would you like to play a game?

Logan Young You're not a nice person, are you?

[young-logan]

ofprophecies:

His student made no move to turn off that obnoxious song while Uriel continued to ignore it ( not phased by the odd music choice ). He had heard much worse, and if anything, what else could be expected from a nephilim? Nothing but chaos and poor attempts. The angel smirked, replying, “keeping making assumptions, Mr. Young. The truth of the matter is: you don’t know me.” 

Uriel merely nodded, maybe his student had been here to fuel his car. Or continue with whatever sketchy plans he might’ve had waiting out here. For now, the angel had wanted beer and to return back to Laviah’s before the night ended. “Well, in that case, I wish you luck.” 

He continued walking, making his way towards the convenience store. 

No, Logan did not know Professor Hot Stuff -- but oh, wouldn’t he like to. How, exactly, was still a point of confusion. Or rather, he was almost certain he knew how he wanted to know the professor, and that in and of itself was a cause of mild confusion. But that spark was undeniable, as was the fact he was the first person Logan met who’d ever truly kept him on his toes. 

His eyes followed the other as he made his way toward the store, Logan very nearly jumping up and following him inside. But that reeked of desperation -- maybe he was desperate -- and pride kept him rooted in place. That and the flash of headlights as a beat-up pickup truck pulled up to the gas station, coming to a stop alongside Logan’s car, between him and the convenience store. The driver’s-side window rolled down and any awkwardness Logan felt around the professor vanished as he slid off the roof of his car and moved to greet the other. 

“You bootiebootiepop?” The guy nodded. “You got the stuff?” Another nod as the guy reached for a small package in the passenger seat and then paused. He eyed Logan’s Tesla, a flash of idiocy in his eyes that told Logan he’d just had a very bad idea. Bad for him, at least; as if Logan hadn’t been hoping for that. As if he hadn’t been hoping for the guy to jack up the price, just so he’d have an excuse to flash him a razor-sharp smile, devoid of any of the humanity in his eyes he’d learned to mimic around other people. 

“You know this shit isn’t that hard to get, right?” Logan asked in a low voice. “So I want you to think about this real hard. You sure you want to ask me for more than we agreed on?” There was a flash of fear in the guy’s eyes that was more electrifying than the spark Logan felt around Hot Stuff -- and then that defiance he’d known would follow. “Suit yourself.” 

Quick as a flash Logan’s hand was on the guy’s neck, a hollow laugh falling past his lips as he tried to pry Logan’s fingers away with both hands but to no avail. Logan didn’t know how or why, but he’d always been deceptively strong despite his slight stature, and this guy was hardly muscular himself; they were a pair of dudes who spent most of their time on the Internet, after all. 

That itch that always burned under Logan’s skin grew stronger as he squeezed, as he watched the fear blossom over the other’s face. It would be so easy to kill the guy -- but then what? He’d be left with a mess, and it would be over so quickly. Logan nodded toward the passenger seat, the man feebly reaching out to grab the goods and offer them to Logan. He took them in his free hand, then leaned in closer to the other. “You’ve got an hour’s head start before I take your whole life apart,” he murmured, relishing the other’s fear for half a second before he finally let go and stepped back, leaving the other gasping for breath and slamming down on the gas to get away from the gas station as quickly as possible -- and it was only then that Logan saw his professor standing outside the convenience store with his beers in hand. 

Oh.

“Hey there, Prof,” he greeted as if he hadn’t just been choking a guy, too much fire coursing through his veins to bother tempering his unhinged smile, and it was hard to say how much of that was from the act of violence with the promise of further destruction to follow, and how much was from the Professor himself. All he knew was that he was practically buzzing, the music still blaring from his car’s speakers a dull roar in the back of his mind. He leaned against his car, adrenaline making him smoother than he’d been the first time around -- and making him bolder, too. “You need a ride? Lot of creeps out and about this time of night.” 

[young-logan]

ofprophecies: 

“Okay smarty-pants,” she joked, smiling. He had been smarter than her, it was apparent when she hired him to find her angel. Of course, things were proving to be difficult than originally planned; and sometimes, Julie thought that Logan remained more motivated than her during the entire search. “Chocolate? I’ll keep that in mind,” she mused, teasing, “speaking of sweet things, did you give chocolates to that one professor for valentines day?”

Julie blinked nodding slowly. “ . . thanks. I - if I remember something that might help, I’ll let you know.” 

Logan smirked; it was a stupid point, and Julie was the farthest thing from a good debate -- nothing like a certain professor that kept popping into his thought with alarming frequency -- but it was fun to be right all the same. He took another bite of the pastry -- only to nearly choke on it. “What?” It was more a cough than a question as Logan cleared his throat and tried to pretend he had not very nearly jumped out of his seat. “No, Julie, of course I didn’t! God,” his voice betrayed his discomfiture, his eyes leaving hers to focus resolutely on his laptop as his ears turned a light shade of pink. Like he could give his professor chocolates. ...Should he have?

No. That was stupid. He glanced back at Julie and nodded. “Sure. You know I’ll take whatever you can think of.”

[young-logan]

ofprophecies:

Seems as if he had caught the nephilim off guard, the thought causing him to smirk. A quick trip to grab more beer suddenly shifted into something more … intriguing. Surely, Logan must’ve had hidden violent tendencies, something that he - the angels - could use to their benefit. And Uriel knew that he would have to keep prodding to find out. 

“Getting beer, actually,” he answered, approaching him, not bothering to speak over the blasting music. The song did not suit the conversation or the vibe, which made the encounter slightly amusing. Granted, Uriel didn’t really find it a SHOCK to run into another student during this time of night. The only coincidence was that it had been the same student. 

“I think the better question, Mr. Young, is what are you doing here?” 

“You look suspicious, being out here. Alone.” 

Beer. Professor Hot Stuff, dressed down in a way that made the nickname all the more fitting, was at a run-down gas station in the middle of the night for beer. Logan squinted at him, painfully aware of the music playing too-loud in the background. Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb. But to turn it off would mean getting up and opening his car, and that felt a little too much like admitting he was embarrassed by his song choice. All Star was a classic, thank you very much. “Still would have pegged you for whisky guy,” he commented, leaning back on his elbows and hoping he looked a lot cooler than he felt under Professor Hot Stuff’s ever-assessing gaze. 

Suspicious, was he? A smirk twisted at his lips. You have no idea, he wanted to say. This is nothing. “Maybe my car just ran out of juice.” Only the Tesla wasn’t plugged in, nor would there have been anyplace for Logan to do so at an old gas station like this one. His smirk widened, eyes holding Hot Stuff’s gaze. “Or maybe I’m up to no good.” Only shooting stars break the mold.

[young-logan]

ofprophecies:

The meeting had been going well, the angels all gathering to discuss their progress so far. Once the bible readings and serious discussions were out of the way, the had settled for a more calmer get together. Alcohol. Snacks. Music. Similar to how these humans spent their quality time, with the people they claimed to love. And if they could put on this charade, the angels could do it even BETTER. Uriel had left Laviah’s place for the sole purpose of getting more beer. The walk to the gas station hadn’t been too far, if anything, he liked to keep track of things on the way there. The people. The local stores. The sights. Details were important in this war. Even if some of them included that song and his student waiting idly nearby. 

“Interesting music taste, Mr. Young,” he greeted. 

Logan felt it before he saw anything. That spark of electricity he could only attribute to one person, and Logan straightened up on the hood of his car and turned just in time to see him approaching. Only he wasn’t at all ready for the sight that greeted him. It was indeed Professor Hot Stuff, but the man didn’t look at all like a professor tonight. “Uh.” Logan blinked, dazed as he took in what he could of the other in the dim light, and then his eyes widened as he registered both the professor’s comment and the music that was blaring from his car. Fuck. “Oh, uh --” A flustered laugh escaped him before he could stop it, but Logan was quick to clear his throat. “What, um...” He squinted at the man again, considering for a half-second whether Professor Hot Stuff was actually bootiebootiepop6969 here to deliver what he’d ordered from the Dark Web, but Logan quickly discounted the notion; no way did Hot Stuff have it in him. “What are you doing all the way out here, Professor H--” Logan cut himself off; he really needed to pay attention to Hot Stuff’s actual name. He swallowed. “Breaking curfew again?” He added with a slight smirk, the first comment he actually felt good about as he called back to the first time he’d run into the professor late at night. It was a trend Logan could get used to, if only he’d known to put on better music and there wasn’t a sketchy dude from the Internet en route to meet him out here. 

[young-logan]

Where: abandoned gas station ~5 miles outside of town When: 11 pm Whomst: anybody

Just as Logan suspected, there was no one outside the run-down Shell station that was just far enough outside of town (and on the way to nothing) to be forgotten by most residents. The perfect place to meet the guy from whom he’d ordered a rubber ducky and a keylogger on the Dark Web. Neither item was necessarily illegal, but Logan had learned it was best to keep these types of purchases off-grid. Even if that meant actually leaving his apartment for something other than class. At least the sun wasn’t up. He pulled up to a gas pump and parked his car, leaving the engine running -- and Smashmouth’s All Star blaring from the speakers as he got out and perched himself on the hood. The black Model S Tesla was a graduation gift from his mom, or more like a ‘get the hell away from me, i’m finally free of you’ gift, and if it was perhaps a little too conspicuous for some of Logan’s shadier dealings, he couldn’t quite bring himself to part with something so cool.  So here he sat, swatting at a bug -- the outdoors truly were horrifying -- and shooting off a text to the guy he was waiting to meet. Logan wasn’t about to wait around if this dude decided not to show. 

[young-logan]

ofprophecies:

Juliette blinked, always surprised by his lack of self-care. Perhaps it was part of being in university, however, even she hadn’t been that bad during her time on campus. “… yesterday? Logan, how are you - my stomach would’ve eaten itself by this point.” She sighed at his mention of compensation because he had been right; there was no way she could pay him. Not with her accounts running low and rent obligations. “I know … but it’s better than nothing.” 

She offered him a strained smile, not sure how much hope she had left to FIND anything. Her angel. Her research. Everything was hanging on the line, wasn’t it? 

“Your stomach would not have eaten itself in a day,” Logan pointed out with amusement, arguing the point purely for argument’s sake. Would she care about his health if she knew he was -- whatever he was? Not normal? He shrugged, taking another bite.”If you say so, but for future reference, I like stuff with chocolate in it.” As if he was helping her for the pastries. As if he was helping her for any reason other than he liked a challenge and the task she’d asked of him was proving to be a far greater challenge than anticipated from such a sweet, soft-spoken girl. It wasn’t the strain in her smile that bothered him so much as the thought that she might think he wasn’t capable of finding what she was looking for. And he hadn’t been so far, but -- “I’m not quitting, though. I’m gonna find your shit. And your boyfriend,” he added, intentionally probing, hoping for some sort of reaction that might tell him more about what he was actually looking for in the first place. 

[young-logan]

ofprophecies:

Uriel smirked, not finding it surprising that this nephilim almost preferred being in class. After all, didn’t it provide such creatures with everything they had desired; attention, importance and notoriety? His class would’ve gone well with or without Logan in attendance - but even the angel couldn’t deny that this certainly made things more interesting. 

“Might I remind you that the department only allows for a three-day unexcused absence policy. Missing anymore would hinder your grade - not that you would skip my class. I’m sure the students would feel incomplete with your opposing opinions.” 

Debates were always stimulating, especially when the opponent had been a nephilim. Of course, Uriel knew he had to do something about this discovery ( they couldn’t just LET danger roam so freely ). He chose to analyze the subject instead, aiming to pick apart his student’s brain. Logan hadn’t known the truth yet, so why not use that to his advantage? He could control everything- make things fall into place in a timely manner ( construct the perfect scenario for his unassuming student ).

Logan could be useful for the cause; otherwise they would simply have to get rid of the creature. 

His eyes gazed up at the high ceiling, appreciating the architecture of church ( of God’s holiness ). Frequent visits to churches always reminded him of their end goal: to spread the message, loud and clear, about the WAR that would wage in due time. 

“It’s beautiful,” Uriel stated, marveling at the sights before his eyes landed upon Logan again. “Given your argument, perhaps the past ought to be admired more. As for the correct answer, I came to pray.” 

“I’m not like your other students,”

A laughable statement, really. Nonetheless, the angel had not choice BUT to play along. “A rather bold statement, Mr. Young. You should know by now that I require evidence when contesting such claims.” 

“Just the students?” If it was crossing a line to ask, that just made doing so all the more thrilling in Logan’s eyes. He didn’t know what to make of that spark he felt whenever he was in the same room as Professor Hot Stuff -- particularly when the other was engaging him in arguing whatever contrary point he could think up -- but he wanted to believe it went both ways. Wanted to think the professor would notice if he didn’t show up to class (as if Logan would ever skip a day), and that he would be disappointed. 

Didn’t the academic types live for a good debate?

What Logan wouldn’t have pegged Professor Hot Stuff as was religious, at least not to the point of being in a church on an evening that could be spent on countless more worthwhile pursuits. He arched an eyebrow, sparing a glance up at the arched ceiling, the stained glass. Beautiful was not the word he’d have used. It felt the same as every other church he’d stood in; like it was closing in on him, like it wanted to chew him up and spit him out. As if Logan needed to be told he didn’t belong here. 

And as for why Professor Hot Stuff was here -- “You really think that works?” Logan couldn’t help asking, making no attempt to hide his skepticism. He’d decided for himself long ago that if there was someone listening to anyone’s prayers, they sure as hell weren’t doing anything about them.

His smirk twisted; a thrill ran down his spine, and flash of excitement flashed across his eyes. “Of course, Professor.” He took a few more steps forward, slowly working his way to the where Professor Hot Stuff stood by the votive candles. “I am here, aren’t I?” He pointed out, before he took a step closer. If only he could voice just how different, just how much better he was than any student the professor ever had before. “But I’m sure I can offer more than that. What kind of evidence do you need?”

[young-logan]

thunderousramiel:

location: bar with a name idk yet. open to: anyone!

Ramiel took great pride in being a conversationalist. The part of listening to someone’s hopes and dreams, the part that seemed to be the cherry on top, was the affirmation that someone was listening. Or the assumed affirmation. After a few drinks, it was hard for a human to tell if his nod was one of encouragement or one of vague as fuck acknowledgement. After a few millennia of concerning himself with the hopes of others and where that got him, he figured he was due for some ‘me-time’. 

He could be as vague as he damn well pleased.

Movement at the end of the bar drew the disgraced’s attention away from the human he spoke with. Hope filed away for later, he approached with an easy smile.

“Welcome,” he said, arms loosely folded across his chest. “Are you feeling anything in particular…?” The human he had turned away from put their head down on the bar. Ramiel smiled fondly. “Or are you here to feel a particular something?”

In a matter of minutes, the girl he’d been catfishing for the past two months would be arriving -- all the way from the next town over -- to meet her future-doctor Internet boyfriend. Only no one was going to show up, and Logan was going to have a front row seat to her sinking realization that she’d been stood up. Maybe he’d message her later apologizing with a story about saving a stray dog or something and string her along for another couple weeks. Maybe he’d just ghost her completely. 

Either way, the night was off to a great start. 

And it was getting better. Or more confusing, maybe. It was nothing on Professor Hot Stuff, but Logan still felt the slightest -- something when the bartender walked toward him. Also unlike with Hot Stuff, it was more...unsettling, somehow. Or Logan was just being weird because he wasn’t used to feeling anything when he looked at dudes. Maybe he’d just never been around hot enough guys before. Something to be thought about later, perhaps. For now he just grinned as he looked up from his phone. “What the strongest drink you make?”

[young-logan]

ofprophecies:

Uriel appreciated his student’s participation in class, as well as the frequent office hours visits, for it indicated that despite being a creature of damnation, the nephilim could still be shifted towards their cause. And at this point, he found that ploy more worthwhile than planning a method of attack. After all, Logan might have talents that they needed - and part of that charm had been not knowing his own nature. 

“Perhaps you ought to save that for tomorrow, church tends to be a place for solace,” Uriel reminded, feeling calm for once. “Besides, with the debate settled right now, you’ll have nothing to contribute to office hours. In which case, your other classmates might appreciate that.” 

It was plain to see that Logan didn’t indulge him with simple questions regarding the homework or exams - instead, the young boy wanted craved for more. Had a greediness for something that adhered to the insatiable appetite of nephilim. It was the sad CURSE of being half human, half divine. 

“Professors don’t have curfews,” he insisted, almost amused by the suggestion, “Books and newspapers keep the mind sharp. With how fast the world is changing, it’s smart to keep up-to-date with recent innovations.” Especially now that the talk about the Holy War had been spreading like wildfire, they had to monitor it wisely. 

“That being said, isn’t it odd for you to be here at such an hour? I figured you’d be hiding away or partying this evening, like most of my other students,” he stated, tossing back a similar assumption. 

Church tends to be a place for solace. Logan had to bite back a sardonic smirk at that thought. Every time he’d set foot in a church -- and granted there hadn’t been many of those -- he’d found anything other than solace. “They’d miss me,” he retorted without missing a beat. “If I wasn’t there the discussions wouldn’t be half as interesting.”

Logan laughed the the professor’s insistence against a curfew, but when followed had him quirking an eyebrow. “So what brings you here, then? Always felt to me like chruches were a place for people who wanted to stay stuck in the past.” It was too personal a question, and likely offensive even if they weren’t currently standing in a church. But Hot Stuff was surely used to Logan’s straightforward and argumentative nature by now. He doubted anything he could say would shake the professor’s composure, but he couldn’t help the desire to poke and prod and test that out. 

As for why he was here?

“I’m not like your other students,” he shot back, a non answer but truthful all the same. Logan wasn’t like anyone, at least no one he’d ever met before. It was something he’d always done his best to conceal -- but there was something in him that suddenly craved recognition from the professor. Not for whatever was wrong with him, but for how much better he was than the others. 

[young-logan]

ofprophecies:

Juliette blinked, staring at her coffee cup before her eyes landed on him again. She supposed that was one way to greet someone … then again, she didn’t really understand Logan. The paralegal had hired him to help obtain stolen research, however, things weren’t successful ( … and she had gotten fired, which meant no money for his hacking services ). Nevertheless, he remained adamant that he’d find the information — and maybe, just maybe, her angel too. The one that had stolen the material in the first place. 

“Hello, Logan.”

She slid her untouched pastry forward, offering, “ - have you eaten yet?”

The confusion with which Juliette regarded him never failed to amuse Logan, though she was equally difficult to figure out in his opinion. All sweet smiles, only she’d commissioned him to try and track down any digital trace of some legal records that mysteriously vanished -- and the person who’d taken them. It was the kind of mess that no good could come of being involved in, so naturally Logan had taken to the project with glee, sticking with it even when the payment ran out because it had become a challenge. He still didn’t understand Juliette, though. “Yeah, I ate like...” Logan paused to think as he pulled his laptop out of his backpack and opened it on the countertop. “Yesterday? Giving me snacks isn’t gonna make up for the fact I’m doing this shit for free, Jules,” he pointed out even as he took the pastry she offered and took a bite. “Anyways... I still don’t have any updates.”

[young-logan]

ofprophecies:

Uriel recognized that voice, the one that spoke so frequently in class. He also wasn’t blind to that FEELING - the one that sparked every time an angel ( or half angel ) had been nearby. Unlike Tucker, Logan seemed … almost oblivious to it. To the entirety of being a nephilim. Uriel almost expected tough encounters during syllabus week, instead, he merely got another loud-mouth student. 

And he wondered if Logan knew.

But he also couldn’t do anything if the boy hadn’t. Young nephilim were naive like their human counterparts, and perhaps he needed a different approach to this situation. Nevertheless, the angel still wasn’t too keen on the idea of having such creatures in his class. Even if they convincingly appeared to be clueless about everything. 

“Most prayers tend to be simple,” Uriel stated, glancing at his student. “Unless yours are particularly complicated.” 

“I’m assuming you’re not here for office hours, either.” 

There was a difference between simple and crytpic, and Logan would have argued it (as he argued everything) if not for what the professor said next. His smile tightened, a flash of a question in his eyes. There was no way Professor Hot Stuff could guess just how complicated any prayer of Logan’s would have to be. It was a good thing he wasn’t a believer in any of that stuff; he was certain he'd be beyond saving. 

It was a thought he was glad not to linger on, though what followed wasn’t much simpler. Logan had been to office hours. Hot Stuff took well to debate, always ready with an answer to any of Logan’s needling questions. Truthfully, it only confused things even further; Logan couldn’t tell if it was hot or he just really loved a good debate and Hot Stuff gave that to him. Maybe it was both. 

“I wasn’t, but now that you’re here I’m always happy to pick apart your latest lecture.” That was a bluff; Logan could barely remember a word Hot Stuff said. He took another step forward, the jolt he got from the professor contrasting with the way his skin crawled just from being inside a church -- also confusing. “Isn’t it kind of late for you to be out and about? You always seemed more the type to be like, home in your leather armchair with a whiskey reading philosophy or like, an actual paper newspaper or something.” 

Not that Logan had thought about it. 

[young-logan]

divinemanic:

location: general coffee shop time: is a societal construct availability: everyone x

It wasn’t late per se; it was just late for her, considering the number of hours she’d slept in the last 24 hours – at least less than 3 hours, by her own estimation – after the 12 hour shift she’d just gotten off of. The coffee shop was buzzing with people gearing up for a full day; she caffeinated for the sake of routine, daydreaming idly as people brushed by her table by the window. She should’ve been sleeping, to be perfectly honest, but the sun was shining, and energy was too high for her to manage it: Azrael was leaving to her own devices.

Hand guided by precision borne of anatomical charts, she watched as the coffee crowd inched forward towards the register, doodling on the napkin next to her, likenesses of everyone popping up in every form on her napkin. The crowd swelled; her hand did not: noticing suddenly the object of her focus wandering closer (either on purpose or by chance she did not know), she crumpled the napkin in her fist, blood rushing to her face.

“Sorry,” she murmured softly, laying her head down on her arm, simultaneously embarrassed and tired, low enough to be dismissed; loud enough to be counted as a reasonable apology. “If I was staring,” she clarified.

Logan hated mornings, to the point where he’d made sure only to sign up for classes that began after 11 a.m. this semester. But this particular morning didn’t count as one, for he hadn’t slept at all the night before. He’d been up working on a side project that upset a large number of people he would never meet and left him with a nice sum of money to his name (well, not his name). 

So he was in a particularly good mood despite the hour, one that only improved as he took his coffee and then glanced to his left only to see a girl staring at him. And she was cute, though Logan didn’t feel that same electric jolt he got from Professor Hot Stuff, which was -- disconcerting, to say the least. Something else to be considered. But that was for later, for she saw him take notice and a smirk pulled at his lips at the way her cheeks flushed and she crumpled up the paper she’d been doodling on. 

Had she been drawing him? Logan could hardly blame her, if she was. He moved closer and dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand. “Hey, no worries. I mean, I can’t blame you.” It was almost a joke, if only it reached his eyes. Without asking he slid into the seat opposite her -- if it made her uncomfortable, all the better -- and nodded at the napkin. “What were you working on?”

[young-logan]

ofprophecies:

location: coffee shop

Juliette sighed again, looking down at her notes. She had already applied to five jobs in the past hour, and it seemed like she would have to broaden her search if she wanted to get something within the next few months ( needed it, actually ). The stack of bills weren’t helping, either. 

Focused on her work, she barely glanced at the shadow approaching her, mumbling, “ - hm, no, that seat isn’t taken.” 

She barely even looked at him, clearly distracted by whatever she was doing, and while she had in fact answered his question Logan couldn’t help but smirk at the opportunity for a bit more fun than that. “Well thanks,” he answered, sliding into the empty seat beside her. “But I was actually gonna tell you there’s a fly in your coffee.”

[young-logan]

ofprophecies:

location: church open: anyone that wants to deal with him

It had been late – or getting late. The sun had set, the wind was picking up, and winter finally filled into the crevices of the town. Most people ( humans ) were probably cozy at home, relaxingnafter a busy day of work. However, angels didn’t have that alleged privilege - they were always working, always sacrificing for God. 

And why wouldn’t they? His word had been the only one that mattered.

And right now, their job had been WAR. Slowly, but surely, churches like these would be filled with fanatics. All of them demanding for the holy war, practically begging for it. The world had been plagued with sins for too long ( and it was time to set it ablaze ). 

Stepping forth, he approached the votive candles, all while hearing someone else enter the empty church. It would be silly to think he was the ONLY one praying ( no, no they would soon have an entire army praying ). 

“They say you light candles with the thought of someone in mind, praying for their soul.”

“So, here’s to those who shall lose the war.” The holy war, disgraced angels and fickle minded humans alike. 

It was lucky Logan’s mom had never been particularly religious, for the few Christmases and Easters that she’d dragged him to a service he couldn’t shake the distinct feeling that he didn’t belong. But then, of course he didn’t. Logan didn’t belong anywhere, did he? Well, fuck ‘em. He needed some equipment that screamed ‘I’m a hacker,’ and he could think of no better IP address to use for his dark web purchase than that of a local church. Surely there was a computer in an office somewhere, though maybe starting right in the space of worship was a bad move. 

For he wasn’t alone, his eyes flashing to the votive candles and surprise flickering over his features. Professor Hot Stuff. That wasn’t his name. Quite frankly, Logan didn’t remember his name. He’d been too distracted by the weird, electric sensation that washed over him the first time he laid eyes on the professor. Logan had never questioned his sexuality before then. But it was hard to think of any other reason for the strange, unsettling feeling. And honestly? Hot Stuff was -- sort of captivating, even more so with the candlelight casting shadows across his face. 

But hot for teacher? Logan wouldn’t have ever pegged himself as the type. What a fucking cliche. 

He took a few steps closer before he could think too much about it. “Your prayers always that cryptic, Professor Ho--” Logan caught himself just before he said the nickname aloud, clearing his throat to cover the slip. “Professor?”

[young-logan]

tuckerkincaid:

“And you had to sit right next to me for that premiere wifi?” Tucker couldn’t help but ask, raising one golden brow before he turned back to bartender. Drumming his fingers on the bar, he looked toward one of the televisions where SportsCenter was talking about the upcoming March Madness. He might not have felt too particularly loyal to KU’s Jayhawks but he loved the betting that came with it. Every year Tucker’s former frat brothers would create a bracket and Tucker had been the winner the past two years. He was keen on a third year.

“Just be honest, Mr. Young.” Tucker drawled as the bartender came back and handed him a plate of nachos and his beer. “If you missed me this much and wanted to be with me again, all you had to do was enroll in my five-hundred and forty class: History of Death and Dying and we could have had such wonderful conversations there.” 

He couldn’t help himself. Despite severe attitude issues and the almost undeniable fact that Logan was a nephilim judging by the energy that Tucker felt sitting by him, jolts of electric impulsiveness streaming through him, Tucker had been fond of Logan. He had been wishing for him to take another one of his classes.

“What can I say, you’re like a human hotspot,” Logan quipped back easily, as if he’d been paying attention. Though he couldn’t help the thought the professor had a point. Logan could have sat a few seats down, and yet -- here he was, pulled by a strange energy he couldn’t place and didn’t particularly want to think about. 

So he didn’t. “You know most professors are thrilled to get me out of their classes?” Logan knew that wasn’t entirely true; there were plenty of professors who loved his tendency to debate, fooling themselves into thinking it stemmed from interest in their subject rather than the urge simply to rile people up and lead discussions off track. 

But Kincaid seemed smarter than that. And Logan had enjoyed his class, truly. But the History of Death and Dying? How would he ever hope to hide what he was -- whatever he was -- when he couldn’t even contain his morbid fascination at the topic here in a bar, without even delving into it? “History of Death and Dying, huh?” His eyes lit up, fingers twitching against his phone as he thought about blasting an npc’s head off with the press of a button. “That’s kind of morbid, isn’t it?” 

[angstmemes]

Character Development Questions

Send me one or more and I'll answer these in depth questions

What’s an important lesson your muse has learned over the past few years and how has that changed the way they live?

How does the time your muse lives in influence their lifestyle? Are they happy they’re born in their time, or do they fantasise about a different era?

Does your muse focus mainly on one long term goal or multiple short term ones? What do they think about the reachability of their goals and what are they?

Is your muse an optimist or pessimist and how does this influence their choices?

Does your muse have any irrational fears that hold them back in life? Do they come from experience (trauma) or is it, for instance, part of a belief system they have?

Is your muse looking for a long term relationship? Are they in one? What do they think of marriage and binding themselves to someone?

What does your muse get out of relationships (be it friends, family or a significant other)? Do they find it energising or exhausting to keep up with?

How selfish/selfless is your muse? To what extent would they sacrifice themselves for others and is there anything they’d not give up?

What does your muse think of time/aging? Does getting older scare them? (Alternatively, for immortal muses: How does their immortality effect their relationships with mortals?)

Does your muse believe one should always work hard to get what they want or would your muse take a kind offer without feeling the need to repay it? What do they expect when they lend/give something to someone?

What are your muse’s thoughts on race? Are they biased/racist? Are they aware of discrimination; do they participate in it or do they ignore it? Are they discriminated against?

Is the way your muse sees themselves similar to how others see them or is it (very) different, due to mental illness/keeping secrets/etc.?

When faced with a tricky situation will your muse be proactive or passive? Will they, for instance, try to get involved when they’re not or will they try to get away when they are?

Do they take control or give control or do they believe in sharing power? What are their thoughts on control versus submission (either sexually or in relationships in general)? What do they think of authority?

How materialistic are they? Do they often throw things out or are they hoarders? Do they store their memories in their heads, in photo albums or in countless of boxes of belongings in the attic?

Are they addicted to anything at all? Do they crave something when they haven’t had it in a while? Has this ever endangered them or others?

What prominent habits does your muse have and how would they respond if they were forced to change them? Are they adaptable or dependent on their routines?

What skills does your muse have and how did they come to have them? Was it hard work to learn them? What do they use their skills for? Are there any skills your muse wishes they had?

How concerned are they with their appearance and how do they regard the appearance of others? Do they find it important? Do they enjoy aesthetically pleasing people?

What does your muse think of secrets? Do they keep many or a few and what is their motivation to keep something secret? Have they ever been hurt by a secret someone else kept from them?

[linda-belcher]