#askprofessorx

[beyondedenton]

"What in the unholy fuck are you doing?"

[thehangeddemon]

Shards, Part II || Charleson & Leslie || July, 2023

Mason/Leslie: The wall between their minds was thin at best, but still present. Charles had been given a glimpse, but deserved peace. Just this half, this terrible half would be hidden, not his entirety. Years of open telepathy had practiced Mason's skill in dividing himself for this very reason. It was all for Charles, and it was better than barring the connection completely.

Leslie had taken to text between entertaining children and washing the piling mess in the kitchen. There was always something to do, but he was trying. Sending updates with dinner, dessert, what he was doing and what he planned to do. Little innocent details to keep Tristan in the loop, waiting for Charles to return downstairs.

Charles: For a moment, he'd carved out a sliver of peace. Nightmares still threatened at the fringes of his mind, but with the familiar heat and scent of his husband so close, Charles managed to slip into a doze.

Light though it was, his sleep was blessedly dreamless. He might have made it through the night, if the drugs he'd taken had not worn off. He shifted, and pain lanced up his side, spurring from sleep. He let out a ragged gasp and sat up.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," he whispered, fearing he might have disturbed Mason's rest.

Mason: Mason remained in a state of twilight, eyes closed, breathing deep and steady. All for one man. His chest belonged to him. His arm around his husband's shoulders, kept safe, if not for reality creeping in.

"Baby, don't do that." He pressed a kiss into his temple and sighed.

"Either I'm gettin' ya medicine or I'm findin' that witch." He was simply too tired to bother with a name.

Charles: "I just didn't mean to wake you." If he'd already done so, there was really no need to whisper. Still, he kept his voice low. The peace was fragile.

"Let's not bother Leslie." He'd done so much already, and as dearly as Charles loved him, that bone mending had been... difficult. Better to let his ribs heal the old-fashioned way.

"I'll call for Hank to bring something. Please stay." For Mason's sake, as much as his own.

Mason: Mason cracked his eyes open, breathing deep and slow but having nowhere for his disapproval to go. He didn't want to hear his husband scream again, but whatever horrors the witch gave, peace followed.

But the part of his mind open to his beloved knew that path was now closed.

"Hurry back."

Charles: He wasn't going anywhere. Not really. He shifted gingerly to the edge of the bed, masking a wince and a groan as he moved. No sense in causing undue worry. Mason hadn't slept for nearly long enough.

His mind brushed Hank's cautiously at first, but the beast of a mutant was just as on edge as everyone else he loved, it seemed. A silent request, one that was answered in the affirmative. He waited from his perch on the mattress until the soft knock sounded.

He inhaled deeply as he rose. It was the only sound he'd allow himself, even as he shuffled his way to the door. He opened it just a crack, thanking Hank in low tones before shutting it with a click.

He wanted to wash down the little white pill with a glass of scotch. But that was a terrible idea, and the thought of walking all the way to his study put it fully to rest. He swallowed it dry and eased back onto the mattress.

Mason: Mason was sitting up with his back to the headboard by the time Charles returned. Hands on his thighs, waiting patiently to invite him back to the warmth of his chest. He would lay however he was required for the telepath to rest.

Apologizing was a waste of words at this point. The obvious was there out in the open. I should have been there. I should have found you sooner. I should have done more. But logic was soap, and guilt ink on his skin.

"Want me t'lay back?"

Charles: "You're supposed to be asleep." Not a scolding. There simply wasn't enough heat behind it. He was too tired, and Mason was a beacon in the dark, despite his position.

"Please," he agreed, inching slowly and carefully toward that warmth.

Mason: Then back he would go. As flat as Charles desired. Little different than fluffing a pillow. Much as Lawrence had tended to him hours ago, his arm was open, and warm around his shoulders. Same love language, same soul.

"Leslie's lookin' for Kurt," he mumbled.

Charles: He sank against him. It was nearly as soothing as sinking into a hot bath. Only thing better would be a bath together. It was an appealing thought, but he was just so drained.

"Yeah? Does he need to go home?" It would make sense. Tristan must have been worried sick. Guilt tugged at him to consider it. He needed to find some way to thank his little rescue team, and those closest to them. Something to think about later. Too much for his head to wrap around, now.

Mason: His mouth opened, letting an exhale escape between his lips. He wanted - no, he wouldn't. Saying what he had felt would only sour the carefully constructed atmosphere.

"He's found him. Rec room." He turned his head, burying his nose in dark tresses.

"He'll be up to say goodbye in a minute."

Charles: "All right." Charles had no intention to move. His bad manners would have to be forgiven. He pressed his lips to Mason's chest.

"What is it?" Because of course he hadn't missed that. "What's on your mind? Talk to me."

Mason: "It's not for me t'say, now is it?" It wasn't his thoughts, but the very subject now making his way upstairs.

Charles: Charles would wait for Leslie's knock as well, but he'd make no effort to leave the bed, only sit up enough to look at the door.

"Come in."

Leslie: The door opened with a crack. Strawberry blond hair sticking through, a blond five o'clock shadow finally making an appearance.

"Hey."

Charles: "Hey." He managed a small smile, for Leslie's benefit. He must have been as tired as any of them. "Heading home?"

Leslie: "Yeah. Couldn't go without saying goodbye. You need anything?"

Charles: "Not at all. Thank you so much, Les. For absolutely everything. Go home and get some rest. Apologize to Tristan for me?"

Mason/Leslie: "Only one who needs to apologize is me. Don't start - "

"We're workin' on it. Go home."

At least there they could agree. With a wave of his hand, the door closed behind him with a click.

Charles: He'd had his mouth open to offer a retort when he was interrupted. He was still too tired to scold, but it was a near thing.

"Bye! I'll ring you tomorrow."

He fell back against Mason's chest with a huff and a wince. Never mind. He could scold a little bit.

"You should have let me finish. He dropped everything for us. He shouldn't feel the least bit guilty."

Mason: "Mhm." This was a non-argument simply because Mason had his eyes closed, his muscles relaxed, and his head - he was attempting to empty it. It wasn't an argument because he didn't care about the witch enough to defend him. He just wanted Charles to rest.

"Ya want Gina brought here?"

Charles: Now he definitely didn't have the energy to scold any more. He pressed his cheek to that warm chest and sighed.

"I... why? I'm not opposed, or anything. I just don't know why she'd want to be here."

Mason: "'Cause Lawr won't shut the hell up about her, n'it'll be my turn, next."

It was an uncomfortable subject to broach, be it now or next week, but Lawrence held a prediction in his grasp, and Mason had an inkling of its accuracy.

Best to know now, so Lawrence could prepare his family for visits.

Charles: That felt... unfair. Gina was a lovely woman, but she hadn't been taken. Hadn't been... still too fresh. Too much. He couldn't fathom Mason being out of reach for an hour, let alone days at a time. He could feel his pulse begin to race at the thought, ridiculous tears burning his eyes. What was wrong with him?

He shut his eyes before they could fall and took a steadying breath. "I'm... That's fine. She can come. I don't... It's fine."

Mason: That was all they needed. All Mason was willing to tolerate. He couldn't squeeze his husband as tightly as he'd prefer, but he could cradle him. For now, until he was strong enough to sleep on his chest without wincing, as he was meant to.

"It's fine. It's fine," soothed the demon.

Charles: Even with that gentle soothing, it took a while for his breathing to slow, and his heart to follow. His hands eventually stopped their trembling. He still felt like weeping, but he suppressed the urge. If he started, he didn't think he'd be able to stop. Hadn't he cried enough in the morgue?

Oh. Not the place he needed to revisit. He forced it away. Forced away everything but the steady rise and fall of his husband's chest.

"I'm sorry."

Mason: He could tell him again to stop. He didn't need an apology. He didn't want one, and Charles didn't deserve the guilt. But, there were times, he knew, when you just needed to say it. The catharsis outweighed the logic.

The record player across the room came to life. Chopin. Nocturnes. The record scratched to life. He kissed his husband's hair.

"Quiet."

Charles: There really weren't words to describe the depth of his love. It could only be felt.

The music soothed his frayed nerves. Blocked out the worst of the dark thoughts.

He did cry, then. A raw purge of everything he'd held onto since waking. His tears were blessedly silent. They might have gone unnoticed, if not for the sheer volume of them, and the way they shook his battered frame.

He wept until there was nothing left but Mason, and the gentle music. He was completely spent. He could probably sleep for three days.

[wildroseofarran]

Life Events, Part II || Captain Issott & Charles || November, 2020

Leslie: Charles' phone would begin ringing at 11 am sharp.

Charles: He was putting the finishing touches on a pb&j sandwich when he felt it vibrating in his pocket. Still, he managed to answer.

"Hi! I was just going to ring you when I'd finished here. You're on speaker. Rory, say hello."

Leslie: A loud and triumphant hello from a boy over the moon for peanut butter and strawberry jam. Leslie just laughed for a moment.

"It's the man of the house! With the other man of the house!"

Charles: "Indeed." Charles joined in the laughter, popping his son's discarded crusts into his mouth before nudging him toward the island, plate in-hand. "Are y-"

He paused to finishing chewing and swallow before continuing. "My apologies. Are you ready for me, then? Do I need to bring anything?"

Leslie: "Not unless you wanna see Rafflesia again, just bring yourself."

Charles: "All right. I'll be just a few minutes."

Leslie: "Same place, but... might want to have Kurt think of the driveway instead. It's a bit wild here right now."

Charles: "Oh?" Leslie would have to hear, rather than see his raised eyebrow. "That shouldn't be a problem."

Leslie: "Roger that. See y'all soon."

Tristan was given a smile. "On his way."

Tristan: Tristan took a deep breath, returning Leslie's smile. He felt kinda nervous but he was doing his best to combat it.

"Good. How we feeling?"

Leslie: "I'm alright, but this has been on my mind for months now, so... maybe I'm numbed."

Tristan: "Don't know if that's better or worse than being so nervous you hurl."

Leslie: "Have you hurled?"

Tristan: "Nope, no hurling." Just a vaguely queasy feeling.

Leslie: "It's been a year." He waited to see if Tristan would catch what he'd meant.

1:46 AM] Charles: True to his word, Charles appeared in a cloud of sulfurous, blue smoke a few minutes later. He closed his nephew's fingers around a crisp bill and watched him depart before turning to find his friend.

Tristan: Tristan's smile threatened to split his face right in half. "It sure has," he said softly, reaching for Leslie's hand. He had to fight every day to keep the weight of his love and devotion from spilling out of his body and drowning this man; he knew exactly what Leslie meant.

He didn't even notice Charles' arrival as he got swept up in the moment and leaned in to kiss his witch.

Leslie: "Here's to another year," he said into Tristan's hair.

Ah. That familiar whoosh of Kurt, given a wave from the side of the road. The A-frame cabin was long gone. Replaced by a much larger foundation and the unmistakable headache-inducing sound of construction.

"Over here!" he called, waving Charles over.

Charles: Charles was grateful for the distraction of the demolished cabin, both surprised by Tristan's presence and feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment.

But of course he'd been invited. He lifted his hand in greeting and made his way to where the pair stood.

"Hello, Tristan. Les," he began, voice slightly raised to be heard over the din. "Looks like you've come a long way! I didn't even know you'd started the expansion. Or, rebuild, it seems."

Tristan: Tristan greeted Charles with a warm smile. "Hello back," he called above the noise. "You ain't kidding. It's at that point where it looks so bad you can't imagine it ever looking good."

Leslie: "Nothing gone to waste. The same wood from the old cabin for the floors. You know me," he laughed quietly. "Clive talked me into what's basically a hotel room for a guest room near the garden. It's for him and Hazel, he insists. When the time comes."

Charles: "Not a bad idea," he said, eyeing the mess and trying to imagine the future house in its place. He wasn't doing a very good job of it. "How long do you predict it will take to finish?"

Leslie: "They've said at most seven months. Oh, my father had some shit to say, but he's in Charlotte, so he'll have to put up with it."

Charles: "About your design or the construction?"

Leslie: "The construction. The design was - well, he had a few in his pocket the moment I moved out."

Charles: "I'm sure he'll be pleased with the finished product, then."

Leslie: "Blueprints are on my laptop back at Tristie's. Interested in walking around and using your imagination, or heading to his house for our lesson?"

Tristan: "Not for nothing, but the second option also comes with fried fish and yellow rice if you're hungry."

Charles: "I could eat," he confessed, despite the crusts he'd eaten less than an hour ago.

Leslie: "I'll drive," he smiled. But first! No proper greeting without a hug from the professor.

"Been too long since a proper lesson. Now you have a partner."

Tristan: There was that pride again, as brilliant as the first day he'd practiced with Leslie.

"You're not the only one who can magically light candles now, prof."

Charles: Charles returned the embrace, clapping his friend warmly on the back before releasing him. "Oh? Congratulations! It's incredible, no?"

Leslie: "He's incredible. You'll see. I've been saving something because I'm curious, want you to witness, and I have something to ask you."

Tristan: "It's awesome, I feel like friggin' Superman."

Charles: He laughed softly. "Before you know it you'll be leaping tall buildings in a single bound."

Leslie: "Now that I'd like to see."

Tristan: "I wouldn't go that far but lighting a candle without a match? Does not get old."

Charles: "Come now. The sky's the limit. But you're right about the candle lighting. Quite entertaining."

Leslie: "There will be no modesty in this classroom today or any other day. You both can light an actual fire. Move past the candles."

Tristan: "It's cheap entertainment," Tristan chuckled. "Like walking Opal."

Charles: "Agreed. Don't rob us of the simple pleasures, Les."

Leslie: "Is a bonfire not as pleasurable?" asked before climbing into the driver's seat.

Tristan: "Sure, but I can't fit one of those in the living room without running the risk of burning the house down. Want shotgun, Charles?"

Charles: "Can't argue with that logic." He shook his head, already opening the back door. "You go on."

Leslie: "Just wait. We'll have a proper fireplace when the house is finished. And a green house. And a fire pit. I've kept all of my rocks. Ruby and Ester want to help with the redesign."

Tristan: That made Tristan smile. "Yep, we sure will. And I was serious about getting us those Adirondack chairs. We can have one set for the deck and another to put around the fire pit."

Charles: "Do they?" He hadn't known they were aware of it at all. "I'm sure it'll be lovely. I look forward to seeing the finished product."

Leslie: "Mm." A glance back for traffic before pulling out. "Halloween was the last day it stood."

Charles: "That long? You've been busy!"

Leslie: "Had to talk Clive into staying in Charlotte. Teachin' Tristan as I've taught you. Moving to Tristan's place came first."

Tristan: "Feels like they only took it down a couple days ago, to us at least. Poor Logan across the street has had to listen to the racket from the very beginning. We'll make a plate for her," he added to Leslie.

Charles: "Makes sense," he nodded. Charles didn't know a Logan outside of his own, but he could sympathise. "Perhaps buy a nice pair of earplugs as a gift."

Leslie: "I've wanted to get her something noise cancelling, but that was even before the destruction. Her house is loud with memories and bad energy."

Tristan: "Mama has noise cancelling headphones she really likes. I'll ask her what brand they are and we'll get one for our very gracious neighbor."

Charles: "That's very kind. I know I'd appreciate it, in her place."

Leslie: "What have you been doing since Samhain?"

Charles: "Oh, you know. Much of the same. Work. Wrangling the kids. More work." Then there was the matter of the home he and Mason were designing for their family. Small world.

Leslie: "Should I be surprised you have time for yourself?"

Tristan: "Gotta find the balance in life, prof. Can't be burning the candle at both ends all the time."

Charles: "Of course not. I make time. My kids would protest if I didn't. Besides, winter break is just around the corner."

Leslie: "Did you make time before the children?"

Tristan: "Got any plans for the break?"

Charles: "I did. Perhaps not as frequently, but I did." He lifted a shoulder. "Not aside from the usual holiday celebrations. I'd like to spend a few quiet days with the family. Perhaps in Cameron. Nothing concrete."

Leslie: "The house in Cameron looks like a novel," he said to Tristan. "Something Hazel read to me, but for the life of me I can't remember the damn name."

Tristan: "Size wise or decor wise?"

Charles: "Decor, I'm assuming." He gave a little chuckle. "It's a rather unique design. I was fascinated the first time I saw it. Now, it feels very much like home." He'd miss the old place, when the time came.

Leslie: "Like a Victorian home from a child's ghost story. It's the definition of lovely, but not at all my taste."

Tristan: "Oh cool, like the Addams house?"

Charles: "Something like that." The corner of his mouth curled in a tiny, private smile. "I used to feel the same way you do, Les. But it's grown on me. I suppose that's to be expected."

Leslie: "Do you prefer it to the school?"

Charles: He hummed thoughtfully. "Sometimes. It isn't about the building itself. I love what I do, but I'm never alone when I'm there. It's nice to be with only my husband, on occasion. With only my family. My nuclear family, at any rate."

Leslie: A side-glance was given to Tristan.

"I can understand that, when it's all day every day. Must be a relief, having other teachers live with you."

Tristan: Tristan caught that glance and smiled in response. That was a good sign, wasn't it? Or at least a sign.

"Do your kids go to your school, too?"

Charles: "Yes and no. My school is technically for middle and high school aged children, but when the younger children arrived, we got a tutor for them."

Leslie: "How are they adjusting, the little ones? Almika? Rory?"

Charles: "Quite well, given the circumstances. Fewer nightmares, overall. And I no longer have children asking me if I'm going to send them back. We've earned their trust, at the very least."

Leslie: "Blessings to that."

Deep breath. "I'm eager to have my progress assessed today, in a new environment. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement for Tristan, to shield his mind?"

Tristan: Tristan's brow furrowed. "Shield my mind...?"

Charles: "I... sure? I don't see why not." Charles nodded, though Tristan likely could not see him. "From telepathic ability," he explained.

Leslie: "I want him to become familiar with protection first and foremost."

Tristan: Tristan turned in his seat to look at Charles with that same delighted expression he always got when discussing magic.

"Charles, can you read minds?"

Charles: "I can," he confessed, with some amusement.

Tristan: "Is it an all the time thing or can you pick and choose where and when?"

Charles: "Bit of both. I can hear surface thoughts without trying. It's taken decades of practice to master blocking them out. Even now, the occasional pointed thought will slip through. Doing anything more takes conscious effort."

Leslie: "So keep your thoughts PG-13 in his presence. Or not. Spice up his life."

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "I'll keep it PG-13. My R and XXX thoughts are only for you, puddin'. I'll think ocean facts at the prof."

Charles: Charles dragged a hand down his reddening face. "Appreciate it. My life has plenty of spice, thanks." They didn't know the half.

Leslie: "Oh, I'm sure it does," the witch laughed.

Tristan: "What's the weirdest thought you've ever caught, Charles? Or most memorable?"

Charles: "Nothing is really strange, anymore. The most memorable minds are the ones I can't get a proper read on."

Leslie: "What's not a proper read?"

Tristan: "People who shield from you?"

Charles: "Not exactly. It's usually a physical ability, of some sort. Brain chemistry, or a psionic blocker. I once knew a telepath less powerful than I was, in that regard, but she possessed the ability to turn into some sort of crystalline material that I couldn't penetrate. I don't believe that it was diamond, but it might've been."

Leslie: "Another Ester?" Leslie perked. "Is she still around?"

Tristan: The wonder and delight were back. "There's a second person who can turn into a diamond on this planet?"

Charles: "Not exactly. And I don't know. After she and her companions attempted to murder me and mine, we didn't part ways amicably. Last I heard, she'd allied herself with the Brotherhood."

Leslie: "Seems every species has some... fracture. My people are no exception."

Tristan: "Well that blows. Also, the Brotherhood? That's a cult name right there. It's not a cult, is it?"

Charles: Charles laughed, softly. "Isn't it? It has all the makings of a cult, if you ask me. But its leader disagrees. Not that he and I agree on much. I love him, but he's so very wrong about... a lot."

Leslie: "Knowing oppositions, he probably feels the same about your beliefs."

Tristan: "That's the way it always goes. Everyone thinks their way is the best way, and some are even right."

Charles: "Well, considering that the actualization of his beliefs ends with the two of you dead or enslaved, I'm fairly confident in mine."

1:07 AM] Leslie: "The Technocracy believes everyone should be asleep. They gaslight, institutionalize, and murder dreamers. They say it's for the good of humanity, the universe. They work with hunters. Started the inquisition to murder my people and vampires alike, as though we're the same. I have no doubts they're the same people saying your kind are dangerous."

Tristan: Tristan shook his head. "Definitely a fuckin' cult," he sighed. "They all think they're special but end of the day, some jagoff or consortium of jagoffs is fucking someone over to water their ego flower same as all the others that came before and will come after."

Charles: "If they are, they aren't the only ones. He isn't wrong about the danger or the hate, just about how to combat it." He lifted a shoulder. "I like our odds. We're making strides all the time."

Leslie: "Every species has their villains. Blanket statements bother me greatly."

Tristan: He nodded. "It's part of the human condition as Meg says. Or the people condition as the case may be."

Charles: "Naturally. That's why it's so important to stand against them."

Leslie: "We are as bias as they are. We believe we stand on the right side of history, and history is told by the victors. Only time will tell."

Tristan: "Just have to make sure the prof back there wins. I like his odds, too."

Charles: "Thank you for the vote of confidence." Said with utmost sincerity.

Leslie: "Of course he will! I know exactly what he would be otherwise."

Tristan: "Absolutely, Charles. Now talk to me about the kind of seasonings and vegetables and fish you like. I'm no Leslie in the kitchen but I hold my own."

Charles: "I'm sure whatever you have on hand is fine. I'm not particular."

Leslie: "Always modest." Leslie was grinning. "That modesty will give you whole chicken like the Beltane festival. Remember that? Immature egg yolks and cockscomb?"

Tristan: "Leslie, my love, I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

He turned in his seat again. "At least tell me if you're a spice person or not so I don't accidentally set your mouth on fire."

Charles: "Oh, definitely not. Let's just assume I have the palate of a toddler. The milder the better, please."

Leslie: "So a chicken liver pâté with stuffed mushrooms? Got it."

Tristan: "There will be no liver in the house ever," Tristan chuckled. "I gotcha, Charles. Got some lemons from my mama's tree, I'll go lemon pepper."

Charles: "Sounds delicious."

Leslie: "No liver?! You've stabbed me, merman."

Tristan: "Blame Mrs. Pennyapple for scarring me for life as a child and making me hate liver."

Leslie: Leslie smiled a knowing smile and shrugged. "Does mild mean no liver for you, Charles? I forget what you pushed off your plate in May."

Tristan: "Don't let him goad you with the evil liver, Charles!"

Charles: "You heard the man, Les. No liver."

Leslie: "I'll be sous chef tonight, then. No liver."

Tristan: "What would you like, sous chef? Want lemon pepper on your fish too?"

Charles: He nodded, satisfied, and settled back against his seat, head tilting to gaze out of the window.

Leslie: "I'm under your orders, chef. But also that sounds good so why not." Leslie smiled.

Tristan: "Bitchin, lemon pepper fish it is. And just in time," he added as his house came into view.

Charles: "Wonderful!" Charles watched the house through his window, straightening in his seat as they approached.

Leslie: Leslie parked behind Tristan's truck, tossing the keys between his hands as he so often did when his mind was clamoring.

"Go ahead and give him the tour? Gonna get some stuff from the trunk."

Tristan: "Sure thing, doll."

Tristan hopped out of the car and spread his arms wide. "Welcome to our humble abode, prof."

The house was simple and modestly sized but in a prime location right on the water. The nautical decorations on the front porch gave a hint as to what was inside: an unmistakably masculine shrine to maritime history and nautical odds and ends.

And fish.

"Come right in and make yourself at home. Can I get you anything?"

Charles: If nothing else, Charles lived for the view. It was precisely why he enjoyed looking out over the lake from the roof of the school, and why he'd chosen the location he had for his family's new home.

"It's lovely," he said, sincere, and shook his head at the offer. "I'm fine, thanks." His mouth lifted into a crooked smile, eyes warm. "If I hadn't already known what you did for a living, I might've guessed."

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "We Segers do like to wear our professions on our sleeves. My mama's a literature professor; bet you can guess what she's got all over her house."

Charles: "Oh, I'd love to see her collection. I teach literature at my school, among other things. I'm running out of space to put my books. I'm just grateful my husband is willing to indulge me by building shelves." He smiled wryly, thinking of the house again.

Leslie: Leslie paused in the living room to argue with his jacket. Two brown bags in his arms and keys in his mouth.

Tristan: "Oh she ran out of space aaaages ago." Tristan rushed over to help Leslie with his cargo. "What she does is, every quarter, she goes through and picks out the ones she didn't like and sells them to the used bookstore."

Charles: "Wise. I keep everything that isn't completely falling apart. If even one of my students gets something out of a book, it's worth having."

Leslie: "Would be nice to have the space," said Leslie. Made sense that he hadn't a collection. Leaving Charlotte meant leaving many of his books behind in his old bedroom. Fitting only what was essential in his Jeep. Now, with a new home, he could begin again.

"Got some things for games today." The brown bag still in hand was placed on the dining table. Three red jars of wood wick candles, black, were placed in a row; a spool of twine; two fist size, smooth rocks.

Tristan: "My mom would agree with you. Feeling more and more like I should introduce ya'll."

Tristan poked his head into the bag he had taken. "Oh yeah? What kinda games? Are there prizes?"

Charles: Charles lifted an eyebrow at the items. "I have the same questions, actually. This doesn't look like any game I've ever played."

Leslie: "I should hope not! These are games I learned from the Order of Hermes when studying Force. They're about as competitive as a Tradition gets."

He pointed to the twine and rocks. "Racing games. Who can control their flames and get to the center first. Wrapping the rock in twine and throwing; who can light it midflight."

Tristan: Tristan grinned and kept on grinning as Leslie described the games. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

"Are we about to have a magical field day?!"

Charles: "Sounds entertaining," he said, with a crooked smile. "And it'll definitely be a first, for me." Who didn't love novelty?

Leslie: "Be the first for him, too. Look at his face," Leslie laughed. "I got wood wick candles because - just because. I like the sound. Wanna keep y'all on your toes. By all means, use your wands if you want."

Tristan: "I definitely will use my wand and I also approve of your candle choice. I do have a very important question: are we getting prize ribbons?"

Charles: "That is an excellent question," he agreed, grinning.

Leslie: "I uh, I'll make ones," he laughed. "Ah! The winner gets a choice dessert!"

Tristan: "Sold, that's even better than a ribbon! I'm in. We doing this before or after food?"

Charles: "Oh, Tristan, I'm sorry but this will not be a friendly competition," he chuckled. "Not with dessert on the line."

Leslie: "How hungry are y'all?"

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "You're on, prof. Also, I could stand to work up an appetite. Fish and rice don't take all that long to cook."

Charles: "I'm fine to wait. The food will taste all the better with victory."

Leslie: "Alright. Let's begin with a friendly race." Twine was unraveled by four feet, approximate by eye, and severed with his pocketknife.

"Let's go outside for this." The ball of brown twine was tucked under his arm. Out the backdoor and back into fresh air.

"You have a folding table you won't miss?"

Tristan: When fire was involved, a fire extinguisher was always a good idea. Tristan grabbed it on the way out.

"Don't go counting your chickens!" he called to Charles as he went around the side of the house. He had just the thing Leslie was after. "Does it matter if the table smells ever so slightly like fish?"

Charles: Charles laughed and turned to Leslie when Tristan disappeared. "Anything I can help with?"

Leslie: "Don't matter, babe!" He smiled briefly at Charles. "I'll be tying the rocks while y'all race. Playing ref has its perks. Still prefer hands to your wand?"

Tristan: "'Kay!"

Tristan grabbed the slightly fishy table and carried it back to where Leslie and Charles were. Up until recently it had been used on his ship to clean fish, but a new, sturdier table had rendered it obsolete.

"Here we go. One expendable table."

Charles: "Alright," he bobbed his head once. "I believe so, but we'll see how this goes."

Leslie: "Excellent!" The string was laid the length of the table. He pointed to either side for them to stand. A small pale rock nestled against the steps was placed middle of the string, resting delicately on top.

"This is as much about control as it is speed. Burning the string evenly from tip to pebble. Not one long flame, but like, a uh, a fuse."

Tristan: Tristan contemplated the task before him and weighed his options. To wand or not to wand?

"So we're going full Wil E. Coyote, huh? Hmmm....."

Yeah, this seemed like a lightning rod sort of situation. Wand it was!

Charles: Charles nodded his understanding, fingers flexing in anticipation of the exercise. "Seems straightforward enough."

Leslie: "This is the most straightforward it's going to get. Would y'all rather practice with the candles first?"

Tristan: "Yes, please. I need a warmup before I kick the prof's butt."

Charles: "Oh, I do admire your ill-advised confidence," he grinned, in good humor. "If the Captain wants to practice, we'll practice."

Leslie: Leslie would gather the candles, bringing two of the red jars to the table. A new environment. One with a light but stimulating breeze. He was interested in observing how they adapted outside of a quiet room with closed windows. Wondered how he could further disrupt their expectations.

"Boa sorte! Good luck!"

Tristan: Lighting magical fires in a windy environment was new, but doing it outside wasn't. Tristan had taken to practicing in the wee hours of the morning while waiting for Oliver before they headed out to sea for the day.

Surely the wind wouldn't make that much of a difference; if anything, it was soothing.

Tristan took a deep breath and did his bit, psyching himself out at the last second by worrying the wind was going to blow out the candle and failing his first try. But a quick rally later, he was able to get it on the second.

Charles: Inclined to practice in those rare moments alone, he sometimes found himself on the roof of the school, lighting and extinguishing the fire pit his husband had placed there. This couldn't be much different, could it? He took a beat to examine the candle before making his attempt. It sputtered for a moment and caught. A little rusty, perhaps, but not terrible.

Tristan: "Nice job, prof! Got it in one go." Not bad for a man who'd dealt with science for most of his life. Then again, that was probably how Leslie had felt about him when he'd managed to light the candle that day in the living room.

And look at them now: a fisherman and a professor, lighting candles with magic.

A few more successful lightings later, Tristan was ready.

Charles: "Your witch is a good teacher. Took me awhile to get the hang of it." He smiled crookedly at the fisherman before turning back to the candle. Extinguishing was always trickier, but what better time to practice? Charles stopped when Tristan did, looking to Leslie with hands stuffed in his pockets.

Leslie: Leslie had taken to the steps, wrapping twine as a net over various sized rocks.

"Y'all don't need me for the next bit. Time to try your hands - or wands - at the fuse trick. Anyone wanna place bets?"

Tristan: "He is, isn't he?" said Tristan, beaming with pride. Despite his limited experience with magic, he was certain he couldn't have asked for a better teacher than Leslie Issott.

"I bet a round of proper Carolina hot dogs that I'll beat the prof."

Charles: Charles gave a soft snort. "Winning is its own reward. I'm ready when you are, Captain."

Leslie: "I want a nice clean fight," Leslie laughed. "Wands or no wands. Remember: consistent like a fuse!"

Tristan: "Sound like my mama, Charles," Tristan chuckled. "Must be a professor thing."

A moment's consideration had Tristan deciding against a wand for this particular event, much as he enjoyed using it. He trusted his hands just fine to keep that fuse going.

"All right then. Ready, steady, aaaand...go!" Tristan lit his string and let his inner Wil E. Coyote loose.

Charles: "Must be," he chuckled, focusing his attention on the thread and debating how best to approach this task. With a nod, he sparked a flame, urging it forward with all of the careful control he could muster.

Leslie: Leslie wanted to keep his distance. To move would possibly cause a distraction. The last loop of the last knot finished the netting of another smooth stone. Looking at his creation reminded him of his own trials. The matches played against Tonya and Troy in their youth. These were moments he hoped would be ingrained for Tristan and Charles' remaining years. These were milestones.

Tristan: This was like sailing. You picked a spot on the horizon and rode the wind. The pebble was his horizon and magic was his wind and he was going to ride it all the way to the pebble and beat Charles.

"I got to the pebble!"

Charles: The telepath wasn't too far behind. Even after Tristan announced his victory, Charles pushed the last inch or so to the finish line. "Done!" In the spirit of good sportsmanship, he extended a hand to the sailor, grinning widely. "Fair and square, my friend. Congratulations."

Leslie: Leslie rose to his feet to inspect, grinning from ear-to-ear and raising his arms. "Look what y'all did! You did that! He wanted them to feel proud. Every ounce of confidence would only aid their next game.

Tristan: "Fuck yeah we did!" Tristan clasped Charles' hand and shook. "Congratulations yourself! Good job, prof. Ready for the next one?"

Charles: "Certainly. What's next on the agenda, Les?"

Leslie: "What's next is taking these rocks and alighting them midair. Hand or wand optional. I've got y'all covered if something goes afoul."

Tristan: "Magical skeet shooting, got it. Do we get to say 'pull'?"

Leslie: "Use me as you will. Not gonna warn for all of them."

Charles: He lifted one chestnut coloured eyebrow. "We're setting rocks on fire?"

Leslie: "It's why I've been making nets around them."

Tristan: For this next event he was definitely using the wand. Thinking of it as magical skeet shooting was actually getting him in the proper frame of mind.

"I think we should move this over to that dirt patch over there. Doing this over flammable grass seems like we're tempting fate."

Charles: "Wise. I'd feel awful if we burnt the place down."

Leslie: "I'm here. I won't let anything happen that shouldn't. I promise."

Tristan: “I believe you, doll,” said Tristan, shooting Leslie a winning smile. “It’s more for me than the risk of actual fire. One less distraction.”

Charles: "You're the teacher," he shrugged, flexing his fingers. "I'm following your lead."

Leslie: "Have to start somewhere. Failure breeds progress, don't be ashamed of it. Let's start with something controlled." Leslie walked into their line of sight and held his arms out, not intimidating in the least.

"Throw a fireball at me."

Tristan: Tristan's eyes widened. He was fine with potential failure but he was very not fine when that potential failure could affect Leslie.

"What--no! What if something happens and we hurt you?!

Charles: Charles nodded toward the fisherman. "I must say, I'm with the Captain, on this one. Seems like a terrible idea, Les. 'Failure' really shouldn't lead to serious injury."

Leslie: "I think you're both forgetting I'm practically from the Order. Failure would only be in your learning - won't be in my catching whatever mistake you make. I promise."

Tristan: His uncertainty--which was written all over his face--was due more to his own inexperience than to Leslie's ability to neutralize a problem or move out of the way. He completely believed Leslie could protect himself. One hundred percent.

Tristan just wasn't sure if he believed he'd have enough control not to create a situation where Leslie wouldn't have to protect himself. But Leslie sure seemed to believe. That was worth a hell of a lot.

Still--"You plan to catch the fireball? Or do plan to move out of the way with lightning quick reflexes?"

Charles: Charles raised a skeptical eyebrow. He had placed himself in danger for the purposes of education more than once. Perhaps his hesitation was a bit hypocritical. Still, he waited for Leslie to answer the posed question.

Leslie: Leslie smiled, patient. "Whatever the situation calls for. Depends how terribly this goes - which it's not gonna be a disaster! Y'all are too cautious and too advanced. You've been practicing throwing fire onto wood. It's been your homework for months."

Tristan: “Yeah, wood! Not a loved one!”

Forget magic, this was a trust exercise with multiple layers. Leslie’s trust in them, their trust in Leslie, their trust in their own abilities.

The real kicker was going to be not psyching themselves out and being unable to do it at all, which…yeah. That was a big possibility.

Tristan turned to Charles. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Charles: "Wouldn't be fair." He gave his temple a pointed tap and shook his head. "I'll go, if it makes you feel better."

Leslie: "You'd be the best poker player in the world," Leslie laughed at this epiphany.

"How about this. We'll start light." He had assumed the little game to be a proper warm up, but maybe not.

The witch stood between them, held his hands together in diamond shape, expanding outwards to create a pale blue and orange flame.

"Take it from me."

Tristan: "Oh yeah, the mind reading deal. Yeah, you're right." Rock, paper, scissors definitely wouldn't be fair against Charles, but Tristan did find himself wanting to play with him. To test. Who knew, maybe there was a way to beat him if he--

Focus, Tristan.

He smiled. Apparently their theme was still fire but this was a lot less nerve wracking. "Now that's a horse of a different color."

Tristan had no idea how to take a flame from someone, but decided to try to draw it toward him with his wand to test the waters.

Charles: Charles gave a gentle snort. "If I needed a large sum of money quickly, I suppose. But I think telepathy would take the enjoyment out of the game." And if he were going to become a thief, there were simpler ways, for a man of his abilities.

He watched on, curious to see if Tristan would be successful, and internally debating how he would tackle the task, when it was his turn.

Leslie: Leslie watched calmly, intent on refraining subtle cues based on Tristan's body language. Should Tristan obsess on action rather than will, nothing would happen. The same as every learned spell leading to this moment.

And yet, despite his objective, Leslie took a slow deep breath. Just the smallest hint, he swears.

Tristan: The small hint was more than enough. Even though Tristan hadn’t been practicing magic for very long, he’d learned enough to know it wasn’t just about the magic itself.

It was about him, and about belief.

He had to believe the flame closer for it to move anywhere, to exert every bit of his will to make it happen. Not enough to lose his head or his cool; just enough.

“Come on, little flame,” he murmured. “Come to Tristie.”

Charles: Charles stifled a laugh, not wanting to seem rude or break Tristan's concentration. But the self-encouragement was delightful. He watched on curiously to see if it would benefit him.

Leslie: The flame appeared influenced by Tristan's intent. Flicking towards his wand as though caught by a nonexistent breeze. It was a start. For never suggesting such a spell, Leslie had expected next to nothing.

"Remember how it feels moving a flame from your hand to the fire pit. Rather than throwing it, you're simply taking it back."

Tristan: Tristan grinned from ear to ear. His little victory encouraged him enough to bring the flame all the way home, marveling at it as it hovered over his wand. Not bad for a first try, if he said so himself. Not bad at all.

"Gotcha! Okay, prof, it's your turn."

Charles: Charles bobbed his head, turning to face Leslie fully. His fingers flexed experimentally. He knew the motions and emotions that helped him conjure flame. He considered the mechanics of drawing the flame closer. Another nod, and he extended his hand, curling his fingers inward and trying to will the ball of flame toward himself.

Leslie: "Don't hold it for long, still wood." Leslie waved his hand over the wand to extinguish. "Take it and give it back, or take it and blow it out," he said to Charles, squaring his shoulders and resetting the spell.

Like Tristan, the flame considered Charles' intention. Flickers of blue and orange began to flutter in his direction with as much care as a firefly.

Charles: Is confidence only grew, the telepath delighted at the gentle progress of the flickering ball. When it was close enough for him to feel its heat, he extinguished it neatly. That, at least, was familiar.

Leslie: Leslie's smile was pure praise. Both men certainly deserved it. "If y'all can do this, if y'all can light a fire pit, y'all can light a moving object."

Tristan: “Kinda think I believe you now, babydoll,” Tristan said with a grin. He did feel a little more confident, but it remained to be seen whether he could react quickly enough to light something in mid-air.

He turned to Charles. “Who goes first this time?”

Charles: Charles dipped his head, gesturing between the pair of them. "The floor's yours, my friend."

Leslie: As much confidence as Leslie had in these two, they needed it themselves. His summers in the Order were quick paced. They would have been burning rocks two weeks into their training. But those were awoken children, and these were adults only scratching the surface of their capabilities.

He had to be patient. Wait for them to believe in themselves.

"So, starting light again." A rope was tied around one of the netted rocks, holding it like a sad yo-yo. Slowly, rocked like a pendulum.

"Light it up, captain."

Tristan: "Starting light," Tristan repeating, rolling up invisible sleeves. He'd pictured something similar to skeet shooting so this was already doing even more wonders for his confidence.

A steadily moving target had to be easier than a randomly moving target, right?

He considered his approach, immediately scrapping the first one that came to mind in favor of a more abstract one. Rather than focus on the rock and where it was, he was going to focus on producing a flame and sending it where it needed to be. Willing it there, just like he'd been doing this whole time.

So that was exactly what he did. Tristan willed his little flame into existence and willed it onto the rope around the rock.

Leslie: They would graduate to skeet shooting eventually. Leslie seemed to have more confidence in their abilities than they, so yo-yo they did. And surprise surprise, Tristan was a natural. Why he was a natural was an unanswered question. How he was raised was only a factor. Tristan was an open-minded man, and that was another factor.

Leslie was proud of him, to say the least. As much as he wanted to reward him with a kiss, he wanted to keep the momentum going. When it came to Charles' turn, the witch expected similar results.

Tristan: "Fuck yeah! I did it on the first try!" Almost as unbelievable as being a secret magical prodigy.

They would absolutely celebrate with a kiss later but for now, Tristan celebrated by doing a victory lap around the yard while Charles took his turn.

Charles: Much simpler than he was expecting the task to be. And certainly less concerning for Leslie's wellbeing. Charles snorted softly at Tristan's chosen method of celebration and turned to face the witch. The pendulum swing was steady enough for him to mark the rhythm before he sparked the flame and sent it forward on an invisible current.

Leslie: Leslie softly laughed, watching Tristan with Charles a moment before refocusing. In this safer setting, both men seemed at ease with their magick, allowing it to create as they imagined. The flaming rock was tossed up, landing in Leslie's palm extinguished.

"Child's play. I've got another idea. If y'all can do it, I'll call this a successful lesson. We'll leave skeet shooting for next time. Deal?"

Tristan: It was absolutely child's play, in that Tristan felt like a little kid on Christmas morning whenever he managed to get his magic to do what he wanted it to do. He wished he'd been doing this his whole life.

"Deal. What's your idea?"

Charles: Charles nodded his agreement, flashing a smile at the two of them. Child's play, indeed. He was enjoying this time, flexing muscles that were often left stagnant. It was nice to have a break from responsibility, however brief. "I'm all ears."

Leslie: Leslie stepped further into the backyard, bringing his pile of stones with him to stack neatly into a pyramid.

"We're gonna build a bonfire. Each log I stack, you'll set ablaze yourself. We'll celebrate with some wine for your successes."

Tristan: "Great! Let's do it. We're celebrating with food though, I'm working up a hell of an appetite." That lemon pepper fish he'd promised was calling his name.

"Are Charles and I taking turns? I do one log and he does the next?"

Charles: "You had me at wine," he said with a smile. Food would be a lovely bonus, he supposed. Charles tipped his head in Tristan's direction, still looking at Leslie. "An excellent question, actually."

Leslie: "Could be, or could be a race for each log. Loser drinks," the witch grinned.

Tristan: "A race is just fine by me," Tristan said with a matching grin. As much as the idea of food was starting to creep into his mind, a good contest was hard to resist.

So he would shift his concentration to the task at hand and focus on building this bonfire with Charles as accurately and quickly as he could manage. And after so much practice, he thought he managed pretty good, win or lose.

Charles: Charles was game for more healthy competition. He rolled his shoulders and turned to face the beginnings of the bonfire, ready to light when the first log touched down.

When the fire was crackling merrily away, giving off incredible heat, Charles turned to his hosts, sleeves long-since pushed up to his elbows. "That was fun. And I believe we were promised wine."

Leslie: Each log ignited by his apprentices before added to the inferno. It was slower, safer, but these were not Hermetic mages. They were not the only ones learning something tonight. He had to have patience, and a gentler hand. The craft was not their first and only passion.

"Wine and good food. Maybe smores, if we have everything. Do we?" asked as he disappeared inside.

"There's something else I'd like to talk about, once I've popped the cork."

Tristan: "Uhhh...." Tristan took a mental catalogue of the pantry. "Yeah, we do. I think we even have some of Logan's fancy marshmallows left."

And who was to say that fancy homemade marshmallows wouldn't make Charles more open to what they had to say? Maybe that would make all the difference.

"You pop the cork, I'm gonna get going on the food."

Charles: "Sure. I'm all ears, whenever you're ready." Charles trailed behind, lingering by the door. "Do either of you need a hand with anything? I've got two."

Leslie: Gia, how to begin this conversation. He'd gone through it before with Tristan. More than once, in fact, and now with Charles just feet away he felt like a child. Perhaps that was where this should come from. No sense in withholding honesty, verbally and emotionally.

"If you wanna make a tray for the smores." Deep breath. "We wanna discuss... the idea of adopting Ruby and Ester."

Tristan: Tristan felt something catch in his throat and chest. "Yes, that's right," he said with a nod.

They had gone through it but even so he was nervous. The two of them practicing in the living room was very different from actually telling Charles.

Charles could say no. He could say yes but he could also say no and Tristan was...scared of that potential no. The possibility of it--which they couldn't just ignore--made every insecurity he'd ever had since birth come bubbling to the surface. Leslie was good enough to be a father to those two little girls but was he?

Taking a deep breath, he got the smores supplies from the pantry and set them out for Charles to arrange.

Charles: Charles dipped his head in agreement. It was a task nearly impossible to muck up. He was about to ask where he could find the marshmallows and chocolate when Leslie broached the true topic of this visit.

Was this where all the nervousness and hesitation had stemmed from? It might have been a touch insulting, if he didn't empathize so much.

He smiled kindly. "I can't say I'm surprised, given that you've taken to each other so well. That's a wonderful idea. It's an involved process, as I'm sure you know. But as long as the girls are amenable to the idea, you have my full support. I can contact my attorney, if you'd like. She's experienced, and helped the process run smoothly with Rory and Cee."

Leslie: Leslie all but laid over the kitchen island. Forearms crossed on the counter. That child-like feeling had yet to dissipate. Only churning his stomach and warming his entire being.

"That would be great. Thank you. Thank you. I haven't broached the subject with the girls yet. I wanted to speak with you first before ever -" he just gestured. "There was no need to plant that thought if it wasn't going to happen. If they say no, they say no. But, we've done our research. Let this sit for months to make absolutely certain, but there was no need. Nothing's changed."

Tristan: It was too soon to feel relieved. He'd been so worried about Charles saying no that it hadn't occurred him that the girls could say no. What if they didn't want him and Leslie for parents? What if they wanted Leslie but not him?

Tristan couldn't let himself think about that. Wasn't his mother always telling him that negative thoughts invited calamity?

"Les is right." Deep breaths, just deep breaths. "We're sure. We are making a very informed decision and we're sure of that decision. And thank you, for not saying no. Really, Charles. Even if they say no, thanks for not saying it."

Charles: "Of course."

He offered kind smiles to each man in turn, reaching out to give Leslie's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Every child deserves loving parents, and you both more than qualify. Let me know when and how you'd like to proceed. Both with the girls, and legally speaking."

[talentedliarloki]

@askprofessorx​ ​

Lifting the TemPad off an unsuspecting agent is the easy part. Passing through the TemPort to Midgard was not without its turbulence, but the moment he’s sure-footed on mortal earth his bones ignite. Pain knuckles its way along every nerve and the trickster drops to his knees, the heel of his palm rounded into the curve of his temple, and every anxious beat of his heart sparked sensate images behind his eyes.

He could see cities and realms in which he’d never set foot, faces he didn’t recognize, and foreign smells and tastes crawled down his throat, nearly gagging him. His thoughts were lost in a chorus of voices, all a varied cadence and timber and tone but still recognizably his. All superimposed over his own stream of consciousness, but overexposed like film brought into the light too soon.

His attempt to unravel himself from the noise results in a fiery sting deep in his brain, and the longer the barrage of lives and thoughts and experiences and memories continued, the hotter his forehead felt; he could feel the fever in his hairline and at his nape, and the color was being pulled from his face with each passing second.

He doesn’t balance the pros with the cons (teleporting was risky enough) before whisking away and reappearing without ceremony in Charles’ foyer. A bone white hand braces against the round table there, frame racked with pain, and he hisses a breath in through clenched teeth.

“Xavier,” he rasps, the word warping with every reverberation in the bony arena of his skull. He attempts decorum, but can already feel the unravel begin from the fray. What faith he has left is divided equally amongst willing his knees not to give out and the most powerful mind in the universe being able, never mind willing, to help him. “I…have need of you.”

[thehighlandhealer]

Instant Ramen || Bronwyn & Charles || October, 2021

Bronwyn: “Charles.”

Charles: "Yes?"

Bronwyn: “Can ye make instant ramen?”

Charles: "Why would I make instant ramen? I have no need to make instant ramen."

Bronwyn: “Charles…”

Charles: "I don't eat instant ramen."

Bronwyn: “But could ye make it if ye needed to?”

Charles: "I'm... sure I could figure it out."

Bronwyn: “To the kitchen.”

Charles: "I have to make ramen?"

Bronwyn: “Aye. Get a packet from the pantry.”

Charles: He'd grumble about it, but he'd do as he was told.

Bronwyn: She’s just going to sit and watch.

Charles: He looked at her, holding the packet expectantly. "You're not going to help?"

Bronwyn: “Nope. I want to see ye figure it out.”

Charles: He frowned. Have pity on him, Bron. He gave a single nod. At least he had sense enough to read the packaging. It was a start. "Do you have a pot?"

Bronwyn: She beamed. No pity, only amusement. This was a test of skills.

“I sure do. In that bottom cabinet there.”

Charles: He looked a little injured at this injustice, but bent to select a pot. This one was big. Possibly too big? He filled it nearly to the top with water, and set it on the range. Amazing, how quickly boiling becomes boiling over.

Bronwyn: She would not laugh. Laughing was wrong.

“Less water. Ladle is in that drawer there if ye want to take some out.”

Charles: He frowned at her over his shoulder. A tip that would have been useful thirty seconds ago. Still, he grabbed the ladle from the drawer and scooped out a bit of water. He hesitated for a moment, before inching to the sink to dump it. A few more trips and at least that disaster had been resolved. Nothing to be done about the mess, just now. He tore open the package with his teeth, dumping the entire contents into the roiling water before realizing he'd neglected to remove the foil packet. There was a bit of cursing, but he had the ladle. He managed to fish it out, and set about looking for a towel.

Bronwyn: Laughing was wrong laughing was wrong laughing was wrong.

Bronwyn cleared her throat and pointed at the oven door. “Towel’s there. Extras are in the drawer beside the sink.”

Charles: "Thank you," he grumbled, collecting it from the door and patting his seasoning packet dry. The package hadn't specified when to add it. After too much consideration, he tore it open, and tipped the lot into the now-frothing water. Good enough.

Bronwyn: “Ye’re verra welcome.”

Other than the boiling over and the flavor packet in the water, this was going very well! She was impressed.

Charles: Now what? The directions had said three minutes. How long had it been? He really ought to have set a timer. But there had been the water and the packet and who could keep track of all that? He'd eyeball for a bit.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn had noticed the time when Charles had put the noodles in but offering that information would be helping. And helping, like laughing, would be wrong.

Charles: He stared into the bubbling vortex for a while, counting the seconds in his head until he reached two minutes. It would have to do. He switched off the heat and poked at his "soup" with the ladle. The lump of noodle was a bit gummy. Perhaps he should have stirred it? But it smelled nice and was clearly edible. "There. Ramen."

Bronwyn: She nodded toward the cabinet. “Excellent. Bowls are in there, let’s have a taste of this ramen.”

Charles: He obediently crossed to the directed cabinet, pulling down two reasonably sized bowls. "Forks?"

Bronwyn: “They were all dirty this mornin’ so they’re in the dishwasher with ev’ryrhin’ else I have to unload still.”

Charles: He nodded and crossed to retrieve those as well. He had a bit of a time separating the mass that had become his ramen, but it did indeed still seem edible, at the very least. Divided into bowls and a few ladles of watery broth into each. "Bon appetit?"

Bronwyn: "We're about to find out," she said with a smile.

The first bite was taken.

Charles: Charles watched on expectantly, perhaps a bit nervously. The noodles were a bit overdone, and indeed in need of stirring, but it was impossible to miss-season a soup that had the flavor packaged so nicely for you. Maybe less water, next time around, so it wouldn't be so diluted.

Bronwyn: "Well. Tastes good. Broth is a wee bit diluted but it tastes verra good. The noodles are...well, they are also in the bowl."

Charles: He snorted a laugh. "Better than on the floor, I suppose. In my defense, I've never touched a pack of these in my life."

Bronwyn: "Ye did good for the first time! The noodles are cooked, ye fished out the flavor packet, ye successfully boiled water. I'm proud. Ye certainly did figure it out."

Charles: Another chuckle. "The real test would be to have my son come in here and embarrass me by doing a better job. But thank you. I can check 'boil water' off of my list, now."

Bronwyn: Okay, now she did laugh. "I think he probably would've seen the bit on the packet where it tells ye how much water to boil but that doesn't diminish yer accomplishment. I'm now fairly confident ye could've fed yerself in yer youth if it had gone differently."

Charles: "Turns out having a team of cooks can be a detriment to one's ability to grow into a functioning adult. Parents get blamed for everything else. May as well add it to the list."

Bronwyn: "Ye know, I think we should. But we're takin' care of that, Leslie and I. I'll have ye makin' Yorkshire puddin's before ye know it."

Charles: "Oh, the husband will love that. Though, we should probably save it for the end. An inedible Yorkshire pudding is possibly grounds for divorce."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn just laughed. "He'd love whatever ye made! Or at least pretend to."

Charles: "That he would. He does still love me after all of the food poisoning scares. Incredible, that one."

Bronwyn: "Scares? As in more than one?"

Charles: "Something about under done chicken. I don't know." He waved a hand.

Bronwyn: "Charles! All right, that's it. Come on, we're goin' shoppin'."

Charles: "Shopping?"

Bronwyn: "We're gettin' ye a meat thermometer."

Charles: "Oh. All right. They make thermometers for meat? Who knew?"

Bronwyn: "How are the four of ye still alive? Come on."

Charles: "Money." He followed along contentedly.

[antimagnetixxx]

❛   how would you like to have a sexual encounter so intense it could conceivably change your political views?   ❜

First and foremost, Erik Lehnsherr is a man of challenges, and when presented with one, he only could ever find himself wanting to do his best and really rise to the occasion.

So, it goes to follow, that he is in fact pretty much already risen tot he occasion with the words alone.

Or is at least on his way to rising. He's very carefully seated and the question has hit so hard, no, sorry, UNEXPECTEDLY that he's crossing his legs and clearing his throat.

There might be creeping red on his face and neck, but his voice sure as hell isn't going to be betraying him now.

“Sounds like it would be quite lengthy.”

Imagine that so many decades of arguing could be resolved with one really good--

Nope.

Better uses of mou--

Nope.

Not the only thing flip--

Nope.

Switch--

Nope---

Sub--

So maybe sneaking up on Erik has been the key to this particular lock all along.

“Don't tease, Charles.”

And if he says that staring a little too hard, it could be a plea for mercy or a plea for as little mercy as humanly possible.

But if anyone could, it'd surely be you. Yeah. That works. But it just sadly cuts too close to the bone for him to say. Out loud, anyway. As if it's not blaring loud as an air siren from the white knuckles to the tight throat anyway. Maybe he'll just spell it out in ropes and candlewax. Later.

[changingthelights]

        Charles couldn’t fight a grin as he handed Cameron a garment box tied closed with a massive, blue ribbon. The jacket had the school’s symbol, an encircled ‘X’, stitched in black thread on one side, along with Cam’s surname. When he turned it over, he’d find C O A C H embroidered across its back. The whistle, too, had his name and the school’s symbol etched into the metal.

        “We’ve never had an official gym teacher, before. The kids all brainstormed ideas on what to get you. Merry Christmas!“ 

Cam wasn’t sure what he was expecting from Charles this year, but it certainly wasn’t this, or a gift that involved the kids. He swallowed, his throat suddenly felt tight, and he coughed to try and clear it. He was definitely not trying to blink back a few tears rising in his eyes. 

“This is - really nice,” he coughed again, and abruptly pulled Charles in for a hug. “I’ll uh- I’ll definitely be wearing both of these to- to next class.” 

Once Cam was sure he wasn’t going to look too emotional over his gift he pulled back and offered Charles his own gift. 

“I’m surprised all those kids kept my gift a secret,” Cam grinned in return, just a little teary eyed, “but if they kept mine a secret, I feel pretty confident they kept yours a secret too. The kids caught me zoning out while thinking about what to get you, and they wanted to help.”

Inside the bag was a series of handmade holiday cards from each of Cam’s students.

“The kids thought this might be able to help contain some of your more important papers, books, or your laptop. The only stipulation they gave me was that there be-” he held up his hands up and made quotations with his fingers, “-lots of pockets. So, inside you’ll find quite a few. I suggested the handmade cards, so we had a craft day for one of our classes instead.”

[markofwinter]

askprofessorx replied to your post: ��

quack quack

   “So about that justified and deserved right hook.”