#arthur mason

[thefugitivesaint]

Robert Lawson (1892-1957), ''The Wee Men of Ballywooden'' by Arthur Mason, 1937

[rosschasemd]

Anything Else I Can Get You

@lotcria​

It had been a full week, his first week, since Trevor Suarez started as an executive assistant for one of the country’s top architect, Arthur Mason. It was a great gig, even though he was still struggling a bit to acclimate himself into the role. He beat out a lot of people who wanted the job, but Trevor was determined: he wanted to be an architect. It was his passion since his first drafting class in high school. He applied himself, despite intellectual and academic challenges, and got to a good college on a football scholarship of course and did decently in his architecture program. And now? Now he was in the real world, pursuing his dream, even if it killed him. Jesus, he didn’t quite understand why he didn’t adapt as quickly: when on the field, he was one of the country’s best collegiate tight end. He could have gone into professional football, but instead, he chose this. And fuck it, he was going to do well, even if it killed him. When the elevator doors opened, he had just came from his desk to greet his employer. “Good morning Mr. Mason, sir. Uh... I have your coffee,” as he held a bit of an oversized ceramic mug in one hand, and his iPad Pro with the other.

[gingernastyy]

Albert and Arthur, 4, 9, 18, 22, 25, 26, 29, 30 for the ship headcanon meme!!

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

Albert. He wasn’t even able to keep his hand off Arthur the first time he met him. Once they’re together he truly cannot keep his hands off Arthur

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other? 

Albert almost fell off a cliff trying to flirt with Arthur. Arthur would probably be trying to check out Albert while having a cup of coffee and would choke on it when Albert caught him.

18. When they fight, how do they make up? 

They feel so guilty when they snap at each other that it wouldn’t take them long before they are apologizing to each other. They’d make up by kissing and cuddling until they forgot what they were even mad about.

22. Where does their first kiss happen? 

Albert would get super excited about a photo he was able to get and without thinking would kiss Arthur. It would take him a second to realize that he had and he would get so flustered and stammer out an apology. Until he figures out that Arthur had enjoyed it then they would say fuck it to photography and go find a place where they could make out. 

 25. Why do they fight?

Arthur would start most of the fights. Not because he was actually mad but because he was scared. Most of their arguments would be because Albert almost got himself killed by wildlife and Arthur would be terrified at the idea of losing him.

26. Why do they need to have a serious chat?

They would have to have a serious chat about that fact that Arthur is an outlaw and it has been a factor in all of his relationships. Albert would say that he knew what kind of man he was since he met him and that it’s not an issue.

29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

For Albert it would be when he sees Arthur’s journal for the first time. He’d think it was so beautiful and would feel more in love with him seeing his creative side. For Arthur, Albert doesn’t really doesn’t have to do much just seeing him do what he’s passionate about makes his heart skip a beat. 

30. Why does it work (or not work) between them? 

They realize that it won’t work between them because Albert has to go back to New York for his art exhibit and New York is his home. He would try his hardest to convince Arthur to go with him but they both know that the city is no place for him. Arthur would want to stay behind to make sure he family was safe and as much as it kills him he rather be heartbroken than to risk getting Albert killed because his outlaw life follows him.  

[stealthknights]

Red Dead Redemption 2 - Overlooking the valleys and hills. Please do not remove caption

[stealthknights]

[safestsephiroth]

Arthur Mason: Betrayal

A short blurb of the backstory of an NPC from the Detroit V:tM game.

 “Betrayal”, they'd called what he'd done. Pity, they didn't see how the world worked.

“Traitor”, they'd labeled him. The Tremere tried to hunt his brethren down, and one by one and two by two they'd by and large succeeded. What fools they were! Did they not know the truth of their own ancestry? Did they think their progenitor descended from the clouds, handing out the gift of unlife like so much candy? He adjusted his gloves, checked his cane. Inspected his reflection. Everything was well. He hadn't lasted until 1956 just to fall now. He smiled at the car window. He was the spitting image of class.

He'd warned the elders they'd come after them, too. They had to be a unified front. Jack never did believe him, right until they beat him into torpor. Mason didn't need to bury him, but he did anyway. He was that kind of guy. He wasn't a traitor. Besides, he had nothing to gain from killing Jack. He'd come back, some day. And he'd know it was Arthur Mason who saved him from those bastards. Of course, he'd have probably ushered in the end by then. The end he deserved.

“How do I look?” he asked the nearest of his ghouls.

“Stunning, sir. The very picture of class.”

“Good.” Addressing the group, he raised his voice: “We're all clear on the plan, then?” Mason noted the young Tremere in the back was the most enthused of them all. “Get your vengeance on the bastards, Alex.”

“Yes, sir!” Mason grinned. The thirty men and women in the parking lot stood at the ready.

“Attaboy, kid. Well, let's get going, shall we?” He pointed towards the church. “Take care to knock out each cross for me, would you?”

They called him a traitor for being undercover, a deep cover agent in their midst. What a joke, the hypocrites! The same Camarilla that enlisted spies within itself and double-agents in other factions would call him a traitor? He never swore his loyalty to their damned treaties. He made two oaths, and only two oaths. He checked his wristwatch. The mob started down the dark city street towards the cathedral. Alex and some other new kids on the block were leading the pack, murder in their eyes. All Tremere. All wanting vengeance on their elders, the ones betrayed them. Bound them. About to bust the door down and burn them all alive. He counted the seconds.

The first oath: Do whatever it takes to exact vengeance on the world that put down each of his brethren, the Baali. The clock hit two, sharp. The mob hit the front door, which exploded. A car pulled up next to him. Mason opened the rear passenger door and watched the scene for a moment. The Prince and his staff started fleeing the neighboring building, panicking, burning. He took a moment to concentrate, conjuring a ball of flame the size of a basketball and hurling it at the Prince, nailing him in the kneecaps. He calmly got into the car, and tapped the back of the driver's seat with his cane.

“The Chantry.”

“Yes, boss.” They drove past the screaming figures, burning alive, and calmly past the approaching police to a small building down the road. Mason calmly lit a cigarette. The car pulled up outside the front door, and Mason passed a large envelope to the driver, who took off. The door had seen better days. Mason knocked on it softly. A tall, scholarly man threw the door open.

“Arthur. What a...pleasant surprise.”

“Hello, William. I need to know what you know about Pieter Walfred.”

“And why would I tell you that?”

“Because the Tremere just killed the Prince of the city, of course, but nobody knows that except me and my agents, who will be passing the evidence around in the event of my death.” The tall man winced, visibly.

“Come inside, won't you?”

“No, thank you. You can tell me what I need to know right here.” An exasperated sigh.

“Really, Arthur?”

“Yes, really. Where is Pieter?”

“He's in France, Arthur. You won't find him here.”

“Bullshit.”

“He's hiding in one of the millions of houses in the countryside, somewhere. You'll never find him.” A small glow emanated from Mason's hand. A ball of flame expanding ever-so-slowly. William's eyes widened.

“You wouldn't.”

“Of course not. But some renegade Tremere would.”

“I can't...I don't know where he is.” The flame grew larger. “I...”

“Time's wastin', Willie. I'd hate to lose control of this, or have a Masquerade breach fall on the Tremere, too.”

“...Pieter made a thing, the Nain Rouge. A harbinger of misfortune. Stir up bad luck in Detroit and he'll show up to deal with it, eventually. It's a powerful tool.”

“Interesting! He's the one who made it.”

“You won't live to make use of that information, Arthur, and you know it.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps I will. You won't know, either way.” Mason raised his hand, William flinched. Mason laughed. “Just kidding, Willie. I'd never smash you with a fireball.” William seemed relieved.

“Goo-” Mason snapped his fingers, immolating himself. The fire spread across his body, igniting his clothes, covering him in white-hot flames but damaging not a hair on him.

“Give me a hug, old friend.”