#//i know not all a lines are necessarily the karen cut but

[marypsue]

Third (I think? Maybe fourth?) watch of Stranger Things season one completed in one four-episode sitting tonight, and some things clicked that hadn't come together for me on previous watches, primarily character motivations.

I have struggled with the general canon portrayal of Hopper as A Guy We're Supposed To Be Sympathetic To juxtaposed against his decision to sell El out. I got close to figuring it out after the last watchthrough - in season one, it's not about El metaphorically standing in for his daughter, it's about saving Joyce from the pain of losing a child - but I really think I've cracked it this time. Between episode 3's “Please don’t be my kid", and the parallel in episode 7(? 6 and 7?) where Brenner tells Karen Wheeler that he wants to help her find her son but she has to trust him and almost the exact same words come out of Hopper's mouth in the same situation to Joyce, and the way David Harbour plays the moment Hopper cuts open Will's fake body and everything that comes after that - like cutting into what might be a child's corpse is The Line, and he knows it, and once he's crossed it, well, he's already done that, he's capable of anything - and how he initially tries to keep Joyce from coming with him to the lab and how he doesn't even seem to be trying to come up with a plan other than 'break in, wing it'?

I'm pretty sure now that he was planning to sell El out from the moment he walked out of the gym. It's all about saving Will, it's all about Will metaphorically standing in for the child he couldn't save, and do you know what he'd do for that? For a chance?

Anyway. Apparently I was wrong when I said that trying to engender sympathy for Brenner was undermining season one, since apparently 'feel bad for the guy who does abhorrent things to children because he was sad for unrelated reasons!' has been baked into the show from episode one and I was just too busy concentrating on the abused child who escaped captivity and discovered the world and found friends and a family for the first time and gave up everything to protect them, who is the real heart and soul of this show, ask literally anyone who's watched it, you fucking walnuts to see it.

I'm good. I'm good. I'm so normal about this television show you guys.

Speaking of Brenner, the other thing that struck me this go-round was just how much his primary motivation seems to be curiosity. I really struggled with this, too, especially when I was working on the road goes ever on (yes I'm going to link to it every time I mention it on here, it's still the thing I'm proudest of writing), and I don't think I'd quite nailed his character down by the time it got posted. Like I don't think what's in that fic is implausible for his character, necessarily, but I really leaned on pride and a desire for control (and a certain arrogant sense of invincibility) as motivating factors for his character in that fic. And while they're all definitely built into him, I think now that they actually come second to the curiosity.

The Gate gets opened in the first place because he immediately and without question gives up on spying on Russia (theoretically the whole point of this exercise) to go off on a wild goose chase for a scary noise that spooked his psychic spy. He 'dies' onscreen because the Demogorgon comes out of a wall and while everyone else is shooting at it (and getting murdered for their trouble), he just wanders on up, unarmed, unafraid, slightly awed, for a closer look! I'm quite sure that's why he actually lets Hopper and Joyce go after Will - he's not expecting them to come back out, but if they do, think what they could tell him about what's on the other side! He just wants to poke things and see what happens! Sometimes what happens is that whatever he's poking bites his finger off! Science is neat, but I'm afraid it's not very forgiving! Man I wish I'd figured this out before posting the monster longfic because I could have made his entire arc so much better and more convincing with this in mind!

I don't know if that's consistent with how they show him in season four, and frankly, given the degree of character drift (or outright assassination) everyone else is showing in season four, I don't particularly care.

Also, importantly, his primary power - and weapon - is trust. He wields authority to command trust, which he absolutely does not deserve, and it's notable that in the finale he asks Joyce for her trust and she refuses to give it to him. And she's the first and only person to refuse to give it to him. She's been lied to, mistreated, disbelieved, written off as crazy, and she is the only person on the entire show who can see right through him.

And yet, then there's that parallel drawn between Brenner asking for Karen's trust and Hopper asking for Joyce's, and she does place her trust in this man who ultimately gets her what she was looking for all along - and she never asks what the price was that was paid for it. I have to ask myself, now, does she ever wonder? Is that part of the distance between them in season two, the reason why neither of them acted on what was clearly supposed to be attraction between them? Because choosing to trust is not the same as trusting?

Season one really did have levels, and lots to chew over, and new things to find in each watch. When this show is good, man, it is good.

[mcu-vanity-blog]

GOTG 3 Review (done by the characters I care about)

Disclaimer: I didn't watch the Christmas special

Peter: Has a complete alcoholism arc in the first ten minutes for some reason? It's implied he's been drinking a lot since Endgame and then, like 15 minutes in, he says out loud "This wouldn't've happened if I hadn't been drinking" and then that's just the end of it? My brother in Christ, this movie is 2 and a half hours long, maybe cut that bit aye?

He is very much just another character in this entry. Most of his lines could easily be given to Mantis or Nebula and nothing would really change. Chris Pratt looks visibly unenthused to be here most of the time.

(New) Gamora: Honestly, could've been left out of the MCU entirely since her death in Infinity War. Zoe Saldana is the best part of every MCU film she's been in.

In this film though, she starts off with the Ravagers >> maybe learns that she's a slightly better person than she thought >> goes back to the Ravagers.

She's basically just sort of "also there" for the whole film, and is often just acting as a foil for Peter's arc (which, btw, is realising that this woman who looks like his dead girlfriend isn't actually his dead girlfriend; a fact he already knows).

Idk man, it's weird. I think Zoe just contractually had to be in this one?

Rocket: Is very much the main character of this film, but spends a good two-thirds of it asleep. You mainly see him in flashbacks where he's being abused/experimented on by the film's villain.

It's a very classic James Gunn thing I think; take a small and helpless guy and make the audience empathise with him because of how small and helpless he is. I guess it's not super nuanced in that way, but it's not necessarily an unenjoyable story for him.

It was weird that they decided to give us his origin in what is apparently the final entry of this trilogy though?

Like, "you've loved this character for 9 years now and this might be the last chance you get to see him and his friends all together again! How about we have sleep the entire time and, instead, explain exactly how he became who he was when you met him 5 movies ago!". It's kind of just silly (Dan Harmon articulates this idea really well here at 0:35-0:51).

Nebula: Gets more screen-time and characterization in this film, still not the most interesting character tho :/.

I also don't think that Karen Gillian can act :(. Would much rather have OG Gamora over her

Drax: Still just relegated to unfunny comic relief. His thing in the first movie was that his culture didn't have metaphors and he was a little careless/happy-go-lucky; he wasn't an idiot.

Ever since then? He has exclusively been an idiot.

Don't care, but feel sorry that Dave Bautista still has to play this role, even though he does very well in it <3

Groot: Again, hasn't been interesting since the first movie. He used to be this sort of mysterious, ancient, gentle giant type of character, but he's basically been just a type of sci-fi set dressing in all the movies since then.

I know James Gunn has said he's a brand new Groot from the one we see in that movie, but it's like... why? Compare the scenes of OG Groot to literally any scene of Gunn-written Groot and tell me which one is the more interesting character.

Adam Warlock: Surprisingly good. Unfortunately, he's that same James Gunn character of grown-up person with the mind of a child (think Killer Sharl in Suicide Squad), but it kinda works in this? I like that they let Will Poulter keep his accent and I look forward to seeing him written by more competent writers.

[geminiblackout-archive]

//Lisi giving Sydney an A-Line haircut hurt me more than any headcanon ever could

[smokestarrules]

My Interpretation of Pen : Chikara : Katana (SPOILERS)

So I’m gonna be honest. When I started to watch this movie, Junna was my least favorite out of the main nine. I LOVE HER, but she was the one I was least interested in. HOWEVER. I am certainly interested in her now. Holy shit. 

Now, even in the very beginning of this, after she learns who she’s going to be fighting, Junna is already angry. Understandably so; after all, in Wi(l)d-Screen Baroque, Nana had callously slaughtered them all, and she’d severed Junna’s cloak without even giving her a glance. This is the person she’s been living with for the past two years (and for Nana, far longer) and she hadn't even looked her in the eyes when she defeated her, because, seemingly, she hadn’t cared. 

These two are the pair that had the least amount of conflict in the anime, and this Revue plays on that previous stability; the setting is outside of Seisho, the same place Junna had cheered Nana up after her defeats against Hikari and Karen. And with Nana being the one in control initially, this is clearly a strategic move. 

Pen : Chikara : Katana begins very similarly to Wi(l)d-Screen Baroque had, with many of the same tones. Nana’s barely even acknowledging Junna as a person anymore, and she’s certainly not acknowledging this Revue as anything but a continuation of her previous one. Nana attacks directly at Junna’s weakest points immediately; showing video evidence of Junna’s shortcomings and failures and shoving them in her face as if to say my victory is inevitable. 

And yet...

This isn’t Nana. Nana’s color has never, ever been red, and this particular shade of it has never been anyone’s but the Giraffe’s and his deadly Stars. This is the Giraffe’s influence showing freely in her actions and thoughts, and it is him who has pitted them against each other once again. Nana and Hikari are the two who seem to be the weakest against his influence, and that’s because they are two of the most caring. 

It’s safe to say that Junna begins this Revue terrified. This is the person who recently demonstrated enough skill and shine to defeat them all, so how she is supposed to win on her own? There’s that, and there’s also the rift that Nana’s torn between them in showing no mercy, and worse, no recognition. 

This entire Revue, Junna is set up to fail.  She begins on her knees and weaponless, Nana standing behind her one sword drawn and the other sitting in front of her. Of course, they can’t bleed in these Revues probably, but Nana’s sword is still stained red as Junna runs, because in her mind, she’s already won. 

But Junna is, above all things, a fighter. Even when desperately outmatched, she is not one to quit, and so she fights back, caging Nana like a rabid animal. This is the Revue of Hunting, and now both of them have established themselves as both Hunter and Prey. Junna’s already ran, with Nana following, but now Nana is the one trapped. And with that, it’s actually Junna who’s rewarded with the first few lines of the song. 

But Nana’s not done yet. 

“You were beautiful. You were foolish, blazing, and beautiful.” (N) Note the past tense. Nana is perhaps the one who uplifts the rest the most out of anyone, and she knows exactly how to tear them down. 

“You were dazzling, Hoshimi Junna.” (N) And when the moment comes, she doesn’t go for Junna’s cloak because she doesn't need to. She said it herself, these are not the same auditions they’ve fought in before; you make your own rules inside to determine how someone wins. Cloaks aren’t necessarily the winning thing here, and so Nana goes after something far worse; the physical sign of Junna’s own brilliance, her gemstone. This is a direct attack against Junna’s entire drive; this is Nana saying you are not good enough to succeed anymore. She doesn’t have to break Junna’s cloak, because with this blow, she’s broken Junna. She even leads her second blade in front of Junna, and I think she left it there so that Junna could cut her own cloak with Nana’s weapon, entirely hopeless. 

Which.......  almost works. Junna is broken, and the music returns to how it began; rumbling and tense, waiting for Nana to declare her victory. Nana even acknowledges Junna’s crying as a parallel to her own breakdown in the anime, which had happened in this very place -- the grounds of Seisho. 

But then Junna realizes that she can’t keep relying on other people’s words. She takes Nana’s blade, yes, but not to cut off her cloak, no, instead, she does this.

And here the tides turn. She takes Nana’s blade and rebuilds her brilliance with it. She says “Try and see if you can kill me, Daiba Nana!” she challenges Nana in return; she refuses to lose. 

Immediately, the stage is flooded with yellow, and Junna takes over the song almost effortlessly. She’s still knocked down, but she gets back up again and keeps fighting. And Nana? Nana’s unsettled. She demands her katana back, she insists that Junna’s out of her league, but Junna keeps. getting. up. 

“All you do is parrot borrowed lines. Your star is just a piece of space trash.” (N) Again, doing anything she can to discredit Junna, to defeat her drive, but Junna’s done listening. 

“Gotta try to kill me, right!! Don’t you!” (J) Junna is refusing to go down unless Nana makes her stay down. If Nana wants to win, she’ll effectively have to kill her. 

“Her” Junna wouldn’t stand on her feet and declare you’ll have to kill me. “Her” Junna wouldn’t have kept getting up after being knocked down, time after time. This isn’t Nana’s Junna anymore; she doesn’t need to fall back on Nana anymore. She can push forward on her own now. And then everything goes blue. Nana���s not in charge anymore. Junna doesn't need the role Nana’s given her; she doesn’t need to be “Nana’s” anymore. 

And in the end, Nana’s the one without her cloak. 

And look, see how their colors intertwine now; Nana’s yellow (note, a much more saturated one than the sickly color from her Revues in the anime) focused on Junna and Junna’s light, dull blue on Nana. Nana’s been defeated, and she has to learn to move on. Of course.. there’s always going to be another stage for the both of them, they just have to be patient. 

“Let the curtain fall. We’ll meet each other in due time.” (J) - Beaten, Nana lets Junna finish the Revue without another word. She’s deserved it. And once again, Nana cries at their parting, cementing the connection between this Revue and their old conversation when she let herself break down. 

They’ll be okay. 

[2-cute-4-school]

𝘕𝘊𝘛 𝘋𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘱 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴

Mark Lee

so we all know mark is a quite expressive person with his emotions

and come on when playing video games we all rage and throw fits so emotions are running especially high ‎(ﾉಥ益ಥ）ﾉ ┻━┻

what i’m trying to say is that mark is yelling, banging fists against his desk, laughing his ass off and pissing you off

i mean mark’s laugh is very cute and ENTIRE BLESSING TO HEAR but ♡ sleep ♡ is also precious 

but mark can’t hear your exaggerated sighs nor see your ever-lasting pout

so you lift your tired self from the bed and plop down on his lap

mark : “hUH??¿¿ B-BABE?!¿¿” （＊〇□〇）……！

haechan, audible through the headphones: mark, not in front of the boys, you wild beast (๑⁍᷄౪⁍᷅๑)

mark opens his mouth to shout in protest but you bury your head in his shoulder and let out a soft whine and mark.just.COMBUSTS!!!

he grumbles something about how haechan is due for a good beating and nuzzles the side of his face against the top of your head  ♡(.◜ω◝.)♡

whenever he has a break and doesn’t need both hands to play, he brings one arm around you, cuddling you closer to himself and running his hand along the length of your spine

or just LAYS HIS HAND ON YOUR THIGH askfafwsr- ya know (˵ ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°˵)

doesn’t have the heart to break the atmsophere even after he shuts down his computer and just cocoons you in his warm arms and hums a song softly as you doze off intertwined together UwU

Huang Renjun

you’re just trying to be cute and create a romantic enviroment as you cuddle up to your boyfriend who is immersed in his game

“y/n?” his voice is soft, almost a hush and it could almost lull you to sleep

“yeah?” ෆ╹ .̮ ╹ෆ

“i can’t see because of your head”

FIRST HIT HOME but you didn’t give up of course, just flattened your cheek against his shoulder to accomodate his complaint 

just as you settle downs drowsily, glued to his frint, he covers his mic to grumble to you again  ಠ╭╮ಠ

“it’s getting hot” 

SECOND HIT HOME and you’re starting to get discouraged as you scoot a little further away from his body and loosen the grip of your hands around his neck (๑′°︿°๑)

but of course ever grumpy renjun still had complaints karen who

“my legs are falling asleep” 

*SIGH* “eye roll* *definetely not pouting* you start pulling yourself away from him and trudge defeatedly and bury yourself under a ton of blankets

but he just chickles, has the AUDACITY to chuckle, and brings you back on his lap, squeezing the life out of you  (≧д≦ヾ)

“i was just kidding babe don’t leave me!!” says renjun as he sways you kinda violently may i add from side to side and rubs his cheek against yours cuz he’s a kitty and adorable confirmed  ε=(｡♡ˇд ˇ♡｡）

rough love you have other there as you can see

Lee Jeno

jeno is GENTLE GIANT （ﾉ｡≧◇≦）ﾉ

gentle loving giant in this case actually so even better

so we all know how the dreamies exposed this boy TWICE for playing video games 25/8 and he got scolded by his mum lol so i’m thinking

you’re trying to get him to go to sleep or at least rest his eyes he’s already blind enough i WONDER WHY damn

all this started when you settled in front of his computer to block his view

and as he argued with you he decided enough is enough and pulled you into his lap, traping you against his chest (╬ Ò ‸ Ó)

“jeno it’s 3 am!!” :<

“ just one more round baby” of video games ya nasties...no? only me?ok

he tries to give you a *smooch* but you move your face away and refuse to turn around and let him kiss you

and that’s where jeno draws the line (; ･`д･´)​

kithes are something that can’t berefused between you two, an unspoken rule you apparenly weren’t aware of

so with a ‘eep!!!’ from you, he simly stands up from his seat with you latched onto him like a koala like (＾ω＾ ≡ °д°)

“jeno put me down!!!11!!1! NOW!!” 

“kiss first” (.◜ ᵕ ◝.)  

“are you nuts??!!!?” *exaggerated smooch* “now put me down!!”

needless to say he’s not letting go anytime soon, he just plops into bed and you cuddle until you fall asleep you’ve been scammed

Lee Donghyuck

haechan is a very VERY petty brat person ಠ_ಠ

so guess what... fights with him are a national competition of petty acts

and you know what his ultimate move in your most recent fight is? *drum rolls* turning off the central heating really original hyuck i applaud you

and this kid knows exactly what he’s doing when he sits down in his gaming chair with a shit-eating grin  (ง ͠ ͠° ل͜ °)

he hears you stumble around the house in your dora the explorer exploration in the search of a blanket

but guess what? they’re all under his flat cake  ( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖)

so when you bardge in the room and find him hogging all the warmth you hope to intimidate him with your  ✨ highly horrific glare ✨

but he pretends to be too busy to notice you so you just defeatedly settle on his lap and under the blankets

“well well well look who’s crawling back with their tail between their legs”

“i might just cut off your front microscopic tail” (눈_눈)

but i just know he’s gonna cuddle you until you sweat your ass off under that mountain of blankets

and even when he can’t hold you, he’ll press his lips against your forehead, lingering there as his warm breath fanned across your skin

he also made a deal with you to which you didn’t necessarily agree with but that’s a minor detail am i rite

if he wins the round he gets a kiss as a reward (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

if he loses, he gets 2 kisses as a consolation (ฅ⁍̴̀◊⁍̴́)و ̑̑

you’re getting suspicious of his 4 consecutive losses

Na Jaemin

he’s a fluff ball we all know it, we all love it

he’d DIG THAT KIND OF SHIT  ٩̋(ˊ•͈ ꇴ •͈ˋ)و

and he babies you to the end of earth

99.8% chance that he’s gonna stop playing just to cradle you against his chest properly because YOU’RE. HIS. BABY!!! periodt.

cue yelling from his teammates for abadoning them in the middle of the game but that’s inevitable

“na jaemin you SIMP!!!!” 

but jaemin is too busy making puppy eyes at you (●♡∀♡))ヾ☆*。

he’d kiss you everywhere he could reach and then scoop your hands in his and bring them to his lips for another shower of kithes  (*'､^*)chu

and if you kiss him back??  

this man will literally COMUST with uwus istg

like just imagine you brush your lips against his neck and then you gently nuzzle against him??

jaemin would melt in your embrace ♡(｡- ω -)

even if he did eventually go back to playing, he’d press kises anywhere in reach periodically cuz he’s soft like that

would also LOVE feeling your breath fan his neck he gets a unique feeling of comfort knowing that he has you so close to him  (๑˃ᴗ˂)

“even if you were the impostor i’d still vote myself out for you”

the romanticism of this decade 

Zhong Chenle

this boi is ruthless when playing video games

god frobid you’re in his way cuz you’re getting SQUASHED (｢⊙Д⊙)｢

 he obvioulsy LOVES winning

but ya know what he loves more than winning???

𝓨𝓞𝓤  ♡(㋭ ਊ ㋲)♡

so chenle is all (｡+･`ω･´)

“you waste of space move along!!!!”  “shoot that gun straight dammit or i’ll shove it up yo- oh hey baby°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°“

the moment you plop down on his lap and curl yourself up with your head tucked under his chin, his blazing eyes soften so cutely

and so raging kid chenle turns into best babyboi chenle (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

he M E L T S like he just leans into your touch and continues gaming  A LOT more silently and just smiles absent-mindedly the entire time

“yo chenle you dead????” most likely jisung on the other side of the headphones

“no?” ｢(ﾟ<ﾟ)ﾞ??

“... guys he’s plotting something, reatreat!! i repeat, RETREAT!!!”

“what?? no, what do you mean by that !??!!!”

you stir as his voice rises in volume and chenle immediately settles down again and shushes you while patting your heah and threading his fingers through your hair carefully (*-ω-)

goes straight for jisung after that teammate or not rip jisung you’ll be missed but also bad choice to annoy a soft-for-only-my-baby chenle

Park Jisung

a bit flustered but just couldn’t refuse you when you cutely asked him with wide puppy eyes if you could sit in his lap to watch him play

probably short circuited for a good 2 minutes before he could produce and intelligible answer (ง ´͈౪`͈)ว

and that’s how you found yourself perched on his lap, facing the screen with curious eyes as jisung struggled as if his LIFE depended on it

“how do you jump?” (,Ծ_Ծ,)

“you can’t jump”

“what do you mean you can’t jump?? gravity doesn’t work like that” Σ(･ิ¬･ิ)

you’re like 2 newborn babies running wild and unsupervised

“jisung, that character looks like you when you’re constipated” (๑꒪▿꒪)*

cue cackling from the devil spawns on the other side

he’s gonna keep in mind this betrayal UNTIL THE END OF TIME beware

if you catch sight of one of his hands not working away i bet my allowance you’ll have this uncontrollable urge to hold it in yours DO IT I NEED MY ALLOWANCE DON’T BE SHY

of course he’ll automatically intertwine your fingers together and bring them up for a chaste kiss  ～(^з^)-♡

and i know for sure that he won’t have the heart to let go of it even when he needs it to play sigh jisung you SIMP

he’s gonna get scolded and teased by the other later but ya know

at least he ain’t no touch starved coward ¯\(°_o)/¯

he gets grounded for that by jaemin

[clonecumber]

Hi, I'm wondering if you know that Karen Traviss published on her website what she wanted to write about in unwritten Imperial Commando 2 book

Here's link if you want to check it: https://www.karentraviss.com/information/FAQ/index.html

I saw something about that way back when after her book series was first cancelled, I think. I don't really pay it much mind, but since you asked I took a peek? And, all right, this is pretty funny.

You’re anon so I can’t guess, and I don't know what you were hoping for in response, but you may not necessarily know about my opinions on KT's general authorial decisions (it's mostly negative), so since I responded to this very flippantly, I'm going to put it under a cut in case you don't want to see it:

Also, accepting that most of these were just notes and first draft style nonsense, so they might have been fleshed out or shifted when she actually wrote them. I can appreciate that. That said...

Good to see that's where the idea Jusik married a mind-rubbed Arla came from, though. That's...swell. (Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew-) (I hate this the MOST.)

Marriage, marriage, whatever, whatever...

I refuse to accept Rede dying. Especially for yet more Skirata nonsense. This plot line already exists, all right, she could have let him give an actual shit about Dov, if she wanted Skirata-killing-clones manpain. Look, I'm telling you, Niner just kidnaps Rede for a character development road trip where they both try to convince the other to join the dark side. It's canon. I say so.

Darman also doesn't kidnap Kad because...okay, I absolutely think he would try, fair enough, but honestly? He's trying to get to that kid past Atin and Laseema and Fi and Corr and Mereel and Ordo and-? The man gets tackled to the ground and sat on in true Null-style conflict resolution. End scene. Maybe he gets an escorted field trip with Kad away from Kyrimorut with his squad since we're going to respect that he doesn't feel like Kyrimorut is safe (and he's not wrong) but there's no way Darman's in a good place to take care of a toddler by himself even in the short-term. Kad doesn't deserve that trauma. Take a nap, Dar.

I will accept Maze and Zey duo-ing it up across the galaxy. That one can stay.

Lol the clan being forced to flee, though. We all saw it coming.

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

massaging them , bandaging injury in healer draco / auror Harry one shot please thank you ❤️

This one is new!! Btw sorry for delaying it. Here ya go, hope you like it. @flakeyakey

Single healers

" come on, get him in here" although it was deafening. He was probably losing his senses, his eyes opening and closing, blurring his vision. He couldn't really see the speaker but unconsciously sensed the urgency in their voice.

" and you're sure he wasn't bitten ?" The same voice asked again. Harry tried very hard to open his eyes and see who it was, but exhaustion was pulling him under and he was ready to sleep. Long sleep.

His breath was cutting short, his vision blackening, he was relaxed finally until someone started to lightly pat his cheeks.

" keep breathing, potter... Don't you dare give up right now " and that was the last thing he heard, only getting a slight peek of someone oddly familiar and with a nod, harry closed his eyes.

It was really exhausting to be where harry was right now but all he did really felt was the uncomfortable pillow, hurting his neck. In attempts to fix his pillow, he tried to move his arm until he realised they weren't exactly in a spectacular shape and he grimaced with pain.

" welcome back sweetie" he heard a sweet voice. Okay, there isn't any woman at Harry's home, so he opened his eyes.

" ouch " harry immediately shielded his eyes because of the intense light

" shut that light Karen, it's hurting his visuals" Someone said as they must've shut the door behind him.

Once the light was turned off, harry relaxed and opened his eyes again.

" wow, this is definitely not home " harry groaned

" well not if your home is a hospital potter" the guy in the white coat said. Harry couldn't see whoever it was, mostly because his back was turned to harry but also because he was very much leaned over onto the table that you couldn't see anything but his white coat, his black pants and nice black shoes, shining, and if harry wasn't wrong they were vintage, oh!!

" so how do you feel ?" The guy finally turned around

" I knew it, only you say my name that way " harry fisted his palm in a small victory.

"yeah, yeah very great achievement potter, now how do you feel ?" He asked

" well, for one, I can't feel my ass because of this bed, second, my arm is really sore, third my pillow isn't put right so it definitely is craning my neck too much that it hurts. And lastly my question how did I wound up here ?" Harry goes

" Karen please do the honours of adjusting thy majesty's pillow or he'd cry over it" the other man said as he poured some liquid carefull in a vial.

" now, to answer your question, I am not even slightly interested in how you wound up here, all I know is that you are here and I have to take care of you. Next, the beds are a bit uncomfortable, you'll get used to it in a bit and if not, I'll cast a cushioning spell and lastly, can you tell me exactly where your arm feels most sore ? And do the honours of actually telling me how you feel ?" He said as he walked towards harry, analysing the morning reports he received.

" still keeping the I am a prat attitude Malfoy, suits you " harry rolled his eyes, pointing above his elbow on the dorsal side.

" well the sodding insolent prat attitude suits you too potter " draco rolled his eyes as he lightly dabbed Harry's arm recieving a flinch.

" there's no such external injury here so I think that's a bruise. Think massage would do it " draco frowned to himself

" I feel a little dizzy by the way. Also there's a portion on my neck that is itching quite badly, can I scratch ?" Harry asked innocently.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows before helping harry sit upright and taking a look at the point of his itch.

" those are deep scratches. So no you can't scratch Over. Karen I thought all wounds were cleaned up "

" I did. It must've been because it's on his back I might've missed it. I'm sorry " she hurriedly Apologized

" that wouldn't really qualify you as a healer would It, now, next time don't make the same mistakes. Ms. Adelman across the room needs you by the way " draco said as he dipped some cotton in antiseptic potion and cleansed Harry's wound.

" it's burns ? " Draco asked

" a little " harry grimaced.

" I think you got that from the werewolf " draco whispered as he carefully studied for any bites.

" when will I be free ?" Harry asked impatiently.

" well at this pace not for another two weeks" draco replied as he pushed down his reading glasses and kept the files over the side table.

" no way. I'm not staying for 2 weeks. That's 14 days off work, I can't do that. I'm in the Middle of an important case and-"

" okay save it potter. You have to stay for 2 weeks and it ends there. Your friend Weasley will come by and explain you everything but under my watch, even if you're free you're not allowed to work"

" and who gives you the right?" Harry rolled his eyes frustratingly

" me. As your healer, it is my responsibility to make sure that you only resume when you're wounds are all healed up " draco huffed, annoyed by Harry's childish behaviour to just break free.

" and you think I'd listen to you ?" Harry narrowed his eyes in a glare at Draco.

Draco clenched his jaw before closing his eyes and continuing speaking " you are not going anywhere and that is it, you get me! And if you do try to get away, I will tie you up with shackles without a wand. Now if you're a chain eater or something like that then you'd be successful to break free otherwise not "

" whatever " harry rolled his eyes, again. If draco had one pet peeve, it was people rolling their eyes necessarily on his face and potter seemed to have a death wish.

" look " draco pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed " you don't understand the severity of your injuries. I understand your passion for work and all but not at the risk of health. If you must know you were attacked by a werewolf, the problem however is that we're not sure if you were bitten or not.. it might've been someone who bit you before full moon, basically not a werewolf then but there is a possibility that you're not bitten, the more likely one -"

" but if there's a bite, you should be able to see right ?"

" yes and no. The evolution of werewolves is allowing them to leave very little traces of bites these days which of course does not benefit them nor potentially harm the one bitten. The real reason why we can't figure whether you're bitten or not is because your back Is covered in scratches and if you can't feel them it's because of the numbing potion. And we're done talking. Drink this up quietly"

Harry looked at Draco strangely for a moment before taking the vial from his hand and bottomed up " can I work from here ?"

" no " and draco walked out.

And then it became a thing, harry constantly asking if he could work and draco constantly denying and threatening him that this time he'd definitely put him in shackles. And by the by, interactions between them did get pretty interesting every once in a while when Draco used to check him up late at night before leaving from work.

And one of these days harry shoot his shot "you pretty much always leave late, come early and stay here all day, so I should by now just assume that you're single "

" not that it's any of your business potter " draco absent-mindedly replied as he changed the bandages on Harry's back.

" ha- you didn't deny it. So you are single " harry exclaimed

" sit still "

" sorry "

" why do you care if I date or not ? My personal life Potter " draco said as he changed the bandages on the bottom right of Harry's back, amused for a moment of what he saw something going under his pants. It seemed like a mark, he didn't question it.

"I don't. Just curious " harry shrugged.

" well dearest curious George, I must assume that you're single too since nobody special visited you " draco said as he got up and lightly massaged Harry's sore arm from before. Harry relaxed in his touch before he continued the conversation

" I don't do Dating. Even if I do date someone, it's never about us or the dating in itself, it's just mostly to get into witch weekly or daily prophet under the chosen one's new beau sort of thing "

Draco almost pitied harry for never having found something but decided not to, since he obviously didn't need the pity.

"that sucks " draco hummed " does it hurt still ?" He pressed a little more firmly over the spot

" not much anymore " harry replied " what's your not dating excuse ?"

Draco etched a small smile especially for harry before he told him the truth " it's a bitter world for me out there. I think it's the same as you, you know just the opposite end. It's almost as if i- I'm still a death Eater and people still hate me for that "

Harry pressed his lips in a thin line, never having thought of it. He always thought it must've been easy for Draco to find Someone, with being attractive and working somewhere you're basically helping people all day but it came as a mild shock as it was opposite.

" whoever ends up with would be one lucky person though " harry complimented just in time draco stopped massaging and picked up the vials to give to harry.

" really ? What makes you say that ?" Draco smiled

" because I know you'd do anything to keep that person in your life no matter the cost. And I've seen the good in you, you're not all bad " and with that harry gulped the vial, missing out draco's blushing.

" I think whoever ends up with you would be a lucky one too then " draco said as he finished up aligning the empty vial bottles on a tray to take them away.

" and why's that ?" Harry smiled

" because- it's just you. You're different and you're nice.. think you'd always keep them happy and safe if it were your life on stake. That's just you " draco complimented smiling at harry.

Not as capable as draco, harry turned pink from the compliment " that's nice of you "

Draco should not have been mesmerized but unfortunately he was and it should've been a mistake, but he liked it. And he knew harry enjoyed gazing at him too but the moment Only lasted so long and draco broke free before he could've lost control.

" I should go. Goodnight. Take care " and he left the room.

The next morning draco returned to his room, the first thing he saw was an empty bed until he harry walked in, shirtless.

" y- you can walk " draco said

" yeah. I can " harry smiled.

Gaining his composure back, Draco resumed " and you cleaned up nice, with all the Shaving "

" I figured I'll be leaving in 3 days so better get used to it again " harry replied

Draco stared at harry dumb folded " oh, right, yeah, 3 days "

" so " draco pouted " does it hurt anywhere? Need of change in bandages ? Or anything else?"

" no, I think I'm fine " harry placed his hand over his hips, frowning.

" well, alright then. I'll be going. I'll be checking in on you at the end of the day like a normal healer. Goodbye potter " and he practically ran before his heart might've fell out of his chest, metaphorically ofcourse.

The rest of the day draco got so busy that when the night came, he couldn't visit harry again even if he desperately wanted to but he was so exhausted that he could Barely walk and so by the recommendation of the work counsellor, he got sent off.

The first he did next day was visit harry, who to his surprise was sleeping. So like a normal healer, he checked his bottled of vial, his normal medicines and the bruises and left. When the night came, harry was swamped with his friends that draco couldn't had stayed for more than professional purpose. The next day again when he visited harry, he was tiredly sleeping. Defeated, draco worked all day until again at the end of the night he visited harry to see him sitting with all the files.

" working?" Draco asked as he place his files over the side table and started checking Harry's injuries, which were now almost healed.

" yeah. Filling in for what I missed while being here " harry sighed.

Draco scrunched his eyebrows looking at Harry he retrieved his hands and asked him " do you really enjoy your work though? Like putting your life on line and working immensely over something so exhausting ?"

" do you enjoy your work ?" Harry huffed

" I do. I very much do. It's tiring sometimes yes but I like what I do. It makes me feel nice About myself. Is it the same for you ?"

Harry huffed pushing away the files before Pouring our reality " to tell you the truth, I don't enjoy work. It was all fun in the beginning, the chase and run but now it just seems as if that's all I've been doing my whole life. Running after the bad guys but then that's exactly what everyone expects of me and I can't let them down. So I do exactly what I've been doing, the right thing "

Draco amusingly watched him, as if it was fun story, only it wasn't " my mom always used to say, much before anyone else's you're your own. There's no point in living your life the way people expects. I think they must've have had enough of that already. There's nothing new in the potter magazine you know, the chosen one after the bad guy. Life's too short for the same title harry "

" hey, you called me harry " harry pointed out grinning

" don't I deserve to at least call you by your name after taking care of your lame ass for 2 weeks " draco chuckled.

Harry chuckled " you deserve it, draco "

And draco smiled.

The next morning when harry was finally ready to depart with no ill effects or presence of lycanthropy, he waited until he see'd off draco..

" and I thought I'd almost miss your departure " draco heaved, breathing in harshly..

" nah, I wouldn't had let that happen " harry chuckled..

When Draco finally had his air back he leaned upright looking at harry " it was nice having you here "

" it was nice being here " harry smiled

" so, I guess, I'll see you around then ?" Draco asked awkwardly.

" right, yeah, of course " harry rambled.

" cool then " draco pressed his lips in a thin line, pushing his hands in his coat pocket.

" alright then. Bye " harry hesitated

" oh. Yeah..bye. see you again probably " draco replied

" yeah, might. Bye then "

" bye " and then finally harry stepped back one by one until he reached the door handle and turned around to walk out.

" fuck it " harry whispered under his breath and walked back to draco

" something wrong ?" Draco asked

" you. I don't care how stupid I might sound, but I like you, like I really really like you and I haven't felt his way for someone in a long time and I don't want to blow this away. So draco malfoy would you maybe want to go out with me someday even if I'm a complete insolent prat-"

" okay, yeah "draco grinned

" and I've got attitude problem and you possibly don't feel the same- wait- you said yes?" Harry rambled

" yep. I said yes " draco chuckled.

" oh. Then I'll definitely see you. Outside leaky cauldron, at 7 "

" you definitely will " draco smiled

" okay then" harry grinned as he started walking back again.

" okay "

" okay " harry bit his lip.

" I like you too by the way " draco chuckled

" I really have to go.. but it's good to know " harry chuckled..

" okay " and then harry finally left, after dancing in victory of course.

Requests open

[cosimuhs]

haven’t seen you (since i was your little girl)

“Oi, Poppins, there’s a lady here to see ya,” she barely gets out, before the woman is turning and Dani’s face is falling, hands grappling for purchase on her pots.

“Mom?”

[or: Jamie has never been good with parents, but this? This feels important.]

read on ao3 or under the cut!

It’s a slow afternoon when the bell on the door jingles open, bringing with it a brisk wave of autumn air.

Honestly, as much as Jamie grumbles about it, autumn in Vermont has grown on her. She’s not one to celebrate the death of plants lightly (unless it’s a pesky invasive species) but there is something to be said about New England foliage. In quite the contradiction, it feels like life is abound in these months - the crunch of leaves and the brightness of Dani’s laugh that settles deep in Jamie’s chest.

As the heat of the summer slips and then disappears altogether, so does her personal space. In the newfound chill, Dani takes it upon herself to warm up, not with extra layers, but by pressing as close as possible — in the street, their joined hands stuffed into Jamie’s jacket pocket, shoulders knocking, or in the middle of the night, when Jamie will wake up, half off the bed, a pile of blonde hair heavy on her sternum.

Yeah, it definitely is one of her favorite seasons.

The only downside is the dip in sales, people sequestered at home against the chill, not looking to start gardening as they face the winter head on. Not to mention, as the months trip slowly past the autumnal equinox, the housewives who pop in, begging for mistletoe and holly in the middle of October.

The woman who has just entered, greying around the temples with lines of age deeply indented around her eyes, seems like just the type, and Jamie steels herself to send her packing for another month or two.

She looks strangely surprised to see Jamie, which is dumb because it’s her bloody shop, and even more taken aback at the lilt in her accent when she asks if the woman needs her help. That at least, she’s well acquainted with, because for some reason, no one in this town is aware that Brits exist.

So caught up in her stewing, she almost misses when the woman speaks. Almost.

“Maybe I got the wrong shop,” she mumbles, wringing her hands.

Jamie has to try hard to tamp down her annoyance because, really, what kind of product do you expect from a store called The Leafling?

Instead she tips on her customer service smile, the one that Dani says makes her look like she swallowed a lemon. “What were you looking for?”

“Who,” the woman corrects and pauses long enough that Jamie thinks this odd lady is not going to provide any other information before she continues.

“I’m looking for Danielle… er — Clayton. Danielle Clayton.”

There’s something familiar about the woman, yet Jamie doesn’t recognize her as one of their regulars. Even weirder, Jamie has never heard anyone refer to Dani as Danielle in her entire life.

“Ah, she’s out at the minute, but she should be back soon,” Jamie says, and she’s about to ask how and why and who, but the lady must see the confusion in her eyes and cuts her off.

I’m Karen,” the woman adds helpfully, as though that will clear literally anything up for her.  

“Okay, Karen,” she says, drawing out the vowels and trying desperately not to roll her eyes at the lack of context. “I’m Jamie…?”

Karen’s shoulders have dropped from around her ears, the worry lines fading into her forehead now that she knows she’s in the right place, though the anxious energy surrounding her doesn’t completely dissipate.

There’s a spark in Karen at Jamie’s introduction, like her name means something.

And.

The familiarity is scratching at the base of her neck, that feeling where you know you should know something, but it’s an inch past your reach and you’re forced to scrabble aimlessly, trying to connect the dots. She knows , can place this stranger in the swirl that connects the two of them, but she just can’t name it.

Thankfully, the door is pushing open again before she can guess, this time bringing in the object of their conversation, windswept and harried as she nudges hair from her eyes with a wrist, arms laden with multicolored arrangements.

Dani looks beautiful like this, cheeks flushed from the cold, even with the scowl on her face.

Her afternoon has been filled with endless options and the sharp bite of a bridezilla who needs everything to be practically perfect and Jamie knows Dani can’t wait to let the long day soak away, curl up with Jamie and a strong cuppa — said as much before she left the sheets this morning.

She’s going to close up shop early tonight, she decides the second she sees the strain in Dani’s shoulders, and help release the tension in other ways.

They just need to get rid of Karen first.

“Oi, Poppins, there’s a lady here to see ya,” she barely gets out, before the woman is turning and Dani’s face is falling, hands grappling for purchase on her pots.

“Mom?”

And oh .

Shite.

They have the same eyes, Jamie realizes belatedly, and the aging woman in front of her clicks into place with the grainy childhood photos Dani has tucked away in their apartment.

Karen — Mrs. Clayton — steps forward, enveloping Dani in a clumsy hug around the planters clutched to her chest. Dani doesn’t move to put them down, and Jamie would think it’s all rather laughably awkward if Dani weren’t looking at her over her mother’s shoulder, mouth set and pleading.

“How did you — Why are you… here?” Dani asks like she doesn’t really want to know the answer and Jamie’s chest aches because she knows Dani is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Thinks her mother has come to convince her to move back yet again, or to make her feel bad about leaving in the first place all these years later.

Could never just be a trip to see her daughter.  

Jamie knows Dani has told Mrs. Clayton about her, on their sporadic calls throughout the years. Not about them necessarily, but that they work together, live together. Dani had never said they were just roommates, but her mother assumed and she never bothered to correct her.

Even still, it’s a warmth with which she is greeted by Dani’s mother that she wasn’t expecting, one that must have emerged in the years following Dani’s maturation if the look on her wife’s face is any indication.  

“I looked you up in the Yellow Pages!” Mrs. Clayton looks remarkably proud of herself, her palm still warm on Jamie’s forearm. “I figured not many flower shops have the same name in Vermont.”

Dani cringes and Jamie almost snorts, knows she’s regretting telling her mother the name of their store right about now.

Mrs. Clayton pushes forward, not even noticing the strained energy of the room.

“I’ll be here for a few days, in the inn down the road,” she beams. “I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to come out here!”

There’s a reason she hasn’t been invited. After years of bombarding Dani with questions of when she’s coming home, not willing to listen to the truth of she’s not, not now or ever, it seemed the pestering had suspiciously disappeared.

Now they know why.

Jamie clocks the quiet resignation that settles in the slope of Dani’s shoulders, but she thinks she sees a spark of eager excitement, smothered and tamped down, behind the solemnity.

Well. No way to avoid this now.

She’s hardly a religious person, but she sends up about ten Hail Marys in preparation for the evening, splayed long and endless, before her:

“You staying for dinner, then?”

---

Supper is maybe the worst thing Jamie’s ever sat through, and she had had to deal with Peter Quint for a good portion of her life.

She ruins the chicken and usually, Dani would grin, wide and teasing, before kissing her breathless against the stovetop.

This time, she sends an exasperated sigh towards the heavens and orders Chinese.

It’s stilted and uncomfortable and she finds herself constantly trying to stay afloat in this weird staring competition that Dani and her mother have got going on. Mrs. Clayton had already tried to mention Eddie, and Dani’s curt, “Don’t,” and the way her eyes flashed over the tableware had thankfully been enough to snap her mother’s mouth shut.

Dani had told her once, the hum of her words spilling into the dark warmth of their bedroom, that her mother had started truly caring about her too late, too removed. By the time she came around to the fact that she had a daughter worthy of time investment, Dani was past caring, had already learned to seek shelter in other, different people — too burned.

And now they’re here. At an impasse - mother and daughter who know nothing about each other, when it really comes down to it - who have spent decades tiptoeing around the mutual hurt and pain of being pushed to the side. Swept under the rug in favor of brief and surface level phone calls since Dani left for London.

Yet, Dani is so open, so achingly vulnerable always, in her emotions, that Jamie can see the longing drawn in the soft lines of her every time she hangs up the phone, sees the way Dani wants, violently, to tip headfirst into the notion that her mother means it this time around, right at the dinner table.

Jamie has been rough around the edges her whole life and she has never, ever been good with parents and, luckily, hasn’t had much opportunity in her life to make her impressions worse.

But this — Dani’s parent — feels important.

So she fills the space between by talking about hydrangeas, her favorite brand of manure composite, and whether she dabbles in vegetable growing. With each breath, she watches Dani breathe out of the corner of her eye, loosening in tune with the flow of Jamie’s brusque accent.

By the end of her blabbering, Dani is giggling at a particularly bad joke she makes and Mrs. Clayton eyes her daughter curiously across the tablecloth.

“Well, I would love a tour of your apartment, ladies,” Mrs. Clayton claps, and it jars Dani so much the table shakes when her knee jumps.

Her knee is the last of Jamie’s worries as she meets Dani’s wide eyes, because she totally forgot that they only have one bed, and how in the fuck are they supposed to just be roommates now?

Dani’s entire body has returned to rigid, fingers white-clenched on her chopsticks and Jamie longs to reach over, smooth her fingers over the groove of knuckle, kiss the promise sitting mercifully unnoticed on her ring finger.

Christ, this is so not how Jamie imagined the evening going.

“Sure,” Jamie yelps. “Why don’t you take a look around the living room while we clear up?”

She ignores Mrs. Clayton’s protestations and politely pushes her towards the record player in the corner as Dani fills the sink with warm, soapy water and they settle into a well worn routine; hip to hip against the counter, one washing and one drying.

“I’ll just be Bert the Chimney Sweep tonight, Poppins,” she murmurs, stroking a subtle hand down the length of Dani’s back when she’s sure Mrs. Clayton is distracted with the photographs on the wall.

Dani rolls her eyes.

“Bert was Mary Poppins’ love interest,” Dani whispers, but the corner of her mouth tilts up and she sags into Jamie’s touch for a moment.

“Allegedly,” she lobbies back, revelling in the grin she gets over the suds.

“I am serious, though,” Jamie continues, knocking Dani’s elbow gently with her own. “Just say I’m in the process of moving out or something and I’m crashing on the couch for a few days, that’s all.”

Jamie can see the moment that Dani decides, what she decides. Can read it plain as day on the face of the woman she loves more than life, in the curve of her lips and the set of her jaw.

“Are you sure?” They’re words from another time, another life, but Jamie means it just as much this time — would rather prioritize comfort, security, over rash decisions.

“I am always sure about you,” is the reply and Dani looks at her so softly, so carefully, that Jamie thinks she could cry, heart ricocheting against her ribcage.

---

She does it in the most Dani Clayton way possible.

“Mom, this is our bedroom,” Dani says, syllables burning quiet and destructive, nostrils flaring. “Where we sleep together.”

Jamie doesn’t know what she’s expecting, but it’s certainly not what happens.

Mrs. Clayton nods thoughtfully, brushing past the door frame to inspect the plant prints above the bed. She doesn’t speak for a long moment, fingertips running over the worn paperback on Jamie’s side table.

Finally clears her throat, thick and sticky.

“It’s a lovely apartment, Danielle.”

Dani’s mother glances up, meets their surprised faces, turns towards Jamie. “It seems like a lovely life you’ve built together.”

“You… Oh?” Dani manages, her calm belied by the tremble in her voice.

Jamie is frozen watching it all, the beauty of it unfolding in front of her with bated breath.

“I may not be a great mother, but I’m hardly an idiot,” Mrs. Clayton chides with no real malice.

At this, Dani’s eyes well up and she stumbles forward to sink onto the mattress, mouth opening and closing without a sound.

Jamie shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans, suddenly feeling like she is intruding.  Wants to give the pair the time they so desperately need from each other.

“Tea, Mrs. Clayton?” Her voice sounds loud in the still acceptance and she thinks she says something about Dani being terrible at it but her ears are buzzing too loudly for her to be sure.

“Please, call me Karen,” Mrs. Clayton says for the umpteenth time, and Dani lets out a watery laugh and nods, fingers slipping over Jamie’s briefly in quiet reassurance. She will be okay by herself, and if she isn’t, she trusts Jamie to help her pick up the pieces.

She dips her head and excuses herself quietly, winking sweetly and reveling in the faint blush that pinks Dani’s cheeks.

The apartment is quiet for a while and if Jamie makes more noise than usual putting the kettle on to give them their privacy, then no one has to know.

The drinks have long gone cold by the time they emerge, raw and yawning in the waning candlelight. Mrs. Clayton bundles herself into her coat when she sees the time, clutching her daughter’s hands in her own, and Dani hugs her, actually hugs her, eyes red rimmed and gentle.

“I would love to see you both tomorrow,” Mrs. Clayton looks at Jamie with Dani’s cheekbones, Dani’s kindness, and smiles.

It feels like approval.

---

After, when the door is long shut behind her and Dani has flicked on the television, feet curling under Jamie’s thigh, they will breathe again.

“All good?”

Dani looks at her with those mismatched eyes and presses a kiss to her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Keeps peppering long soft pecks until Jamie has to lean forward to capture her in a proper kiss, lips slotting together easily, eagerly.

Thank God for those Hail Marys because this is definitely her heaven.

Jamie gets lost in it, has barely been able to kiss this woman all day. Can feel the tightness in her chest unwind when Dani sighs into her, pulls her close and vows not to let go, maybe not ever with the way Dani’s hand is winding around her neck. She makes a little noise in the back of her throat and Jamie cracks open, splintering into oblivion to settle within Dani’s bones.

When they finally separate, foreheads tipped together, lips swollen and hair mussed, delight is written in every curve of Dani’s body.

She is radiant.

“All good.”

[scarfacemarston]

Abigail about Mary - “I always liked her!”

First of all - these two would not have met. The timeline is wrong and I’ve written about this. Let me know if I should link it.

But: Mary would not like Abigail and vice versa. Mary is very judgmental about the working girls and talks about the ladies in an uncomfortable way. This is not surprising because of her sheltered upbringing. I’m not calling Mary a bad person because of this or any reason. They are just two very different people.  I’m just saying that knowing Mary’s attitudes about a lot of things, it just wouldn’t make sense for her to like Abigail or the other ladies. I’m not even saying this to try to stir up canon drama. Meaning, I’m not hoping to have a “cat fight” between the girls and Mary in camp. I’m just saying it wouldn’t make sense for her to like them. They are just too different.

As I said, I have uncovered and what others have said, the girls were all meant to be working girls at one point. That was changed. Abigail being a working girl never changed. 

On top of that. Abigail also fell pregnant outside of wedlock, was a notorious thief, and did a lot of the same things that Karen did in the game. Karen seems to have taken over for Abigail as the head girl since they cut all the action stuff out for the women. (Abigail was meant to be doing stuff outside of camp including her going into and being a thief, planning cons, etc I’ve posted examples of this.)

Abigail also calls out bullshit easily. Abi sadly feels threatened by those with a proper upbringing at worst and at best - she’s uncomfortable. Like most people, Abigail gets mopey or snippy in these situations like the other girls do. Abigail also wouldn't have liked to have seen Arthur hurt. I do think if she had met Mary, she may understand pov in that she wanted Arthur to leave the gang - but she maybe  wouldn’t have felt that until after Jack was born. Mary is long gone out of the equation by the time Abigail joined the gang in the first place.

But if Abigail is meant to have met her before becoming pregnant with Jack,which happened within at least a year of her joining, then she wouldn’t necessarily have been quite as an understanding of Mary’s relationship with Arthur. Maybe she was. Maybe Abigail never wanted to be an outlaw or maybe she didn’t change her mind about the gang until she had Jack. (Btw sex worker does not mean outlaw.)   I don't think so unless people follow the line of thought that Abigail is manipulative and helpless. Abi knows a lot about love including the bad and the good. She calls all other instances of relationships out in one way or another. She was also not in a good place with her relationships and hasn't been for years so I suppose Abigail could be more sympathetic or maybe more annoyed by the situation. 

On top of that, the rest of the gang not trusting Mary makes sense, but how would they know her if Arthur is implied to not have seen her for multiple years? Or at least, not that they would know. It just doesn’t make sense. This is NOT meant to be a Mary bashing thing. 

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Sixty-Five

A/N: If you didn't see my post yesterday, I decide to break this chapter into 2 chapters. The preview for this chapter is included in the next chapter.

Words: 3.7k

Warning(s): Explicit language, mentions of drug abuse

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I blink my eyes open to see Izzy standing over me, my brows furrowing at the sight of him, confusion filing into my mind.

“Izzy.” I croak out, closing my eyes again for a moment.

“Viv.” He replies.

"What're you doing here?" I groan, tiredly.

"A girl I hooked up with last night lives in this neighborhood." He tells me. "Karen let me in."

“Of course she did.” I mumble, sitting up with another groan, and he sits on the floor next to me, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it.

“So, like, what happened?” He asks me, looking around at the shithole mess I made last night and I lick my cracked lips, feeling the tightness of dried, mascara coated tears that have glued to my face, and let out an exhausted breath.

“You ever walk into your house and wonder ‘exactly how many surfaces did my husband and his mistress possibly have sex on’?”

“Nope.” He replies, blowing out smoke, and I glance at him.

“Well, that’s what happened.” I reply, sighing. “I thought I was doing good, Izzy. I really thought we were getting better. And we weren’t. It was all bullshit.”

“Trust me, Viv, I’ve fucking been there.” He mumbles.

“I gave her a key to my house.” I repeat what I told him earlier and he looks at me for a moment, looking as if he doesn’t quite know what to say. “I might as well have just handed him over to her and said, ‘he’s yours, have at it’.” I add, letting out a chuckle, although it’s not funny. “I’m not like her. I act nothing like her. I haven’t accomplished as much as she has. I’m not established like she is. I look nothing like her--”

“--She’s a ten but the drugs make her a five. And her being batshit crazy knocks her down to a solid two...on a good day. You’re a ten. Your niceness adds two points, your patience adds two more points, and your crazy is hot, which adds five more points. So technically you’re a seventeen. Don’t compare yourself to a fucking crack addict when there’s barely anything left of her to compare to.” He orders sternly, and I push a strand of hair behind my ear. “And the only thing she can say she’s got on you, is screwing your husband, and she brags about it because strung out Nikki Sixx is obviously a prize.” He sarcastically states and I smile a little. “He didn’t cheat because you weren’t enough, Viv. He cheated because he’s fucking stupid and the drugs just add to it. I assure you, if you were ugly or something, none of us would wanna fuck you. But we do.”

“Gee, thanks, Izzy.” I flatly say, furrowing my brows slightly, and he nudges me with his elbow.

“You’re a seventeen.” He reassures me, smiling.

“See, this is what I would’ve appreciated hearing the other night.” I inform him.

“I was an ass the other night.” He admits. “I’m sorry for yelling at you...and there’s nothing wrong with you not picking up on our hints that something was wrong. You just see the best in people sometimes when they’re fucking shitty, is all.”

“Trust me I’ve learned my lesson.” I scoff.

“No, don’t let this bullshit ruin a good thing. You can still see the good in people and try to be positive about them, just use a little discernment from now on.” He shrugs and I wipe my eyes as he takes another drag of his cigarette.

“Did we just have a moment, Izzy?” I ask, and he furrows his brows and looks at me.

“No.”

“I think we did.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“I think we did. I think we just got a little closer in our friendship.”

“Nope, I don’t think so.”

“We did.”

“We didn’t.”

“I love you and I’m glad we’re friends.”

He just looks at me, trying not to smile, before getting a serious look on his face.

“It’ll be okay, Viv.” He assures me, genuinely, and I nod.

“I know it will be, I’m just kinda scared to go through the hell I’m gonna need to go through in order to get to the ‘it’s okay now’ part.”

“I know you are.” He tells me, exhaling more smoke. “I know you are.” 

That’s the thing about Izzy: a raging jackass when he wants to be, and quiet for the most part, but when he gets serious about something, it’s genuine and hard to ever forget.

Once Izzy decides to go home, I’m staring at the letter from Playboy, eyeing the number left at the bottom of the page for their project manager.

“Just call and see what they say.” I tell myself, taking a deep breath, my palms starting to sweat.

I dial the number and it rings a few times before someone picks up.

“Playboy Enterprises, this is Erika.”

I convince myself to calm down and ease the nerves bunching in my stomach before I reply.

“Y-Yes, this is Vivian Sixx. I got a letter from you guys?”

“Yes, they’ve been hoping you would call. Give me a moment and I’ll transfer your call to our PM.” She tells me.

“Okay, thank you.”

I wait for a moment as the line cuts out, before it cuts back in again.

“Mrs. Sixx?” Another woman’s voice greets me.

“Yes?”

“This is Danielle Wyther, I’m the one that sent you the letter.” She explains.

“Oh.”

“I take it you’ve made your decision.” She says next and I let out a little sigh, hesitantly giving an answer.

“I’m not comfortable doing full nudity--I mean, I don’t have an issue being nude but, like, I want the important parts covered.” I’m saying before I can stop myself, and I furrow my brows and mouth “what the fuck” to myself for being so blunt.

“...We didn’t expect anything different from you, Vivian, no worries.” She tells me and I let out a relieved breath. “We’ve already prepared for more tasteful photos.”

She goes on to tell me when I need to meet with her to sign my contract of payment and a temporary NDA ensuring I won’t let it out to the public I’m posing until they decide to announce it themselves, and then we go over when I need to come to Chicago to shoot.

Once a date is set to meet, and for the photoshoot itself, we hang up and I turn around to see Karen holding a cup of coffee, wearing her bedroom shoes due to the glass on the floor that I need to clean up.

“You didn’t hear that.” I tell her.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” She replies, obviously knowing what I’m talking about, but clearly not in a hurry to tell Nikki about it.

She just raises her brows and takes a sip of her coffee, minding her own business. 

After breakfast, I try to clean up the best I can, not even necessarily wanting to go to my room to grab a change of clothes and shower once I'm done, but I do. 

I'll just leave our room a shitshow for him since we're coming back for a five day break in like a week anyway. 

I shower and change clothes, grabbing my car keys.

"Where are you going?" Karen asks me.

"To see Sharise and Sky, and then I’m going out with the guys before I get home.” I tell her.

“Alright, be careful.”

“I will.”

I knew Karen wouldn’t say a thing to Nikki about Playboy, and she honestly never said a thing to me about it...but I could tell she didn’t necessarily agree with my decision, because nobody really agreed with it, they tolerated it.

In all honesty they all thought I had lost my mind, finally, because I was Vivian. Goody-goody, Christianly, worst-thing-ever-done-was-marry-someone-my-mother-didn’t-approve-of, Saint Vivian.

“Yes, I’m sure about it, Sharise.” I tell her, Skylar sticking a unicorn sticker to my face, making me smile at her as Sharise raises her brows at me.

“But you’ll be n-a-k-e-d.” She spells out so Skylar won’t catch on. “A-s-s and b-o-o-b-s out. For everyone to see.”

“Not really, everything’s gonna be covered.”

“Barely.”

“But still covered, nonetheless.” I argue.

“Do you want me to go with you?” She asks next.

“I wanna go!” Skylar says, looking at her mom, not even knowing where exactly we’re going, but wanting to tag along.

“No, I’ll probably have Duff or Steven go with me.” She tell her and she raises her brows.

“Oh...Duff...okay…”

“What?” I ask, furrowing my brows a little and she holds back a tight-lipped smile, shaking her head and shrugging.

“Nothing, Viv. Nothing at all. It’s just...you know…”

“...What exactly do I know?” I question.

“You know what you know.” She says back, matter-of-fact, and I think a moment before scoffing out.

“Oh, puh-lease, Sharise.” I hold back a bark of laughter.

“You know where I’m getting that idea, too.” She states and I shake my head.

“You are crazy.”

“Am I? You’ve just recently been hurt, you’re vulnerable, you’re confused, he’s available and attractive, and a complete gentleman--”

“--Which is exactly why nothing is happening because he’s not going to take advantage of me right now.” I tell her.

“Right now?” She widens her eyes and I sigh. “Ah, so you admit something’s cooking, it’s just not being served at the table at the moment.”

“It’s being poured down the drain because he’s got his own thing and I’ve got mine and neither of us are like that with each other.”

“He broke up with his ‘thing’ earlier this year and yours was just caught with a crack pipe in one hand, a needle in the other, and another woman’s mouth on his d-i-c-k, which sounds like a justified divorce to me.” She says to me, picking Sky up, and I let out a breath...because she’s right.

“Look, just think before you jump into the deep end. Just because there’s room for you to land, doesn’t mean there aren’t sharks waiting for you to dive in.” She warns me and I just nod slowly, rubbing my lips together.

I stay at Sharise’s for a couple more hours, before I’m meeting Duff at the Whisky because they’re playing a show tonight.

“Thank you.” I say as a girl in the crowded room moves for me to squeeze by her to get backstage with the guys once the show is over.

I crack open the door, seeing Axl in his assless chaps, his hair going all kinds of directions in it’s teased glory, and he smiles widely at me.

“Hey, Viv.” He greets me, and I step in to see everybody else in the room: Slash, Izzy, Stevie, Duff, and...no, no, that’s impossible.

I furrow my brows, my heart stopping in my chest.

“D-Dad?” I ask.

He’s just as shell shocked as I am, until his face is lighting up, tears coming to his eyes, as he nervously steps to me.

“What’re you doing here?” I ask next, realizing I’m about to cry.

I haven’t seen him in four years. We’ve written to each other every once in a while just to check up, but I haven’t seen him or heard his voice in four years.

“I’ve been coming down this part of town the past few nights when I heard you were back home.” He explains to me.

“Why?”

He doesn’t have to answer this, I know why. He heard his daughter’s husband possibly cheated on with her, and the mistress announced it on national television.

“Well, I couldn't really comfort you through a stupid letter.” He says and a tear rolls down my cheek.

“Aww, Dad." My voice cracks and he gives me a big hug.

"And I'll fly to wherever he is and give him a piece of my mind,  just say 'when' and I'll give him a real reason to go crawling to another woman." He states and I laugh, pulling away to wipe my eyes, getting a good, up close look at my dad. 

His hair is already starting to grey, despite only being forty-one, and his brown eyes haven't lost any of their spark that's been in them even since I could remember. 

He wipes my tears, giving me a reassuring smile. 

"I'm okay, Dad." I tell him, sniffling, looking around at the guys before looking back up at him. "How do you even know them?"

Apparently, several months prior, my dad happened to be in the same convenience store as Steven, who he saw was trying to smuggle a bag of Cheetos up his shirt because he couldn’t afford to buy them so my dad gave him a few hundred bucks and when he told Steven his name Stevie remembered my maiden name was “Kinston” and asked my dad if he knew me. It went from there and resulted in my dad checking in on them from time to time, but none of them ever told me because they weren’t ever really sure how I felt about my dad.

After the guys get changed, we’re heading to get some food  at the Rainbow with my dad tagging along.

“After she watched the Wizard of Oz with her aunt, she’d pretend she was the Good Witch of the South and used to get out of her little bubble baths and run through the house, calling herself the ‘Bubble Fairy’, with her mom chasing after her.” My dad tells the guys and I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing he wouldn’t have told the story of the notorious “Bubble Fairy.”

“Dad, they didn’t need to know that.” I say to him, seeing Duff and Slash trying to hide their laughter.

“Oh, it’s not that bad, Viv, you were a toddler.” My dad insists. “It was precious.”

“Yeah, maybe you should recreate it and let us see if it’s just as precious.” Izzy says to aggravate me.

“Hey, watch it.” My dad scolds him and I smile smugly at Izzy.

“Yeah, watch it." I echo and Izzy narrows his eyes at me.

"Whatever you say, Bubble Fairy." He says to me and I'm kicking at him under the table, before I'm looking at my dad again, taking a sip of Pepsi.

"Change of subject, why didn't you just come by the house?" I ask my dad.

"I didn't know if you would've wanted me to, if you were still trying to handle everything." He adds. "I was going to when I heard you had a health scare, but I didn't want to overstep any boundaries."

"Dad, I wouldn't have minded." I assure him, shaking my head a little. 

"Well, how much longer are you going to be in town?" He asks.

"Um, I'm flying out tomorrow for about a week, but we're supposed to be coming back home for a break." I explain. 

"'We're'? He's coming back home with you…is he staying with you?" He questions and I blink a couple times. 

"Well, y-yeah, we're still married, dad, so we're gonna be staying in the same house." I explain. "Especially since his manager thinks it's best if we play it off to the public and the media that the situation was a misunderstanding." 

"How the hell does one 'misunderstand' being engaged to a married man?" He asks, and the guys raise their brows.

"Well--"

"--I'd rip his manager a new one and tell him to use it to let out all the extra shit he's full of." 

My eyes widen, and I'm shocked, because I've never heard my dad this angry. 

"Dad, it's okay. After the tour if we want to file for divorce, we will."

"When is the tour over?"

"Next spring."

"Vivian, do you have any idea how long divorce takes to be finalized?" He asks and I rub my lips together. "If you genuinely want to get divorced, I suggest filing now so you can almost be done with it by the time the tour ends." 

"We've tried. She won't listen." Axl states, lighting a cigarette and I glare at him. 

"I'm weighing my options, dad." I say.

"And what's he doing?" He asks next. 

"Shooting heroin and screwing groupies." Axl interjects again.

"Axl." I snap. 

"Dude, c'mon." Duff lightly says, not amused with his suggestion. 

"What?" Axl looks at us. "Coming from a dude, infidelity is like cockroaches. For every one you know about, there's a hundred more you don't know about." 

"Dude!" Stevie scolds him, looking at him like he's lost his mind. 

"So we're just gonna pretend there's no chance that Vanity isn't the first chick Nikki's been with in the six years they've been together?" Axl keeps going. 

"I'm going to the bathroom." I mumble, getting out of the booth, trying not to think about the possibility of Nikki cheating with multiple other girls, but knowing it isn't too far-fetched to consider it.

After a couple minutes of wiping tears in the bathroom stall, I hear the door open, and wait to hear the clicking of heels on the tile floor, but instead hear heavy footsteps.

“Viv?” Duff asks and I let out a relieved sigh, sniffling.

“I’m fine.” I say to him, despite it not sounding convincing in the slightest.

“No, you’re not.” He tells me and I roll my eyes, opening the stall, looking up at him.

“I am.”

“There’s no fucking cameras around, you know that right?” He raises his brows and I exhale softly, throwing my wet, snotty tissue in the garbage can, stepping to the mirror to fix my face the best I can.

“I’ve thought of the possibility of him having others.” I admit, wiping the running mascara from my face as he leans against the stall’s fixture and looks at me in the mirror. “I’ve thought about it, and it’s one of my worst fucking fears is hearing this whole time there’s been girls left and right that’s he’s managed to sneak past me. I don’t like it, but I have thought about it. I’m not oblivious to that possibility.”

“I know you aren’t.” He nods.

“But he’s all I’ve known.” I tell him, taking a deep breath. “He’s all I’ve known and he’s all I’ve got and if I look for any more trouble, I’m gonna find it, and I’d rather not repeat this cycle of feeling like the biggest fucking idiot, so if we can just skip the conversation altogether I’d be really appreciative of it.” I state, turning to face him.

“Got it.” He promises. “And Axl doesn’t mean anything by it, Viv, alright? He just misses the mark when it comes to communication.” He shrugs. 

“I suppose.” I sigh out. “I’m sorry, you’re probably tired of me crying.”

“I wish you wouldn’t cry because I don’t like to see it, but I think you have every reason to, right now. I’m just happy you’re not completely losing your shit like I expected you to.” He explains and I raise my brows.

“Define ‘losing your shit’.”

He looks at me with raised brows.

“What did you do?” He asks me, amused.

“It’s not really what I’ve done...more so what I’m going to do.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“...Playboy sent me a letter, offering $40,000 for a cover shoot and interview, and some pictures to go along with it.” I watch as his eyes widen, and he gets an uneasy look on his face.

“Viv, you aren’t, like, the Playboy type, though.” He points out, worriedly.

“Well, no, I’m not, and I know that and they know that, so when I called just decided to do ‘tasteful’ nude shots.”

“‘Tasteful’ by Vivian standards, or ‘tasteful’ by pornographic magazine standards?”

“Vivian standards. Naked, but none of the good stuff is showing.” I state.

“Oh, okay.” He laughs out, nervously. “Are you...sure about it?”

“Well, at first I did it for the money because if Nikki leaves me, I’m not gonna have a penny to my name--”

“--Vivian, if you need money and somewhere to stay if things go to shit, you can just ask me or one of the guys.” He offers, looking like the thought of me posing nude just for money, doesn’t sit right with him because he knows I wouldn’t do it unless I felt I had no other choice.

“You didn’t let me finish.” I tell him, smiling. “But then they said it’d be tasteful and I wouldn’t have to show everything, and now it sounds kinda fun.”

“And what does Nikki think of it?” He asks me an important question and I go to speak, but stop myself, exhaling.

“What Nikki doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.” Is all I can come up with.

“Uh, I think Nikki will know when he sees his wife on the cover of Playboy.” He argues.

“It’s not like I’m gonna be posed on the front with my tits and pussy out, spread eagle for the world to ogle at my anatomy.” I counter and he squeezes his eyes closed, shaking his head a little.

“I didn’t need to picture you like that, Viv.” He says and I feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“Oops, sorry.” I say, rubbing my lips together. “Hey, there is something I need to ask you, though.”

“Yeah?” He replies, looking at me.

“Tomorrow I’m going to their office here in town to sign the paperwork and stuff, and then I’m going to Chicago for the photoshoot, because conveniently enough, Motley Crue will be in Chicago for a few days, and I was wondering if you’d want to come with me.”

He laughs like it’s absurd.

“You are crazy.” He says, in disbelief.  “You are crazy.”

“Duff--”

“--If he finds out I was there with you, Viv, I just--you are crazy.”

“So, you’re not gonna go with me?” I ask him, scared he’s going to say “no” to avoid pissing Nikki off.

But he completely surprises me when he says:

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

[twonewkidsonesouthpark]

Birthday fic for Buttlord

So, day late, dollar short, but cut me some slack I have TWO birthdays to celebrate the 28th and I’ve been out for the past 12 hours doing so XD

Happy birthday @justcallmebuttlord​, have some cute twin bday fic ^^

“Happy birthday to you,”

“Happy birthday to you,”

“Happy birthday dear Lynnie,”/“Happy birthday dear Lyssie,”

“Happy birthday to us.”

--

Alyssa and Lynnea Ostenmeyer could be forgiven for being confused when they walked downstairs to a veritable feast waiting for them for breakfast. They glanced at each other, identical confusion in their eyes. Finally, Alyssa shrugged, making for the table to sit down. This was hardly the weirdest thing that had happened since the ill-fated ‘hero’ game. With their father having taken up cooking instead of pot brownies, they had a lot better meals (with a lot less drugs slipped into their meatloaf).

“Good morning girls!” Kelly sing-songed, coming into the kitchen.

“Morning mom,” Lynn replied, glancing at Alyssa, Did we slip into an alternate timeline in our sleep or something?

Alyssa shrugged, face clearly as confused as Lynnea felt. Both of them were distracted as two piled high stacks of pancakes were set down in front of them.

“We forgot to tell you, we’re having the house cleaned today, so you’ll have to spend the day out,” Chris said from the counter, cracking a couple of eggs into a bowl of batter, “Hope you don’t mind!”

So, same thing we do every weekend, then? Alyssa took a bite of bacon.

Kelly and Chris shared an indecipherable glance over their heads, “Well, once you’re done with breakfast, get dressed and head out. We’ll message the two of you when it’s all done, okay?”

-

“That was weird, right?” Lynnea asked as they stepped down off their front porch steps, “Like, that wasn’t just me?”

Alyssa shook her head. No, definitely weird. Mom and dad are up to something.

“...you don’t think we have to move again, do you?” Lynnea asked, voice suddenly taking on a panicked edge, “I thought we’d been taking care of the government guys so they wouldn’t notice.”

No, I don’t think so at least, Alyssa cocked her head to the side. It was enough to get Lynn to relax as they headed down the street.

“Wanna see if the guys are busy?” Lynn asked, not waiting before heading across the front yard to Butters’ house and knocking on the door.

Both twins were grateful that it was Mrs. Stotch who opened the door, “Oh! Hello there you two,” she greeted, “I’m afraid Butters is --” Please don’t say grounded, “--n’t home right now.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Lynn said, hopping down the steps, “He’s probably at Cartman’s if he’s not here.”

Alyssa nodded, leading the trudge through the snow this time to the next house down, “Hello Dee, Lynnea. I’m sorry, but Eric’s gone out already.”

Curiouser and curiouser, Alyssa thought, nodding and going back down the driveway to meet Lynn.

“Cartman too?” She asked, surprised. Alyssa nodded, “Kyle and Stan’s, maybe?”

Alyssa frowned slightly, but nodded, following her sister down the street.

“Okay, what the fuck,” Lynnea asked emphatically as Mrs. McCormick shut the door, “Is going on today? Butters, Cartman, Kyle, Stan, AND Kenny are all out?”

Can’t get ahold of Clyde’s gang either, Alyssa turned her phone screen toward Lynnea, showing unanswered messages to Clyde, Token, Tweek, and Craig.

“Tricia, Karen, and Ike aren’t answering me, either,” Lynn said, frowning at her phone, “Well… alright, fuck the boys too, they can do whatever it is they’re doing without us. Feel like hanging out with Wendy?”

Wendy’s always cool, Alyssa nodded, watching as her twin’s fingers flew over her phone keyboard, then pause.

“Wendy’s busy too,” she said, “And she went offline after I messaged, what the heck? Since when does Wendy Testaburger go radio silent?”

Ooookay this is officially donkey balls levels of weird, Alyssa frowned, looking at her friends list. Their usual gang of miscreants was all offline… or invisible, she wasn’t sure which.

“This blows,” Lynn muttered. They had relocated to the park, with Lynn peeking into the girls room to see if there’d been a meeting today she didn’t know about in the Sunshine Sparkle Club, but they’d found it empty. So now, they sat on the swings in sullen, confused silence.

Fuck ‘em, Alyssa reached over to squeeze Lynn’s hand, Not the first time we’ve gotten by alone. We don’t need those cock guzzling taint munchers anyway.

Lynn squeezed back, her grip noticeably weaker, as she continued to scroll through her phone. Alyssa rolled her eyes, and grabbed the phone with her free hand, “Hey!”

No more phone for you, you’re just getting upset.

“At least give it back so I can play something while we wait,” Lynn pouted. Alyssa gave her a flat, disbelieving look, “I won’t even open facebook or instagram, okay?”

Uh huh, Alyssa didn’t believe THAT line for a second, but she handed Lynn her phone back. Probably a wise choice, given that it was nearly another two hours before their phones simultaneously ‘pinged’ with messages from either parent that it was time to come home now.

“I’m half tempted not to,” Lynn admitted, skipping a rock across the top of the pond, “But they’d probably just come looking for us like the time we got lost in the forest.”

Given that they discovered that the forest was full of non-linear paths, satanic fauna, and aggressive wolves. Alyssa wasn’t necessarily complaining about THAT particular rescue. But the two of them threw the last of their gathered pebbles skittering across the top of the water’s half-frozen surface before heading back to their street, and past the bus stop back to their home.

Lynnea got to the door first, skipping over all the icy bits of the walkway up the stairs, and stomping her boots free of dirty snow on the mat before shoving the door open and --

“SURPRISE!”

Alyssa isn’t sure which of them react first -- either way, they both had the SAME reaction; time freezes, suspended with the smell that could burn hair off anyone too close by. It was probably a good thing that they were both immune -- sort of -- by now to their particular brand of… superpower.

“Wha -- oh my god,” Lynnea said, as they surveyed the scene that they had just ripped one on, “Oh my god. It’s our birthday.”

...fuck me running, it is, Alyssa realized, looking around the living room.A banner hung above the kitchen doorway reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY in vibrant letters, a veritable mountain of presents below it on the table. It looked like EVERY kid their parents had ever seen them so much as look at for more than a few seconds was in there.

There was a sniffle from beside her, and Alyssa looked over to see Lynn tearing up, “Wh -- whoa, hey, what’s with the waterworks?” she asked, safe to speak with no one to hear her but her twin.

“We -- we’ve never celebrated it before,” Lynn hiccuped, wiping at her eyes.

Alyssa didn’t have time to say much else -- she could feel the air straining around them, like a rubber band about to snap. It was always disconcerting to snap back into place as time began to flow forward again, even if she hadn’t really moved all that much.

“Aw, dude, c’mon!” Stan said, waving a hand over his nose as, with time unfreezing, the smell of using their powers hit the rest of the party as well. Alyssa shrugged at him, scooting around the gaggle of girls that had surrounded Lynnea the moment they’d noticed the burgeoning waterworks, Motherfucker you all should know what happens when you surprise us, you’re lucky you didn’t get hit and we were still out on the step. Now one of you want to explain the fresh FUCK is happening here?

“Your parents invited all of us over,” Kyle expounded without much more prompting than her raised eyebrow.

“Why didn’t you two ever tell us when your birthday is?” Stan asks, which gets him a look, “Okay, why didn’t LYNN tell us when your birthday is, wise ass?”

Alyssa shrugged, You never asked.

“Lame excuse man,” Kenny said, “Wendy had to dig this shit up and suggest the party to your parents.”

And depending on how this goes, I owe that girl SO many cookies, or a punch in the face, Alyssa glanced over the boys’ heads, at the gaggle of girls surrounding her sister, who looked a lot less wet-eyed now, laughing and accepting gentle scoldings for likely the same thing the boys were digging at her about. Wendy caught her looking and grinned unapologetically, ...maybe cookies AND a punch in the face, she amended privately.

“Whatever, not like it’s a big deal anyway,” Cartman grumped, distracting her from Wendy and her smug ass grinning, “No kewl party has girls at it.”

“Dude. They’re twins. And Lynn’s a girl,” Craig deadpanned.

“Y-yeah, it’s b-both their parties, of c-course the girls are gonna be here,” Tweek said.

Cartman huffed, “Whatever. I’m gonna be over HERE, NOT getting cooties,” he said, shuffling off to the other side of the room.

“Ignore him,” Kyle said, rolling his eyes, “He’s just bitter that you two get more presents.”

“And that people actually want to give you presents that aren’t off an itemized list,” Kenny snickered.

Alyssa raised a brow, Okay, gonna have to fill me in on that one --

“Who wants to break the pinata?” Chris called from the direction of the backdoor.

--after I beat a paper mache donkey to death, move it assholes.

[matty--murdock]

okay SO! i saw the mean girls tour a few days ago and i had a really great time! i promised a few people i’d write down all the changes i’d noticed from broadway to the tour so i’ll talk about it under the cut!

i’ve seen the show 31 times on broadway so it was a bit of a culture shock for me honestly. i saw both shows that day which, i’m glad i did because it gave me time to adjust to everything! anyways i’ll do a bulleted list now (not necessarily in chronological order as i wrote things down as i remembered them):

right off the bat, it roars is pretty much completely different. i've seen a lot of people talking about this one but basically it's a hybrid of it roars and wildlife.

this is a SUPER minor detail but it's the first thing i noticed ok. cady enters behind a ZEBRA not an elephant

there are a few minor line changes during where do you belong, one of them being something about the dance team rejecting damian and during his dance break he says “big mistake dance team!” which i thought was funny. another was something about the girls who eat their feelings and girls who dont eat being a lifetime movie and i thought it was stupid

the change i absolute can’t stand is they cut all the cady asides. i really dont see the point as they always get laughs on broadway and they add more to her character.

during the scene in regina’s bedroom mrs. george has a margarita instead of a dog. she has a line about detox tea and says hashtag ad to which regina replies “you can’t say hashtag ad if nobody’s paying you” and i thought that was funny. there’s also another line about needing technology help which i thought was kind of unnecessary.

revenge party had a lot of minor changes such as skipping a line and some scenery being different at different times and i felt like i was in the twilight zone because it was So similar but slightly different. 

one of my favorite things is that they updated a few of the projections after the talent show during janis and damian’s talk about social media. they had some of the ones from broadway but added some that looked like insta stories and tik toks.

i think we all know about the fearless change via the video that was released on prior to the tour kicking off. i enjoyed it a lot more than i originally thought i was going to. i still think not having regina sing the little bit of someone gets hurt took her power away a little but ya know.

the top of act two cut right to the small cautionary tale reprise and didnt have cady karen and gretchen walking downstage on broadway.

they cut mrs norbury’s line about men grabbing butts and shooting people 

the completely changed the way they get into spring fling which i was sad about. one of my biggest defining factors of a solid aaron is how he  distracts duvall and he doesnt do that now. also as a Mathletes Stan i was disappointed in the lack of “mathletes roll out”

i think this one has been talked about a bit too but there’s a little duet between janis and cady during i see stars which i really enjoyed

there are a few scattered lines here and there that were changed and i cant name all of them but i’ll mention some that stood out to me! 

they changed kansas/kenya to arkansas/africa which seemed pointless to me but minor enough that i didnt care

duvall has cady introduce herself to the class and they yell that they dont care at her and jason weams yells for her to take her top off 

duvall rants about how cady’s name is weird and i thought it was hilarious

during apex predator the lizzie thurman track says her regular “they have a competition where they give regina a crown” line but then adds “which is why i have to be high all the time” and i thought that was funny

where the grace akinola track usually says “cady looked cute, those other three were busted” she now says a line about how gretchen and karen are like her sat words that i cant remember verbatim but i though it was hilarious

i also wanted to note that there’s one less ensemble boy in the tour cast meaning they merged the coach carr and mike t tracks into one and it’s done flawlessly! this isn’t a review but i needed to say here that will branner’s coach carr is absolutely hilarious 

anyway that’s it! i might’ve missed a few things but i’m writing this at 2:30am so sorry if i did forget to mention anything significant! overall i really enjoyed it and it was so nice to see a whole new take on the show (changes and new cast members)! maybe i’ll do a review of what i think of the performances themselves eventually?? idk anyway i cant wait to see them again in boston! 

let me know if anyone has any specific questions and i’ll try to answer them! 

[akhilaous-a]

examining anakin skywalker through a jewish lens

i am... actually going to put this under a cut because it’s almost 900 words. but please read it i put a lot of thought into it

rabbi simeon ben gamaliel taught "the world rests on three things: justice, truth, and peace" (avot 1:18)

justice: freedom from oppression. a common teaching is that "none of us is free until all of us are free" from which follows very much anakin's desire to free enslaved people everywhere (and especially uh... the people enslaved in the desert, where he was...enslaved in the desert..........)

{as a semi related side note, i know that most impoverished people have an "eat the rich" mentality, anakin certainly does (for example: "the rich stay rich and they make sure the poor stay broken and ignorant in the gutter." - karen miller's gambit) but looking at anakin's disdain of the wealthy from a jewish perspective brings to mind the concept of tzedakah (the jewish idea of righteousness specifically relating to the "property owner" having no right to withhold the poor from their share, and indeed maimonides said the highest level of tzedakah is giving the poor enough to break the cycle of poverty/become independent members of society)}

truth: the jedi do not lie, and anakin gets... upset when they want him to lie to bant'ena in gambit. (totally aside from the point that he is lying about his relationship with padmé, which he feels guilty about wrt keeping it from obi-wan. "padmé. anakin felt his guts twist. who am i kidding? my whole life is a lie. i lie to this man every time i draw breath --- and next to him, bant'ena fhernan means nothing." - karen miller's gambit). he holds truth of great import.

peace: it's one of the underlying principles of the Torah, and also like. how many times are the jedi said to be peacekeepers? yeah. (it's also worth noting here that a "revengeful, relentless disposition" is considered unethical lol.)

simon the just taught "the world rests upon three things: torah, service to god, and showing loving-kindness (chesed)" (pirkei avot 1:2)

i could draw parallels between jedi teachings and the force to torah and god but frankly people a whole helluva lot smarter than i have probably already done that. i think the important thing with that is to point out how deeply anakin believes in the ways of the force. he's a deeply spiritual person, despite (or perhaps due in part to) the parts of spirituality that he fails.

but the important thing here is chesed --- loving-kindness. as a concept it's linked very closely to compassion, because without compassion, without a loving kindness, you become cruel. it's the most important thing in the torah --- respect and a regard for other creatures (not necessarily people; animals are considered as well, as animal cruelty is also unethical) is so deeply important that things that are otherwise prohibited are allowed for the sake of others. this is important when looking at anakin skywalker (and indeed the jedi in general) because, well. the jedi are commanded to be compassionate above all else. anakin even says that compassion is the ultimate form of love.

{on a "fuck the council" note: friendship is also deeply important in the talmud, to the point that the word for "associate" is "friend". (interesting, in ta'anit 23a --- which is mostly unrelated --- includes the line "this explains the the folk saying that people say: either friendship or death, as one who has no friends is better off dead". the jedi council has no rights here.)

according to the talmud, god created repentance (teshuvah) before they created the physical universe, thus making it among the first things created. (nedarim 39b)

repentance/forgiveness as a concept is very obviously important to anakin. again, in karen miller's gambit (sorry i keep quoting this one yall it's one of the few eu things i've actually read yet) "fierce now, anakin went to her and cupped her angular cheeks in his hands. "no. you can't go back --- but you can go forward. there's always a way forward, no matter what you've done." "and what about forgiveness?" her voice was a bitter whisper. he nodded. "yes, bant'ena. there's forgiveness, too." "you promise?" she said, the brimming tears fallen. "because i can't seem to find it." he moved his hands to her shoulders and held her firmly. "don't worry. i'll help you." obi-wan had to look away. for if bant'ena fhernan had a vast capacity to love... he humbles me, sometimes. he makes me feel small. he can't see a broken thing without wanting to fix it."

this indicates that the form of teshuvah that anakin practices is teshuva mei-ahavá --- repentance rooted in love. he wants to better himself and right his wrongs because it's the right thing to do, out of love for his fellow sentients.

i should note that at no point in teshuvah (which includes detesting the sin, ceasing the sin, feeling remorse, confessing --- to god --- and offering restitution to the wronged party) is forgiveness actually required. the person you hurt doesn't have to forgive you in order for you to find forgiveness from yourself and from god, as long as you are truly remorseful. you still need to try to correct things, but you're not owed forgiveness. (in my opinion it's because forgiveness is never for someone else's sake, it's for your own. but what do i know.)

i'm not really sure how to end this, other than uh... anakin skywalker jewish. and i love him.

[angrylizardjacket]

and everything that goes with it; i thank you all

A/N: So........ ash v. social media v. borhap cast i guess??? no-one asked for this, but i love them.

[aydtd]

It definitely starts as a joke.

“Hey, Ma Rocket?” Joe’s filming on his phone during a costume trial. With her arms crossed, Ash is partially hidden by Rami who’s spinning, the frills of his shirt fanning out around him. She’s frowning, thoughtful and pensive, but when Joe calls, she turns to him, eyebrows raised and expectant.

“Aye?” She’s not smiling, mind obviously still pondering over the fit of Rami’s costume, but it’s a clear enough acknowledgement that Joe’s response is clearly spoken through a smile.

“You responded; you’re the on-set mom now.” He declares. Ben laughs from somewhere off camera. “No takebacks.” Joe follows it up with, but Ash is already wearing a longsuffering look of resignation. The video cuts off before she can flip him off, but her movements are too deliberate to be misconstrued as anything else. The video is released almost a full year later, once the NDA has been lifted on the movie and Behind the Scenes pictures and videos start flooding out, but at that point the joke had moved beyond being just that.

Ash is not hard won; kindness and respect win her loyalty easily, it’s just that those traits are sometimes hard to come by in this industry, and she’s often dismissed because of her age, especially by younger performers. Bohemian Rhapsody is different, of course in part because they all know who she is by virtue of who they’re playing,

Joe’s not her favourite, not officially, and neither is Ben, much to his quiet disappointment; officially her favourite is Karen, and everyone else is tied second, but each of them holds a very special place in her heart and soon that begins to bleed into her social media, as well as some of theirs. Ash gets Instagram at Joe’s behest, only a month before the world premiere of Bohemian Rhapsody. It’s not as if she’s lived her life in obscurity, but come the turn of the millennium, her time at the edge of the spotlight had mostly come to an end, and she had been able to continue her work behind the curtain of pop culture for almost twenty years. This was all new, and unexpected, but she tried to take it in stride.

So she follows the cast, of course, follows Roger and Brian and the Official Queen page, as well as any of her friends or former clients she can find, and much to their horror, her children. Okay so her son isn’t horrified since he’s a public figure and he doesn’t use it for personal photos, but both her daughters have posted pictures of themselves in bikinis, and they thought they’d be safe since Roger followed them after the photos were posted, and at least he never went back and liked any of their old photos. Ash likes every single photoeach of her children has even posted, and all three are a little horrified.

That’s a cute one of us at Bonfire Night!! Is one of the many comments she leaves across the entire timeline of Astrid’s Instagram history, this particular one being from a 2014 photo, and so Astrid herself posts a screenshot of her mother blowing up her notification on her story.

@joemazzello what have you done

Joe subsequently posts a screenshot of a set of DMs between himself and Astrid on his own story.

Yesterday @ 3:47am

@astro_winnie: then tell him to change his oil

@astro_winnie: what a heathen

Today @ 1:21pm

@astro_winnie has mentioned you in her story

@joemazzello: What exactly are you accusing me of here?

@astro_winnie: mum didn’t have an Instagram yesterday 🤔🤔

@astro_winnie: I don’t know how but this is your fault

@joemazzello: she’s just having fun 😂😂

@astro_winnie: SHE LIKED MY BIKINI PIC FROM 2 YEARS AGO IM DYINg

The whole conversation is captioned ’Well anyways, go follow Ma Rocket @rockettaylor49’. The following picture on his story, posted ten minutes later, is a clarification that he isn’t actually Ash’s son, that it’s just a nickname. Even so, Ash’s actual son gets a photo with him at the premiere and caption it ‘brother from another mother (probably) @joemazzello’ and it goes viral on both Tumblr and Twitter.

Ash’s first official post is a picture of herself and Freddie, a Polaroid of the two of them aged beyond belief, taken in 1969. It’s the only photo she had when she was still in uni, and even she seems surprised to see it. Roger finds her staring at it, expression blank as she looks at where they keep it, pride of place, over the mantle. Without even asking, he understands, and he presses a kiss to her temple.

’@rockettaylor49: My favourite client helped me with this caption, he said I should remind you all that you can have more than one love of your life, and that that love isn’t necessarily romantic. To me, Freddie was family from the moment I met him, and I love and miss him every day. Freddie & Me. 1969.’

The post is flooded with love and support and more heart emojis than you can shake a stick at, and it’s not long before she’s amassed a large following. The only outlier in the initial comments comes from her second daughter, Cate.

@cate.astrophy: @rogertaylorofficial got upgraded to favourite client. nice.

The entire rest of the family, as well as a few random unknowns, like the comment.

Ash’s aesthetic is surprisingly clean; old photos from back in the day, old initial costume designs in sketchbooks, the paper gold with age and colours faded, but still with her initial notes scribbled neatly around the edges. The only modern things she posts are photos of shopping bags filled with fabric she’s just purchased, and photos of her friends and family.

There’s only one selfie on her page. Its Ash, poorly framed if only to keep Joe in focus behind her where he’s leaning against the door to a trailer and double over with laughter, with Ben glaring through the window at both of them.

’@rockettaylor49: Trixie gave me a selfie stick and Ben tried to confiscate it when he heard me say 'selfie’ so he was locked out. Usually I was with Roger on the other side of the door back when Deaky was locking us out of places… What a terrible influence he was!! But anyways here you all go, my first selfie. Me & Trixie featuring My Disrespectful Boy, Ben. 2018.’

The way the cast call her ‘Ma’ definitely started out as a joke, mostly between Joe, Ben, and Ash, but it slowly spreads to the others.

“Where’s The Golden Boy?” Ash calls on set, holding a cap for Rami, who was warming up. It’s rather endearing, the way he jogs to her wearing a smile.

“Here, Ma, what do you need from me?” 

“Hat.” Is all she says, presenting it to him. They’ve always had a soft spot for each other, having worked together on Night At the Museum and it’s sequels for several years. He was one of the last to pick up the habit of calling her ‘ma’, after spending so long calling her Rocket, but he’s grown into it, they all have. Even some of the crew have taken to using the nickname, or some variation.

And maybe she leans into it, leans into her age and her wisdom, and they know they’re sort of telling her story too, but there’s a disconnect when they look at her, at her greying hair and the deep laugh lines around her mouth, and they forget who exactly she is. Though sometimes, rarely, they’re given sharp reminders.

There’s a video on Gwil’s phone that he later puts on Instagram once he has her permission, and the NDA has come to an end, of Ash on the set of Live Aid. She’s sitting on the edge of the stage, legs hanging over the edge, and Roger’s in front of her, at the perfect height to rest his chin on her knees. 

“Do you think you can still do that impression of yours?” Roger’s voice is barely audible, but he’s grinning, and Ash cards a hand through his short, white hair.

“Which- oh, the Freddie- oh Christ,” she laughs, “this’d be the place for it, aye?” And she starts clearing her throat, about the time that Roger spots Gwil and his curious camera.

“Sorry, was just trying to catch a video of the empty stadium,” Gwil’s voice can be heard, and Roger laughs, which causes Ash to turn. Seeing Gwil, she smiles, and nods at the camera.

“You’re gonna wanna get a video of this,” Roger grins, nudging Ash’s knee, and she turns an amusing shade of pink, struggling to her feet. Gwil rushes forward to help her up, but Ash brushes him off.

“I used to do this with Freds to help him warm up, and whenever I was side of stage,” she says, a strangely fond smile on her face as she reminisces, “I’m no singer, never have been, this is probably as close as I’ll get,” she warned, looking straight at the camera.

Taking a deep breath, she clears her throat, and belts out ‘ay-oh’. As if being summoned by a siren, everyone who can hear her, responds in kind. Smiling, pleased, she continues with the bit, as does everyone else, slowly gathering around her. It sounds uncannily like Freddie, and she holds an arm out to Rami to join her in leading the gathered crowd, which he agrees to with a bright grin, which ends with him yelling ‘hey, hey, hey, Hammer to Fall!’ and Ash, as well as the rest of the crew, bursts out into laughter.

The video’s posted with the caption ‘Ash Mercury in her prime’. All three of Ash and Roger’s kids comment about how they hadn’t heard her do that in so long, and not for the first time, Gwilym finds himself marveling at what it would be like to have Ash and Roger as actual parents.

Once the camera’s off, Ash  talks quietly about how she and Freddie used to practice it, because he couldn’t teach Ash to sing to save his life, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t teach her this.

“He was like, an actual brother to her,” Ben says quietly when he and the other three boys are gathered together, checking in before they finally started filming.

“Yeah, it’s crazy to think some times; she took his last name for a full fifteen years," Rami muses, and there’s something that warms in his heart whenever he catches Ash’s wistful gaze as she watches them perform, quietly grateful.

There’s a few videos here and there from set from Ash, little moments she finds endearing, usually set to music;

She catches her son, Barney, and his partner dancing to Seaside Rendezvous alone in the makeup truck, joyful and bright, they sway together to the beat as her son sings along, and his partner laughs fondly, pressing their smile against his chest as he tries to make kazoo noises.

When Cate, her middle daughter, comes to set, she takes a seat by the piano and plays the opening for Seven Seas of Rhye.

“That’s the one he wrote for you, isn’t it?” She turns, beaming, and Ash sits beside her. Again, Cate plays the opening, and Ash hums along, out of key, and Cate swallows her own gentle laughter, instead singing along.

Karen Gillan has a perm in order to play Ash, but unlike Joe, she appears to have no trouble in it, actually takes great pride in it. Ash has caught the rest of the cast, on several different occasions, using it to take photos of themselves with a stunning, ginger beard, which amuses her to no end, as it was something Roger was want to do on occasion when he got bored back in the day.

On the night of the Oscars, at the afterparty, Ash uploads two videos in the same post, one from set, and one from that night. They’re simply captioned ‘Me & The Champions. 2018/19′.

The video from on set is from the final day; Ash’s hands are shaking the camera slightly, but her voice is loud and clear, ringing throughout the set; 

“Where are my kids?” And like clockwork, Ben, Gwilym, Rami, and Joe all come out from various places, followed by Lucy and Karen, all giving her fond looks.

“Oh man, I’m gonna miss my set-mom,” Joe looks like the thought genuinely pains his heart, and as the realization dawns on the others, there’s a fond and faintly forlorn expression mirrored on all their faces. Joe’s the first to go in for the hug, despite Ash’s faint ‘oh Jesus Christ, Trixie’, but they all soon join.

The second video is from right after the Oscars awards ceremony, when most of the cast and crew who’d been attending are doing photo opportunities, and while Brian and Roger are already with them, Ash had hung back.

“It’s so good to see all my kids in the one place!” She calls, and Joe’s expression lights up as he hears her voice.

“Ma, we won!” Rami holds up his Oscar with delight, already a little tipsy, as were the rest of them as they crowd Ash, all wrapping her up in a group hug. Someone’s humming We Are The Champions. Ash suspects Joe. But she takes delight in the moment anyways, pride flaring bright in her chest.

[deklaire-blog]

A Bad Decision {Whumptober Day 3- Prompt- Delirium}

{ When Peter doesn’t go to medical after an injury, the wound gets infected. Fearing the consequences if Tony finds out, Peter tries to take care of it himself. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go quite as well as hoped. Day 3 of Whumptober? Prompt 3- delirium. POTENTIAL T/W FOR INTENSE DESCRIPTION OF AN INFECTED WOUND, VOMITING, MINOR ANXIETY, AND MORPHINE TO TREAT PAIN. If any of these things may be triggering to you, please stay safe by doing what is best for you! @whumptober2019 }

Okay, sure, Peter had dodged medical. But they all dodged medical. He’d once witnessed Natasha claiming she could ‘stitch herself up’ whilst trying to hold her own intestines inside her body. It hadn’t been a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal. It was a scratch, really. His healing would take care of it, just like it always did. Or maybe not.

He prodded the flesh gently, his hand flinching away on contact. The cut was just above his lowest rib, festering and bubbling with pus. The skin around it was burning hot, sending a sharp pain through his body with Peter’s every move. He eyed the cabinet above his bathroom sink warily. If he went to medical like this, Tony was bound to find out. If Tony found out, he was bound to kill Peter and take his suit away, not necessarily in that order. His only choice was to take care of this himself, and the cut was going to need to be cleaned, ASAP. He took a shaky breath and opened the closet door.

Bottles of pills and first aid supplies lined the shelves. Tony wasn’t stupid, he knew his kid better than to think he’d have a doctor look at every cut and scrape. To make up for it, Peter had access to everything he’d need to take care of minor things. He glanced down at his bare chest again, wondering if this counted as minor.

First thing first, this was gonna hurt bad enough as it was, he could at least take some of his superhero-level prescribed painkillers. He grabbed the bottle, shaking a few into his hand. He slurped at the tap water from his sink, washing the pills down with some difficulty. He’d never been good with capsules.

Now was the hard part. Peter could do this, after all, he’d done it plenty of times before. A little peroxide, wrap up the wound tight, and he’d be all set. Hopefully. Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed the brown bottle, screwed off the cap, and poured it directly onto the wound.

Spots danced behind his eyes, his entire body shaking, trying to reject the process. He forced himself not to stop, biting down hard onto his tongue when he felt nausea building up. He couldn’t help but let out a strained cry. He had half a mind to just call his dad, let Tony take him to medical. Stroke his hair while the doctor fixed him up. Telling him to rest but promising a proper lecture in the morning. The last part is was made him push on. When he realized he’d stopped pouring the liquid fire, he put his shaking hand back, making himself pour again.

He bit his tongue again, straight through the delicate flesh. It was the taste of blood that did him in, sending him to retch over the sink. At first it was dry heaves, barely escaping as he swallowed convulsively. He wouldn’t throw up. He wouldn’t throw up. Despite his efforts, the medication came up first, strings of half digested, chalky pills dripping from his lips. Another contraction of his stomach muscles and a full fledged stream of liquid left his mouth, snot running down his nose to join. His shoulders racked with sobs as his body set out for another round, and another, and another. It was all bile now, burning his esophagus as tears streamed down his face. His body didn’t stop though, convulsing until black spots danced in front of his eyes, his body begging for oxygen.

Slowly, finally, the torture stopped. He took deep breaths, eying the wound again. Now that it wasn’t filled with pus, he could tell it was deeper than he’d originally thought. Seeping out a steady stream of blood. He’d have to stitch it up. His eyes darted back up to the shelf. Apparently his dad hadn’t thought that was necessary supplies outside of the medbay. He’d have to make do.

Pressing a wash cloth against the wound, he ventured back into his room, heading for his desk. He gruffly shoved a drawer open, rummaging through the mess. Peter’s room may be pristine on the outside, but inside the drawers junk was littered everywhere. It took him a few minutes to find the old sewing kit. The one he’d used to stitch up his makeshift suit before his dad had found out he was Spider-Man and given him an upgrade.

He reluctantly carried it back to the bathroom, opening the bag and spilling out its contents. He grabbed the biggest needle he saw, dousing it in alcohol before doing the same with a black spool of thread. He found it harder to thread the needle than originally planned. His hands were trembling, his vision doubling. It was only by dumb luck that he managed to pull the string through.

He swallowed heavily, staring at the wound. It’s just like sewing up your suit. He quietly promised himself. Nothing to worry about.

Before he could think about it any more, he pinched his skin together and stuck the needle straight through it. The needle was all the way through before the newest wave of pain caught up with him, and he had to grit his teethe hard to quiet the sobs racking his shoulders. His eyes watered, making his vision fuz all over again. He’d done it, though. He’d stuck the needle straight through. That had to be the worst part, right? Wrong. The friction of thread against skin, pulling pain stakingly slowly, finally sent him over the edge.

He let out a strangled cry, letting go of the needle so the string dangled loosely from his flesh. He tried to steady himself on the sink basin, but his hands were slick with blooding, slipping off of the smooth surface. He fell, his head smacking porcelain and tile. His vision burned bright white, and then went black.

oOoO

Tony was in the zone. Music blasting loud enough to burst his eardrums, tools being handed to him before he even had to say it, his AIs and drones and robots all working in sync has laser focused on his newest projects. This could change lives, save lives, end world hunger and-. “Uh, FRIDAY? Why did you just turn off my AC/DC?”

“Sorry boss, but I believe Peter is in distress and may need assistance.” Tony was up and walking at that. Or, more so running.

“What kid of distress are we talking here, FRI? Panic attack? Stomach bug? I swear to Thor if he caught another asgardian stomach bug I-“

“Peter appears to be suffering from a seizure” Tony’s blood ran cold.

“Call Cho, get her up here now.”

“Already done, boss.”

The ride up the elevator to the next floor felt endless, like the trip was miles long. He was out of the door as soon as there was enough space for him to squeeze through. Tony was practically tripping over himself to get into Peter’s room.

The room was empty, contents from his desk drawer strewn across its surface, and the bathroom door ajar. He could just see Peter’s bare foot, shaking sporadically.

“Peter? Pete?” He dashed forward, and the closer he got the worse it was.

Blood was everywhere, red hand prints streaming down the sink, dark liquid pooling on the floor, already drying brown on his kid’s face. And then there was the wound. The blood was almost bubbling up from it, the skin puckered and sickening red streaks spread out from his skin. Yellow pus and cloudy liquid leaked out with the blood. Infection. Worst of all a string with a needle hung from it, a single sloppy stitch cutting through his skin. He’d actually tried to stitch himself up. Tony dropped to his knees and prodded the blood-covered forehead, cringing at just how hot it was. How had this happened?

There was protocol in place for this. Karen should have alerted him, or FRIDAY, or one of the hundred of AIs and drones and robots he had flying around this place. Medical had strict instructions to always check the kid over, even if he seemed fine. The kid was a seasoned liar with little to no self preservation.

“Kid, please wake up.” He clutched the sticky hand. “Please.”

His only response was more convulsive shaking from the kid’s body. He wanted to stay there forever. Just clutching onto his baby. But Cho was shoving him out of the way, strong arms were holding him back, someone was putting Peter on a stretched, carrying him away. He caught a hint of blue on his kid’s lips, lacking oxygen and color. He all but collapsed into Steve’s arms.

oOoO

“Can’t you give him something for the pain?” Cho’s eyes studied him like Tony was a hurt puppy dog.

“The best we have is Steve’s morphine, and you know the consequences of that can be-“

“I don’t care!” Tears were prickling behind the man’s eyes and he desperately blinked them away.

“Tony,” Steve’s soft voice washed over him, always grounding. The younger man’s calloused hand rested on Tony’s shoulder. “Just take a deep breath, then decide.”

Reluctantly, he did as he was told. The first inhale was choppy, anxiety racking his system. But the next was a little easier, easing the tension built up in his shoulders.

“I just… Look at him.” Tony’s eyes flickered from Peter’s trembling form to Steve’s pinched expression. “He’s hurting.” Cho nodded in understanding.

“It’s your call, Tony. I have to hear you say it though, and you’ll need to sign off on some paperwork.”

“That’s fine, just… give him whatever it takes to stop hurting.”

oOoO

Someone was stroking Peter’s hair. Long, calloused fingers allowing the curly strands to slips through their finger tips over and over again. Peter liked that.

He blinked his eyes open, trying to adjust to the light. Where was he? Everything was white, and blurry at the edges. Like the entire world had become soft. Someone hovered just to his right, but not looking at him. He slowly attached the arm to the fingers in the hair. Same person. Looking down at something small and glowing. A phone, maybe, but Peter was too tired to really tell. A halo formed around the light of it though, and Peter was pretty sure that was weird. In fact, halos were forming around all the lights. He blinked hard but it didn’t go away.

“Pete?” The voice was floaty, almost far away. “Peter, you feeling alright, bud?” Peter’s eyes drifted lazily towards the noise, apparently coming from the man next to him. He recognized the face, but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He just knew that face made him feel really good. In fact everything felt really good right now. Even if he couldn’t get any of his thoughts into a straight line.

He smiled wordlessly at the man, and the face smirked back. “Go back to sleep, kiddo. You’re gonna be feeling pretty out of it for awhile.” The voice was still floaty and sing songy, like a lullaby. My tried to tell him to keep talking but only a jumbled mass of sounds came out of his mouth. He frowned a little but the man just chuckled. “It’s okay bambino, I’m not going anywhere.” The voice didn’t stop this time, and Peter let his eyes drift closing, knowing it would still be there when he woke up.

{ @whumptober2019 }

[master-sass-blast]

You Can Always Go Back Home.

THIS FIC IS 22K WORDS LONG. 61 PAGES IN WORD. THREE WEEKS OF WRITING!!!

VALIDATE MY PARKING P L E A S E !!!!

Summary: You wake up alone in a cell with no windows. The following days are nothing short of Hell on Earth.

Rating: M for physical abuse, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, manipulation, injury, blood, vomiting, mental health stuff, panic attacks, kidnapping, and H E A V Y  A N G S T.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Frank Castle x Karen Page, and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Set after “The Literal Crack Fic.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @nebulous-leo

You wake up alone.

Okay, not necessarily disturbing.

You’re in an unfamiliar room with no windows, no conceivable exits, and no memory of how you got here.

Definitely disturbing, and also worrisome, troubling, anxiety-inducing, alarming, perplexing, and… other adjectives…

You push yourself off a small cot. You’re dressed in a baggy white shirt and baggier white pants, someone’s taken your engagement ring, and upon inspection you realize that someone’s put a mutation repression collar on your neck. Okay. Might be time to panic.

There’s a door on the wall opposite where the cot sits. It goes practically flush to the floor and ceiling, has no handle on the inside, and has a small hatch at the base that is currently closed, as your luck would have it.

There’s a couple of vents pumping out cool air along the line where the walls meet the ceilings; they’re far too small to try and escape through –though, without your powers, it’s not like you could get the covers off anyway.

At the far end of the room –not that you have to go far to get to it—is a bathroom. Upon inspection, it only holds a toilet, a small wastebasket, and a sink; checking the drawer attached to the base reveals a small hairbrush, a toothbrush, and some toothpaste. The cabinet underneath has a couple packages of toilet paper and some menstrual products.

This is a holding cell, that much is obvious. You’re meant to be here a long time, judging by the amount of toilet paper and toiletries.

You frown.

Kidnappings aren’t all that uncommon with the X-Men –an unfortunate hazard of the job, one might say. It would seem that you’ve been snatched up –but by who? Are the rest of the X-Men here with you, in different cells? Was someone targeting the X-Force specifically? Did some of your uncle’s enemies figure out where you were and grab you to get to him?

You try to walk back through your memories, but nothing fruitful comes of it. The last thing you can remember is waking up next to Piotr –but was that a few hours ago, or a few days ago?

You suppose it doesn’t matter, in the long run. You’re trapped for now, but someone will look for you eventually and come rescue you. All you have to do, for the time being, is wait.

You head back to the cot with a sigh and plop down as you prepare yourself for the mind-numbing boredom that awaits you.

 ***

 The first hint comes when a meal –lunch or dinner, presumably, judging by the contents—is shoved through the hatch at the bottom of the door on a small tray.

There’s no anxiety medication.

Either whoever’s holding you doesn’t know you’re on antidepressants, or they intend for you to suffer.

You sigh heavily as you crack open a little mini bottle of water and sip from it –then grimace; it tastes like room-temperature plastic bottle.

Judging by the lack of any recording equipment whatsoever –cameras, microphones, speakers, nothing—these people are amateurs. They’re not particularly concerned about you breaking out –which even with your powers gone, if they knew anything about you, they should be. You’ve built a career out of getting out of tough situations.

So, whoever these chumps are, they haven’t done their homework on how to keep you stable –or done any real homework on your past “is a mutant,” it would seem.

Admittedly, that would stack things in your favor, except you’ll be facing withdrawals before too awful long. Hopefully, you can figure out how to get the mutation collar off and escape before you get too deep into those.

You bite into what is arguably the blandest turkey sandwich of your life and lean back against a pristinely painted white wall. Karma, don’t fuck me over now.

***

 There’s no mirror in the bathroom.

You notice after your meal, when you try to head in and twist the collar around so you can see what make and model you’re working with –a short lived plan, to say the least; without a mirror, there’s not much you can do to figure out what you’re working with.

Still, you can at least get a sense of the locking mechanism –keypad, key, fingerprint scanner—from touch.

You smooth your hands around the collar, then grimace when you only find a solid plastic node on the back of it. Shit.

These types of collars, as your uncle had taught you, are lockdown collars. They’re meant to go on and stay on, to permanently render a mutant incapable of accessing their powers. No keypad to hack, no lock to pick, no fingerprint scanner to override. The only way to get the damn thing off is short circuit it or cut it off.

Just your luck, there aren’t any scissors in your little cell.

 ***

 The boredom kicks in fast. There’s only so many times you can analyze your surroundings or make escape strategies before you start to lose your mind from the repetition.

There’s not too much to be said for pacing your tiny quarters, either. The room is three strides wide and four strides long –borderline claustrophobic, only big enough for you, the cot, and… that’s about it, really.

Confined spaces can be used to torture people; even if they aren’t particularly claustrophobic, the inability to move around and do things can drive even the most grounded individuals a little batty.

You wind up laying on your cot and staring at the ceiling. You spend time thinking about how to handle your anxiety once your most recent dose of medication runs out, about your upcoming wedding, about what you want your future home with Piotr to look like…

About Piotr. You think a lot about Piotr. You’re not sure how long you’ve been separated from him, but you already miss him dearly.

You sigh, and roll over onto your stomach. Come find me, baby. I’ll be waiting for you.

 ***

 Dinner –well, your second meal, and you’re starting to realize that without windows you have no way of knowing what time of day it is—is delivered what feels like a few hours later; it’s another little bottle of water, a plain turkey sandwich, an apple, and some canned corn that’s been put in a bowl.

Along with it comes a little bottle of shampoo, a little bottle of conditioner, a little bar of soap, and a washcloth.

You’re stumped at first. There’s no shower down here, how could they possibly expect…

The sink.

You let out a shocked laugh when you realize that your captors mean for you to wash yourself via using the sink. No way! No fucking way!

But… you don’t have any other options –unless you want to use water from the toilet, but ew, gross.

You sigh, shocked and more than a little frustrated, and dig into the sandwich.

***

 The lights turn out halfway through your venture with attempting to wash up using the sink.

You yelp, drop the bottle of shampoo, and topple against the wall behind you; you wince as you rub your shoulder. With a rush of annoyance, you realize that there aren’t any light switches in the main room or the bathroom. You have absolutely no control over when the lights are on and when they’re off.

You scowl in the direction of the ceiling. “Really!”

 ***

 The lights switch on again while you’re sleeping. You’re not sure how long it’s been, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been a whole eight hours.

Then again, that could just be the cot. It’s thinly padded, and no matter how you sleep you can feel the metal frame holding it up.

You’re also starting to feel the effects of withdrawal. Your brain feels foggy, your anxiety has spiked (well, more than the situation’s already spiked it), and you have pins and needles feeling all over your body.

You shiver as you wrap your thin blanket tighter around you and curl into a little ball. Baby, please come find me.

***

 Your first meal of the day –or is it the third? How long have you been asleep, even?—comes what feels like a couple hours later.

Objectively, you know you should eat. You need to keep up your strength, but as you look at the tray of a plain turkey sandwich, a little bottle of water, an apple, and some canned corn –and no meds, which further confirms that your captors aren’t giving you any—you can’t even work up the shadow of an appetite.

You manage to choke down a few bites of the turkey sandwich before your stomach churns, take the water bottle and the apple, then chuck the rest of your meal in the trash before setting the tray with the others.

***

 You try to focus on exercising. Easier said than done, considering you barely ate anything, but you push yourself through to try and keep your endorphins up. You do rounds of push-ups, squats, crunches, planks, and lunges until your limbs are shaking from exertion, then chug water from the sink faucet until you almost puke it all back up.

You whimper as splay out on the floor in an effort to cool down faster. Okay. I need to pace myself better, and I need to eat regardless of what’s given to me. They’re clearly trying to break me by keeping my schedule off. Slow and steady is key.

You take a deep breath, then focus on your breathing and the points where your body is making contact with the floor in an effort to meditate.

You manage to keep that up for a bit until a panic attack hits –and normally you’d use an app on your phone to help yourself work through it, or meditate, or call Piotr, or Nate, or Wade, or Ellie, or Yukio, or Russell, or Neena…

It’s so much worse without the meds. You can’t catch your breath, you can’t stop the overwhelming rush of anxiety, you can’t get your mind to stop racing—

Bed. Get to the bed.

You crawl across the concrete floor and barely manage to get into the cot before you curl into a fetal position and sob.

 ***

 It’s hard to be alone.

You’ve gotten used to having your friends and family right at hand over the past few years –come to depend on it, even; they’ve always been there to help you through rough patches. You’ve come to love having so many companions around you during your time at Xavier’s. It’s a direct one-eighty from growing up, when you only had yourself and your parents for company most of the time –and your parents weren’t exactly what you’d call “company.”

Aside from exercise (which you can’t do too much of without risking hurting yourself), there’s only sleeping, yoga (also limited for safety reasons), meditating, masturbating (which you don’t feel like doing, given your current withdrawal situation), or listening to the gentle hiss of the air vent.

You can’t remember how you got through being so alone as a child –though, technically, you suppose you didn’t; it fucked you up. Badly.

That, and you’d barely been able to handle being at Xavier’s when you’d first arrived. It’d been like a shock to your system. You couldn’t fathom so many people being around each other all the time –and wanting to spend that time with you, no less.

Objectively, you know that isolation is a basic destabilization tactic –but that doesn’t make it any easier to go through.

You roll over so you’re on your other side –your ribs are hurting from the metal support frame for the cot—and close your eyes. Piotr’s gonna come for me. He’s gonna come for me. He won’t leave me here.

***

 You have to resist the urge to scream when your next meal is slid through the hatch at the bottom of the door.

Plain turkey sandwich. Canned corn in a bowl. Apple. Room temperature mini-bottle of water.

Sadists.

You’d kill for a bag of Cheetos right now. Or some of Piotr’s pancakes.

You take the tray back to your cot –your ass can’t handle any more of sitting on a concrete floor, and your back can’t handle leaning up against the concrete walls—and try to focus on recalling any sort of memory that might tell you how you wound up here while you choke down your meal.

Waking up next to Piotr. Him smiling at you. And… everything goes black after that.

A blackout might mean head trauma. Or a traumatic event. Or drug use –someone might’ve knocked you out.

A quick check of your head doesn’t reveal any sore spots or cuts –but you probably would’ve felt that when you woke up for the first time. You can’t do a full body check for injection sites without a mirror –not to mention it’s possible the drugs were fed to you—but you can’t find anything on the parts of your body you can see. As for trauma-induced memory repression, well, it’s possible, but you have no way of knowing if that’s it.

You take another bite of sandwich –and it immediately hits your tongue wrong, making you gag.

You spill your corn all over the floor when you dash to the bathroom.

 ***

 You have to get out of here. You have to, you have to, you have to, you have to youhavetoyouhavetoyouhaveto—

“Information first,” you can remember Nathan telling you during one of your earliest training sessions with you. “Get as much information as you can, then act. Patience never hurt anyone.”

You measure the hatch at the bottom of the door first. It’s big enough for you to slip through, even with the collar around your neck. After some careful debating, you decide it’d be best to slide through on your stomach; your back will be facing up, meaning your face and organs will be more protected from blows, technically.

You’ll have to wait before you can declare your “recon” done, though. You have no idea how long the hatch stays open for, or if you’ll be able to hear any footsteps through the walls that’ll alert you to when the hatch is going to open.

You squat down by the door and get as comfortable as you can.

You waited nearly two decades to get out of your first cage. You can wait another day to escape this one.

***

 Waiting nearly kills you.

It isn’t the patience –as contrary as you like to play with Piotr about the topic, you are capable of being patient.

No, it’s the exhaustion. The medication withdrawals are doing a number on you; you can’t remember another time in your life you’ve been this tired. Even the accidental coke withdrawals from that one mission where you fell into a vat of the stuff weren’t this bad, because at least you had your family, your friends, and your fiancé to help you.

You chuckle a little to yourself at the memory of the incident. You’ve definitely lead an… interesting life.

You groan as another wave of withdrawal-induced pins and needles pain sweeps through your body, then perk up –well, as much as you can perk up right now—when you hear a series of dull thumps approaching the door to your cell.

Footsteps.

You hardly breathe as the hatch unlatches and slides open –and it retracts into the door, which is another factor in your favor—and count off the seconds as a tray of food slides in. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine—

The hatch slides back shut and latches once more.

Nine seconds.

It’ll have to be enough.

 ***

 You’re wide awake well before the lights come on again.

Your entire body feels like a live wire. Your chest is tight, your palms are clammy, your mouth is dry, your muscles are tense, it feels like something’s constantly crawling up the back of your neck, and despite the fact that you’re utterly exhausted, you can’t sleep.

You stagger to the bathroom on shaky legs and all but collapse onto the toilet. You have no idea how long you’ve been down here, but you know you can’t afford to stay any longer. You need your meds, you need your family –fuck, you need some understanding of how time’s passing; you feel like you’re on the verge of losing your mind with the way things currently are.

You shiver as you stare down at your bare feet, jaw and fists clenched tightly. I’m getting the fuck out of here.

***

 The waiting game for the footsteps to sound outside the door is a long one. You pace in short circuits near the door, careful not to wander too far so you don’t miss the sound of them approaching and lose your earliest window of opportunity. You switch to doing what exercises and stretches that you can when the pacing starts to drive you batty, then wind up just crouching next to the door, staring down the hatch with laser-like focus, as though you can make it open with sheer will alone.

And –finally—after what feels like an eternity, you hear the footsteps approach.

Adrenaline surges through your system as your entire body tenses in anticipation. You get down into a borderline army-crawl position as you hear the latch for the hatch release, ready to whip the tray out of the way and dive through the hatch opening before your meal-deliverer can react.

Sure enough, the hatch door slides away, and a tray starts skidding across the threshold—

You rip it out of your captor’s hand and shove yourself halfway through the hatch, eliciting a scream from whoever’s delivering your meal this morning—

You know that voice.

You look up in time to see your mother collapse back onto a flight of wooden stairs, looking half scared to death at your sudden appearance.

Shock hits your system first, both at seeing her face for after so long and the realization of just who is holding you and all the implications that bears.

Anger –rage, white hot fury snarling in your chest like a caged lion—hits next, prompting you to bare your teeth at her in a vicious scowl. “You fucking bitch! Let me out of here!”

Your mother screams again when you grab her by the ankle in an effort to yank yourself out of your cell, then rears back and kicks you in the face repeatedly. “Demon child! Get off me, you whore!”

You shout when the toe of her shoe makes direct contact with your brow, then duck your head when you feel blood start spurting down your face.

You need to retreat. You’re not in a good enough position to fend off her blows like this, and at this rate you’re liable to get seriously hurt before you can get out and get to your feet.

You duck back into your cell and hunch over, pressing a hand to your brow in an effort to stem the flow of blood.

The hatch slams back shut, and your mother’s frantic footsteps retreat back up the stairs and out of hearing range.

You stumble to the bathroom and unravel nearly half a roll of toilet paper before pressing it to your brow. You’re shaking like a leaf as a mixture of adrenaline and fear course through your system. That was my mom.

Your mother, in flesh and blood. Not a withdrawal induced hallucination. The real-life woman who gave birth to you, then made your life hell on earth when your mutation presented.

What the fuck?

***

 You have to be at your parents’ house. That’s the only logical explanation. Even though there are other scenarios that might bring your parents into the picture –you’re being held in community bunker back where you grew up, and your mom just happened to be delivering your meal when you tried to break out, for instance—the least complicated answer is usually the most accurate one. Combine that with the knowledge that your parents have tried, inexplicably, to have you kidnapped and brought back home before, and there’s no other explanation that does justice to your current predicament.

Again, what the fuck?

Why the fuck can’t they just leave you alone? They never wanted you –at least, not after your mutation presented—and you don’t want to be around them, they literally don’t even have to think about you since you left, so why do they keep trying to bring you back?

Although…

What if you never left to begin with?

Once the thought pops into your brain, it takes root so deep you can’t stop it –because what if you really haven’t left? What if you’ve been here the whole time, and your precious memories of Xavier’s and your friends and family there are just delusions your mind came up with to help you cope with the abuse you’ve suffered over the years? Your escape, your time spent at the Institute, Nate, Wade, Ellie, Yukio, Russell, Neena, Piotr…

Piotr.

A desperate whimper rips through you as the realization that Piotr might not be real sinks into your brain. No! you think desperately as tears start mixing with the blood on your face. No, he’s real! He’s my fiancé, we’re going to get married—

But you don’t have your ring. Your parents took it from you before locking you in here –or maybe whoever abducted you to begin with chucked it or sold it or—

Or maybe it was never real to begin with.

You sob brokenly, chucking the bloodstained wad of toilet paper away and ripping more off the roll to try and clean up your face as best you can. Without the ring, you don’t have proof that any of what you’ve experienced in the past few years is actually real. Any of the new scars on your body could be explained by abuse or other unsuccessful escape attempts, your muscles could be explained by working out in your cell…

It’s real, you tell yourself desperately as you gasp and choke on sobs. It’s real, it’s real, Piotr’s out there, he’s going to find me, please just let him be real.

You toss your latest wad of toilet paper away –then double take when you see your left hand.

There’s a tan line in the shape of a ring band on your ring finger.

A mixture of hope and relief courses through you, even though you barely dare to let yourself feel it—

And then the lights turn out, plunging you into darkness once more.

You pant frantically as you try to get a grip on your spiraling anxiety, then scream.

 ***

 You manage to crawl back to the cot and fall asleep at some point. Your face hurts –your entire body hurts, really—and there’s no good way to lay without irritating your new cut in some way, shape, or form, but you do eventually pass out for a bit.

The lights come back on sometime later, waking you up with a jolt. You groan, both from exhaustion and the bolt of pain from the cut on your brow –and then all the hair on the back of your neck stands up when the door –not the hatch, the door—to your cell opens.

It’s him.

A slew of memories, some that you’d forgotten, rush into your mind’s eye. Growing up, there’d been a pattern to the abuse you’d suffered from your parents. You’d do something to upset your mother –either legitimate or some made up slight she’d create so she had an excuse to punish you—and then she’d verbally and emotionally abuse you –sometimes physically, too—before locking you in your room for hours on end.

And then she’d lament to your father about how poorly behaved and undisciplined you’d been when he got home from work, and he’d “correct” you with whatever he had at hand –usually his belt.

Get up. Get up, get up, get up getupgetupgetupgetup—

You manage to roll out of the way of his first strike. You tumble to the floor as his folded-up belt smacks against the cot, making the frame vibrate from the force of the strike. Before you can get off the ground, though, he kicks you in the gut and knocks the wind out of you.

“You ungrateful brat!” he snarls as he brings down his belt against your body over and over, often hitting you with the metal buckle. “How dare you disrespect your mother like that! In my home!”

You scream and try to shield yourself from his blows as best you can. “Stop it! Stop hitting me!”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child,” he growls before yanking you off the floor by your hair.

You move on instinct, muscle memory. You knee him in the crotch before breaking his grip, block a weak attempt at a punch the way Nate taught you to, then snatch his belt off the floor and get behind him before he can try anything else. You wrap the length of leather around his neck and pull it tight as hard as you can.

Your father chokes and struggles, attempting –and failing—to get his fingers between the belt and his neck before trying to reach back and pull you off him.

You snarl as you stumble with his movements, trying to keep control over him and his belt. Unfortunately, given your withdrawals, you’re nowhere near as steady as you need to be. You trip over the cot and lose your grip, tumbling to the floor in a heap.

Your father hacks and gasps as he gets his own belt off his neck, then staggers towards the open cell door.

You charge after him, narrowly avoiding slamming your face into the metal surface when he gets it closed before you can reach him. You pound your fists against the door as his hurried, stumbling footsteps retreat up the stairs and bellow at the top of your lungs, “I’ll fucking kill you! You bastard! I’m going to kill you!”

The lights turn off again, leaving you stranded in the dark once more.

You seethe as you step back from the door, then let out a wrathful shriek.

 ***

 Your stomach is killing you.

You hadn’t been able to eat the meal your mother delivered earlier due to the adrenaline dump over the realization that you might’ve never truly escaped from your parents’ home. Even if you could find any of the food in the dark, the meat in the sandwich has definitely gone bad by now, and you’re pretty certain everything else got smashed beyond edibility during your struggle with your father.

You do manage to find the mini-bottle of water. You drain it without thinking, then head to the bathroom to guzzle some water out of the sink when you’re still thirsty.

Except the tap’s been shut off from upstairs. And, when you get desperate enough to check, the water reservoir for the toilet –along with the bowl—has been drained, too.

You laugh until you cry, then cry until you laugh, then follow that cycle until you throw up.

Worse still, you’re unbearably hot. The flow of air was shut off shortly after your confrontation with your father. You’re pretty certain that you’re still getting some air, but without the air conditioning on your tiny cell is downright stifling.

Maybe it would be better if they’d sealed you in here to asphyxiate. At this point, you’d take passing out and dying shortly thereafter over suffering like this.

Your head swims as you wipe a layer of sweat off the back of your neck. You have no idea how much time has passed since your fight with your father. You’ve been lapsing in and out of consciousness, meaning that it could’ve been anywhere from a few hours to maybe over a day.

Are you going to die down here? Is this how you’re going to go out? To malicious negligence?

You weep softly as you curl up on your side. You’d hoped, ever since escaping, that you’d die in comfort, surrounded by those you love –or, if not that, in a blaze of glory that leaves everyone awestruck.

Though, considering you may have never escaped at all, perhaps those aspirations were never meant to be within reach for you.

Your body tenses when you hear footsteps outside your door. This is it. This is the end.

You force yourself into a standing position. You’re not going down without a fight, even if the fight you have left in you is bordering on pathetic at this point. You brace yourself against the nearest wall as the door swings open, letting light from the stairwell into your cell—

Nathan steps in, dressed in all black and with a gun strapped to his back. “Kid!”

You stare at him, shocked. “Dad?”

Neena follows in after him, beaming when she sees you. “We’ve got her,” she says into an earpiece. “She looks a little rough, but she’s conscious.”

Nathan doesn’t bother to talk to whoever Neena’s talking to. He closes the distance between the two of you faster than you can blink, yanking you into his arms and almost crushing you with a hug and—

It’s him. It’s really him. Down to every single last detail –the way his techno-organic arm whirs when it moves, the smell of the soap and deodorant he uses, the slight rasp of stubble on his chin and cheeks that he can never seem to get rid of no matter how often he shaves, the fuckboi haircut Wade never stops ripping on him for.

Dad.

You sob, borderline scream, with relief and collapse against him. You cling to him for all you’re worth, ignoring the various pains in your body that the effort causes.

Nathan holds you tight to him, smoothing your hair and kissing the top of your head in a paternal manner. “It’s okay, kid. It’s okay. I’ve got you, you’re okay.” To Neena, he says, “Let’s get her upstairs.”

You make it to the first step of the stairs outside your cell before you have to stop. “I’m too dizzy,” you whine as your legs give out. “I haven’t had my meds, I’m too dizzy—”

“Okay, okay.” Nate sits down with you. “We can wait here until you feel better.”

You grip his shirt like your life depends on it and cry against his human shoulder. “Please don’t leave me, I don’t want you to leave me—”

“No way in hell I’m leaving you,” he reassures you, wrapping both arms around your shaking form. “I’m staying right here with you, I promise.”

“They took my ring, dad,” you ramble, almost manically. “They took it, they took my ring, they took the ring Piotr gave me, I don’t have it anymore, I thought none of you were real—”

“Go find the ring,” Nathan commands to Neena. “And let Pete know where she is.”

“It’s gone,” you protest. “They took it, it’s gone, I don’t have it—”

“Hey.” Neena kneels in front of you and clasps your shoulder gently. “Look at me, Y/N. This is me we’re talking about. I’m going to find your ring and that’s the end of it. Okay?”

You sniff loudly and nod. “Okay.”

She smiles reassuringly at you. “Good. First, though, I’m going to get your guy and send him down here.”

You stare after her as she jogs up the stairs, then look over at Nathan when she disappears from view. “Piotr’s here?”

“He is. He was very worried about you. We all were.” His face creases into a frown as he takes in your full appearance. “Oh, kiddo…”

“My dad hit me,” you choke out as you start crying again. “And my mom—”

Nathan hugs you again, rubbing his human hand up and down your arm as you sob. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. We’re going to get you out of here, I promise.”

Then there’s the sound of frantic, extremely heavy footsteps at whatever’s at the top of the stairs—

Piotr.

He stops at the top of the stairway leading down to your cell when he sees you –and then you’re surprised he doesn’t trip over his own two feet with how fast he gets down to where you and Nate are, but then he’s pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around and kissing you—

You cry until your throat goes raw. You cling to him until your hands hurt. You kiss him until your lungs burn, until you’re on the verge of passing out, but it’s all worth it because he’s real, and he loves you, and you’re going to be okay.

“Easy, easy,” Nate says after a minute. “Let her breathe. She needs to breathe.”

Piotr pulls back, which is when you realize that he’s crying, too. “I love you so much, myshka. Bozhe moi, I thought I would never see you again—”

You mash yourself against his chest as hard as you can, given your injuries –and even then, you’re still not really giving them the consideration that you ought to. “I missed you so much, baby. It’s been so horrible. They didn’t give me any meds, and I couldn’t keep my food down—”

Almost like magic, Piotr reaches into one of the pockets on his cargo pants and produces a protein bar. “Here. Eat this.”

You giggle, wet and a little hysterical, as you accept the snack. “Always protein bars with you, huh.”

He manages a smile for you. “Good for bones.” His face quickly creases back into a teary frown, and he cups the back of your head while he kisses your forehead –scrupulously avoiding the cut by your eyebrow—and murmurs something in Russian that you don’t understand.

“Turn around for a minute, kid,” Nathan says, tugging on the power cell for the repression collar when you do. “Let’s get this thing off you.”

You hold still as best you can while he works on the collar, then let out a sigh of relief that sends a gust of wind up the stairs when he finally gets the thing off.

“There we go,” Piotr says with a smile as he rubs your back soothingly. “Much better.”

“Have you had anything to drink today?” Nathan asks, looking you over and gauging your overall physical state.

You manage to shake your head limply. “No. They shut off the water supply to my room after my fight with my father.”

Nate’s mouth tightens into a deep grimace, then he stands with a grunt. “We need to get her upstairs and start hydrating her.”

You whimper when Piotr tries to lift you up. “No, no, no, no! I want to walk, let me walk—”

Both men quickly soothe you, and Piotr sets you down so you can walk on your own. It’s slow going, given how unsteady you are, but eventually you reach the top step.

You’re in the basement of your childhood home. Everything’s where you remember it being; there’s a washer-dryer set next to a laundry sink, a folding table with a small pile of clothes on it, a few cardboard boxes set on some storage racks, and a desk that your father used for various “tinkering” projects.

“Come on,” Nathan encourages you after a moment. “You’re almost there. Just one more flight of stairs.”

You lean heavily against Piotr as you stumble up the last flight of stairs. Your head is swimming, and you feel nauseous even though your stomach is empty, but you don’t want to stop. You want to get out of here, you want to go back home, and you never want to see your parents again for as long as you live.

“Holy shit.”

You look up as you step into the kitchen of the house where you grow up –and almost do a double take, but that is most definitely Frank Castle standing in the dining room, dressed in all black, a tactical vest, and carrying a gun that’s almost as big as Nate’s.

(There’s a euphemism there, but you’re too tired to think about it enough to find it.)

He also looks genuinely shocked and concerned as he takes your appearance in –and you know Frank’s not the sadist the media makes him out to be, but you’re starting to think that you might look worse for wear than you originally suspected.

You manage to flash a weak smile at him. “Hey.”

He nods back. “You okay?”

You let out a thready laugh. “Been better.”

“She needs water, ASAP,” Nate says as he emerges from the basement behind you.

Frank reaches into his jacket and pulls out an unopened bottle of water, which he then tosses over to Nate.

Nathan cracks it open and hands it over to you with the stern instructions to “Sip slowly. Don’t guzzle it; you’ll make yourself throw up if you do.”

“Oh thank fuck, you found her!”

Piotr takes the water bottle from your hand a split second before Wade crashes into you, wrapping you in a hug so tight and borderline full-body that he must’ve found a way to incorporate octopus DNA into his regular gene sequence to give himself extra arms.

Which… he might’ve actually done. Because he’s Wade.

You still cling to him just as tight anyway, crying like you did when Nate found you, and then again with Piotr, because you’re just so damn happy to see him.

“You’re okay! I’m so glad you’re okay!” He pulls back, and he winces –he’s forgone his usual suit in favor of wearing black tactical gear like everyone else, though he is sporting his mask. “Or I spoke too soon. Ow.”

“Did I grow second nose or something?” you ask, laughing nervously as you reach up to feel your face. “Everyone keeps looking at me like something’s wrong.”

“No! Nothing’s wrong!” Wade says, forcing a bright tone. “You definitely don’t look like your face lost a fight with a blender.”

“You look like you got hurt,” Nate clarifies when your expression changes to worry. “It’ll all heal just fine.”

“You found her?”

Your jaw drops when you see Alex poke her head into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you,” she says as she gives you a thorough once over before pulling a cellphone out of her pocket. “I will call him quick.” She lifts the phone to her ear and disappears, though you can hear her say something in Russian to someone else—

And then Mikhail appears in the kitchen, wearing the same get up as everyone else: black tactical gear and strapped within an inch of his life. He claps a hand over his mouth when he sees you, recoiling for a second before approaching you tentatively. “Bozhe moi, you are okay? We were so worried! Is hugs okay?”

“Hugs are fine,” you confirm with a shaky laugh, tearing up again as he gently wraps his arms around you.

Piotr hands you the water bottle when Mikhail releases you. “Little sips,” he reminds you as he gently rubs his hand up and down your back.

You lift the bottle to your lips, and while you work on not sucking it all down in one go, you finally look around and get your bearings.

The sky outside the kitchen windows is stained a golden color that fades into slowly darkening hues of blue–the light’s coming from the west, if you’re remembering the orientation of the house correctly, meaning that it’ll be night soon.

You glance over at the stove clock.

The digital display shows it’s a little after seven.

“It’s nighttime, right?” you ask quietly.

“Evening,” Nathan confirms.

You nod as you process the information and continue scanning the kitchen. It’s as conspicuously clean as you remember –save for a half-eaten piece of toast left on a plate, a mostly empty glass of orange juice, and a partially read newspaper next to it.

A quick inspection of the floor reveals some smudged, barely-there red stains that, if you squint, might be patterned like the tread of someone’s shoe.

You don’t have to guess how those got there.

“How long was I gone?” you ask, still quiet, as you start in on Piotr’s protein bar. Your stomach gurgles greedily when the smell of chocolate hits your nose, and the past few days of barely eating hit you all at once. “And when can I get something to eat?”

“Four days,” Nate answers again. “And we’ll get you something more filling once we’ve cleared the town.”

Alex comes back around the corner at that moment, arguing with someone on the phone. “Yes, yes –she’s fine, I already told you she’s fine… do not take this out of context, you know what I meant.” She hands the phone off to Wade abruptly. “Keep him occupied for two minutes.”

Wade takes the phone and lifts it to his ear. “According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way the bee should be able to fly—”

She turns and faces you, cupping your face in her hands as she looks you over with motherly concern. She frowns sadly, and gently rubs your cheeks with her thumbs. “Malen'kaya ptitsa…” She lifts her hand to gently brush her fingers against the cut above your eyebrow. “How did you get this?”

Any steadiness you might’ve gained crumples as your eyes start watering again. “I tried to escape… my mom kicked me in the face…”

Alex visibly tears up at that and pulls you into a tight hug.

You shake in her arms, partially from the past few days and partially from the overwhelming feeling of having a maternal figure that loves you.

You have a feeling you’re going to wind up dedicating a few therapy sessions to both.

Frank pipes up from somewhere in the living room –probably keeping an eye on things, given his background and your dad’s general ability with constructing a mission plan. “Still no sign of anyone. Not even across the street. Entire town’s dead.”

“They’re probably at the church,” you pipe up as you step back from Alex and lean against your fiancé, wiping your face dry with your shirt. “Deciding what to do with me.”

Mikhail frowns. “They already took you. What else is there?”

“Whether or not they need to kill me,” you say, voice flat –and even though you’re exhausted and more than a little out of it, you can feel the snap of tension that runs through everyone else within earshot.

“We need to get her out of here,” Nate says, voice low and thrumming with barely controlled anger. He taps Wade on the shoulder, who is in the middle of rambling in Spanish to whoever’s on the phone. “Cars. Now.”

Wade gives Nate a little salute –without stopping his monologue—and heads towards the front door.

“Wait!” You panic a little when Nate and Piotr start moving you towards the door as well. “My ring –I still don’t have my ring, I need my ring!”

“It is okay, myshka,” Piotr reassures you. “I can get you new one—”

“I don’t want another one!” you sob as you dig in your heels to keep from being moved further. “I want the one you already gave me –it’s mine, they took it from me, it’s supposed to be mine—”

“I found the ring!” Neena shouts from upstairs. There’s a series of quick footsteps above you, then a thud that makes you think she jumped the entire flight of stairs in one go, and then she’s jogging into the kitchen with your engagement ring in hand. “I believe this is what you’re looking for.”

You almost collapse with relief when you see it. Your hands are shaking so bad that you can barely hold onto your bottle of water, much less a delicate engagement ring.

Fortunately, Piotr’s there to help you. He takes the ring from Neena with a murmured ‘thank you,’ then carefully slides it back into place on your left ring finger.

“There we go,” Alex says with a note of approval in her voice.

Nathan nudges you forward –albeit not unkindly—as Frank, Neena, and Mikhail head out the front door. “Come on. Time to get out of here.”

You walk through the dining room and entryway on shaky legs, then across the small porch and down the little flight of steps. It’s cool outside, and Piotr shucks off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders when you shiver.

There’s two sleek, modern, massive black SUVs that look entirely out of place on your parents’ gravel driveway. Neena’s behind the wheel of one, Frank’s behind the other—

And Wade is standing between the two cars, holding the cellphone six inches away from his ear as some rages at him from the other end of the line—

You recognize the voice; it’s your uncle.

Wade shoots Alexandra a slightly shell-shocked look. “I think he’s pissed.”

You hold out your hand to him. “He’ll settle down when I start talking to him.”

Your uncle’s still going as you clamber into the back of the SUV that Frank’s driving. “—Wilson, I swear to all things holy and not, if you don’t put my niece on the phone right now—”

“Hey,” you say quickly before he can start listing off various death threats. “It’s me. I’m okay.”

Your uncle lets out a rush of air that almost makes you think he’s been punched in the gut “Punk.”

Piotr climbs in next to you –which gets an eyebrow raise from you, to which he merely kisses your forehead—and buckles you into your seat before buckling himself in and closing the door next to him.

“Hey,” you say again, voice wobbly and hoarse from all the crying you’ve been doing. “It’s okay, I’m okay—”

Your uncle lets out a broken sob. “Punk –Y/N—I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, equally as teary. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault, it’s alright.”

Nate closes the front passenger door of the car with a thud and quickly buckles himself in. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“We’re leaving now,” you say as Frank pulls out of the driveway. “I’ll be home soon.”

“I’ll be here,” your uncle promises. “I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It’s okay,” you say for the umpteenth time. “I know you would have if it was an option.”

“Damn right.” He sniffs wetly, then groans. “There’s some other people here that want to check in on you. I need to… yeah.”

You let out a tired laugh –you don’t have to ask what he means. “That’s okay. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Alright, I’m gonna put you on speaker before I get mobbed.”

There’s a brief moment of shuffling on the other end of the line, and then—

Chaos.

Russell, Yukio, and Ellie –and possibly Kitty as well, if your ears aren’t deceiving you—all try to talk at once, asking how you are, what happened, when you’re coming back, what’s going to happen to your parents… It all comes out as a jumbled, cacophonic mess, and even though you have to hold the speaker of the phone away from your ear a little, it makes you smile.

“Okay, okay.” Nikolai’s voice breaks through the din, warm and fond but undoubtedly authoritative. “One at time. Do not want to overwhelm here.”

And that devolves into, from the sounds of things, a ‘rock-paper-scissors’ match for who gets to talk first—

Until Illyana takes the phone. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” you answer while trying not to giggle at the grumbling you can hear in the background. “I’ve been better, but I’m okay. I’m on my way home now.”

“What’s going to happen with your parents?” Russell blurts –which gets a few hisses of ‘don’t ask that’ from the girls, but you can understand why he’d want to know.

When you come from backgrounds like yours and his, it’s natural to want to know if the people like your abusers are being held accountable.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “But, if I have it my way, I’m never seeing them again.”

“We missed you a lot,” Yukio pipes up. “We were all really worried about what happened to you.”

“I missed you guys, too,” you say, choking up with emotion again. “I’ll be home soon, I promise.”

“Did Wade kill anyone?” Kitty asks, which prompts a snort from Illyana.

“As far as I know, he behaved himself.”

“Told you,” Russell grumbles at someone –Ellie, most likely, she’s usually the first person to doubt Wade’s self-control (not that she doesn’t have good reason or plenty of evidence to support her suspicions). “Karen’s here, too.”

You blink, surprised. “Karen? As in… Karen Page?”

(You swear you see Frank perk up in the driver’s seat, just a little.)

“Yeah,” Karen says, speaking for the first time. “I was brought here for… supervision.”

Which is another way of saying ‘safekeeping,’ but either way it isn’t hard to miss the distaste in her voice over being babysat.

“Well, uh, thanks for loaning your friend out,” you say for lack of something better to comment on. “I appreciate it.”

Karen snorts. “Now that’s a business idea. But we both wanted to make sure you came back in one piece.” She clears her throat. “How are you doing?”

“Been better,” you admit wearily. “Been a lot better.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’m sure, considering you’re New York’s ‘most kidnapped reporter.’”

Frank snorts.

“Did he laugh at that?”

You smirk. “Yeah.”

Karen grumbles something under her breath before saying, “Well, I’ll have you know that claim is unsubstantiated at best.”

“I’m sure,” you yawn, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion.

“We’ll let you go,” Karen says decisively. “You should rest.”

“Probably,” you mutter, too tired for functional human conversation. You make your good-byes with the group –Nikolai promises to say good-bye to your uncle for you—then hang up.

The car’s already at the fringes of the town where you grew up. The populated area is quickly giving way to fields of crops and forest; if it weren’t for all the sins you know lie close to the surface of the place, it’d look beautiful.

You watch the sun continue to set before you turn away from the window and let exhaustion claim you.

 ***

 The cars pull over to the side of the road about twenty minutes later –far enough outside of town that you’ve got a head start, but still too close for comfort in your opinion.

You blink sleepily as Nate hops out of his seat and walks over to the door next to you. “What’s going on? Why did we stop?”

“We need to get you cleaned up and make sure you don’t have any serious injuries that require immediate attention,” he explains as Alex and Mikhail hop out of the other car and walk towards him.

You frown. “And if I do?”

Nathan nods to Mikhail. “He’ll teleport back to the Institute with you so you can get immediate treatment, and the rest of us will finish the drive back.” He pauses to take a large medical kit from Alex. “You got a preference for which one of us looks you over?”

“Dad,” you decide, voice quiet, after a moment of thought. “I want dad to do it.”

The three of them nod, and Alex and Mikhail walk a respectful distance away while Nathan puts on a pair of medical gloves.

“Alright,” he says as he turns on a mini flashlight. “Look straight ahead for me.”

Piotr unbuckles his seat belt and shifts so he’s sitting behind you. He kisses the top of your head when you interlock your fingers with his. “Does anywhere hurt?”

“Everything hurts,” you grumble as you follow Nathan’s light with your eyes.

Nate clicks the flashlight off. “No signs of concussion. Can you run me through how you got injured?”

You swallow hard and grip Piotr’s hand tighter. “I tried to escape… earlier today, I think. I caught my mother off guard… and she—” you tap where you’d gotten the split in your skin on your forehead “—kicked me. Couple times.”

Piotr lets out a shaky breath and scoots closer to you, lips pressing against your temple.

“Later, my father…” You chin trembles as your voice trails off, and you find yourself blinking back tears.

“It’s okay,” Nathan reassures you. “You don’t have to tell me how it went. I just need to know where you got hurt.”

“Ribs. Stomach. Neck,” you rattle off. “Legs too, probably.”

“Okay. Can you lift your shirt up for me so I can see your ribcage?”

You do –and for the first time, you realize there’s blood crusted on a good portion of your shirt. Some of it dripped down onto your pants as well. “Oh. That’s why everyone was looking at me weird. I look like Carrie.”

“All you’re missing is the bucket,” Nathan deadpans. He helps you roll up your shirt to the bottom of your bra when you wince, then grimaces. “Aw, kid…”

Your ribs are a mottled myriad of purples and reds, shiny and just a touch swollen. “Huh. I was wondering why that hurt.”

“That would do it,” Nathan agrees, jaw clenching as he inhales and exhales slowly. “Alright, I’m gonna feel your sides to make sure your ribs aren’t broken. This’ll probably hurt a little.”

It hurts a lot, but it’s nothing compared to the past few days.

You squeeze your eyes shut and breathe through the stabs of pain that Nathan’s poking creates. “I used the fighting techniques you taught me with my father. Almost choked him out.”

He presses a fatherly kiss against your forehead. “Atta girl. Good job. Alright, your ribs don’t seem to be broken, but you’re going to be sore until you can see one of the healers. We can always have Mikhail take you back if you’re uncomfortable.”

You shake your head automatically. “No. I want to stay with Piotr.”

Piotr hugs you gently, careful to avoid your bruises, and kisses your cheek. “Myshka, be reasonable.”

“I thought I was never going to see you again!” you whimper as you press yourself against him. “I thought you weren’t even real! I’m not leaving you!”

“We have painkillers,” Nate says when Piotr hesitates. “We can keep her physically comfortable, and her physical well-being isn’t in question. The next immediate step is her emotional well-being. She’ll be calmer if she stays with you.”

Piotr nods after a moment. “If you are certain she will be fine.”

“If I wasn’t, I’d be sending her home with your brother.” Nate nods when Piotr nods again, then pulls a pack of baby wipes out of the medical kit. “Okay, kiddo. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Pictures,” Frank pipes up from the driver’s seat. “This is an abuse case. You need to take pictures.”

“I’m not taking my parents to court,” you sigh. “I probably wouldn’t win, since I’m mutant. All I ever care about is not seeing them again.”

Frank meets your eyes in the rearview mirror. “All due respect, ma’am, but they went to the trouble of kidnapping you and dragging you back to their house. Even if you’re done with them, they clearly aren’t done with you. You need a paper trail.”

“He’s right,” Nathan says when you pull a frustrated face. “The more documentation we have, the better things go if the courts ever do get involved.”

You sigh, exhausted and frustrated. “Fine. Let’s just make it fast. I want to get all this blood off me.”

Nathan calls Alex over to help with the picture taking process. Using Nate’s phone, they start off by taking several pictures of your face and the cut and bruising there, before documenting the state of your clothes and all the blood over it. The snap a few shots of your neck –chafing from the mutation repression collar, apparently—then move on to taking pictures of your ribs and back.

Piotr kisses your forehead soothingly when you whimper from your ribs hurting. “Almost done. You are doing so well.”

They finish off by getting photos of the bruises on your legs from your encounter with your father, then Nate hands the package of baby wipes to Alex. “Start getting her cleaned up. I’m going to save these.”

Frank rolls down his window and holds his phone out to Nathan. “Send them to Karen’s number, too. She works with a law firm; they’ll be able to help.”

“I thought she was a journalist,” you say as Nate copies Karen’s number into his phone.

“She moonlights as a private investigator and paralegal for a law firm, too,” Frank explains.

You nod, impressed. “Pays to be connected.”

“It certainly does,” Alex agrees as she clasps your chin with her hand. “Alright, malen'kaya ptitsa, let’s get you cleaned up.”

With the practiced gentleness of a loving mother, she wipes your face clean with methodic, circular strokes. She goes through several wipes before she moves on to your neck, gently scrubbing the dried blood off your skin.

Your hold on Piotr’s hand tightens further as waves of emotion threaten to overwhelm you.

This should’ve been your mother. The societal laws of the universe dictate that it’s your mother, the one who gave birth to you, who should be loving on you and caring for you like this.

Instead, she helped lock you in a cell and kicked you in the face when you tried to escape.

“There we go,” Alex says softly, fondly. “All clean.” She throws the baby wipes in a plastic bag, then nods at the medical kit –which is really just a black duffel bag with more medical emergency supplies in it than you would’ve thought possible—as she ties the plastic bag off. “There’s clean clothes for her in there. Help her get changed.”

Piotr kisses the back of your head before sliding back across the back bench of the SUV and exiting on his side of the car. He circles back around to you and withdraws a pair of pajama pants, some fresh underwear, and a shirt of his that’s large enough your won’t have to wear a bra. “Alright, myshka. Let’s get you into proper clothing.” He stands so he’s blocking you from view of everyone else –even the driver’s side mirror of the car, not that you’d ever take Frank Castle as the ‘sneak peek’ type.

Still, you appreciate the gesture.

You shuck off your white, baggy clothes with Piotr’s help, then let out a sigh of relief when you pull on the fresh underwear and pajama pants.

“I bet that feels better,” Piotr says as he helps you get the clean shirt on.

“Yeah, it does,” you admit.

Piotr puts your bloody clothes in another plastic grocery bag, then ties it off and tucks it in the medical kit. He zips the duffel bag shut, hands it back to his mother, then nods at Nathan. “We’re ready.”

“Good. We can’t afford to stand still any longer.”

Your stomach growls angrily as everyone gets back in their respective car seats. “Dad, I really need to eat something.”

“I know, kiddo. I promise, as soon as we’re a good distance away, we’ll get you fed,” Nathan says as he buckles himself in. “Think about what you want in the meantime. We’ll get whatever sounds good to you.”

Piotr kisses your cheek as he buckles you back into your seat. “Hang in there, myshka. Just little bit longer.”

“I want burgers,” you whine tiredly –you’ve earned a good whine, though. “Plural. As in lots of them.”

“We can get you burgers,” Piotr promises, buckling himself in as Frank steers back onto the road.

“And fries. I want fries.”

“You can have fries, also.”

“I want your fries, too.”

Piotr chuckles, then nods. “You can have my fries as well.”

You lean against his shoulder, worn out. “Can I get a milkshake, too?”

“Whatever you want, dorogoy,” Piotr says as he carefully wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. “You can get whatever you want.”

***

 Forty minutes later, you finally hit a strip with a bunch of stores –and, even better, fast food joints. The two cars order enough food for twenty people, then drive over to an abandoned movie theater with a parking lot that’s more grass than asphalt and park there so everyone can eat.

You manage to slurp down half your chocolate shake before Piotr takes it from you and hands you one of the burgers you’d asked for. “Protein first, please,” he says as he sets your shake in your cupholder. “I do not want for you to get sick.”

After four days of withdrawals and plain turkey sandwiches, the burger tastes like heaven.

You moan obscenely as you take your first bite, then gulp it down before going back in for more.

“The hell are you doing to her?” Mikhail asks, grinning lasciviously as he opens his door and swing his legs so he’s sitting sideways in his seat, facing the car you’re in. “I could hear that through my window!”

Piotr just rolls his eyes, takes a bite of his burger, and hands his fries over to you, the sweetheart.

“What’s the plan for the parents’ house when we get Y/N back home?” Wade asks as he horks down his burger almost as fast as you’re eating yours. “I’m feeling something arson-y. Frankenfurter, you down?”

You can almost hear Frank’s eyes roll at the nickname, but he shows restraint by only flipping Wade off for it instead of cursing him out. “You’re buying the gas.”

“Ooh, I do love good burning!” Mikhail says with slightly manic brightness. “If I come, you will not even need matches!”

“Send a good message,” Nathan reasons, techno-organic eye flaring as he considers the idea. “Warn all the other shitheads not to go after mutants.”

Behind you, Piotr makes a noise of disapproval. “X-Men do not kill.”

“We’re not X-Men!” Wade reasons. “It’ll be fine!”

“I don’t know,” Neena says softly as she watches you closely. “I’m not getting a good feeling about this idea.”

You’re not sure when you started crying, but her sudden attention makes you realize that you’re shaking and that tears are trickling down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Wade crouches in front of you, smiling brightly even though panic is easy to see in his eyes. “It’s okay. We wouldn’t leave you out of it.”

Piotr sighs heavily. “Wade—”

“Hey, a little vengeance towards childhood abusers is very cleansing for the soul!”

“No,” you snap, scrubbing at your face –and then wince when you press against the cut by your eyebrow too hard. “No one’s doing anything. No arson, no killing, no threats, nothing!”

“What the shit? Are you listening to yourself right now?” Wade exclaims. “These are your parents, the people who beat you growing up and again within the past twenty-four hours, and you just want to –what—let them get away with it? The fuck kinda bullshit is that!”

“You can’t,” you sob, almost on the verge of hyperventilating. “You can’t –Wade, you can’t, you have to promise me—”

“Hey, hey.” Nate clasps your hand while shushing softly. “Deep breaths. No one’s going to do anything if you’re not okay with it.”

“Speak for yourself!”

Neena kicks Wade in the shin –albeit not too hard. “We’re trying to calm her down right now.”

“What do you think the arson is for?”

Piotr lets out a harsh exhale behind you. “Wade—”

“Everyone be quiet,” Alex interjects in a tone that brokers no arguing. She fixes Wade with a steely glare when he opens his mouth to argue anyway. “I said quiet. There is more going on here than you realize.”

Wade gives you a skeptical look. “What else could there possibly be? Your family situation is already entirely fucked.”

You sniff wetly and blow your nose into a Kleenex provided by Piotr, then give everyone watching you –which is the entire group at this point—a desperate, pleading look. “What I’m about to tell you cannot ever go any further, okay? Someone else’s life is at stake. I’m putting them at risk –and the rest of you, too—just by telling you all this.”

Everyone nods seriously –even Wade—and then it all comes tumbling out.

About your uncle. About the life he was forced into. About how he got out and has to stay under every radar conceivable to avoid being forced back into “government service.”

“If anything happens to my parents –or their property—that isn’t natural causes, the government drops a massive manhunt on his head,” you explain, voice thick with emotion. “It’s an agreement they made to keep him from taking me when I was a kid and to keep him from lashing out at them from all their bullshit.”

“Why haven’t they just dropped the bomb on him anyway?” Neena asks. “Your parents don’t exactly seem like the most rational, deal-honoring people anyway.”

“He warned them that if they did pull something like that, his first stop would be to come get me and ‘wipe all evidence of them from existence,’” you say. “I think they valued their own lives enough to keep from doing that.”

“Why not just take you and run anyway?” Mikhail pipes up, forehead creased with confusion and concern.

You purse your lips. “For all about him that’s great… he’s flawed. I don’t think he ever thought he’d be in a good position to take care of a kid –and, in all honesty, he wasn’t.”

“But he could have saved you,” Mikhail argues. “He could have gotten you out.”

“My uncle was just as abused as I am, if not more,” you say flatly. “He’s had his own demons to deal with –still deal with. And, at any rate, this isn’t about what he has or hasn’t done; this is about his present safety, and believe me when I say there is a very real threat staring him down.”

“We believe you,” Nate reassures you. “And we’re not going to do anything that’s going to put your uncle at risk.”

Wade holds up his hands defensively when you give him a pointed look. “I’ll behave! I promise!”

You heave a sigh of relief and lean back against Piotr. “Thanks, everyone.”

 …

 While you all finish eating, Nate, Alex, Neena, Piotr, and Frank work out how the rest of the travelling is going to go.

There’s no stopping for a hotel –or anything other than food, gas, and bathroom breaks, really. Even though you’re safely out of your parents’ clutches, the possibility of them chasing after you –along with who knows who else—still looms ominously like a black thunder cloud.

“We left the collar at the house,” Nate says while looking over some maps with Frank and Neena. “With any luck, they’ll think she got it off and escaped into the woods.”

“By unlocking the door from inside the room,” Frank says, voice heavy with doubt.

“I can unlock handcuffs with my powers,” you retort between massive bites of burger and fries. “And I used to take my bedroom door off its hinges to escape from my room. It’s not that much of a leap.”

Frank shrugs, looking equal parts impressed and irritated –though the latter, you’re certain, is directed at your parents. “If you say so.”

“If they come after us,” Nate says, stressing the first word for your sake. “You’re—” he points to Mikhail “—going to get her and get back to the Institute. We’ll be able to handle whatever they throw at us.”

You frown when Mikhail nods and look to your fiancé. “What about you?”

Piotr kisses your forehead. “I will be fine. My armor mutation will keep me safe.”

“Yeah, honey, but you’re official X-Men. You can’t be associated with a shoot-out in case something hits the news.”

“Grab both of them,” Nate tells Mikhail.

“Do I have to?” Mikhail mock-whines. “Mladshiy brat too heavy.”

Piotr rolls his eyes and says something in Russian, which Mikhail pulls a face at and replies in a short, irritated tone, and then the two of them tangent off into some sort of rapid-fire argument that leads to the two of them talking over each other—

“Stop it, both of you,” Alex admonishes them crisply. “This situation is serious. Act like it.”

“One of us is,” Piotr mutters under his breath.

“Trakhni tebya!”

“Enough.” Alex levels a serious, mildly annoyed look at Piotr. “Quit antagonizing.”

Mikhail laughs.

“That goes for you, too, Koroleva dramy.”

You squeeze Piotr’s hand when you catch him barely suppressing an annoyed grimace. “Be nice.”

Frank noisily balls up the wrapper his burger had come in, effectively distracting everyone away from the argument. “We should get moving again. Do we have a route picked out?”

Neena tosses him a map with a series of roads and highways highlighted. “I’m feeling good about this one.”

“Still lazy writing,” Wade grumbles under his breath.

Nate pats Wade on the shoulder before heading back to his seat. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Once you’re buckled in, Piotr hands you a small container with some pills and a bottle of water. “Medication,” he explains when you give him a perplexed look. “Dr. McCoy wanted you to have meal before you took it.”

You quickly –gratefully—down one of the pills and follow it with a swig of water. “Thanks, babe.”

He produces another bottle with a few smaller looking pills in it. “Xanax. He instructed me to have you take one as well to help you sleep.”

You take one of the Xanax, chase it down with some water, and flop back in your seat with a sigh as Frank drives the car towards the nearest highway. “How long until we’re home?”

“About two days, give or take four hours,” Nate answers from the shotgun seat of the car.

You adjust yourself so you’re leaning against Piotr and close your eyes.

You may as well get some sleep in that time.

***

 You wake up to the sun blasting your eyes –and ow, no, I didn’t need my retinas to be functional, just go right ahead and scorch them, you fucker. You blink hard, trying to get the little spots from accidentally staring at the bright, early morning light to fade from your field of vision, and stretch your back and sit up.

For a moment, you panic when you realize Piotr isn’t next to you –but Nathan is, napping, and if he’s still here then you’re still safe…

You let out a little sigh of relief when you see that Piotr’s in the driver’s seat, steering the car around a bend in the road. You lean forward –mashing your face against the back of his seat in the process—and gently squeeze his shoulders. “Hi.”

He lifts one hand off the wheel when he gets to another length of straight, open road and lovingly squeezes one of your hands. “Dobroye utro, myshka.”

You yawn and latch onto his shirt when he lets go of you so he has both hands on the steering wheel once more. “How long have you been awake?”

“Couple of hours. I switched off with Frank around four.”

Sure enough, Frank’s in the front passenger seat, completely dead to the world and snoring slightly.

“How much longer until we’re home?”

“I think we will reach halfway point later today, provided everything goes well.”

You grunt a little and turn your head so only your cheek’s pressing the back of his seat. “Can we get breakfast soon? I’m hungry.”

Piotr chuckles a little and pats your hand. “Da, dorogoy. We can get you breakfast soon.”

***

 Breakfast comes in the form of a Panera Bread. You can only imagine how big the cashier’s eyes must’ve been when Neena and Piotr had gone in to place the order, judging by the three massive bags of food and multiple drink carriers they bring out, but fortunately the place is pretty dead since it’s still early in the morning.

You all eat in the parking lot, car doors open to let in fresh air and facilitate easy conversation.

“We should refuel soon,” Frank says, voice still gravelly –well, more than usual—from sleep. “And stock up on some supplies and coffee.”

“You ordered three large black coffees for breakfast,” Neena remarks, disbelieving. “What are you going to need more coffee for?”

“He doesn’t just punish criminals and jackasses,” Wade quips. “He also likes to punish his cardiovascular system by scouring it with mass amounts of caffeine.”

Frank just rolls his eyes and flips Wade off.

Alex groans as she works a brush through her hair. “I will be glad to not sleep in car soon. I am too old for this.”

“I can take you back,” Mikhail offers, a worried frown tugging at his lips.

Alex merely shakes her head, though. “I would rather be present in case something goes wrong.”

“We’ve made some good progress,” Nate says as he works on polishing off a breakfast sandwich. “If we were going to see them, it would’ve been last night, either at the house or when we stopped to treat her injuries.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re not following behind us,” Frank adds darkly. “Best to stop as little as we have to.”

***

 The two SUVs stop at a gas station fifteen minutes later.

Nate eyes the meter critically as the beast of a car continues guzzling down fuel. “And people say climate change is a myth.”

The eight of you head into the gas station two at a time to freshen up in the bathroom and get whatever snacks and drinks you might want, while everyone else keeps an eye on the road for any signs of trouble.

Mikhail comes out with two bags full of Monster and Red Bull.

“Nyet,” Piotr says before you can even muster up so much as a hopeful look. He points at the bags his brother’s carrying. “Keep those in other car.”

“Do you mind if I ride in the front while he drives?” you ask Frank when he comes out from his trip to the gas station, nodding at Piotr while you speak.

Frank shrugs. “Sure. I can sleep in the back.”

“You should rest, myshka,” Piotr says as he kisses the top of your head.

“Yeah, but I want to rest next to you,” you explain. “And hold your hand.”

He chuckles and hugs you gently before ushering you towards the front passenger seat. “I suppose that is reasonable.”

 ***

 For the first time in your life, you don’t mind the monotony of car travel.

You can keep track of how much time is passing, you’re close to Piotr the entire time, you have access to water and good tasting food, and you’re able to talk to the people you love most (other than Piotr) basically whenever you want.

The only real downside is that Frank listens to Bruce Springsteen on repeat whenever he’s driving –during the day that is, he’s not enough of an asshole to play it at night—but even that’s tolerable compared to your past few days in hell on earth.

Piotr sticks close to you throughout it all. If he’s driving, you’re in the front passenger seat next to him. If you’re in the back, he’s sitting in the seat next to yours. If you head into a gas station to use the restroom, he’s the one that heads in with you. Wherever you eat –usually in the car, but sometimes leaning against the side or the hood so you can stretch your legs—he’s right next to you.

You’re both equally clingy to each other, really. On some level, you know the considerate thing to do would be dial it back so you don’t annoy everyone else –but, on the other hand, you spent four days being held and tormented by your parents and thought that everyone you’d ever met outside of your childhood community might’ve never existed to begin with. If anything, you’ve earned a little PDA.

(Besides, it’s not like anyone’s complaining or pulling faces.)

“I thought you didn’t exist,” you murmur quietly one night, while Nate’s driving and Frank’s co-piloting for him. You’re in the back with Piotr, nestled against his chest and snuggled up in his jacket. “I thought I’d made you up –that I’d made everything up.”

Piotr holds you tight, cradling you in his arms as he kisses the top of your head. “I will always find you, myshka,” he promises in an equally quiet voice. “You will never have to wake up alone again.”

 ***

 The two SUVs finally reach the X-Mansion around three in the afternoon, a little over two days after your rescue.

Your uncle’s waiting in the garage for you, pacing nervously and generally looking like a wreck.

“And I thought I was the one that was kidnapped and held prisoner,” you remark as you watch him stare down the cars, like he can make them park and turn off faster if he keeps his eyes on them through the whole process.

“He was pretty cut up when you went missing,” Nate says from the backseat. “Flew here in twelve hours when Xavier contacted him with the news.”

“Holy shit,” you mutter under your breath as Piotr finishes parking the car and turns the engine off. You unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the SUV as quickly as you can—

Your uncle’s still quicker. He practically lifts you out of your seat and into a crushing hug, sobbing brokenly as he holds you.

Which makes you start crying. You’re surprised your tear ducts have anything left to offer after all the crying you’ve done over the past couple days.

“I’m so sorry!” he gasps between sobs as he clutches you tighter and tighter. “I’m so sorry, punk; I’m so, so sorry!”

You hold onto him just as fiercely. “It’s okay; it’s not your fault, it was never your fault…”

The two of you collapse to the cement floor of the garage in a discombobulated heap, weeping and clinging to each other like it’s all that either of you can do.

And, given the depth of everything that’s happened, it just might be.

Piotr, Alex, and Nate help the two of you stand, steadying you both until you’re each calm enough to stay upright on your own power.

Your uncle cups your face his hands, jaw trembling with rage as he looks you over. “What did they do to you? What did they do –I’m gonna fucking murder them!”

Alex shushes your uncle, quickly stepping between the two of you as he starts shaking again. “Deep breaths.”

“Don’t you fucking ‘deep breaths’ me!”

“She needs you calm,” Alex fires back, pointing at you.

Which you don’t think is the whole truth; of the two of you, you’re miles calmer than your uncle (that would be the Xanax, thank you modern pharmaceutics).

But he needs to calm down. And if thinking he’s helping you is the bridge that gets him there, so be it.

You offer your uncle a watery smile when he looks at you. “Honestly, all I really want is to go inside, take a shower, and nap in a real bed.”

That ekes a ghost of a snort out of your uncle. He takes a deep breath, then nods. “Yeah. Probably a good idea. Easier to bathe in water than in deodorant.”

You snicker. “You’re telling me.”

You’re ushered into the house by your uncle and your rescue group. Piotr stays by your side the whole way, holding your hand reassuringly as you step through the back door and into the kitchen—

And there’s Russell, Yukio, Ellie, Illyana, Kitty, Nikolai, and Karen, all waiting for you with varying looks of worry and anticipation.

Russell, Yukio, and Ellie all swarm you at once. It takes a bit of work figuring out how to hug all three of them at once, and it makes your ribs sting like a bitch, but you don’t care. You’re overjoyed to see them; you’ve missed their energy and company fiercely during all of this.

Illyana and Kitty go next –though they have a little more self-control and opt to go one at a time, sparing your ribs from an extra squeezing.

Illyana holds onto you for a surprisingly long amount of time. When she lets go, her eyes are watery enough that her usually impeccable eyeliner has started running.

“Was very worried about you,” she manages, voice wobbly with emotion when you ask her what’s wrong. “And for medvezhonok. Very distraught while you disappear.” She smiles at you, genuine and bright despite the tears in her eyes. “I am glad you are home.”

You have to hug her again after that.

Nikolai’s hug almost makes you cry (again). It’s so gentle and nurturing, and in direct comparison to the past few days –save for being rescued—it’s an outright shock to your system. “We are all glad you come home, malen'kaya ptitsa,” he says before placing a gentle, fatherly kiss against the top of your head.

If you sniffle a little when you step back and wipe a few tears from your eyes, no one mentions it. “I’m glad to be back.” You turn—

And then it’s just Karen left.

She grimaces when she sees you. “You look rougher than you did that one time when Frank brought you by my apartment.”

“Hey, at least I didn’t bleed on your couch this time.” You mentally flounder for a moment, then shrug at her. “You want a hug, too?”

Karen chuckles –along with everyone else—and shrugs back. “Why not? Hugs are good.” Your hug with her is briefer than your hugs with everyone else, but she does clasp your shoulder when it ends. “Your dad sent me the pictures he took of your injuries and a basic rundown of how they found you. I showed them to the law firm I moonlight for –they’re willing to represent you, if you’re interested.”

Granted, you’d rather not have anything to do with your parents ever again, but knowing what your legal options are wouldn’t be a half bad idea.

First things first, though.

“Can I, like, at least take a shower and a nap first?” you ask.

Karen smiles and nods. “Yeah, definitely do those first. I’ll let them know you’re interested in working with us?”

You nod after a moment of thought. “Yeah. I’m interested.”

***

 Before either a shower or a nap, though, comes a thorough medical examination and healing session. Vitals, x-rays, bloodwork, the whole nine yards and a few extra for good measure.

Hank takes some higher quality pictures of your injuries and documents your medical status for your meeting with your new lawyers, then sends you off to one of the healers so you don’t have to treat yourself like the most delicate, frail china doll until everything heals.

“Alyssa and Professor Xavier want to do a session with you,” he informs you before sending you to one of the healers. “To make sure no irreversible damage has been done from going off your meds and being held captive.”

“Define ‘irreversible,’” you sigh as you rub your neck.

Hank flashes you a pained smile. “I know. But better to take all the steps than cut corners. Especially with situations like this.” He waves you along when you go quiet. “Go on. Go get healed up. That should help you feel better.”

***

 The healing session does help –but honestly, all you want now is a shower and a proper bed.

Which is exactly what you get for yourself. Once the session is done, you head straight for the room you share with Piotr, beeline for the bathroom, and make yourself a nice, steaming shower.

Ah, just mildly scalding, you think as you step under the cascade of water. Perfect.

The warm water feels like heaven. You can feel your muscles relaxing under the soothing spray, and you waste no time washing your hair and scrubbing yourself down.

The first shower after a healing session is always a little weird. You know you were injured –you can still feel dull pain in your ribs and the stress your body went through from coping with the injuries—but seeing completely smooth, unmarred skin in contrast to all of that always makes you feel like you’re having a bit of an out-of-body experience.

Your fingers automatically lift to your brow. There’s not so much as a fine line scar left from where your mother kicked you, let alone the scabby, crusty mess that had been there only fifteen minutes ago.

You’re not sure whether it’s a blessing or a curse to have everything erased like this. On one hand, you definitely don’t want to bear the proof of your parents’ hatred towards you for the rest of your life. On the other hand, if you don’t have any proof at all, does that mean you didn’t even suffer? It could’ve all just been a nightmare, or a horrid hallucination your psychosis cooked up—

You groan and scrub your face with your hands. I need to sleep.

Piotr joins you halfway through your shower. It takes him considerably less time to scrub down than it does for you, so he spends most of his time caressing your body and planting kisses along your jawline and neck.

By the time the shower’s over, you’re wound up in an entirely different way.

The two of you dry each other off –which really means that you spend more time kissing and groping each other than you do actually drying each other off.

You moan softly as Piotr runs his tongue over the spot where your neck and jaw meet. “Take me to bed, baby.” You sigh happily when he complies, looping your arms around his neck as he picks you up and carries you out of the bathroom.

You’re home.

***

 “How are you doing?”

You let out a harsh bark of laughter. “How the fuck doing you think I’m doing?”

The corner of Alyssa’s mouth turns up in a smile. “Probably like shit.”

You snort, then nod. “That’s not far off the mark.” You sigh heavily. “I’m happy to be home.”

“But?”

You shrink back into the couch in your therapist’s office, picking at the hem of your shirt. “I’m scared.”

“That it’s not real,” Alyssa supplies when you don’t volunteer any other information. “Your dad mentioned that you said something about thinking none of this was real when he rescued you.”

Your jaw clenches as the moment you saw your mother’s face for the first time in over two years flashes through your mind’s eye over and over again. “I just… I saw her face, and I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.”

“That’s not an uncommon reaction. Interacting with abusers puts our systems through a great deal of stress.”

You swallow hard, staring out the window as everything that followed that moment flashes through your head at dizzying speed. “It was like… everything I thought I knew uprooted in that moment. And I thought… ‘what if I made everything up? What if I’m a delusional maniac?’”

“What makes you think you’re delusional?” Alyssa asks, clasping her hands in her lap as she studies you.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Just… I’m afraid that none of this is real, and that I’ve been with my parents this whole time.” You look over at her. “I could be delusional. It’s possible.”

“Delusional people don't question whether or not they're delusional,” Alyssa says calmly. “They hold their beliefs with total conviction, regardless of whatever evidence is presented. The fact that you're questioning your experience is symptomatic of your anxiety and depression, not because of a delusion.”

“But it is possible!” you insist, gesturing with your hands in short, agitated motions as your anxiety spikes. “It technically is! People cope with abuse in all sorts of ways! Delusions can be one of those ways!”

“Yes, they do, and yes, it is, but that’s not the case with you,” Alyssa fires back. “In order to construct an alternate reality, you would have to be severely schizophrenic. Delusions can be a subset of schizophrenia, but they're about beliefs and obsessions, not constructing locations, people that have never been met, seen, or heard of, or interactions with those people. The latter would fall into the category of hallucinations. What you’re describing to me isn’t within the limitations of a delusion.”

“Then maybe I’m schizophrenic!” you exclaim.

“You’re not,” Alyssa says evenly. “You don’t exhibit any of the symptoms of schizophrenia. And, if you were, your interactions with your alternate reality would not be as linear as anything you’re experiencing now.” She cocks her head to the side as she looks at you. “Why do you keep looking for reasons why this might not be real?”

“I have to. I have to make sure that everything’s real.”

“Why? What’s the worst thing that happens if none of this is real?”

You draw in a shaky breath as you rip at your shirt’s hemline. “Because if none of this is real, that means I was always with my parents, and no one ever loved me.” You freeze, full body, as what you just say registers, then slump over against the arm of the couch and start crying.

“There it is,” Alyssa says softly as she pulls a couple tissues out of the box on the table next to her chair and hands them to you. “Not delusional. Just scared of not being loved.”

“But what if it is?” you whimper. “What if no one really loves me?”

“It’s not a delusion, honey, I promise. Your questioning reality was a side effect of heightened anxiety due to withdrawals, that’s all. This is all real, and you’re really loved.” She hands you a few more tissues. “Your parents were working very hard to destabilize you, even if they didn't know you were on medication. They took away your ability to track time, any personal effects, had almost complete control over your schedule. When you got back to being in control of yourself and back on your medication, you stabilized. People with delusions don't stabilize when interacting with the delusion. You've stabilized due to being out of a stressful environment and getting back onto medication.”

You grit your teeth as you wipe your cheeks dry with a balled-up tissue. “I hate them. I hate them so much.”

“I know, honey. And they’ve definitely earned it. Just make sure you don’t stay there,” Alyssa encourages you, smiling softly as she looks you in the eye. “Because you don’t deserve having to give them all that energy and effort when they never did that for you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure how fast the whole ‘moving on’ thing is gonna go,” you grumble as you start shredding your wadded up, damp tissue.

“Fast doesn’t matter,” Alyssa reassures you. “Just as long as you’re moving.”

 ***

 Franklin “Foggy” Nelson and Matthew Murdock are nothing like what you expect.

Though that may largely have to do with the cheery “Hiya, Red!” Wade tosses Matt’s way as soon as the man walks through the front door to the Institute, which makes Matt pull a face like he’s about to shit his pants so hard he’s gonna rip the seams.

Granted, things aren’t necessarily much improved by Frank following them through the door –presumably to make sure Karen stays safe in case things blow back with your parents somehow—

Except Matt turns towards him and growls, “You didn’t say Wilson was going to be here.”

Which leads the grand revelation that one of your lawyers is actually Daredevil, one of Hell’s Kitchen’s leading vigilantes and a staunch rival of sorts with both Frank and Wade.

…Honestly, it’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you.

 ***

 “I’ll be honest, Miss L/N,” Foggy says once the whole “Matt is Daredevil” kerfuffle is settled and the five of you –Matt, Foggy, Karen, you, and Piotr, who agreed to sit in when you asked him to—finally have a chance to sit down. “Given the severity of your abuse case, I’m a little surprised you haven’t already taken steps to issue a restraining order against your parents. You have more than enough grounds for it. Heck, you have enough grounds to take them to criminal court –and win.”

“I’m not interested in having a day in court,” you say quietly. “I just never want to see them again.”

“Understandable, given the tragic circumstances of your upbringing,” Matt says, tone perfectly sympathetic; he’s clearly had a great deal of practice with this. “A restraining order, however, would go a long way towards making sure that could happen.”

“We’d work with the authorities and whatever legal support your parents might have,” Karen adds, notepad settled on her lap and pen poised to start taking notes at any moment. “And, given the severity of the abuse you’ve suffered, we could represent your interests along with someone that you give power of attorney. You could be as removed from the situation as you want.”

Piotr’s hand closes around yours when you don’t say anything, thumb tracing delicate circles against your skin. “It may be worth considering.”

Matt tilts his head for a moment, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “Is there a specific reason why you never issued a restraining order against your parents, Miss L/N?”

Right, you think dejectedly. He’s Daredevil. He can hear my heartbeat. “You think I’m lying.”

“No—”

“You think I’m hiding something, then.”

Matt’s mouth hangs open for a moment, then slowly closes shut.

You swallow hard and look away as tears threaten to spill. “It’s a complicated situation.”

“We work with complicated situations all the time,” Foggy reassures you. “The more open and honest you are with us, the better we can help you.”

“This isn’t just for you,” Matt tacks on. “Restraining orders can also be used to protect whatever children you may choose to have in the future. Even if you don’t want it for you, it may be worth the peace of mind for your future self, to know that your parents can’t get anywhere near your offspring.”

And that does make the whole idea a lot more tempting. Matt’s right that you really don’t care about yourself in all this, but you wouldn’t wish your parents upon your future kids in a thousand years.

You also know you can’t rain hellfire down on someone’s life without even consulting them first.

“Would you mind if I took a few minutes?” you ask, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. “There’s, uh, someone I need to talk to.”

Matt nods. “Take all the time you need.”

You’re not sure if he’s being nice, or if he doesn’t mind because he’s paid by the hour and you’re still technically using his time.

“We’ll be here when you come back,” Karen says with a reassuring smile. “In the meantime, Mr. Rasputin, perhaps we can get started on asking you some questions about your relationship with Y/N, how much you know about her history, that sort of thing?”

Piotr nods when you nod, squeezing your hand before letting it go. “Of course. Whatever I can help with.”

You quickly step out of the classroom the five of you had settled in, then all but run down the hall and towards the residential side of the mansion.

You need to find your uncle.

 ***

 He lets out a low whistle. “Restraining order. That’s some serious shit.”

The two of you are seated in the gazebo towards the back of Xavier’s property. The skies have decided to cast a relentless downpour on the world beneath them, drenching everything within their reach and making mini-swamps out of various patches of the lawns that encircle the mansion.

The space under the gazebo is dry, though, and the rain is loud enough that you don’t have to worry about anyone overhearing you, and the spot is far enough removed from the house that the telepaths that could pick up what you’re talking about will be able to infer by the distance that the conversation you’re having is deliberately private.

“It’d be good for my future kids,” you comment as you watch little streams of water drip off the edges of the gazebo’s roof. “Honestly, it’d probably be good to do more than just a restraining order, make sure that my parents are completely locked out of everything.”

“Damn right it would,” your uncle agrees with a nod. He glances over at you. “So what’s stopping you?”

You sigh heavily. “They’d probably rat you out to try and get me to stop the proceedings. Or just rat you out to spite me.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that,” you uncle says immediately. “The second you do anything to actually shut them out, your mom’s going to throw an absolute shitfit. I know for a fact that the only reason they didn’t turn on me sooner is because, legally, the government couldn’t do anything to force you to go back home to them.”

You frown. “Wait, how can you know that?”

Your uncle flashes you a pained smile. “Who do you think supplied them with the repression serum? Or the collar? Or built the holding cell you were in? Sure as shit wasn’t me, punk.”

Your blood runs cold. “Why?”

“Probably wanted another agent,” your uncle says, entirely too blasé about the whole thing for your comfort. “They knew I was around, they just didn’t know where to find me.”

“Then why not get rid of me?”

“Because getting rid of you would make your mom a ‘bad mother.’”

You scoff, fists clenching against your thighs. “And kicking me in the face doesn’t?”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child. No, I figure once you turned eighteen, they would’ve shipped you off and claimed you were at college or working or what have you.” He grimaces, eyes going flat and dark. “You are lucky you chose to run when you did.”

You swallow hard, trying to stay calm despite the rage bubbling up inside you. “Then why keep kidnapping me? What’s the fucking point of it? They don’t want me, I’m out of their hair, what do they get by dragging me back to a place I never wanted to be from the get go?”

Your uncle shrugs. “Could be the government ordered them to track you down so they’d have better tabs on their ‘potential asset.’ Could be that they just wanted to keep control over you. Honestly, I’m not sure –and I don’t really care to know, either. I stopped trying to figure out your parents’ fucked up cognitions a long time ago. But we’re not talking about them. We’re talking about you getting your parents out of your life.”

“I mean…” You scrub your face with your hands and let out a frustrated groan. “I’m not sure what I can really do. If they’ve got government backing—”

“You let me and the other people in your life worry about that,” your uncle says firmly. “You’ve got more than enough mercenaries and vigilantes in your pocket. If someone tries to fuck any of this up, they’ll get their ass handed to them in short order.”

“But what about you?” you fire back, finally pointing out the elephant in the room. “If I go through with all this, your former handlers are going to start a manhunt for you.”

Your uncle considers that for a moment before shrugging. “Not my first time I’ve had to run. I can always do it again.”

“No! That’s not fair to you!”

“You’re right, it isn’t, but that’s not your fault. I was dealt this hand a long time before you ever showed up,” your uncle says, eyes shining as he smiles at you. “Don’t put your life on hold for me, punk. You deserve to live it without having to deal with your parents. I’ll be fine.”

You hug him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you start crying. “What about your house?”

“I’ll clear it out and burn it. Give them a good ol’ ‘fuck you’ before I duck under.”

You frown. “But… you won’t have anywhere to go once everything settles.”

“Eh, I’ve been thinking about relocating for a while now,” he comments casually as he stares out at the rain. “Maybe… somewhere closer to New York.”

You look up at him, disbelieving. “Really?”

He grins and hugs you closer. “Yeah, really. I miss you when you’re gone, punk. And…” He sighs. “I’m tired of being on my own so much.”

You gasp, feigning shock. “Are you… admitting you feel emotions?”

Your uncle snorts. “Don’t get used to it.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, listening to the rain fall and watching it wash away the sins of the earth.

“I might need you to answer some questions for my lawyers,” you finally say. “Just so they know what’s all going on.”

Your uncle pats your shoulder. “Whatever you need, punk. Whatever you need.”

 ***

 Matt, Foggy, and Karen take your uncle’s status in remarkable stride –which, considering that Matt is Daredevil, Karen unearths some sort of mob or government conspiracy every other week, and Foggy is constantly looped into the two’s insatiable drive to get into as much shit as possible, isn’t all that surprising, actually.

Your uncle does help confirm everything you’ve said –and everyone else, for that matter—about your parents. Even if he can’t testify, he can tell the three of them where to look for various details to confirm your version of events.

“Given your medical and therapy records, we have what basically constitutes an ‘open and shut’ case,” Foggy says during one of your sessions with them. You’d opted to meet at their office, which is attached to a deli and butcher’s shop run by Foggy’s family. “Even this doesn’t get taken this to criminal court, getting a restraining order should be easy. I can’t imagine there’d be a judge in New York that’d deny it.”

“Well, maybe one or two, but they’re in prison now,” Matt adds with a small smile.

Piotr squeezes your hand gently when you don’t react to either lawyer’s statements. “Are you alright, myshka?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Just… it’s a lot to wrap my head around.”

“Why not start with an ex parte order?” Karen suggests. “That’ll make sure you’re immediately protected, and then we can work with the judge to get a long-term order in place. Once that’s done, we can look at your file and work on anything else you might want to get set up to safeguard yourself against your parents.”

You nod sluggishly. “Yeah, just… can I have a night to sleep on it? I’m still trying to recover from everything.”

“Absolutely,” Matt says immediately. “You’ve been through a great deal of trauma, Miss L/N. It’s understandable that you’d want to take time to think about everything.”

You know he means to sound sympathetic and understanding, but right now it just sounds coddling. All you want to do is go home, crawl into bed, and sleep for a thousand years.

Piotr makes good-byes for both of you as you head out of the office and towards Piotr’s car. He catches up with you quickly, gently lifting you up from where you’d slumped against the car door so he can open it for you. “Are you well, myshka?”

“Yeah,” you murmur as you plop into your seat. “Just really tired. Can we go home?”

Piotr bends down, ducking under the roof of the car so he can kiss your temple. “Da.”

“And can we snuggle?”

He stops mid-way in closing the car door to give you a loving smile. “Konechno. Whatever you would like.”

 ***

 Once the two of you get back home, Piotr lifts you out of the car and carries you all the way upstairs to the room the two of you share. He gently tucks you in bed before slipping his shoes off and climbing in on his side.

You wriggle over to him, nestling against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. “I’m so tired.”

“I know,” he murmurs as he kisses the top of your head. “It is okay. You are allowed to be tired.”

You trace your fingers over the planes of his chest in swirling, nonsensical shapes. “I just… I don’t know how to feel about it. The restraining order.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. I guess… it feels like I’m not allowed to do it.”

“Because of your uncle?”

“That, but also… I spent my childhood trying to figure out how to be a good daughter. I feel like if I lock my parents out, they’re never going to love me.”

Piotr stays quiet for a moment, before hugging you tighter and trailing kisses from the top of your forehead to your lips. “Perhaps you are right. But, I would say you have so many people here that love you. People who you do not have to prove yourself to. And I think it would be worth peace of mind to not have your parents looming over your shoulder so much. Especially when we start having children.”

And that’s the kicker of it, in the end.

Besides, Piotr’s right. You do have a wonderful family and life here at Xavier’s; everything’s improved for the better since leaving your parents and hometown community. No sense in fucking that up by leaving things to chance –especially once kids come into the picture.

“Okay,” you decide, pressing your forehead against your fiancé’s chest. “I’ll do the restraining order.”

 ***

 You’re still extremely fatigued and weak the next morning, and Piotr deems you too unwell to travel (not that you’re complaining, because hello pajama day). He calls in to the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page and lets them know –and as luck would have it, they’re in a position to make a house call since all you’re doing today is signing paperwork.

Frank also shows up. Whether it’s of his own reasons or he’s tagging along with your legal team, you neither know or care. He pretty much pairs off with Nathan and Wade as soon as he steps over the threshold into the house, talking with the two fellow assassins in hushed tones about who knows what –the latest style of bullets, maybe, or the most efficient ways to clean a gun.

(What do assassins talk about over lunch, anyway?)

You set up shop in the dining room with Piotr and your lawyers. Piotr’s family and your uncle are a few feet away in the kitchen, and further back are Nate, Wade, and Frank, still enraptured in whatever conversation they’re having.

“Alright,” Foggy says as he pulls a sheaf of paperwork out of his briefcase. “This is going to look like a lot, but it’s really just a bunch of reading and signing. Some of these are just waivers giving us permission to act in certain capacities –to use your medical records and therapy records as evidence in the courts, to act on your behalf without you being there in our capacity as your attorneys, stuff like that—some of these are forms that basically just say you understand, to your best ability, that you’re telling the truth, and some of these are also your permissive relief requests.”

You stare down at the papers like they’re liable to catch fire at any given moment. “And then?”

“Then, an emergency protective order goes into effect,” Karen says. “The emergency protective order only lasts a few days, but in that time we’ll request the ex-parte order to extend the time while we work through the litigation. Once we get through the process of establishing the long-term restraining order, it’ll be issued.”

You take a deep breath and nod slowly. “And then?”

“Given the severity of your case, we’re going to push for the longest term possible,” Matt explains with a small smile, “which is about five years. You’ll have to renew it at those intervals, but given the amount of evidence that supports your side of the story, it shouldn’t be difficult.”

Piotr puts an arm around your shoulders when you start shaking. “Are you okay?”

“Just… feel like the world’s going to explode,” you murmur as you try to breathe evenly. “Or… that they’re never really going to love me again.” You hide your face against his shoulder as tears start leaking out.

Karen produces some tissues from her purse and hands them over to Piotr. “I know this isn’t easy…”

Normally, you’d snap at anyone who dared to issue that phrase while you’re dealing with family shit, but something about the sincerity in Karen’s voice makes you believe that, somewhere along the way, she’s gone through the same kind of shit that you have.

You lift your head and meet her gaze.

Her eyes are just as watery as yours. “Letting go of people who were supposed to love you but don’t is never an easy thing to do. It hurts, and it sucks, and it forces you to go through so much grieving that life just doesn’t prepare us for. But you deserve to have peace of mind in your day to day life. You deserve to never go through again what you went through two weeks ago.”

You sniff, inhale deeply, then nod. “Okay. Just… uh… do we have to go in any order?”

“Nope,” Foggy says with a kind smile. “Just so long as everything gets signed.”

“Okay.” You take another deep breath, then nod to yourself. “Okay. Let’s do this shit.”

 ***

 It’s so much paper. The top of the dining room table has disappeared under all the papers you have to sign. At least twenty forests must’ve died for all this paper to be here.

Also, you’ve officially hit the point where you’re questioning whether or not you know your own signature or not. Just looking at the black scrawl of ink makes you go a little cross-eyed.

“Alright, almost done,” Foggy says as he preps the next form for you to sign while Karen organizes everything and gets them tucked back in his briefcase. “We just have your permissive protections request left and the form that lets us act in your capacity as attorneys.”

“Thank fuck,” you mutter as you reach for the permissive protections request. “Is it possible to get carpal tunnel syndrome in less than a day?”

“I did it once!” Wade calls from the kitchen.

“I don’t even want to know how you managed that,” you fire back as you sign and initial the various spots on the form and hand it over to Karen. “Alright, last one.”

Matt stiffens in his seat before Foggy can hand it over to you, though. “Someone’s coming to the door. Several someones.”

Everyone freezes –and, sure enough, a couple seconds later there’s a series of raps on the front door.

You can hear Russell get up from the rec room and head towards the door, and then the door swinging open—

And past that, you can’t necessarily hear the conversation, but Matt’s hackles basically go up, which makes you tense further—

“Wade!” There’s a brief sound of struggle, and the Russell books it towards the kitchen. “Wade, Y/N’s parents are here with a bunch of other guys!”

Your blood runs cold, then white hot. If they hurt him, if they fucking hurt him…

Piotr tries to grab you when you jump up from your chair. “Myshka, stop—”

Your uncle reacts at the same time, immediately lunging in the direction of the front door. “Fucking assholes—”

Alex and Nikolai catch him, and Frank wraps his arms around his waist and hauls him back and out of sight for good measure.

You manage to slip past everyone in the chaos caused by your uncle’s attempt, charging down the hall towards Russell’s panicked voice. You can hear Piotr behind you, along with Wade, but you can’t think about either of them right now. All you can think about is Russell, and making sure no one hurts him, and if they hurt him, I’m going to kill every last one of them with my bare hands.

You nearly collide with the younger teen, but push him behind you and snarl directly in the face of your town’s pastor. “Get the fuck out!”

He –along with your parents and several of the men from your community—recoil in the face of your rage and the gust of wind that blasts through the hall.

Hit a dog long enough…

Your mother recovers first, scowling at you as she advances on you. “You disobedient, disrespectful—”

Piotr bursts into the hall, physically putting himself between you and everyone else before anyone can do anything. He glares down at your mother, drawing himself up to his full, massive height and balling his fists at his side. “Do not dare touch my fiancée.”

You mother blinks, shocked. “You actually proposed to her?”

“You took my fucking ring off me!” you snap, pointing at the hand in question.

“I thought it was fake!”

Of course she did. The whole time she told you –and everyone else told you—that no one would ever love you, and they actually believed it themselves.

Fuckers.

“Everyone, please,” your town’s pastor says above the chaos and all the shouting. “We don’t want to cause a scene or a problem.”

“Oh, I think you’ve already fucking done that,” Wade says, voice deadly, as he steps up to stand next to Piotr.

“You’ve been doing that for years,” Nate adds, gun clearly visible on his belt, as he steps between you, Russell, and everyone else.

“We’re not here because we have a problem with any of you,” your town’s pastor continues. “We’re just here to take Y/N back home, where she belongs.”

You stare at him like he’s the one growing a second head. “What?”

“We’re concerned about your spiritual well-being,” he says, like that’s applicable to the situation in any way, shape, or form.

You sputter at him, outraged. “What the –fuck your religion!”

“You mind your mouth!” your mother snarls. “And you’re coming back home with us!”

“The fuck I’m not!” you shout back. “I’m an adult! You can’t make me go anywhere if I don’t want to!”

“The daughter’s place is under her father’s headship until she is married,” your pastor says, desperately trying to keep some semblance of control over the situation. “It would be most appropriate for you to return home until you’re married to ensure your sexual and spiritual purity.”

“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all that,” Wade mutters under his breath as he flashes a none-too-subtle ‘cuckoo’ gesture at you.

You just stare at the pastor, agape and eyes wide. “What the… what?”

“I know this may seem shocking—”

“They beat me!” you shriek, pointing at your parents. “They locked me in my room for days on end! They told me they hated me, that no one would ever love me, that I was an abomination!” You narrow your eyes when your pastor blanches, the chill of realization settling hard in your stomach. “You knew. You knew all of it was wrong. Just like you know that this is wrong! You let it all happen!”

He grimaces, but ultimately says nothing.

“Doesn’t matter,” your father growls flatly. “You’re not shaming my name by dallying about like some whore. You’re coming home. Today.”

You can’t even wrap your head around it. You’re staring in the face of people who know what they did to you, on some level, was wrong, but all they care about is taking you back to the environment where it all happened and will keep happening. Like they don’t care about your well-being, or what makes you happy, or about how much progress you’ve made since coming to Xavier’s—

I can’t make them care.

The penny drops right as you’re on the verge of tears. You can’t make them care about you. You can’t make them love you. Every single person you’re facing down –your parents included—decided a long time ago that you weren’t worth loving or respecting. No amount of arguing, pleading, or proof to the contrary is going to make them change their minds because there’s so much guilt on their shoulders –emotional or legal, though it should be both—that if they ever pulled their heads out of their asses, their necks would snap from the weight of it all.

And, amid all the pain the revelation causes, a single thought rises above all the emotional chaos: I can’t keep giving them my energy.

As much as it hurts to admit, it’s a useless fight. And as much as you want them to love you, they’re, at their cores, not people that are healthy to be loved by. You’d have to change every single thing about you –including things that can’t be changed—for them to ever love you.

And they don’t deserve that, least of all from you.

You look over your shoulder and see Foggy, Karen, and Matt all looking at you –well, Matt isn’t, but you know he’s focused on you and the fight unfolding in front of you.

Karen raises her eyebrows at you and holds up the form that lets them act as your attorneys without your presence and a pen.

An offer. A ladder out of the hell you were born to and raised in. A way to close the door once and for all.

It’s about time you take it.

“You know what?” you say, almost laughing from the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “I’m done with all of you.”

“And just what does that mean?” your mother says with a roll of her eyes.

You look back to Foggy, Matt, and Karen one more time before glancing over to your mother. “It means you’re dealing with my attorneys from here on out.” You turn and walk towards the trio, ignoring the squawks of protest the group from your hometown lets out.

As soon as you sign the form, they step past you and between Piotr, Wade, Nate, and everyone that’d joined your parents. “We represent the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page,” Foggy says brightly. “And we’re here to inform you that you are currently violating an order of protection that was issued for our client’s safety against you.”

“The local authorities have been contacted and are on their way to arrest you for violating the order, in addition to charges of domestic abuse and conspiracy to commit abduction,” Matt adds.

“You fucking bitch!” your mother screams, lunging forward at you only to be stopped by Matt and Foggy. “You can’t do this!”

“Miss L/N,” Matt says, turning towards you. “For the sake of your emotional well-being, I would advise you to leave the room. Mr. Rasputin, perhaps you could accompany her for her comfort?”

“He needs to be here to represent the Institute,” you say, suddenly drained from the whole ordeal.

“I’ll go with her,” Wade offers, stepping back to clasp your shoulder. “Come on, sis.”

You put an arm around Russell’s shoulders. “Let’s go, bud. We’re done with them.”

Back in the kitchen –and out of sight of your parents and everyone else—Alex, Nikolai, and Frank are still holding your uncle back.

He relaxes once you cross the threshold and step out of sight of the hall. “Are you okay? What happened?”

You sigh, then shrug. “I decided to let my attorneys handle the situation.”

Your uncle stares at you, then smiles as tears well up in his eyes. “Good. Good job, punk.”

You try to smile back, but ultimately start crying.

He reaches over and pulls you into a massive hug.

The two of you stay like that for a while, holding each other while tears flow down each of your faces.

 ***

 The whole process of your parents –and everyone else that decided to show up with them—being arrested is exhausting.

There’s a lot of screaming. A lot of arguing. A lot of insults –those are mostly directed at you, even though you aren’t in the room.

Frank and your uncle have to duck into the basement to avoid being seen by any of the officers –which Wade makes a “alternative seven minutes in heaven” comment about that makes you smile briefly, but you’re honestly too tired to really do anything except stare at a wall right now.

Piotr has to talk to the officers as a representative of the Institute, which means that you can’t just drape yourself over him like you want to and soak in his affection and love for you.

The only upside is that Matt, Foggy, and Karen can speak to the police on your behalf. Right now, you’re not sure you could handle dealing with all the questions you’re bound to be asked.

Eventually, Alex walks up to your seat and squeezes your shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go for walk.”

You frown up at her. “Don’t we need to be here in case the police have questions for us?”

“Your attorneys are already representing you,” she says. “Besides, if they really need something, Illyana will let us know and we can come back in.” She squeezes your shoulder again, then nods towards the back door. “Come. You could use some fresh air and quiet.” She puts an arm around you as you stand and gently ushers you to the back door and outside.

It’s far calmer outside. A cool, easy breeze ruffles your hair, and the grass is soothingly soft beneath your feet.

Alex nudges you forward, though not unkindly. “Come on. Medvezhonok keeps saying I should see the gardens.”

You walk alongside her through the various gardens that dot Xavier’s property. In the wake of the adrenaline and stress abruptly leaving your body, you’re feeling numb, almost detached. It’s almost like your body can’t fully process the shock and stress of having your parents show up.

Well, come to think of it, that’s probably exactly what’s going on.

Alex is markedly quiet as she examines the garden, expression placid and body language lax as she ambles along the pathways between various clusters of flowers and flora.

“You seem calm,” you remark, voice barely more than a mumble as you stare down at a few bright, cheery yellow lilies.

“Age brings serenity,” she says as she crouches down to better look at a butterfly feeding off some hummingbird mint. “And there is not much to be afraid of when you can outmatch nearly every opponent facing you. That, and they are not my nightmare.” She looks up at you, a ghost of a sympathetic smile on her lips. “They were –are—yours. It’s always harder when it’s personal.”

You let out a huff of air. “Ain’t that the truth.” You sit down on a nearby bench, staring blankly at nothing. “What happens next?”

“I am not the person to ask that question,” Alex admits, brushing her jeans off as she stands back up. “I would wager, though, that your lawyers will know how to handle things.”

You nod slowly, numbly. “Yeah, probably.”

Alex watches you closely for a moment before sitting down next to you. “How are you, malen'kaya ptitsa? How are you feeling?”

What you mean to say is something along the lines of “overwhelmed,” or “numb,” or “exhausted,” or maybe even “angry to the point where I can’t feel it anymore.”

What comes out, though, is: “I don’t think my parents ever loved me.”

You feel a slight pulse of shock hit your system once your words register in your own brain, then the slow, sinking dread and resignation as the truth of it sets in. You’ve been on the precipice of realizing the truth for a while, but you’ve never really admitted it at all, much less out loud to someone else.

Alex grimaces and nods. “I would wager you are right. No parent who loves their child treats them how you were treated.”

You nod along, lips tugging into a frown and chin trembling. “Yeah. I kind of just… realized I can’t make them love me or respect me. That’s why I just decided to let Matt ‘n Foggy ‘n Karen handle everything, you know? I was just done with all of it.”

“You’re right,” Alex reassures you. “On all counts. You cannot change their stance, but you do not have to hold onto people who refuse to treat you with decency.”

Your eyes sting and water as a lump rises in your throat. “I just… I don’t understand why I couldn’t be worth it to them. I mean, I get that they never wanted a mutant child, but I was just a kid. What about being a mutant made it worth beating me, terrifying me, demeaning me, abusing me, making my life a miserable hell every single day I lived in their home—”

Alexandra wraps her arms around you as you start crying and presses a motherly kiss to the top of your head when you press yourself against her. “Some people are just horrible, malen'kaya ptitsa. Sometimes they are so lost in their own misery that the only way they can make themselves feel better is to make others hurt, sometimes they only care about themselves to the point that they stop caring when they hurt others, and sometimes they just enjoy making others hurt because it brings them pleasure. Either way, the end result for their victims is still the same: pain and abuse they should have never suffered.”

You whimper and weep against her shoulder as she slowly rocks you back and forth. “I don’t understand –I tried so hard to be good—”

“It was never about you being ‘good,’” Alex murmurs against your hair. “You have always been ‘good.’ It was about their hatred and inability to love unconditionally. Unfortunately, you got stuck with short end of stick, and I am so sorry that you did, dorogoy rebenok.”

You sniff and swipe at your face as you sit up and look her in the eye. “Did you go through this kind of stuff with your parents? Did they care that you were a mutant?”

Alex’s face goes completely blank as she stares at you. “My par… Piotr never told you.”

“Told me what?”

Alex’s lips purse into a thin line; she slides off the bench to kneel on the ground in front of you and clasps your hands in hers. “Malen'kaya ptitsa… I was taken from my family when I was four to train as government asset. I never saw them again, and when the KGB disbanded in the nineties, I found out that they had been executed to prevent any leaks of information from spreading. The only family I have ever had is Nikolai and my children –and now you as well.”

Guilt drops in your stomach like a lead brick. “Oh God.” You double over and start crying again. “I’m sorry –I’m so sorry! I’ve just been complaining like a brat—”

“Nyet. Nyet, nyet, nyet -- malen'kaya ptitsa, look at me.” Alex cups your face in her hands, forcing you to lift your head and meet her gaze. “Never apologize for hurting after what you have endured. Understand?”

“But what you went through was so much worse!” you protest. “I at least had a family, I had a home—”

“You had neither of those things until you came here,” Alex insists sharply. “You may have had biological parents, but they were not family or home. ‘Family’ and ‘home’ means safety and love, and they certainly provided neither. And, yes, my time as asset was horrible, but I never had to second guess whether or not I was loved. I never had to deal with mind games as to whether I was wanted or respected or what have you. I always knew where I stood with my handlers and what was expected of me.” She rubs your cheeks with her thumbs, wiping the tears away. “People who try and rank pains as ‘worse’ than each other are people who cannot handle their own emotions and need to put them in boxes to cope –and, more often than not, they are the type of people who contributed to our pain in first place.” She swallows hard, tears welling up in her eyes, and when she speaks again her voice is shaky with emotion. “So please, do not stop yourself from grieving. Because I am most certainly grieving for you.”

You sob and collapse against her, body shaking as grief wells up and pours out of you –grief for the childhood you lost, for the pain you had to endure, for the love you should’ve had but never received…

And, through it all, Alex holds you tight with strong arms as she cries along with you. “It’s okay, malen'kaya ptitsa. It’s okay.”

***

 Once the authorities leave –and take your parents, pastor, and the others that’d joined them along—Piotr comes out to the back with Nikolai to collect you and Alexandra.

The two of you are significantly calmer, having had time to cry and catch your breath, but it’s still apparent that you both have been crying.

Piotr lifts you into his arms and carries you towards the house, while Nikolai sits down next to his wife on the bench.

“Can we just go to bed?” you croak, voice hoarse and throat dry from crying. “I’m just really tired. I just want to go to bed.”

Piotr kisses your forehead as he adjusts his hold on you so he can open the back door. “Da. We can go to bed.” He carries you all the way up to your shared room and gently tucks you into bed before going back to close the door, then joins you in bed. “How are you?”

“Tired,” you mumble. “Angry. Sad. It’s just—” you point at your head, twirling your finger around like you’re stirring a pot of soup “—a lot in here right now.”

“I bet,” Piotr murmurs as he wraps his arms around you. “But you can rest for now. You have earned good rest.”

“You’re telling me.” You sling an arm over his waist, then sigh when he starts tracing swirling designs on your arm and shoulder. You slow your breathing, counting your inhales and exhales until you feel less like you’re about to completely crumble apart.

And then you say, “I want to get a tattoo.”

You can practically hear the slow, shocked blink Piotr does. “Uh… khorosho.”

You tip your head back so you can see his face –and he definitely looks surprised. “Is that really okay with you?”

“It is your body,” he says, smoothing your hair away from your face. “I was just more… surprised by lack of context, I suppose.”

“I mean, I kind of wrote it off when my uncle told me that the ink wouldn’t take as well, but… I want something permanent on me. Something that can’t be taken away. When my parents took my ring, and I thought you weren’t real…”

Piotr holds you closer as your voice trails off. “It is alright, myshka. And if you want tattoo, we can find way for you to get one.”

“You don’t think it’s irresponsible to get a tattoo because of the trauma I went through?”

He sighs as he contemplates your question. “In this case, I think not. I know you will get one done safely. And, honestly, I do not think it is very drastic change to yourself considering what happened. Besides, people who lose loved ones or self-harm or feel suicidal get tattoos to help them stay grounded. I do not see why you cannot do same.”

You snuggle closer to him, soothed by his support. “You don’t care if we have kids and I have a tattoo?”

He snorts. “Nyet. What you want to do to your body is your choice. My mother and Mikhail have tattoos, so our kids will see them anyway. Plus… I was thinking of getting some of my own.”

“Really?” You tilt your head back so you can see his face. “What were you thinking of getting?”

“Maybe DNA strand on my wrist, for mutantism,” he says, tapping his right wrist. “And possibly some work on my shoulder and back that looks like northern lights night sky scene. And… I know I want to get our children’s fetal heartbeats. On my forearm.”

You smile softly. “I like the sound of all of that. Especially the heartbeats one.”

He smiles back at you and leans down to kiss you. “So do I.”

You nestle closer to Piotr as he kisses you, hands softly gripping the material of his shirt as his arms hold you tighter against his body.

Your journey to recovery is far from over. If you had to wager, it’ll probably never be over, not entirely.

But you climbed an important mountain today. And with Piotr by your side –along with Wade, Nathan, Neena, Russell, Yukio, Ellie, and the rest of Piotr’s family—you’ll be able to keep climbing whatever mountains happen to find you.

One foot in front of the other.

You’ve got this.

Sources about how delusions work:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delusional_disorder https://www.buting.com/blog/2015/02/false-memories-lies-and-the-limitations-of-the-human-brain.shtml https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/delusion/ https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3016695/