#but id have to give so much life context for the nightmares to make sense that its like

[isa-ah]

sometimes i feel like an old man sitting on his front porch staring at the young people walking by trying to mind beam them to come sit down so i can tell them horrific stories of my youth.

[normal-thoughts-official]

I LOVE LOVE LOVE YOUR BEAUTY AND THE BEAST IDEA. But may I also propose: Magnus cursed from a young age (probably bc of Asmodeus) that anyone who touches him is hurt by a blast of magic he can't control. (This may result in his mother's death). He locks himself away of his own will. Alec teaches then that it's fear that makes him lash out. Featuring: touch starved Magnus.

this idea is GENIUS actually and i love it. tbh me and my friend have a similar idea that we talk to each other about (lol) but it isn't a B&B thing, its more of an adventure AU. anyway, lets go!

so in this universe i guess magnus banished asmodeus like in the original sh verse but asmodeus cursed him with the "everyone you touch will be in indescribable pain" thing. maybe just as revenge, maybe to try and use it as bargaining chip because okay magnus, is it freedom that u want? u want to be able to have ur own friends and ur own life? fine. get me back, and ill leave u alone, and ull be free to have friends again. if not, ull be still isolated just like before. so is it gonna be win-win, or lose-lose?

but magnus doesn't budge because he knows that if he lets asmodeus free things will only get worse not only for him, but for the whole world. he is too dangerous to be out there. so, magnus resigns to his fate

and i guess in this version he wouldnt have a lot of close friends because he had been with asmodeus his whole life before he was cursed, so he was just. alone in his self-imposed isolation with no one to talk to. maybe he enchants the furniture so they gain sentience but they can't really feel pain, so at least he has someone to talk to. god im so fucking sad already

so is the furniture his friends in canon? im not entirely sure how i feel about that but also the idea of ragnor as that clock from the original movie is great. thats my most important thought on the subject ngl

btw its 4 degrees Celsius in here so im typing with gloves on so ull have to excuse my typos i am a mere brazilian and i want death

anyway okay so i guess his friends are like pieces of furniture that he spelled into sentience and they aren't his servants or anything cuz that's gross but they just like, hang out. wow im actually managing to type pretty well all things considered

so at least magnus has people to talk to but he's still touch starved because you know... a clock can't hug you and that'd just be weird. maybe them becoming sentient was an accident? lmao like magnus just wanted to automate some functions like having the clock talk to tell him the time or something and it turned out that they became sentient. possibly his magic is a little fucky because of the curse so that's why that happened? or maybe he just is way more powerful than he realizes and we all know he invented the spells he used to try and automate the things anyway. but if he gets people to talk to, well, he's not complaining

im focusing too much on this. anyway. id also like to note that im making rapha the cook/stove thing because i mean, come on. it's right there

and ok i guess alec comes into this because he uhhhhhh no u know i might go with that izzy thing. so izzy ran away from home because of maryse's bullshit and alec was sent to bring her back. so he was going after her but in the middle of the path there was the whole wolf attack thing that scared off his horse and LUCKILY magnus' house/tower/whatever was right next!!! so of course they take alec and his horse in but also WHOOPS there's a huge snowstorm that lasts for days (par the course for where magnus lives, actually. he DID want somewhere people would avoid. but also i think maybe his magic being fucky has something to do with it) so i guess alec is stuck at magnus' for the foreseeable future

which is HELL for magnus because he is terrified out of his mind that they will accidentally touch and alec will be hurt. and like.... his Constant Crave For Touch is already bad on a regular day, but having someone who could actually hug him in theory just makes it worse, you know? he hasn't interacted with other human beings in so long, just having one there is enough to make his need for touch almost unbearable and just... completely constant. it's hell

so magnus is scared, which means that he keeps to himself. so he tells alec not to go into his room, he tries not to eat at the same time, and other stuff like that, bUT his friends keep sabotaging his plans because they want him to have another friend, jesus christ!! (rapha being like "come on now magnus, you don't want my soup to get cold, do you? i'll be deeply offended. i guess you have no choice but to eat with alec". so magnus goes but the first thing he does is magic his regular table into a gigantic rectangular table with 41908410 seats and seat on on the side opposite to alec. alec just sighs

so like he's constantly coming across as rude because he is trying to avoid alec, alec just doesn't know why

but alec is also a stubborn bitch who goes stir crazy and refuses to just sit around isolated doing nothing while they wait for the stupid storm to finally be over so he can go get his sister. and magnus saved his life, so it's the least he can do to repay him in some way. besides, this is what, the first time that he's been completely away from his mom? for such a long time too? and he's finding that he feels... weirdly free and just relieved and he doesn't want to waste that opportunity with standing idly around alone all day. he had enough of that at home, thank you very much

besides yeah magnus is being rude but alec is used to straight up assholes and abusers (jace. i'm talking about jace. also maryse ofc but mostly jace) and magnus is not that. in fact he makes very polite conversation and is actually pretty fun during dinner, all things considered. he's just.... super private, i guess

AND magnus' friends are all being a nightmare with the making them interact so you know. they end up interacting. and alec makes it a point to help him take care of his house because it is a certified Depression Lair™. magnus can take care of it magically but it's like... so dark and almost suffocating at times and there is stuff like bad painting and piping problems that he never bothered to fix because it isn't affecting the functionality too much but it DOES makes life harder and alec "everything must be at 100% always" lightwood is not here for it so for a few days they are working on fixing the house and... magnus actually feels a lot better when the place has actual sunlight and looks inviting and like a home, he has to admit. when he says that to alec it might be the first time he's given him a real smile and man, is alec smitten

sidenote i guess this means that magnus doesn't exactly... dress well in this au lmaoo i mean it makes sense too because canonically magnus uses dressing up as a way to convey an image of power and untouchability and he doesn't really need that in this AU since he is completely isolated. so i guess he is a bit more like twi magnus - bare-faced and wearing comfortable clothes and the like. this isn't a twi au i'm just saying that it makes more sense for him to dress like that in that context

anyway. after the whole house fixing thing, they officially become friends. it turns out that alec also knows a bit about what it's like to feel isolated and touch-starved (altho he's always had izzy to help in that department, but still) and also what crappy parents are like. magnus shows alec his little mirror that he's enchanted to be able to show him anything he wants and how he uses it to be able to see all the places in the world he'd like to visit - he loves people, he loves culture, and sometimes it's all he can do to watch what's going on in Mumbai and it makes him feel a little better, so, he does that. he also admits that sometimes he catches on some drama happening and uses the mirror to see the people involved and make sure they are okay. kinda like a soap opera of his own but he has the means to interfere and help because of magic, so he will have someone who's struggling with money suddenly find hidden cash or have an "unknown dead relative" give them a lot of money in their will, or something like that. and if he also watches some of their personal drama that unfolds, well. he is lonely and it's not hurting anyone

but magnus doesn't tell him about the curse, and he still makes sure to keep his distance. it stings a little to alec, but it hurts magnus the most because fuck, maybe he just desperately needs someone who will give him the time of day, but he likes this guy and that only makes it harder to keep his distance. he makes it a point to always be at at least two arms length from alec, which alec thankfully respects and doesn't try to get him to breach, but. shit. it's still so hard to not want to just rest his head on his shoulder or get a hug or even fucking touch pinkies like stupid children and he can't. alec even once jokingly suggests that they have a ball since magnus doesn't know how to dance and magnus is actually excited for a second before he remembers that he can't, it would have to mean that alec touches him, and he can't

someone - maybe ragnor - even suggests that maybe he could try gloves and heavy clothing so alec isn't really touching him but magnus refuses to try because he doesn't want to risk it not working and alec getting hurt, because he'd never forgive himself. besides, getting a taste would only make it hurt more. he can't. he can't

but it's alright because at least he has some human company - he loves his friends, he does, fiercely, but it's different when they kind of have no choice but to be with him and also are enchanted creatures. he doesn't even know if they aren't nice to him just because he enchanted them into life, even tho to be fair if he had a choice ragnor wouldn't be that grouchy - and alec makes him laugh and gets him and helped make his place feel more like home, a little bit. and he can pretend that he feels the warmth from alec's body when they are sitting by the fire and feed these crumbs to his desperate need for touch and company

and then the snowstorm ends and it's time for alec to go

honestly, alec himself is kind of heartbroken, but- he loves his sister, and he can't just leave her alone in god knows where, even if he dreads the thought of coming back home now that he's been away from his family for so long. but magnus doesn't want to keep him, and doesn't want alec to feel pity for him, so he's all but pushing alec out of the door (not literally, of course. he can't do that, it would mean touching him) all "go, go, you never know when another storm might start. go see your sister. take my mirror, you can find her more easy". and alec's all "but it's been the only thing-" and magnus waves him off, of course, all "i can always make myself another one. besides, you'll have something to remember me by. now go"

so.... alec goes

and hooo boy magnus is heartbroken and a mess because even tho he knew how much having someone else there helped he had almost forgotten what it was like to be the only human in the house. he just feels extra lonely and even kind of bad about it because hey, his friends are there - not that they begrudge him for it, of course. it's not like they don't also hope for the chance to get out of the house and do other things, but well. they can't. so they understand him. and they know how awful he's feeling right then, but what can they do?

meanwhile alec finds izzy pretty quickly - she's living with this one insufferable villager named clary that alec absolutely can't stand, but- she's happy. and she doesn't want to come back, which alec expected, but he finds that he can't actually insist for her to come back. how could he, when he himself doesn't want to go?

and izzy insists that he stays with her - there's no reason for him to come back. they can stay in the village, and work, and build a life for themselves. alec is the only thing she's been missing ever since she left, and in here the both of them can actually be happy. and do it together, like they're meant to

and when he first gets into the village is the first time since izzy ran away that he was hugged and fuck, it's hard to say no to her

but also... he misses magnus already

and he doesn't know if he can just stay and leave him behind

and of course izzy is like "who is magnus?" so alec tells her the story, how he was attacked by wolves and rescued by this house that miraculously was in the middle of the single most inhospitable placealec had ever seen in his life. and the kind but wary stranger who always keeps his distance but seems so eager for connection, who made alec feel welcome and laugh and feel like he built a life for himself there

and clary tells him that she's heard of the story, but she never knew it was more than a legend - no one really remembers what happened. some say that magnus made a sacrifice to rid the village of a demon, and it turned him into a beast, forever locked in his castle. some say that he himself is the demon, and it's the tower that's containing him and keeping the village safe. some even say that he died battling the demon, and it's his ghost that keeps watch on the tower

she wants alec to explain which one is true, but it's all alec can say that none of these are right and he knows nothing because magnus never told him. all alec knows is that he doesn't want to leave magnus behind

and clary is like... well, if he's not a demon or a ghost, maybe we could bring him to the village too. he has magic, right? he could bring the tower closer. and maybe the other villagers could, you know, visit him and hang out. and he wouldn't be as lonely, and then alec and izzy could both stay

driven by this failproof plan, they decide to go back to magnus and tell him their great idea

except they are IDIOTS and forget about. you know. the damn wolves

and like holy shit is this pack big or what? like no seriously why are there infinite wolves in that one singular pack in beauty and the beast. like holy shit dude there's more wolves near the beast's house than in the whole yellowstone park

anyway there are Many Wolves and while alec is a good archer, izzy is a fantastic fighter, and clary is Fucking Crazy if you give her something stabby, there's only so many wolves they can take on at the same time

good thing magnus is a pining idiot who did in fact make himself another magic mirror and was watching alec with it. so he knows that the dumbass is in trouble and for the first time in years, he uses the portal (his own invention, and he had never gotten to use it before!) to get to them and fight off the wolves

so magnus saves all their lives, at the cost of getting severely injured and passing the fuck out. izzy, who's the one closest, runs to get to him and help put him on one of their horses... and is immediately hit by a blast of magic that almost makes HER pass tf out too

which is when they finally learn that, oh. that is the curse

izzy is fine, of course - the pain ended as soon as she was away from magnus

but it does pose the problem of How The Fuck Are They Getting Him Back To Safety, because they can't exactly wait for magnus to wake up (it's freezing, for starters) but with this amount of pain it won't be physically possible for them to hoist him up and get him on the horse. shit, will the curse work on the horse?

they bring alec's horse (by far the strongest of them because alec is huge buff mcgee) and try to get him to touch magnus and the spell does NOT work on the horse because in order to be dramatic asmodeus was like "you shall never feel human touch again" when he cast the spell, which accidentally gave a LOOPHOLE for non-human animals. so magnus could have had cats the whole time, which he had always dreamed of, but he didnt want to risk testing. besides, his house would be a poor environment for a cat and [self torture noises]

anyway thats one less problem to deal with, 99 to go, so they use some ropes to hoist magnus on top of the horse and bring him back to the tower (it's closer than the village) so they can tend to his wounds. thankfully, as the assigned Big Brother of a very irresponsible izzy, alec has experience with first aid, altho he never really dealt with anything quite this bad. and magnus' friends help, too, as much as they can. inevitably this means that alec ends up touching him even if by accident sometimes, but he knows what to expect so he Powers Through It because he won't let magnus die, damn. and as horrible as that is alec has experience with powering through pain, so. he's gonna bandage him up god damn it

izzy can't stand to see him dealing with that himself tho, so she helps, and clary ends up helping as well because they figure sharing the pain makes it easier and alec doesn't have to be too hurt. minimal touching accidents for alec! good

*narrator voice* And Then Magnus Wakes Up And Alec Hugs Him

full on launches on top of him and brings him into his arms and Magnus screams like NONONO OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING ALEC NO GET OFF ME YOU'LL BE HURT and his shock and distress at the whole thing sends another whole blast of magic that explodes that whole mf before it can touch alec and alec feels no pain and magnus is like.............. did i just COUNTER the spell? and everyone's like well! it looks like u did!

which earns him ANOTHER hug (oh my god alec stop he's so stressed out by this) (who knew alec was so touchy?) and this time he's paying attention to that gut reaction and because magnus is a Certified Magic Genius he realizes what it is that he's doing to counter the spell and immediately starts working on a way to turn this into unhexxing himself for good

which he DOES after some time idk how long but alec stays with him meanwhile and maybe izzy and clary do too, because magnus needs all the company he can get and besides, izzy has always wanted adventure and clary has never left the village before, so this is interesting to them at least. and magnus gets to meet new ppl which is nice

eventually the Begone Spell spell is performed and it works and turns out that when it does that it also unfucks magnus' magic and perfects his sentience spell turning all of his friends into humans WOW WHOD HAVE THOUGHT. so all of them are free to leave the tower as ppl at the same time and GROUP HUG!! and magnus cries like a baby in the group hug because holy shit hes been needing something like this so bad for so long and he never expected to have that with his friends but here he is :)

and then yeah they all move to the village to live a simple but fulfilling life and Magnus and Alec start living together in a little cottage and become husbands the end <3 this is so long too rip me

[naruhoedou]

Transaction

---

Ryuunosuke Naruhodou/Seishirou Jigoku

Susato thought he could do it. Convincing their government, however, was a different task.

-Slight spoilers for DGS and DGS 2-

---

Of course he never thought it would be easy, least of all as easy as the Great Detective made it sound. But it was a logical decision and he was hoping that’d put things in his favor. As disrespectful as this all felt, even more so with the weight of Karuma resting in his lap, he couldn’t just let them get shipped right back to Japan. That’d be too cruel to Susato, who lost a brother apparently, when he could just sacrifice a bit of his mental health to honor his fallen friend. 

 

As he sat on the desk Asougi Kazuma wrote his last journal entry on, pen heavy in his hand, he silently thanked his literature major for his knowledge in writing formal requests. Although, knowing the format didn’t really help much when the situation was so unbelievable and complex. Did he start by mentioning how the star student of the Imperial Yuumei University lost his life by hitting his head too hard? Or that said student smuggled Ryuunosuke on board? Wasn’t the Minister of Foreign Affairs already aware of these things? Or was it just formality…

 

Would he even get accepted? If the country only chose to send the best of the best, would they even want to send some mediocre literature student for an education in law ? As these thoughts swirled and swirled in his mind, he realized he’d already begun writing. Reading over the lines he jotted down proved them to be acceptable. Now, if you asked anyone who knew him, they would say Ryuunosuke worked well under pressure. But what he did on impulse, he wouldn’t exactly clarify as such. With a heavy sigh that trembled towards the end of it in remembrance , he let his hand do as it pleased once more and the letter was completed. All that was left was a once-over by Susato in the morning... which ended in her exclaiming that she didn’t expect it to be so well written, a sheepish smile blooming on Ryuunosuke’s face as shame pooled in his gut. Noticing how backhanded her compliment was, and maybe not caring much about it, Susato took the letter and floated out the room. She’d give it to the sailors for it to be mailed out.

 

——

 

What? As Ryuunosuke held the (supposedly)formal reply in his hands, he felt a familiar feeling of shock run through his body. Now that he’d told Susato they’d gotten accepted and got her to leave, he had all the time in the world to read over this.. this personal threat of a letter in his hands. At least, until he had to throw himself into his law studies again, though he felt more like throwing himself...overboard. This was a joke, right? A funny joke from that Sherlock Holmes fellow who had somehow acquired the letter the sailors sent out a month ago, an official Japanese Government seal and also managed to copy the Minister of Foreign Affairs' handwriting and signature. Honestly, how these things kept happening to him, he had no clue. 

 

He’d heard some stories from Asougi(a pang went through his heart), about the law students both male and female who sold their bodies to get through law school. Prostitution, he’d called it. Tragically contradictory. Ryuunosuke remembered the other man smiling as he’d said it, wondering if Asougi really thought it so tragic after all. “It’s wrong to break the law you’re studying!” he heard a whisper through the room. Bitterly, “The law didn’t save you.”, he whispered back. He leaned forward, taking a deep breath as he usually did. 

 

So, what if the Minister of Foreign Affairs wasn’t immune to such attractions? It’s not like they’d meet for a long while. By the time he got to face the repercussions of the choice he was about to make, it’d be a year at least. Or however long this program was supposed to last. And, he thought he owed at least this much to the girl a few doors down. The girl who didn’t even get to be the last person to see her brother alive. He looked down. There probably was a good reason Asougi didn’t think to tell him about her, and it was no use feeling scorned by the dead. 

 

Did he really have to write a reply to this letter? He debated just ignoring it, how would anyone know if it didn’t just get lost out there? It probably wasn’t easy delivering letters to and from a ship. A lot of calculations and estimates… but he was getting off topic. He steeled his nerves and picked up the pen again. Feeling more and more like some kind of doll every second, he wrote an affirmative reply. He didn’t even want to think about Asougi getting the same treatment as this. But of course, Asougi was above agreeing to such an indecent proposal just to be able to go somewhere. Ryuunosuke huffed hysterically, placing the offending letter in an envelope. Writing back a letter of thanks was kind of normal in this situation, right? Susato absolutely could not find out what kind of.. transaction had just been made inside innocent, white envelopes.

 

——

 

He could say in good conscience that there were very few things that could surprise him anymore, especially with all that had already transpired. This happened to be one of those things. Who knew waiting with Susato for Professor Mikotoba to arrive would lead to a premature heart attack? All this action would surely end with him in an early grave. The moment of blissful ignorance that came with him not recognizing the tall, imposing man as his flittering nightmare these past few months had quickly passed. In its place was a cold sweat that persisted even as they lined up for a photograph. The man’s arm around his back was sending all signals except fatherly. If Ryuunosuke had a habit of fainting instead of his unbelievable perseverance to stress, this would be the perfect time to topple onto the floor. It might still be, the more shame-free part of his brain supplied. Surely everything would be forgotten if he caused such a ruckus? 

 

He was sure his heart would flee out of his chest when Jigoku took the moment of father and daughter reuniting to lean into his ear, making him feel the vibrations of his words, “Hello, Naruhodou-kun.” rather than hear them. Sure, it sounded kind of silly out of context, but the towering figure of the man behind him did a swell job of erasing any sense of comedy Ryuunosuke could have felt. After giving a tense but polite nod, he felt Jigoku’s hands meet his shoulders, slightly shaking with a friendly chuckle. Distantly hearing some form of reassurance being said to him, he wasn’t aware of much until they were leaving. Susato gave him a light poke on his back to get him to move. Upon feeling him jump under her finger, she gave him a concerned glance, and Ryuunosuke was once again amazed at how far they’ve come.

 

With the cold, cold sweat drying on his body, he couldn’t be all too sure that’s what was causing the shiver running through him. His fingers idly traced the piece of paper in his pocket. Probably slipped in there while the photo was being taken, he thought.

 

——

The Old Bailey was a risque place for something like this. He found himself growing colder and colder by the minute. He knew why he was here, the note was clear enough in its subtle way. The English government appointing a foreign Minister of Foreign Affairs a whole office, even for such a short stay… The line between courtesy and belittlement was truly a fine one. 

 

As he ascended the stairs, he was strangely calm. Like a death row inmate marching towards the rope. A fate he’d narrowly missed, funnily enough. His steps echoed in the grand hallway. The building was quiet but far from serene. For him, at least. As familiar as the courtroom itself had become… The rest of the courthouse, mainly the offices, would always remain alien to him. The door was large and imposing as all the others around it. He knocked twice, somewhat nervously. “Do come in, Naruhodou-kun.” a voice called from the inside. Ryuunosuke entered, closing the door behind him. He stood stock still, like that one time he had to go to the Principal’s office because he forgot his student ID number. Jigoku was no less condescending under his friendly façade.

 

The large man smiled at him, mischief burning in his eyes. Ryuunosuke thought about the door again. Maybe the scariest thing about Jigoku… was that he fit in, here. Huffing in amusement at the younger man’s refusal to sit down before being told to, he gestured loosely at the chair in front of the desk. “I’ve heard much about your cases, though I’d love to hear them from you. Would you have some tea, or perhaps… a drink?” the man’s voice was warm and rich, but it was no secret that he was sizing Ryuunosuke up, trying to make heads or tails of the man so devoted to the dead(or so bored, he might’ve thought) that he’d go to such lengths. “Tea would be alright.”, Ryuunosuke replied, voice lacking the stutter of his heart. Jigoku laughed heartily, getting out two cups from a cabinet behind him. “I had a feeling you’d say that,” he said leaning down, drawing the other’s attention to the kettle sitting on a miniature stove. 

 

After pouring the tea, the man raised a hand to halt Ryuunosuke, reaching under the desk to pull out a bottle of rum. “I’d say English tea is horribly bland on its own, no?” he said humorously. Sensing the other’s apprehension, “Oh, don’t be so shy, young man!” he said, topping both cups with the alcohol.

 

Ryuunosuke Naruhodou was a fair man. He did not leave anything out when recounting the events, regardless of how it made him look. The mix of black tea and rum burned his mouth, but it was nothing worse than some of Iris’ more experimental blends. That is not to say she made bad tea, most of her teas were heavenly, but some flavors were just not meant to become… tea. 

 

Besides that, as much as he’d like to be, Ryuunosuke was not as kind to himself as the Grim Reaper, and he did not drink. That is why, despite all his conflicting feelings, he refused any attempts to refill his cup. The older man did not seem to share the sentiment, however, for he doubted Jigoku would even remember much come tomorrow. Or maybe he himself was just a lightweight, it didn’t matter.

 

It didn’t matter because he already felt the wood floor creaking under his knees. And, as meaningless as it was now,

Close your eyes, Asougi.

 

… 

 

He swallowed up the salt of shame, tongue dragging across his lips.

 

——

 

He laid calmly, in the safety of 221B’s attic. His debt had been paid. Do you see, now?

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS / Part 5 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse. 

‘family, love, a simple life... these were things that others took for granted, that i would never have.’

‘grass is always greener on the other side.’

‘it’s hard to imagine you as a moody youth.’

‘ah, can’t get enough of that religious claptrap.’

‘i thought the old biddy was full of rubbish.’

‘all this sappy nonsense is going to make me throw up.’

‘would you hate me if i said you were full of rubbish?’

‘that doesn’t sound healthy.’

‘if you put others before yourself, then their well-being is yours, and their happiness is your happiness.’

‘there is joy even in self-sacrifice.’

‘should i shake my fist at nearby children while i talk about the good old days?’

‘i got that impression it involved sex, but then again, i get that impression about almost everything. odd, really.’

‘one needn’t let a pretty face go to your head.’

‘so you /never/ mix business with pleasure?’

‘you did have to capture me and tie me up first. every rule has its exception.’

‘now that i’ve mentioned tying me up in that context, do we have extra rope about?’

‘knowledge should not be withheld from those who seek it.’

‘the more i think about it, the more i like the idea.’

‘so you were serious about wanting to help us?’

‘he sounds so charming.’

‘be on your best behaviour.’

‘you have an odd way of requesting answers to your questions.’

‘that kind of question gets a man killed.’

‘well, if it isn’t my favourite overly tall but generous visitor.’

‘you’re a good person.’

‘i hope i don’t get blood all over me again.’

‘how did you—?! where did you come from?!’

‘you made a hole in my wall!’

‘i was hoping you could use your legendary charm.’

‘i’d chalked it up to the drink.’

‘i piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong.’

‘don’t i have enough armed lunatics following me already?’

‘half the time she’d add two and two and call it fifty.’

‘if you want to find her, you need someone who knows how she thinks.’

‘together. as in standing next to one another?’

‘i speak of love, my sturdy friend.’

‘i was not suffering, silently or otherwise. until now.’

‘it is not a ‘thing’! it is a perfectly reasonable reaction to being constantly pestered!’

‘you have rather macabre tastes, i see. i like that.’

‘assassins are simply part of the landscape, so to speak.’

‘i landed in the river and nearly drowned.’

‘at least they didn’t cut my throat.’

‘i had to find my way back to the safe house, bruised and naked.’

‘you’ll get over it. eventually.’

‘it’s one of the many things i find puzzling about your behaviour.’

‘i’m a simple creature. i like swords, i follow orders. there’s nothing else to know about me.’

‘you like swords? me too!’

‘they had no reason to lie to me.’

‘i panicked.’

‘any lover of yours would be quickly reduced to a puddle of bruises.’

‘one, it’s not ethical, and two, it’s bad for business.’

‘i’d call it highway robbery, but i’d be smearing the good name of highwaymen everywhere.’

‘i feel safe, loved.’

‘wait... why do you have that look on your face?’

‘what are you thinking about now?! no, i don’t want to know. i feel dirty. don’t speak to me!’

‘i have no desire to produce offspring.’

‘i’m simply curious about you, that’s all.’

‘other than exterminating the vermin of the sky?’

‘crushing heads is fun, for now.’

‘there’s nothing for you here! it’s mine! i’ve claimed it!’

‘and how do you propose to eject me?’

‘i think i met your mother.’

‘he sees the darkness inside you.’

‘who put this dull idea in your head?’

‘so give me a better idea.’

‘that’s all you need to know. to say more invites judgement. or worse, imitation.’

‘your nightmare is my everyday.’

‘still no sense in your head, but you’ve got skill.’

‘i am cruel to myself.’

‘you are a dream of strangers’ faces and open doors.’

‘how do you endure that?’

‘that’s why they need us.’

‘the true abomination is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed.’

‘i am dying of something worse than death.’

‘let me be blunt with you.’

‘i barely recognised you!’

‘it figures you’d eventually find your way here.’

‘this is what’s important. this has lasting meaning.’

‘i’ve given up everything.’

‘you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it.’

‘i told no one the cost.’

‘a fitting punishment, i suppose.’

‘does this thing mean so much to you that you can’t even see what you’ve lost to get it?’

‘are you happy now?’

‘i should’ve known.’

‘i thought you’d have been satisfied.’

‘all i want is for you to see how wrong you’ve been.’

‘i don’t think you understand what it took to get you here.’

‘i want my face on one of those big statues.’

‘id i’d heard it second hand i’d have called it a sodding lie.’

‘he’ll understand that my bad knees exempt me from the fighting, right?’

‘we cannot deal with this crisis alone.’

‘i just wish i could have seen him one last time.’

[rasoir-national]

Horror and format use

 @ghostplantss I don't know anything abt podcasts or horror and i'm curious what you think?

Right, so it took me a couple of days to figure out how I wanted to answer that, and it turns out I really want to talk about Horror and use of medium so I’m going to ramble about that.

So. I. Love. Horror. Note that I say horror and not “the horror genre” because while you can consider that horror has become a solidified genre, my interests go deeper than that. I think I’ve mentioned my mother is a psychiatrist, and so I grew up hearing the concepts of “ego”, “perversion” and such thrown around, but there’s one in particular that always fascinated me : the Id.

If you don’t know, according to Freud’s theorization of the human psyche, it can be fragmented in 3 parts : the “ego”, that’s to say, the conscious self, the “superego”, the learned (social) restrictions imposed upon one self, and the Id. The Id, or “subconscious self” is sort of the primal self made entirely of pulsions, both “good” and “bad” according to social standards, but absolutely unpoliced by them. There are two essential pulsions, “pulsion of life” and “pulsion of death”, that tug and warp around each other, forming both the basis of our survival instinct, and our primal penchant for annihilation (of the self and others). Unconscious desires, latent fears, dreams and nightmares, “appel du vide” as we say in french for the sudden inexplicable desire you can feel atop a cliff to jump, all these stem from the Id. I know Freud gets a bad rap nowadays, and his own application of his theories have been completely invalidated by modern psychoanalysis, but he was the first person to say that it was okay to have those pulsions, that they didn’t make you “wrong” or a bad person. And what’s more, they didn’t even define you. He was the first to put in theory the idea that there’s a part of us we aren’t entirely in control of, that we don’t entirely understand.

Why am I saying all this ? Well, I think everything we think of as “horror” ultimately comes down to this very idea : there is something within us that we do not understand. And I’m fascinated by that. I’m fascinated by the unknown, the unsaid, the inexplicable, the dark side of the moon, whatever you want to call it. I’m fascinated by both our fear and our desire to understand it. And what good horror does, is allow us to explore this “something” and our relation to it through metaphor, storytelling and catharsis.

From childhood, we are bathed in horrific stories. It’s common knowledge nowadays that fairytales are a way to allow children to confront their deepest fears and desires in a safe, metaphorical manner, and “exorcise” them in order to learn social constructs and become a functioning adult. But I think we never stop craving that feeling, the confrontation with the inexplicable in a manner safe enough for us to enjoy.

That’s why I love horror. More precisely, that’s why I love every form of horror. I think any art medium can be defined by two things : what it can do and what it cannot do. A book can put words onto a feeling, but it cannot picture that feeling. A melody can convey emotions through sound, but not words. We can talk and draw pictures about both, but the medium itself is limited to the very tools that make it what it is. Or, to put it another way : for every medium, there is something it cannot fully express. Does that remind you of anything ?

Horror is, I think, the most interesting way to study the differences between forms of media, precisely because it relies so much on what cannot be explained, what attracts us, what we fear, the very limits of our ability to comprehend the world and ourselves. Take movies, one the most multimedia form of storytelling : what makes a good horror movie ? If you’ve ever seen any, you know the fear doesn’t come from what you can see or describe but from what you cannot. There’s this common wisdom that whatever you can put onscreen, it will never be as scary as what the audience can imagine, or rather, fail to imagine. The unknown is more potent than the known.

So horror movies are great, and if you want I’ll make a list of my favourites on occasion. But what if we now take a medium that’s more constricted than movies are ? Now you have to work with the fact that something you could show, or describe, or put into music, or all three, onscreen, can now only be some of those things. In Art, I think we don’t give enough credit to the creative benefits of limitations : if I can’t draw something, I’m going to have to work extra hard to get you to picture it without images. The more you are not allowed to do things, the more you’re going to invent new ways to convey what you mean.

And that can go for limitations we don’t even think about. Take one of my favourite examples, comics and manga. What makes them different from movies ? They have no sound, but also, instead of an image moving into the next on its own, it’s the reader who’s in control of when or if they turn the page. That factor, the “page turn”, is a limitation, but that’s also something that’s unique to comics ; in written books, the effect is not the same, as we cannot process a page of written text as fast as we can an image on a page. And some artists have used that limitation to enhance the effect they were going for. The master of the horror manga, Junji Ito, is I think best known for his page turners. In horror especially, you have to deal with the fact that some images alone are capable of disturbing and shocking you. In movies, there images come to you, for example in the form of a jump scare. But in comics... You’re the one theoretically in control of the page. You can close the book. You can especially close it if you know, thanks to codes of storytelling, that on the next page is something quite horrific. But if the book is good... ? You’ll have to turn the page, because you have to know. The author puts you in control of the images you’ll see, then puts you in the situation where you willingly choose to scare and shock yourself. That’s taking a limitation, and turning it into a way to enhance the effect you’re going for.

So this brings us to podcasts, and the sort of horror revival they brought. Horror has a long history with the ancestor of the medium, the radio, for obvious reasons. If we again define a podcast via its limitations, what do we get ? This is a medium without pictures, only spoken words and sounds, and it’s an episodic medium. So what you have to work with are voices, music, sound, and, equally important, the fact that you’re in control of how much you give your listeners every time, and how much time there is between what you give. All of these are considerable assets if your goal is horror.

Take Welcome to Night Vale. Its shtick is pretty simple if you break it down, and is two-faced. First, it is, in-universe, a radio program, and second, it cannot be pictured. Let’s start with the second part : the genius of Welcome to Night, and what I think every story should aspire to, is that it couldn’t be told better in another format. The characters and stories in Night Vale cannot be pictured. They can only be described. Sure, you can make fanart, but “the glow cloud” will never be better represented than it can be described. You can draw “the faceless old woman that secretely lives in your home”, but it won’t ever truly be the faceless old woman that truly lives in your home. This is horror that’s entirely reliant on the non-superposition of words and representation : our language can express things that cannot be pictured. And if you think about it, that’s incredibly scary. The second part of the schtick is the magical realism aspect of the podcast, as in, the apparent normality with which all these “abnormal” things are described in the context of a radio program, creating for the listener a warped sense of perception : what are you supposed to fear ? When should you be afraid ? I should make a separate post of magical realism, remind me someday.

As for the Magnus Archives, I’ve now listened to the first season in its entirety so I have more of a grasp on it. I had a bit of a problem with the first season, which was that it had one foot in magical realism, and the other in the fantastical, two genres that are pretty much the opposite of one another, without really seeming to decide where it wanted to stand. It’s got more of a footing now, for reasons I won’t discuss in order not to spoil you. But one of the elements I like about it is its use of multiple layers of storytelling. The shtick of TMA is the fact that statements containing short horror stories are being audiorecorded by a professional archivist for research purposes on some old tapes. As the story develop, we learn more about their place of employment, their colleagues, and what might more largely be going on. Again, we take a limitation of the medium : you can’t tell when what you’re listening to has been recorded or if what has been recorded is all that happened. And you use this element of ignorance to play with your audience : when has the story you’re listening to been written ? When did it happen ? When is it recorded ? What happened in the meantime ? If the person who wrote it and the person who records it have different points of view, how does this come into play ? What else might be recorded onto the tapes ? As I said, I’m only a fourth of the way caught up right now, but I can already see them making use of all those elements.

So yeah, hopefully this gives you an idea of the way I enjoy horror, and gives you more of an appreciation for it yourself. Some actual recs if you want to get started while I’m at it :

- The Night of the Hunter (1955 movie) : not “technically a horror movie”, but absolutely a horrific one in its use of black and white

- The soundtrack to Suspiria (1977 movie) by the band Goblins : I adore the film, but listening to the soundtrack on its own is also an interesting experience

- The Silent Hill game series (especially Silent Hill 2 and 3) : video games is, I think, the most multimedia format, and taking into account the fact the player is in control of the character, makes for some of the most creative horror ever

- The Haunting of Hill House series : tons of things have been said about it, I’d say look at the way it uses framing and editing

- Francis Bacon’s paintings : a huge inspiration for the Silent hill series, probably the best example for horror that can be represented but not described

- Junji Ito’s Uzumaki : the masterpiece of horror mangas ; pay attention to the weight of a page turn

- Emily Carroll’s Through the woods : fantastic horror comic that uses the fairytale format

- Sarah Waters’ Let the right one in : one of my favourite horror novels, pay attention to the use of narration and subjectivity

Aight, I think that’s enough rambling for me. Hope I’ve answered your curiosity !

[master-sass-blast]

Authority Issues

Well, well, well. What do we have here?

(AN: I’m not abandoning Strong as Stone. This was just my entertainment for the day.)

Long story short: I had a dream with Piotr Rasputin/Colossus in it last night. It was glorious. I might’ve kissed him.

Like I said. Glorious.

And thus, after kissing the dream Colossus, I woke up inspired to write some fanfiction loosely inspired by my dream.

So, essentially, welcome to my latest hyperfixation.

For the record, I haven’t seen the Deadpool movies. I haven’t read the X-Men Comics. I haven’t seen the X-Men movies.

Yes, you got that right, this is undoubtedly the crackiest fic you’ll ever read.

Or maybe not. I’ll let you be the judge.

So, loosely based in the Deadpool Movieverse/X-Men universe, I present you this: a self insert pic with Colossus.

You’re welcome.

Also, @colossus-and-cable, I blame you for suckering me into this hyperfixation! Because of your brilliant writing, I can’t get enough Colossus content!

Well, they say create the content you want to see.

Rating: M for kidnapping, mentions of abuse, sexual assault, sequences of terrifying action (nightmares), and stong language.

Pairing: Reader x Piotr Rasputin.

Alright, so, it wasn’t your fault. Technically.

Remember that ‘technically.’ It’ll come in handy later.

For context: you are the latest trainee/recruit/refugee at the Mutant Mansion a la Professor Xavier is really stinking rich to afford the utilities bills for this group.

You’d seen the X-Mansion briefly, two years ago, on a newscast that your mother had turned off as soon as she’d seen you watching it, then forced you up to your room to ‘pray for protection against the ungodly lures of the outside world.’

Ah, the joys of growing up in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere --zero tolerance of the queers, people of color, and mutants.

You’d read about the X-mansion’s purpose --taking in and training mutants to control their powers--in a newspaper article a few months later --well after your parents had decided that TV was ‘too great a portal to temptation’ for someone of your ‘unnatural, hedonistic tendencies.’

You’d been shocked. You hadn’t known that there was an actual group out there that was willing to take in mutants, much less train them.

Your father had ripped the paper out of your hands a few moments later and tossed it into the burning fire, stating that the X-Men were nothing more than heathens upsetting the natural order of God’s holy creation.

Perhaps with some great amount of foresight, your parents had decided to lock you into your room that night. Not that it mattered; the lock on your bedroom door had always been easy to pick.

No one ever said that foresight and practical wisdom were the same things.

You’d packed a bag of everything that mattered --clothes, toiletries, a stuffed bear, your state ID--then crept downstairs and broken into the family safe. You’d taken all of your paperwork --birth certificate, social security card--and all the cash that your parents had kept in there, and left.

Looking back on it, you were incredibly lucky the universe had gifted you with the powers to control air and wind. Instead of having to plot out a route via bus and train routes --thus risking being caught by the authorities and shipped back home--you could simply fly to the X-Mansion, stopping to buy food and rest as needed. Within a couple days, you’d found the X-Mansion, dropped yourself on their doorstep, knocked, and asked if you could stay.

Which, apparently, they were used to, because they’d just said ‘sure’ and let you in.

Two years later and look at you now!

A --still, technically--trainee on account of your difficulty controlling your powers and hot, hot issues with authority, under the tutelage of the X-Men. Free room, personal bathroom, three hot meals a day, and the fastest WiFi the world has ever seen.

And, well... a boyfriend, too.

Piotr Rasputin, code name Colossus, with the real secret to his identity being that he was a massive marshmallow with a heart of gold. He’d wooed you in his own sweet, subtle way as he’d helped you adjust to your new life at Xavier’s, taking your poor impulse control and hot, hot issues with authority in his patient, gentle stride.

It had been a good two years. The best two years of your life.

Which wasn’t to say that everything was perfect...

Right, so this is where the ‘technically’ comes in. And, as with ninety percent of your ‘technically’s, Wade Wilson is along for the ride.

You and Wade get along like a house on fire --compatible in all the wrong ways and usually resulting in some sort of damage to persons and/or property.

Wade, also known as Deadpool, also known as the Merc’ with a Mouth, also known as ‘the Obnoxious Red Dildo,’ has widely known and accepted authority issues, zero impulse control, and a daddy kink a mile wide that he likes to remind everyone of at any given moment --which is all of them.

You, the formerly repressed and abused mutant who has had their first taste of freedom and are itching for more, are --unfortunately--all too willing to help Wade execute any sort of prank, joke, or hijink, because for fuck’s sake, people, live a little!!!

Cue today’s incident.

It had started with a bet. Wade had bet you that there was no way in hell you could use your powers just right to launch a lit firework into Scott Summer’s --aka Cyclops’s--room.

The man had given you kitchen duty for being fifteen minutes late to morning training. The loser had to buy the winner pizza. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up!

You're just about to light the firework when something lifts Wade off the ground and hefts him to the side. A large shadow falls over you, and you look up with a cheesy grin. “Hi, babe.”

Piotr stares down at you, arms across his chest. He’s in defense mode, which means he isn’t here on the friendliest of terms. “What are you doing, myshka?”

You look down at the firework in one hand, the lighter in the other, then up at Scott’s open window. “Uh...” You look back up at Piotr and give him the most convincing look you can muster. “Arts and crafts?”

He isn’t convinced. “Professor Xavier sensed your plan.”

Ah. Well. That would do it.

“Hey! Russia’s Greatest Love Machine!” Wade interrupts, madder than a hornet and a little more crooked than the human body usually looks. “Stop fucking throwing me everywhere, you giant metal dildo!”

“Wade, watch your language, please.”

“Suck a cock!”

“In my defense,” You interject before Piotr can go off on his usual spiel about rules and ‘appropriate language,’ “it was Wade’s idea.”

“Hey!”

Piotr is still unmoved. “You are capable of making your own choices, dorogoy. Wade did not force you.”

“He was going to buy me a pizza, Colossus! How do you expect me to refuse?”

“Hey, that was only if I lost!”

“Yeah, well, you were gonna lose!”

Piotr sighs, shakes his head, then extends a hand to help you off the ground. Even when he’s busting you for misbehavior, he still treats you with the utmost respect and courtesy. “Come. We need to talk to Professor.”

You sigh and trail after him. This is gonna suck.

It does, in fact, suck. Talking to Xavier --again--sucks like a vacuum cleaner gone prostitute that’s hellbent on sucking its client’s dick off.

The professor, as always, is patient with you in talking about rules and your struggles with following them.

Scott Summers, who must have a serious anal kink considering how far he has a pole wedged up is ass, is not. “I’ve just about had enough of your acting out! Either act your age or--”

“Or what?” You interrupt with a roll of your eyes. “You’ll kick me out?”

“No,” Professor Xavier interjects firmly before Scott can speak. “You will always have a safe place at the Institute, Y/N.”

Scott scoffs. “Safe for her and no one else.”

You narrow your eyes at Scott. “Says the guy who has to wear glorified sunglasses all the time or he’ll blow a hole through the wall. You look like a tool, by the way.”

“Your destructive tendencies are way out of hand!” Scott snaps.

“My destructive tendencies? Logan goes through four phones a month and cut your bike in half because you drank one of his beers! How come he always gets away with it?”

“We’re not talking about that right now!”

You sit back and your chair and nod, feigning amicability. “Ah, I see. You’re a misogynist.”

“Y/N--”

“No wonder Jean’s always looking at Logan the way she does. You must be a pain in the--”

Scott’s hand smacks down on Xavier’s desk, cutting you off. “Are you looking for extra kitchen duty? Because I’ll be happy to provide it for you.”

You refocus on Xavier. “Okay, I have an administrative question. Why’d you make the actual tyrant in charge of punishment duty?”

“I run a fair and understanding system!”

“You gave me three nights of kitchen duty after I was late for morning training! By fifteen minutes!” You look back at Colossus, who is standing post in the back of the room. “Does that seem fair to you?”

Piotr flounders. “Well... being on time is important...”

Your jaw drops. “You’re not honestly siding with him.”

“I think things have gotten out of hand,” Xavier says, reasserting control over the room. “And I think I need some time to speak with Mr. Summers about his ‘system.’”

Scott recoils. “What?”

You pump your fist in the air. “Ha! Suck it, dickhead!”

“In the meantime,” Xavier added with a stern, if somewhat amused look in your direction. “Mr. Rasputin, I’m discharging Y/N into your care. I’d like to keep her separated from Mr. Wilson until she and I have had a chance to talk about the root of her rebellion.”

Your mouth falls open at the Professor’s orders, and your shock only mounts as Piotr actually accepts. You’re so shocked that you let yourself be ushered out by the metal man himself --ever gentle and respectful of your space--into the hall and away from Xavier’s office.

It isn’t until you’re halfway down the hall that it hits.

Rage. Red hot and burning. Rage at being chastised by Scott, rage at Piotr’s refusal to defend you, rage at being unfairly separated from your best friend. You were an adult, for fuck’s sake! You could make your own decisions!

You storm ahead of Piotr, ignoring his concerned calls, and march to your room.

Like the exposition said: hot, hot issues with authority.

You manage to grab the essentials --bag, wallet, ID, phone--and make it halfway to the front door before he catches you.

Technically, he’s already waiting there for you, in his human form.

Well, that would explain how he beat you there and why you didn’t hear him.

Piotr looks up at you, expression patient if somewhat admonishing. “And where I are you going, dorogaya moya?”

“Out,” You say. No point in denying the obvious.

Piotr sighs and shakes his head. “I do not think that would be wise.”

You shrug. “Arguable. I just need some time to blow off some steam.”

Piotr presses his lips into a firm line. “Y/N.”

Uh-oh. You recognize that tone --the ‘we need to talk as serious adults about serious things in a serious manner.’

Right now, it’s just seriously annoying.

“This is fifth incident in as many weeks.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, can the record please note that Wade and I have been trying to scale back our ‘escapades?’ The car blowing up was a complete accident, not that Scott cared --oh, by the way, thanks for sticking up for me back there.”

That one lands hard, you can tell by the way his shoulders tense. “This behavior is irresponsible.”

“What, exactly, is with the vendetta against having fun?”

“Throwing firework into someone’s room is dangerous, myshka. Someone could have been hurt.”

You roll your eyes again. “It was a smoke bomb, Piotr. Not a 4th of July finale piece! Remember was I said about ‘scaling back?’” You finish descending the stairs and reach for the door handle.

Piotr reaches out --not much of a reach, he’s still a giant in his human form--and places his hand against the door. “No, myshka. You stay here.”

You bristle as you glare up at him. “I don’t remember for asking for you permission.”

Piotr exhales through his nose, the first sign that he’s actually getting frustrated with you. “The Professor--”

“Is not my dad.”

“--has asked me to watch you.”

“Well, I mean, if you want to come with me, I wouldn’t mine.” You grin up at him. “It could be a date.”

“I have things to do here.”

“Of course. Well, in that case...” You yank at the door, but Piotr is unmovable. “Look, Piotr, I’m an adult. I can make my own choices.”

“My instructions are to look after you. I cannot do that if you are not here.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And how are you going to keep me here? Lock me in my room like my parents did?”

The comparison hurts him, you can tell by the way his blue eyes flash, but it’s enough of a distraction to suit your purposes.

While he’s still reeling from your words, you rip the door open and dart onto the front lawn. You can hear Piotr pursuing you, shouting your name, but outrunning him is easy, even when he’s in his human form. You simply manipulate the air around you to propel you forward. Before he’s even taken three strides, you’re over the wall and out of sight.

You grin as your feet hit the ground outside the wall that borders the grounds of the mansion and run towards the city.

Freedom.

The first thing you do is find a diner and order a heaping plate of food. A massive, greasy cheeseburger with extra bacon, a small mountain of fries, fresh out of the fryer, and a thick, sugary chocolate milkshake that comes in a glass bigger than your head.

It tastes like heaven. Junk food is in rare supply at the mansion, what with Piotr’s obsession with proper nutrition. You love him for it, but you miss your guilty pleasures.

The next thing you do is find that arcade Wade took you to for your birthday. You still have the credit card he bought for you, and you spend the day switching from game to game as you please.

It’s early evening when you leave, and it occurs to you that Piotr is going to be absolutely --you’d use the word furious, but you’re not sure if that’s even genetically possible for him--upset with you when you get back to the mansion, so you stop by the chocolate shop he took you to on your first date and pick up some fudge for him. He rarely treats himself, but you know it’s a favorite.

As you start walking the path back to the mansion, you get the eerie sensation that you’re being watched. Maybe it’s just the unfamiliarity of the city after growing up in a small town, maybe it’s just being a woman in an unfamiliar place while the sun is setting, but--

You look behind you, trying to find anything out of the ordinary.

A man, wearing a black sweatshirt, quickly turns to look in one of the store fronts.

You watch him, anxiety churning in your stomach. You catch his eye, he nods, and starts walking in the opposite direction.

You sigh in relief, and resume your progress back to the mansion. False alarm.

A few blocks later, and that creeping sensation on the back of your neck is back with a vengeance. You turn around again, unable to shake the suspicion that was curling in your chest.

The man in the black sweatshirt was back, standing about twenty feet behind you.

You grit your teeth as you pick up your pace. You focus on trying to find a place where you can duck out of sight and use your powers to run back home, back to the safety of the X-mansion, back to Piotr’s waiting arms --because even when you’ve been an ass, he’ll still oblige you with buckets of affection.

You spot an alley ahead --not ideal, but out of sight enough that you should be able to levitate yourself to a roof top, then hide there until the guy goes away and fly home.

You glance over your shoulder to check the pace of the guy following you and nearly have a coronary.

He’s now five feet behind you. 

How did he catch up that fast? You break off into a run, desperate to reach the alley before the guy reaches you.

A man steps out of the alley, grinning malevolently at you. “Going somewhere, doll?”

You barely have time to skitter to a stop before something hits you in the back of your head, knocking you to the ground.

Your last thought before you lose consciousness is how bizarrely empty the streets are.

“Hey there, doll. Open those pretty eyes for me.”

You come to in some sort of basement, dirty and littered with crumpled beer cans and other garbage. You’re tied to a chair, arms tied to the arms and legs to the legs, with another thick rope tying your waist to back of the chair. There’s a gag in your mouth and odd weight hanging around your neck.

The man that jumped out at you is sitting in a chair in front of you, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “You’ve been difficult to track down. Lucky us, you decided to step outside your precious fortress for the day.”

You’d smirk at the man if you weren’t gagged. Apparently, for all their efforts to find you, they didn’t research your powers very well. You flick your fingers, ready to send the man flying across the room with a gust of wind.

Nothing happens.

You try again, then again, stomach sinking with dread as the man’s grin grows.

Nothing.

The man leans forward and taps at the weight on your neck, a soft metallic sound resulting from the press of his fingernails. “Suppression collar. No powers for you.”

Shit.

Left with nothing else, you try to yank yourself out of your restraints. You thrash and struggle to no avail --no amount of training was going to make you as strong as Piotr, even in his human form.

“They told me you were feisty. Apparently, you tried to run away from home several times before finding the X-Men.” The man leans forward, watching you with a lurid gaze as you struggle.

You growl at him through the gag. Just wait, motherfucker. I’ll get out of these ropes, and then I’m going to beat your ass stupid.

“Not gonna lie. It’s pretty hot.”

You try to flinch away as he reaches towards your face, but are ultimately subjected to the unpleasant sensation of his fingers caressing your cheek.

His touch is nothing like Piotr’s --it’s too rough, too forceful, and nowhere near loving enough.

“Now, we’re supposed to just take you back home--”

Your eyes widen at the mention of home --the small town you grew up in--and you start your struggle to free yourself anew.

“--but maybe we should have some fun first. After all, we’re not in any hurry.”

You stiffen and stare at him as your mind puts together what ‘fun’ might mean, then thrash around violently, almost knocking yourself over in the process.

The man reaches out and grabs the chair, forcing it back into its normal position. “Of course, I’d have to untie you for that, and I don’t want to risk you running away...” He turns to look at the other man --the one that had been wearing the hoodie. “Go get me the paralytics.”

You watch, horrified and on the verge of tears as the other man walks away and up the stairs, and let out a muffled scream.

“Oh, it’s alright,” the man said, leaning in to run his tongue over the shell of your ear. “You’ll be doing a lot of that later, and you’ll be loving it.”

You’re about to headbutt him, but are distracted by the sound of several heavy thuds on the floor above you.

You and the man look up in unison, both trying to discern the source of the noises.

Then, there were several brief bursts of gunfire, accompanied by several metallic pings.

Silence follows.

The man growls under his breath and pulls a gun out of his jacket. He points it at your head. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You watch him ascend the stairs, then start trying to work yourself free. In your efforts, you cant the chair sideways and fall on your side, back to the stairs. You wince at the impact --your arm’s going to be bruised as shit later.

You flinch at the sound of another gunshot.

Everything’s silent for a minute, and then there are footsteps on the stairs again.

You start crying, tears streaming down your cheeks, and you try anything to wiggle your way free.

Then, there are a pair of hands on your shoulders, pulling you up and turning you around, and--

Piotr kneels in front of you, resplendent even in his human form, smiling reassuringly. “It’s alright, moya lyubov’. I’ve got you.”

You draw in a sharp breath and moan at him through the gag.

“Hang on.” He pulls the gag out of your mouth --carefully, the man is always careful--and lifts it over your head.

A cry bubbles out your mouth, followed by a breathless apology. “Piotr-- I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry--”

His thumbs are already wiping the tears off your cheeks while his lips press sweet, gentle kisses along your hairline. “It’s okay, myshka, I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He leans back and flashes you a crooked grin. “Let’s get you out of here, da?”

You nod, already itching to be out of the chair and in his arms. “Da. Yes. Si. Now, please.”

He chuckles and pulls a knife off his belt. “I need you to hold very, very still, moya lyubov’. Can you do that for me?”

You nod again and focus on holding still while he works at the ropes holding you in place. “How did you find me?”

“Tracker on your phone. Men forgot to turn it off.”

You manage a weak, half-hearted giggle. “Idiots.”

He chuckles back, mostly because it’s clear that’s the response you wanted. “So, what did you get up to before all this happened?”

“Oh, you know.” You tip your head back to try and hold back the tears that are threatening to reappear. “Got a bite to eat, smashed Wade’s highscore in Pac-Man at the arcade.” You manage a wavery smile as you tip your head forward to look at him. “I stopped by that chocolate shop you took me to on our first date, got you some fudge.”

“That was very sweet of you, dorogoy.” He’s done with your legs and waist and already halfway through the ropes on your left arm.

Your laugh comes out less as amused and more as hysterical. “Yeah, well, I figured it’d pay to have a bribe.”

“Bribe?”

“To get back in your good graces after being an ass.”

He smiles at you, soft and sweet, as he tosses away the rope that had been holding your left arm in place. “You don’t have to earn my ‘good graces,’ Y/N. You’ll always have them.”

It’s serendipitous timing that he finishes freeing your right arm in that moment, because you want nothing more than to be in his arms after that comment. You launch yourself at him, winding your arms around his neck. You sob, the weight of what could’ve happened hitting you full force, and press your face against his chest.

Piotr is forced to temporarily abandon his knife, tossing it off to the side so he can wrap his arms around you. He’s massive, exceedingly so, and it’s easy for him to curl himself around your --much smaller--body. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m so, so sorry, Piotr! I shouldn’t have run off, and I shouldn’t have said those things, and--”

“It’s okay, dorogaya moya, it’s fine.” He presses his lips against your forehead. “Let’s get you out of here, then we talk. But first.” His hands turn to the solid steel you know so well, and he presses his fingers against the suppression collar. “Hold still.”

You keep yourself still as he tears the collar off of you, then let out a relieved breath, sending a gust of wind throughout the dusty basement.

“Much better,” Piotr murmurs as he rubs his hand up and down your back.

You press against him, trying to close every tiny gap between you and him. You’re shaking like a leaf in a gale, body trembling with adrenaline and relief. You let out a tiny squeak as he lifts you into his arms and wind your arms around his neck as he starts carrying you up the wooden stairs. “I half expected you to come down in full metal.”

“House is very old,” Piotr grunts as he navigates the rickety steps with ease. “I am surprised I did not fall through floor.” He pauses halfway up the steps to look at you. “You may want to close your eyes.”

You oblige him and lean your head against his shoulder. “A grisly scene, unfit for the eyes of a lady?”

A puff of laughter ghosts over your cheek. “There was struggle.”

You can’t resist the temptation to peek at the scene as he carries you through the house. You open your eyes and gasp at the sight of bodies crisscrossing the floor, riddled with bullet holes.

“I thought I told you to close eyes.”

“You should know by now I’m not good at listening.”

That finagles a chuckle out of him. “Stubborn girl.”

“Well, duh.” You peer at the bullet holes --some in the bodies, some in the walls--then check Piotr over for any sign of injury. “How’d you survive the shooting?”

“I came in defense mode. I was not sure stairs would hold me, so I changed.”

“They should’ve thought about the ricochet.”

“Da.”

The sun is almost done setting as he carries you outside to the awaiting jet.

You wince as your eyes adjust to the fading natural light, then blink as you realize you couldn’t have been captured for more than a few hours. “How did you know to come looking for me in the first place?”

“Professor Xavier got letter from intelligence operative. Said your parents had hired bounty hunters to find you and to keep you at X-Mansion until coast was clear.” He clears his throat and ducks his head, looking sheepish. “My... over-protective instincts got the better of me.”

You can’t help but tremble in his arms at the mention of your parents or the fact that they hired a fucking bounty hunter, good God. Your stomach churns as the memory of the hired man threatening to rape you and asking for paralytics, and you cling tighter to him. “Well, I’m glad they did.”

“So am I, moya lyubov’. So am I.” He carries you onto the jet and sets you on one of the seats. “Stay here. I will come back when we are in stable flight pattern.”

You try to stay in the seat as he starts the take off process, but you can’t help but stumble up to the cockpit after him.

“Yes, I found her.” Piotr looks up at you as you press yourself against his arm, and pauses to kiss your forehead. “She is alright, a little shaky.” He pauses again as he pilots the jet high enough to clear the top of the trees and surrounding buildings, then nods as the voice in the pilot’s headset speaks. “Da. We are on our way back now.” A few more exchanges between him and the voice in the headset, and then he’s setting the jet on autopilot and taking the headset off. He turns to face you, flashing you a crooked grin. “I thought I told you to wait.”

You try to reciprocate, you really do, but the past few hours as catching up with you. You lower lip starts trembling, and you slump against Piotr, crying quietly.

He wraps his arms around you and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Come on, dorogaya moya. Let’s get you checked out.” He carries you back into the main bay of the jet and --with a gentleness that completely belies his sheer size--deposits you on one of the seats. “How did they capture you?”

You lift your hand to the back of the head, wincing as your fingers brush against a small lump. “They hit me. Knocked me out.”

Piotr’s lips are set into a tense line as he pulls a flashlight out of his suit pocket. “Look at my nose, myshka.”

You stare straight ahead as he checks your pupil response to the light. “Piotr... I’m really sorry for being such an ass at the mansion.”

He chuckles. “It is alright, dorogoy. I need you to follow light with your eyes now.”

“And...” You add quietly as you track his light with your eyes. “...I’m sorry I compared you to my parents. That was... royally unfair of me.”

“It is okay, Y/N. I forgive you.” He clicks off the light and turns his attention to the nice, ugly bruise forming on your left forearm. “How did you get this?”

“I knocked myself over trying to escape.”

Piotr chuckles as he carefully prods the bruise. “That’s my girl. My fierce myshka.”

“Getting herself bruised,” you mutter with a wince. “That sounds about right.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Well, it’s a bruise and you’re poking it. What do you think?”

“I am trying to ascertain if it is broken.”

You shake your head. “I’ve broken my arm before. It just feels like a bruise.”

He stops prodding at your forearm in favor of encapsulating your hands with his massive ones. “Did anything else happen? Anything you can remember?”

“No, I was out for most of it.”

“What happened when you came to?”

“I tried to use my powers to throw them across the room.”

Piotr snorts --actually snorts. “I suppose, for them, it was good thing they had collar. You would have kicked their asses otherwise.”

“Good for them, pain in the ass for me,” you mumble, annoyed. “He pointed out the collar, so I tried to yank my arms free.”

“I figured. You have rope burns on your wrists.”

You have to stop to force down the bile creeping up your throat before you can go on. “He said I was feisty. Said it was hot.”

Piotr’s hands tighten around yours. “Anything else?”

You start shaking again. “He said that he had to take me back home... but that he didn’t have to rush. He... asked for some paralytics... said he was going to make me scream.”

Piotr’s jaw clenches, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly.

You giggle hysterically against his chest. “You came in the nick of time. He’d just sent the guy up for the paralytics when you crashed in.”

“Bozhe moi, I am grateful. I am grateful I found you when I did.”

“Me too.”

He presses his forehead against yours, taking deep, shaky breaths. “Was there anything else that happened, lyublyu?”

You frown. “Yeah. He touched my cheek and licked my ear.” You rub your cheek, then your ear. “God, that was gross.”

Piotr is quiet for a moment. Then, he lifts his hand to your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your soft, supple skin. “Like this?”

You lean into his touch, smiling weakly. “Yeah. Yours is better, though.”

“I would hope so.” He’s quiet for another moment, then leans forward.

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses a soft kiss against your ear. “Piotr,” you sigh.

He presses the side of his face against the side of yours. “Better?”

“Yeah.”

And, oddly enough, it is. It was as though Piotr’s touch erased the traces of the bounty hunter’s harassment. Sure, you could remember it happening, but you couldn’t quite remember how it felt. All you could feel was Piotr’s loving, tender touches and the affection he so willingly lavished upon you.

You turn your head towards him and press your lips against his.

He kisses you back for a moment the way he always does --with a tenderness that never fails to make you weak in the knees--and then pulls back. “I must apologize for my behavior earlier. I was too controlling. You are an adult, and I need to respect that.”

“Eh, I think I need to talk to Xavier about that one more than I do you.”

“Still, I am sorry--”

“I forgive you, Piotr. Stop beating yourself up.”

He ducks his head, smiling sheepishly. “Khorosho. I also want to apologize for not defending you in front of Scott. He was out of line.”

“It’s alright. I’m just glad to be with you right now.”

“As am I, myshka. As am I.”

After one of the resident medics gives you a thorough check over and a blood test to ensure you hadn’t been injected with anything while you were knocked out --at Piotr’s worried insistence, and you were too worn out to put up too much of a fight--you're given a clean bill of health and instructions to rest for a few days.

Piotr escorts you to the living space side of the mansion, his hand a warm and soothing presence on your shoulder.

The two of you are met by Professor Xavier and one very pissed off looking Scott Summers.

“It’s about time,” Scott snaps. “We have jobs to do, you know. We can’t just waste our time keeping up with your outbursts.”

You roll your eyes. “Geez, Scott, who rusted the pole up your ass?”

Before he can retort, Piotr steps in between the two of you. “Enough,” he says, voice deep and hard. “She has had long day. She needs rest.”

“Yes,” Professor Xavier agrees. “We’re glad to see you back safely, Y/N. Rest for now. We can resume our discussion when you feel more recovered.”

You nod and let Piotr escort you to your room.

“The medic cleared you for concussion, so you can sleep on your own tonight.”

You bite back a frown. You would rather stay with him --in general, yes, but especially tonight, given the circumstances. Dammit. Why couldn’t I have a concussion? “Okay.”

Piotr cups your face in his massive hands. “If you need anything, come wake me up. Time does not matter, okay?”

You nod, then roll up onto your toes to kiss him. When he tries to break away once, you grab onto his shirt and cling to him.

He humors you for a few moments longer before disentangling your hands from the material of his shirt. He kisses both of your hands. “Sleep well, myshka.”

You manage a smile for him, but it dissipates as soon as he turns away.

You’re not sure sleep will come easy tonight.

You’re not sure it’ll come at all.

The needle glints in the glaring overhead lights of the basement, sinister and clinical.

You wrench at your restraints, but you’re stuck, frozen in place.

The man in the hoodie holds you still while the man from the alley stabs the needle into your arm, slowly injecting you with its malevolent contents.

You try to fight, try to free yourself, but you can feel yourself quickly becoming sluggish. Your limbs are heavy, stiff from the dose of the paralytic.

You can only watch, frozen, as they cut your ropes away. Tears trickle down your cheeks, but you can’t so much as flick a finger.

You’re helpless. Completely at their mercy.

You’re laid out on the dirty stone floor without any decency or preamble.

The man from the alley laughs as he cuts your pants away from you, laughing at your tears and the sight of your shame. He leans towards you, close enough that you can smell the beer he drank while waiting for the paralytic. “You’re going to love this, doll.”

You stare at the ceiling, crying as you try to will your useless limbs to move --to fight.

You jerk upright, breathing hard.

You’re in your room, lonely and terrified in your bed. The darkness around you feels oppressive, like it’s choking you.

You try to calm yourself, to still the tremors in your hands. You use your powers to draw more air into your lungs, to try and quiet your nerves.

You can still smell the beer on his breath...

You can still feel your limbs going numb...

You bolt out of your bed and fling open the door --screw anyone who complains about the noise. You dart down the hall, skidding to a stop in front of Piotr’s bedroom door. You rap your knuckles at the door, trying to stay upright while your knees knock together. “Piotr! Piotr!”

A light flicks on his room, the glow creeping out from around the edges of the door. There’s the thud of footsteps --too light for him to be in defense mode--and the door swings open to reveal Piotr’s confused, sleepy face. “Zdravstvuyte? Hello?” You must look worse than you thought, because the exhaustion drains from his face in seconds. “Myshka, what is it?”

“I had a nightmare,” you whimper.

Piotr ushers you into his room, closes the door behind him, and kneels in front of you. “It’s okay. You’re safe. They can’t reach you here.”

You sniff and slump against him. “I dreamed that you didn’t get there in time, and that they injected me with the paralytics, and--”

Piotr wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest. “Sh, lyublyu, it’s alright. You’re safe, I’m here.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your arm. “Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

You hadn’t asked earlier to avoid making him feel awkward. Piotr was such a stickler for rules and ‘appropriate behavior,’ and you had no doubts that he would consider sleeping in the same bed --especially since your relationship was still fairly young--to be inappropriate, to say the least.

However, he doesn’t so much as hesitate when you ask. He simply presses a kiss to the top of your head and whispers, “Of course, dorogoy. All you had to do was ask.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and let him carry you to --and set you on--the bed.

There’s bit of shuffling as Piotr finds a pillow for you, and then he shuts his bedside lamp off and lays down next to you.

You wiggle across the bed until you’re pressed up against him.

Rather than mind the invasion of his space, he simply winds his arms around you, holding you against his large, muscular body. “I would’ve have offered earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You can’t help but smile at his sweetness. “Well, I would’ve asked earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Politeness gets you nowhere.”

He huffs out a soft laugh and runs his fingers through your hair. “You don’t mean that.”

No. You really don’t.

Rather than admit defeat, you opt to trace your fingers over his chest. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt, exposing his collarbone and the tops of his pecs. His skin is warm and soft under your fingertips.

Something in the back of your mind registers satisfaction at the shuddering gasp you pull out of him when your fingers graze over his collarbone, but you’re too tired to let the thought manifest past that.

By all means, it’s really soothing. Piotr’s fingers playing with your hair, his comforting embrace and warmth, the way his skin feels under your fingers. It’s almost enough to lull you into sleep, save for one nagging thought--

You tilt your head back to peer up at him. Piotr’s face is near indiscernible in the dark, but you can make out the shadowy outline of his features and the soft glint of his eyes. “What happens if I have another nightmare?”

“I will wake you up and comfort you.”

That --the promise that you won’t be left to suffer alone--is enough to finish calming you down. You close your eyes, lay your head on his chest, and let yourself fall back asleep.

You wake up --but not in the place you fell asleep in.

You’re in your room --not the one at Xavier’s, but in your old room, back in the middle of nowhere.

You bolt out of bed and race to the door. You yank and pull on the handle, but it doesn’t budge.

You try the windows next. You rip the curtains away, only to find that you’ve been sealed in. The windows are boarded over; not even a trace sunlight peeks into your room --your cell.

You pound your fists against the walls, desperate to find a way out. “Help me! Please, help me!”

A bright light floods the room, seemingly from nowhere. Someone grabs your shoulders--

“Y/N!”

You jolt awake, mid-scream.

Piotr is holding you by your shoulders, expression pinched.

Oh. That’s right. You’re in Piotr’s room. Not at home.

The relief hits you like a brick to the chest, and you start crying.

“Oh, myshka, what happened?”

“I dreamed was back home, trapped in my room.”

His arms slid underneath you and lift you off the bed. “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.”

You draw in shaky, uneven breaths as you press your forehead against his shoulder. “I know. I’m just happy that I’m here, instead of stuck back there.”

“So am I, lyublyu. So am I.”

You sit at one of the many window seats, staring out at the cool, rainy day. Normally, a view like this --gray skies and damp grass--would leave you in a foul mood. Today, however, you were simply grateful to be seeing it.

It was horrifying to think that if Piotr hadn’t started looking for you, or if you had left your phone at the mansion, or if the bounty hunters had turned it off, or --a thousand other things, who knows. Point stands, you would be on your way back to your parents, never to see Piotr or the other X-Men again.

Or, maybe you wouldn’t have been underway to see your parents by now. Maybe the bounty hunters would’ve kept you in the basement, torturing you however they pleased.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t hear Piotr sneak up behind you. You shriek as he lifts you off the seat and spins you in a circle.

“ Zdravstvuyte, myshka.”

You can’t help but smile at him as he settles you into his arms, bridal style. He’s in defense mode, which makes things a little uncomfortable, but you don’t mind. “Hey, yourself. I didn’t heart you coming.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I was lost in thought.”

“Good thoughts, I hope?”

Your smile fades. “Not really, no. I was just thinking... what would’ve happened if I hadn’t had my phone on me...”

Piotr’s grip on you tightens. “Easy, dorogoy. There isn’t much to be gained by those thoughts.”

“I know. It’s just kind of horrifying.”

He kisses you gently, then carefully sets you on your feet. “You need distraction. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No.” You intertwine your fingers with his --a near impossible task when he’s in defense mode, but you manage. “But, I can think of a couple other things if you really want to distract me.”

He ducks his head and chuckles. “Perhaps another time, myshka. Skipping meals is not healthy.”

You smile and let him lead you out of the library and in the direction of the kitchen. “Of course. Heaven forbid we mess up our meals.”

[primadonnatartuffe]

RYAN: -tonight is the night ryan would fall off the wagon after spending way too long in a bar singing, fending off offers to buy her drinks as well as her own impulses. but this is what happens when you put yourself in these kinds of locations. it was only a matter of time.- 

RYAN: -pain pills are easy enough to come by, and even easier to choke down when you're drunk. a wild evening results in ryan making her usual commute back home, late at night, on her own... making her an easy target for a mugging.- 

RYAN: -things get a little hazy after that point. but she remembers seeing jack arrive on the scene before blacking out.- 

RYAN: -... and then she woke up, back at the bar where it all began. she snorts awake from a puddle of drool with the bar tender tapping her head and telling her they're closing. she had a half finished drink which apparently made her both sleepy and guilty enough to pass out and have some kind of shitty nightmare. or... something. regardless, it's time to make the trek home, but her mind is still buzzing.- 

RYAN: -she's been having an awful lot of realistic dreams lately. way more than she has her entire life. jack seems to play a role in a considerable number of them, but she finds it unsettling in this case. this isn't her idealizing him rescuing her. it's more like... a very plausible thing if he ever saw her getting into trouble in one of his visions. and the idea of that makes her feel incredibly guilty.- 

RYAN: -she snaps out of her thoughts long enough to notice she's coming upon the alley from her dream. it would be wise to avoid it, but she wants to prove to herself it was just a dream... it would all be alright, like every other evening. and besides, she'd be on her toes anyway. she can fend for herself. still, her heart races as she turns down that street.-

JACK: -It's a feeling that creeps up his spine and settles with a heavy weight in his mind. Nagging and insistent, Jack knows no rest until he's forced to emerge from his apartment and pace the Skaian streets. He knows this feeling by now, like tuning into a radio station full of scenarios that chill his blood in a terribly familiar way.- 

JACK: -He can practically taste the dread in his mouth. His hands feel for a pack tucked into the pocket of his windbreaker until he's fishing out the cig he's searching for. Before too long, Jack has it tucked between his teeth. The tobacco burning in a (failed) hope of stowing off the metallic tang on his tongue.- 

JACK: -While his feet carry him down the turns of concrete and crosswalks, images begin to press to the blanket of sightlessness that were his eyes. Taking him an hour, half an hour, moments into the future. Stringlets of fate belonging to complete strangers, they paint Jack's surroundings to perfect clarity. He can See the darkened street where Ryan turns. Her steps hobbled and uncertain, the very opposite of sober.- 

JACK: -He also Sees when the three figures depart from the bar, having watched Ryan the whole time she'd spent drinking and then finally leaving on her own. A few seconds of context and clairvoyant observation left Jack knowing their intention. They were faceless, strangers in his visions, except for Ryan. Her face he would recognize anywhere and he realizes... He doesn't have much time to revel in the picturesque details he'd been missing out on.- 

JACK: -And so Jack takes a short cut, cutting straight through an alley where he might intercept Ryan on the other side. No need for conflict if he can avoid it. His hand shoots out to catch her at the elbow.- (Ryan.)

RYAN: -as alert as she tries to be, naturally she's glancing around nervously in all directions except the one jack suddenly emerges from. she feels his hand on her, stirring up a yelp and a startled jump.- JESUS FUCK. 

RYAN: -her heart beats right out of her chest and it only starts to settle when she recognizes the dimly lit figure beside her.- (jack???) 

RYAN: (what are you doing here?) -she doesn't sound entirely clueless, but she asks it all the same.-

JACK: -He can sense the group's balk in the distance as they see his interception of Ryan. But it'll only be a moment, just long enough for Jack to take her by the hand and zip further into the alley.- (No time.)

JACK: -Navigates with surprising finesse for a blind guy. Managing to avoid crates, broken bottles, garbage cans, anything that will cut it close to an encounter with their would-be pursuers. Within a few minutes, Jack is pulling Ryan in... only to duck with her into the archway of a backway door. The locked from the outside kind, probably belonging to the grounded restaurant kitchen beyond. His visions told him as much.- 

JACK: -He keeps a hand to her, hushing her while he listened and searched the immediate future. They were certainly out of sight now...-

RYAN: -alright, so much for her calming down. she sputters one last incoherent protest before the pair of them bob and weave through the alley's obstacles. this is all too fucking Real, she thinks, and it certainly doesn't quell her paranoid fears that what she saw was, in some way, her fate.- 

RYAN: -they linger in the archway, but the pause does nothing to quiet her racing thoughts or the unpleasant churn of anxiety in her stomach. she looks to jack, leaning into him a little to try to relax and trust that whatever is going on, he's got it under control better than she does. because what the fuck???- 

RYAN: -exhales after a moment and turns towards him to hiss a whisper.- (we got time now?)

JACK: -As the prospect of danger fades, so does his pseudo-ability to see. Everything takes to the comfort of pitch black and once again, Jack is left alone with the hush of Ryan's voice in his ear. The smell of booze is on her breath, the same way the cigarette smell must be clinging to his own clothes.- 

JACK: -his hand releases her and finds its way to her shoulder, squeezing at her in a way he hopes is reassuring.- Yes. 

JACK: We'll give it another minute or two. -talks as if they're avoiding something like a sudden bout of rain instead of... what just could have been.-

RYAN: alright. -she fidgets, but manages to collect herself as quiet returns between them. there are things she'd like to say that she isn't sure how.- 

RYAN: ... jack? i uh... 

RYAN: -sighs- there were guys following me. right?

JACK: -There's no point in lying... but he doesn't like the tension in her voice either. Despite everything, he would still prefer not to take it as what it could have been but rather what it is now. Ryan, safe because of his own intervention. He would count his lucky stars if he could.- 

JACK: There were.

JACK: But safe to say, they're gone now. -blinks and kind of registers their proximity of one another. Crossing his arms, Jack turns to lean back against the door instead, lining her shoulder up by his own.- Lucky break.

RYAN: ... i knew about them. 

RYAN: but i didnt think it would actually happen. 

RYAN: i mean... fuck. -runs a hand through her hair.- how do i put this? 

RYAN: -she turns her head to look at him again, confused and scared, but if anyone would understand, it had to be him... right?- i keep having these dreams. theyre always about me... things that happen to me. and they feel so real. but they never... theyve never happened. 

RYAN: i saw those guys coming after me. but even in that dream it was different. 

RYAN: ... i dunno. maybe its just a coincidence. im basically a sitting duck walking out here on my own.

JACK: Not always, you know. Just this one time. -gently nudges her with an elbow. He can't see how confused and fearful her expression is, but he can certainly hear it in her words. Jack opts to keep a cool head.- When did you have this dream.

RYAN: -scoffs and nudges him back.- just earlier today. 

RYAN: at the bar. 

RYAN: ... after i drank a little. 

RYAN: i guess i fell asleep.

JACK: -falls quiet and thoughtful at that, focusing on the circumstance. It was unique to say the least and one he couldn't help but identify with.- Is this a recent thing? You say dreams in the plural sense of the word.

RYAN: -nods slowly- yeah. for the past... month or so? 

RYAN: theyre usually about... shit like this. 

RYAN: me making poor decisions or getting into trouble or... 

RYAN: uhh... -glances off, flustered when she remembers the bulk of the things she dreams about. whoops.- mostly just that.

JACK: -strokes a thumb at his chin, nodding. Ohhh if he knew what she was thinking.- It's interesting. 

JACK: But something you can't expect to know the ins and outs of right away. 

JACK: I would suggest you take it with a grain of salt. Maybe... -drops the cane from his sylladex, weighing it in one hand for a moment.- Try not to tempt fate so often. 

JACK: The dreams are there for a reason.

RYAN: mrgg. well that much is obvious to me. -rubs at her head, feeling annoyed with herself when she reflects back on all these potential disasters she's gotten herself into. but of course, not everything she dreams about is regrettable.- 

RYAN: sometimes thats easier said than done. 

RYAN: but hey. im trying to be wiser. 

RYAN: -glances down at the ground, then loops her arm with his.- youre walking home with me of course.

JACK: I can't see an instance where I don't. -ba dum tshh. He's glad to take her arm in his and takes the lead out of the alley way. Truly homefree.- I don't suppose you mean my home. Or yours.

RYAN: -HOME IS WHEREVER I'M WITH YOOOOUUU.- 

RYAN: well... technically were closer to my place from here but. 

RYAN: i think id rather crash with you. if thats alright.

JACK: I won't oppose you... -when it comes time for them to take that street turn, Jack leads them on.- But on a more serious note. 

JACK: I'm also going to suggest you stay away from the kareoke bars a while. 

JACK: It's... not an easy thing. Relapsing. -squeezes at her wrist a little. As if reminding.-

RYAN: yeah... -as he squeezes her wrist, she finds herself drifting closer to him, brushing elbows.- 

RYAN: guess thatd count as making wiser decisions. 

RYAN: -she quiets, her train of thought bringing her away from him again, though she keeps her hand on his arm.- im... sorry jack.

JACK: -a smile quirks on his face as their elbows brush.- No need to be. 

JACK: I was here this time. I'd say if anything, this night turned out well. It's what's real and it's what matters.

RYAN: -that answer surprises her a little, but it's a relief.- i guess so... 

RYAN: i just dont wanna worry you. that you gotta hunt me down like that. 

RYAN: im... trying.

JACK: If anyone knows how hard you're trying, it's me. -says, squeezing at her knuckles now.- And I won't worry either. 

JACK: I can put off pre-mature grays for only so long.

RYAN: -that makes her smile and she returns to leaning against him, taking his hand up in hers just to squeeze back.- fair. 

RYAN: i can rest assured knowing youre gonna look good gray too. -snickers-

JACK: You know for a fact? -sounds bemused- 

JACK: I don't suppose your dreams tell you as much.

RYAN: i mean its hard to go wrong. 

RYAN: youre somehow pulling off this disheveled gives no fucks look after all. -ruffles his hair with her free hand.-

JACK: Thank you. -smiles, glad for the hair mussings.- 

JACK: The secret is forgetting that combs exist from time to time. At least twice a week.

RYAN: oh yeah. at the very least. id be surprised if you even own one anymore. -the closer they get to jack's place, the more her heart rate quickens. she worries if this is real, and if she's going to do something she shouldn't again. it's only a matter of time before that becomes a reality too, isn't it? she tries to tell herself it's probably in her head, but it doesn't stop the anxiety.- 

RYAN: ... by the way thanks for letting me stay with you so often. i know neither of you would wanna turn me away but you know. i appreciate being welcome all the time. -shrugs a little.-

JACK: -It's just like Ryan to shrug off an honest sentiment. So the blind guy leads the buzzed girl up the stairs and it goes about as well as one expects. He nods, holding her hand and feeling up the stair rails with the free hand.- 

JACK: If it was your house, you would be doing the same for me. -touches the first door but it's obviously not their house. He guides Ryan all the way to the third. He begins fiddling with his keys to get the door unlocked.- I personally enjoy having space to my own. 

JACK: No moms or dads staying up late to make sure I'm home in one piece. I appreciate their concern but nine times out of ten, I'm perfectly fine. -rambles the whole way into the house. Predictably, Audrey the pitbull greets them with a sniff and a boop of her nose at their hands. Oh yeah. Jack should probably release that now.-

RYAN: -NEVER. but it's alright, her hands are now occupied giving this pup pets.- tell me about it... 

RYAN: one of these days ill have my own place again. or i can room with someone i guess. since russet suggested it i kinda feel compelled to resist it with all my being. 

RYAN: plus i just... ya know. dont wanna burden anybody until im in a better place. 

RYAN: ... but then again i guess im kinda doing that already without necessarily burdening anybody so hey. 

RYAN: not that im suggesting i room with yall but uh yeah thats just where my train of thought took me. 

RYAN: ... -wanders inside, but she's lingering a little awkwardly like she isn't sure if she wants to sit or not.-

JACK: All the couch needs is a plaque with your name on it. -He doesn't seem to mind that she lingers, shuffling off for his kitchen like he is. After a few minutes and from the smell of it, Jack is making himself a mug of hot chocolate.- I know Sage would like the prospect of extended sleepovers.

RYAN: -belatedly decides to hover, joining him in the kitchen.- heh. without a doubt. 

RYAN: hey... make me one. -prods at him.-

JACK: -lets her have this drink he's already done preparing.- Fine. -gets to making himself another. Feeling around a cabinet for another mug.- 

JACK: I think you should consider a roommate though. It's a system that works wonders on Sage and I. Hell. 

JACK: It's best if you can find someone you can fuss at the same way they fuss at you. That way you don't feel like it's a burdening dynamic. It's how it works for us.

RYAN: -scoffs...- oh wait youre serious. 

RYAN: i dunno if i know anyone that i can fuss at. pretty much everyone i know has their shit together waaay more than i do. -sips the chocolate as she leans against a counter and thinks about this.-

JACK: It helps not to make those assumptions. -stirs the powder into the hot water with a spoon.- But again. 

JACK: Just an idea.

RYAN: :P 

RYAN: its something to consider i guess. maybe ill get lucky. or however that works.

JACK: You could ask your dreams about it. -licks the spoon, tapping it at his mouth in contemplation.- Another hypothetical thought.

RYAN: yeah right. maybe if i want some insight on the worst candidates for the position since so far theyve only been good for warning me not to be a complete dunderfuck. 

RYAN: or to be like prepared. 

RYAN: for things. 

RYAN: that some people apparently arent prepared for. 

RYAN: since theyre not all bad dreams so. i dunno maybe youre onto something. -STOP WHILE YOU STILL CAN RYAN. she squints at her mug and takes a generous gulp.-

JACK: So if they're not bad, they must be good. -sips his own mug, elbow leaned back against the counter.- I say you give it a try.

RYAN: guess it cant hurt! 

RYAN: -she's feeling flustered all over again now that they're back to this subject. she wonders if it's something she should address, or if that would be an even worse decision. maybe she can be subtle about it.- 

RYAN: heeeeeeey. actually while were still talking about my whacky dream shenanigans... 

RYAN: so some of them arent exactly bad... sure... maybe they are actually really good! 

RYAN: but what if they arent? i mean if the running theme of every other dream is something i shouldnt do then maybe these good dreams could be categorized as the same thing. 

RYAN: and even if they ARENT then what DO they mean? since as you said they mean SOMETHING...

JACK: -fishes out a marshmallow before answering.- Tough question but it's a good one to ask. 

JACK: From my perspective, the visions manifest as... often worst-case scenarios. What would happen if I don't do "x". But your dreams? You can't say they're the same thing. 

JACK: Maybe it's not inherently about good or bad but rather your decisions. And what comes out of them. That make sense?

RYAN: -turns the mug in her hand.- when you put it like that... yeah. it does. -baccia said more or less the same thing, but it still raises some questions.- 

RYAN: but i guess in this case im not sure... what would come out of it... if i did wind up doing those things. and thats why im wary of it. 

RYAN: cuz it could be great. or it could totally set u-- uhh. me... up for disaster and its... 

RYAN: -glances down at the hot chocolate.- its something i really wouldnt wanna fuck up.

JACK: Hmmm. Well. 

JACK: Great or not, I guess... just like with most major, uncertain decisions. 

JACK: You would have to make a gamble on whether it's worth going through with or not. Not that I'm the best candidate to offer such advice. -snorts a little into his drink.- But the possibilities still stand.

RYAN: -quiets, shuffling her feet and letting all this rattle around in her head. then she shuffles her feet over to him, standing shoulder to shoulder again.- 

RYAN: ... 

RYAN: ... 

RYAN: theyre sex dreams.

RYAN: a metric fuck ton of sex dreams. 

RYAN: aboutttttt... yooouuu?

JACK: -He can physically hear the record scratch in his head as he takes a long hard gulp of hot chocolate. Scalding his mouth and leaving him to stifle the wheeze. He deserved this.- Mgh. Ghhhhf. 

JACK: -SWALLOWS.- Metric fuck ton. 

JACK: Of... chronologically probable sex dreams. -Has to repeat it to make sure he's hearing this right.-

RYAN: yeeeeeup. 

RYAN: im only kind of exaggerating. hahaha. 

RYAN: oh god.

RYAN: -hello darkness my old friend...-

JACK: -stands there with his mug like mmmmmmmygod.- "Kind of". -clears his throat and shakes his head.- 

JACK: How often do they occur before you have to qualify something as "a metric fuck ton"? -He's almost afraid to ask but well. Here he is. Staring into the void.-

RYAN: like... i dunno... about as often as i stay over??? 

RYAN: i say... after deciding to stay over.

RYAN: fuck.

JACK: Well. That... 

JACK: ... -ends up holding his chin just to grasp the gravity of all that she's implying.- 

JACK: Certainly... puts things into perspective.

RYAN: lmaoooo. 

RYAN: yeah i... okay im not just bringing this up so we can be collectively ashamed of ourselves. 

RYAN: i figure... if all these dreams are about my decisions and shit then im DECIDING to talk about it instead of jumping your bones. or waiting for you to jump my bones. or for both of us to jump at each other at the same time. 

RYAN: ... -puts her head in her hand and SIGHS- not that those details matter... or i guess maybe they do if these are things that actually couldve happened. 

RYAN: cuz that means... it isnt just me...?

JACK: -he gnaws absently on his thumb as she rambles. Picturing all the times he shuffled around, debating. Knowing he wasn't going to go through with it but wanting to. Fantasizing?? Even just remembering was bringing some sweat to his forehead.- ...Christ. 

JACK: It's... a pickle. To say the least. -chews his thumb.- Sorry. 

JACK: I'm probably not much help with this. -wheezes gently.-

RYAN: -frowns- you could be though? 

RYAN: like clearly theres an elephant in the room we should be addressing. 

RYAN: or!! its something i want to address. 

RYAN: because it sucks just sitting on how im feeling. and i know i suck at talking about it. but i wanna try to be better at that too. 

RYAN: especially... especially with you.

JACK: -takes a deep breath... ultimately nodding. He runs his hand through his hair.- Yeah. 

JACK: You're right. It's just... 

JACK: God. -brings a hand and runs it down his face.- It's fucking insane. -says muffled.- 

JACK: Sometimes... fantasies oughta stay fantasies, huh? -drops his hands back down to his sides.- Sheesh.

RYAN: ... maybe. 

RYAN: but why is it... on our minds in the first place? and so frequently??? 

RYAN: its not... mmrg. 

RYAN: its not just a fantasy for me. its not just about fucking around. okay?

JACK: -he sobers up a little, unsure of himself but dammit. Wanting to give talking it through a try.- I know. That's not what I meant. 

JACK: I just... 

JACK: Thought it was a safe thing. 

JACK: Letting myself be indecisive.

JACK: You know it never works out if we think too much so... often times it's just about the feelings. -He doesn't know what he's saying but whatever it is, Jack is sure it was making him sound like a thoughtless dick. The shame is starting to catch up now that he thinks about it.-

RYAN: -winces and turns away from him, setting the mug down on the counter to use the mindless action as an excuse to process this. it's definitely a little frustrating, but even moreso when she doesn't really understand.- what do you mean... a safe thing?

JACK: -rubs his head in frustration and sighs.- Do you ever see me turning away? In these visions?

JACK: Dreams. Sorry.

RYAN: ... no. i dont.

JACK: -drums his fingers a little bit.- Well, logically speaking. 

JACK: It's not just your own desires that are inducing the decisions behind the dreams. And you're not selfish or crazy for having them.

RYAN: -folds her arms, hugging herself while her stomach does all sorts of acrobatic stunts.- okay so... then what??? 

RYAN: thats what i wanna know. 

RYAN: if youre feeling the same way i am... i just want to figure out what i should do about it. 

RYAN: what... we should do about it.

JACK: I don't... have that answer. I don't See what happens if we go through with.... these hypothetical scenarios. 

JACK: It's not disastrous? You've never been disastrous. -makes a vague gesture. It seems kind of wistful.- You've always been... 

JACK: Just you. A person. 

JACK: Reaching for the good as much as anyone else.

RYAN: -looks at him again, expression softening.- ... well. since neither of us knows where things would go... 

RYAN: maybe a better question is... what do we want to do about it?

JACK: -He has to consider everything in front of him now. It was like living through a dose of ice cold deja vu. Ryan, their relationship, the past, the future... In these few moments, Jack is quiet. The conflict warring on his face, despite being unable to see her. If only he had the reassurance of her expression, then he'd be able to make sense of all the blank spaces.- 

JACK: You're always so close. -begins carefully, his blind eyes worried.- It seems... inevitable. No matter what we do. How hard we try.

RYAN: -swallows dryly as she turns to face him and reaches to touch his arm, gentle and reassuring in the absence of the look on her face.- are you scared?

JACK: -as she touches him, he releases the breath he didnt know he was holding.- Always. 

JACK: You know me.

RYAN: -her hand travels up along his shoulder till she's coiling her arms around him, pulling him into a hug.- yeah. 

RYAN: me too. 

RYAN: maybe we can be... scared together? 

RYAN: im not trying to say that we need to have it all figured out right now... 

RYAN: i just dont wanna... run away from this. i dont wanna do that kinda thing anymore jackie.

JACK: -hardly resists her embrace. In fact, he coils into it. Burying himself against her shoulder and holding her tight.- I know... 

JACK: But habits are hard to put to rest. And it's hard trying to... 

JACK: Tell myself that I'm ready. And that I won't catch myself in the same cycle as before. I've spent so long trying to break from it. But is it enough? 

JACK: -He nuzzles her.- I have no fucking clue.

RYAN: -laughs a little, returning the nuzzles.- well fuck. im right there with you. 

RYAN: im not gonna be reckless about it though and say i dont give a fuck?? cuz i do. like... 

RYAN: i wanna be more aware of my own bullshit. 

RYAN: but i feel like its been easier... cuz ive had help. and ive let people help. i never did before. 

RYAN: -squeezes him a little tighter.- i think we can help each other too. youre already doing that for me...

JACK: -Hugs her so tight, he lifts her a little bit. The stronk hobo that he is.- Yeah... 

JACK: -And with that, he turns and presses a kiss to her cheek.- I just. 

JACK: Love you. Somewhere in all this fuckery of a mess. I do.

RYAN: -her cheeks warm at the contact, butterflies fluttering all around her stomach and chest, inspiring more laughter and the threat of tears.- i love you too. i never fucking stopped. 

RYAN: -returns the kiss, and then once more. leaving behind lipstick stains he unfortunately won't be able to discover later, but they're there all the same.-

JACK: -It's hard being on the receiving end of Ryan kisses. It's hard and nobody understands that when you receive one, you had to receive more. And so Jack leans, bringing a hand to her hair, the back of her head. Angling her chin up so he can press a soft sweet kiss to her lips.-

RYAN: -chills run up and down her spine, an elating warmth settling over her skin when it passes. her hands clasp at his hair, interlocking with messy strands to give her a grip while she returns this kiss too, deepening it with the tilt of her head.-

JACK: -The velvety soft of her kiss was like everything Jack remembered... but in real time. No longer clouded by memory or the passing of time. It was a crystal clear, high definition of Ryan Strider brand kisses. Tinted by the taste of hot chocolate, he knew each time his lips energetically plucked the kisses from hers.- 

JACK: Fuck it all... -says while humming with satisfaction, the more she carded fingers through his hair.-

RYAN: thats what i like to hear. -the shape of her lips form a wide smile against his, but that alone couldn't even express her joy. her hands move to frame his face instead for her to look him over. scruffy as he is, he's still the most handsome man she's ever laid eyes on, and it feels good to admire this without guilt.- 

RYAN: hey jack... its really getting late. shouldnt we think about lying down?

JACK: Late for you maybe. The wicked know no sleep. -he smiles, exhaling with relief and the buzz of warmth in his cheeks. He fiddles with more of her downy soft hair between his fingers.- But I guess I could lie in wait for a while.

RYAN: -snickers at his jokes, nudging into his touch.- alright edward. come on. -captures his hand in hers so she can escort him to his own bedroom. she's visited it enough in her dreams to know every step like the back of her hand. when she passes through the door, she's pulling him in for more kisses, as if she had been waiting another lifetime for them, rather than only a few moments.-

JACK: -follows her kisses into well... His bedroom. He knew the direction and he was conscious of how bold she was for leading the way. The truth was really shedding some light on the situation. Holy moly.- Make yourself at home. -mutters, squeezing at her hands and stealing more precious pecks. The door is closing behind them.-

RYAN: i always do. -guides him to the bed, slowly seating herself and tugging him along with her continued insistence. side by side, she pauses to run her hands over his shoulders, studying his frame as if testing the solidity of him. the reality of him.- 

RYAN: im not dreaming again am i?

JACK: I guess we'll find out tomorrow when you wake up. -for all his griping, he stifles a yawn. Relaxing under the hands that run by his shoulders. One of his own thumb comes to lightly stroke her chin. Coaxing her to relax.-

RYAN: ... yeah. alright. -she's torn between the anxiety to stay awake with him, to savor every moment of this, and getting rest to test out the theory that in the morning they'll actually wake up together. but ultimately, his touch has her lying back against the pillows and sheets, beckoning him to follow.-

JACK: -Here he comes. Rolling into bed and feeling around for a way to get comfortable. Preferably with Ryan gathered up in his arms.-

RYAN: -she helps him out, fitting herself against the shape of him, juxtaposed with her back to his front. and with his arms around her, she can finally start to relax.-