathetic noise. I tried to pull away but he held tight and began to steer me towards his office. The one with a door that locked. That no one, not even Janice, ever went near…
I’m so fucked…
———————
(image from jamesmcavoycentral.com)
For the love of pie - please tell me there is another part coming after this.
I’m sure there will be many. Despoilment ahoy. But this is slow burn versus the original Dysfunctional Duo
ninemoons42 writes: My dreams are bursting at the seams
[inspired by this song and this art]
One task finished, another ten to get through.
Maybe they should have eloped after all, Erik thinks wearily, as he turns to the stack of cream-colored envelopes on his desk. He’d lost the coin toss and besides Charles’s handwriting has never exactly been anywhere near legible, so Erik’s stuck with the task of addressing the wedding invitations.
And they’d thought fifty was a small, manageable number.
Erik’s hands are already cramping up and he hasn’t even picked up his pen yet.
On the other hand, it’s a comfort that the pen is Charles’s - well-worn and scratched up in places, but the maroon of the barrel is still beautiful and vivid against the white of the blotter. He only has to turn it a little to see the initials engraved into one end - CFX, and the wonder of it all is that those letters will soon be outdated - Erik has to smile, and he has to begin on that, on a good note, and he consults the list and begins to write:
Irene Adler / Raven Darkholme
Vivid dark blue ink that could never hold a match to the particular shade in Charles’s eyes. Erik smiles, and writes out the next names with a flourish, and the whisper of the nib against the heavy paper is almost soothing, a counterpoint to the aches and stresses weighing on his shoulders.
…and then gave it some seriously amazing tags to go with, including: wow that is some serious sexual tension that just EXPLODED right there.
Prompt supplied over Twitter: partially-blind!Charles gets a kiss from the intern he’d befriended for some months now.
ninemoons42 writes: meets the eye
Charles has a favorite place in all of the noise and smells and hubbub of New York City, and it’s Strawberry Fields, because he’s always been able to find his way there. Central Park has a nearly physical presence for him - once he’s past the gates, he can feel the grass and the runners and the bikers and the children whirling past; he can hear the dogs and the birds and the rustling trees; he can smell flowers and greenery closing all around him, like an embrace, like reassurance that there is still a world out there, though he can’t always see it.
