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[Lab rat, drugged. How about Archer, since I haven’t had a chance to play with my favorite chronomage very much?]
His father had warned him.
His father had warned him that, eventually, people would catch on. Even if he stayed within the confines of the Network for his education, even if he only told those closest to him, even if he took every precaution. Even if he was strong enough, smart enough, magical enough that he thought he could get himself out of any situation. His father warned him that anything could go wrong. His father warned him to be cautious, not to take any chances, to always be alert. A chronomage was an extremely rare and powerful thing, even wrapped in a small package with loose blond curls and a quiet disposition.
His father warned him, and Archer thought he had listened well enough.
He made friends at school, sons and daughters of other scientists, and they were nice. They were normal. They went out of the safe confines of the building for drinks and food, to find people to flirt with and take a break from their books for a few hours. It felt safe to go with them.
His father had warned him.
Archer wasn’t aware that something was wrong for a long time. The mild buzzing in his head could easily have been attributed to the glass of whiskey in his hand, or even because of the charming man sitting next to him who had been flirting with him for the past hour. Maybe that’s why his heart was beating a bit too hard, why his vision was tunneling at the edges, why he felt his magic pulsing with uncertainty when he finished his glass.
“You want to get out of here? Come hang at my place for awhile?”
Archer laughed; the sound echoed like it was far away, coming from someone else’s chest even as it rattled from his. Was he slowing time, or was it–was it something else? “I shouldn’t. I have school early in the morning. And you haven’t even told me your name.”
“My name is Rick.” He leaned forward, brushing Archer’s hair out of his face, his fingers lingering against a too-warm cheek. “I can set an early alarm.”
His head buzzed. Time dragged like his boots were in mud, like the wind on an early spring morning, warm and lazy and with promises of more to come. Like the touch of the palm against his cheek, the voice in his ear. “I shouldn’t, Rick. I’ll take your phone number, though.”
Archer stood, and his knees buckled. Rick caught him by the arms, steadying him with a smile that curled like smoke. “Why don’t I walk you home, at least?”
Time dragged, dragged through mud up to his knees, pulled like a mule with a plow in rocky earth, begged with a hoarse voice. His vision tunneled. His tongue thickened. His head bobbed in a nod, and everything faded into static.
His father had warned him.
Archer woke slowly, sharply aware first of the pounding in his head, pulsing in time with the steady beat of a heart monitor beside him. Both pain and beeping spiked as he tried to sit up, the movement halted by thick straps across his chest and limbs, one even passed over his forehead to keep him immobile to the bed. He jerked again in surprise, and his eyes opened to a blinding white light over his face. His breath hissed through his teeth, his hands clenched, and he could feel the needles in his arm, the wires on his chest, his scalp, his skin prickling all over from the cold of the room and the shuddering unknown.
“Easy there, kiddo. There’s nowhere you can go. Just relax.”
Archer reached for his magic, and felt an immediate spike of pain. Fire shot up his limbs, and blood trickled from his nose. Panic thundered in his chest, and the monitors echoed it back at him. “What did you do?” his voice cracked, thin and hoarse. He blinked a few times, unable to move his head enough to face the voice, but he could look over enough to see Rick’s face hovering over him. He wore glasses now, and a white labcoat, and a smile that felt like poison.
“You’ll be alright,” he said, in a way that was absolutely no answer. “Relax. Take a few deep breaths. The drugs are probably still wearing off.”
Archer pulled at the straps, but no matter how he strained, he could barely move. It was hard enough to take a clear breath, especially when Rick casually reached down and tugged the strap a notch tighter.
“What did you do to me?” Archer repeated, his voice steadier this time, feeling blood trickle over his lips as more dripped from his nose. He couldn’t feel the threads of time around him any longer, couldn’t see the vague shadows always present, couldn’t–couldn’t move.
Rick didn’t answer right away, checking his vitals and making a few notes on his clipboard. “I’ll have to commend Dr. Gaithers, this blocker is doing wonders to quell your magic, isn’t it?”
“Who are you?” he demanded, the table shaking as he fought the restraints.
“I told you my name already,” he chuckled, taking off his glasses and looking down at Archer’s face again. “And I know what you are, Mr. Brady. You think I would let a chronomage slip through my fingers? You think you’re not worth a fortune?”
“How–”
“You can’t stabilize a wormhole between universes and not expect someone to notice,” he tsked. “Once we have proper documentation of your power, and how to control you, I’ll have every leader of every country bidding millions. Not to mention all the criminal syndicates. I’m not really picky about where it comes from.” He tapped his pen against one of the screens. “This one here is monitoring your brain waves, the neurological impulses. See, here is where you woke up,” he drew a line across the screen with the cap of his pen, “and here is where you first tried to use your magic. We’re going to let the blocker wear off gradually. You’re not much good to us if you can’t perform.” He smiled. “After all, how else are we going to find out what makes you bend to my will?”
“You don’t have to do this,” Archer whispered. Blood ran over his chin. His palms itched with sweat. The computers trilled. His father had warned him. “You want money? I can get it to you, and save you plenty of time and resources in the process.”
“If this was all about money, I would have just bribed you with sex. You seemed eager enough for that,” he chuckled.
Archer’s cheeks burned. “Flirting and whiskey doesn’t mean–what do you want, if not money?”
“Come on, Mr. Brady. Don’t be stupid. You’re a scientist as much as a chronomage. I’ve been reading your theories of time, congruent universe principles, space travel–pretty advanced for someone your age. Makes sense when you can literally see many of these things, much less manipulate them, huh? But you still have to dumb it down and make it rational for us mortals.” Rick leaned over him, brushing a few sweat-slick curls from his brow. “I want to prove that I can tame a little god like you. I want to take magic so strong it can split universes, and bring it under heel. And I’ve searched for so long to find the right subject. It’s almost like fate you walked into that bar and gave me a smile, isn’t it?”
“How did you know what I was?” he asked weakly, wishing he could brush away the lingering feeling of Rick’s hands, the way they cooled too quickly in the dry air of the lab.
“Magic,” he laughed. “Nothing so useful as yours, I’m afraid. But it does allow me to see the power in people, tapped or untapped. And you–oh, you are like a supernova in a pretty blond package. It’ll be a shame to break you and sell you. But,” he dropped his clipboard on a nearby table. The echo of it pounded in Archer’s head. “But what is science without sacrifice?”
***
It took hours for the blockers to wear off. It was enough time for Archer to experience a range of emotions, most of which he kept to himself. The panic subsided to anger, but the straps would not give him an inch to struggle. The anger subsided to calmness, but his rational brain chewed on his confidence of rescue. The calmness eventually gave way to boredom, closing his eyes because he was tired of staring at bland white walls, or Rick’s stoic face as he sat on the desk and took notes.
Eventually, Archer fell into a doze.
When he woke, he for once had no sense of the passage of time, but clarity had returned, and his headache was all but gone. He cracked his eyes open carefully. He couldn’t see anyone else in the room. The computers hummed contentedly. He focused on the sound, pulling at a thread of magic until he heard the heart monitor slow. Beat by beat, slower and slower, until it hovered on an uptick, and froze completely. The air hung still. He took in a deep breath. All of the monitors were completely still, and he twisted enough that he could see the empty desk to his right, the clipboard still balanced near the edge of the table. Stopped time wouldn’t help him much in getting free, but if he could back up enough, avoid this mess to begin with–
His teacher always warned him traveling along his own timeline was dangerous, but so was being held hostage by a madman.
The monitors wavered, and the uptick slid back one agonizing inch.
A shock of electricity hit him so hard his world went black. Time surged back into proper motion, Archer gagged on his breath, and he felt his body shake as pain spiked his nerves up and down.
“Well,” Rick drawled to his left, “that was effective.”
Tears slid down his cheeks, cooling on the metal table beneath his head. Archer tried to blink them free, sucking in his breath through his teeth. His nose was bleeding again, and he felt blood in his mouth, but that was likely from where he had bitten his tongue. “You–”
“I didn’t say you were allowed to use your magic,” he tsked. “It’s called negative reinforcement. Didn’t you take any psychology classes?”
Archer heard his heart hammering in his head, and his limbs tingled, but he wasn’t sure if it was more from pain or magic. “My father will come looking for me,” he said at last, and it sounded more a sob than a threat.
Rick laughed. “Okay, kiddo.” He patted his arm. “Good luck gnawing on that bone. Let’s get back to work, shall we?”
He closed his eyes, willing away the tears. Willing away the feeling of panic, the feeling of doom. Willing away the way his heart beat so hard, in tempo with memories and longing. His father had warned him.
His father had warned him not to get cocky.
His father had warned him not to trust too readily.
His father had warned him to use his magic only when necessary.
His father had warned him to always let someone know where he was going.
His father had warned him to come home every night.
Chronomage, son of an assassin, book smarts, trying too hard
“Papa, I don’t know where I am any longer. I don’t know when I am. I am a stranger in a strange land, and there is no one like me. And, Papa, I don’t want to die here.”
I’m not dead! Hey all, so I’m going to be trying to be more active on here( Have to make this claim at least every 6 months right? Well hopefully this time I’m not lying through my teeth!)
Anyway I drew the mother of my Dnd Character. My DM has kind of adopted her as one of his favourite NPCs. She is a very powerful Chronomage who like to impose Time Anomalies on her son(A Time thief Rogue) to keep him on his toes.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
You are you, and no matter what ELSE they might be. They will NEVER be you, and they will never be able to do exactly what you do. Ever. You are a special part of this community and no one will ever be able to fit the way you do in here.
//Vi hates cowgirl position. She likes to be close to her partner. Just because she's a rough n tough girl who likes to fight doesn't mean she likes to lord it over her partner. She would rather be ble to whisper dirty things in their ear and hug them.
[ This is… half true. Vi hardly ever rides her partner—or at least, Jarvan, since that’s the only person she’s sleeping with at this time—which is a surprise to me since I find that to be a sort of ‘dominating’ position for a woman and Vi can be a very dominating person. But yeah, she enjoys being close to him and be able to kiss and hold him while they have sex because she wants to express her affection in all ways at all times.
There are times, however, where she does ride him, but it’s usually reverse cowgirl. Because Jarvan is an ass man. ]
